#so does Katie's brother for that matter

[chibi-pix]

They really do need to colour code more.

Anyway! I apparently started this redraw a while back but dismissed it before I got very for. But I decided to work on it again. And what is it a redraw of? This old piece from 2021. Now going from little doodle to screenshot style! I'm pleased with the glow up.

Anywho! I hope y'all enjoy this one! Commissions are available on my Ko-fi. Until next time!

[pucksandpower]

Shouldn’t Have Done That

Mafia boss!Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: trying to get one of the most dangerous men in the world to put a hit out on the love of his own life probably isn’t the brightest idea (or in which, for someone with a PhD, your professor is shockingly stupid)

Warnings: 18+ content, sexual harassment, imbalanced power dynamics, graphic violence, and descriptions of bodily harm

The door to your apartment swings open, and the chatter from the hallway stops. Four of your classmates shuffle inside, their footsteps faltering as they take in the sight before them. They’re silent for a moment too long.

“Wait,” Katie says, her eyes wide as she looks up at the vaulted ceiling and back down to the gleaming hardwood floors. “Is this your place?”

You shrug, tossing your keys into the bowl by the door. “Yeah.”

“You live here?” Carla echoes, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“I mean,” you chuckle lightly, “obviously.”

The apartment, with its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mediterranean, feels miles away from the cramped student housing they’re all used to. It's not just the space. The sleek furniture, the abstract art pieces on the walls, the elegant touches — none of it exactly screams student budget. They’re trying not to stare, but they’re doing a bad job of hiding it.

“I thought we were coming over to, like … study,” Peter finally says, breaking the silence, a nervous chuckle following.

You give him a playful nudge with your elbow. “We are.”

“But here?” Katie crosses her arms, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, what’s the deal? This place has to cost a fortune.”

There’s a beat, then a couple of them laugh, but it’s a little strained. They’re not joking. They’re genuinely trying to piece it together. You could brush it off, let them make their own assumptions, but something about their wide-eyed curiosity feels harmless.

“My brother,” you say, almost casually. “He’s … well, he’s doing okay. He helps me out.”

They’re all staring, but it’s Carla who finally speaks up. “What does your brother do?”

You hesitate for just a second before answering. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure.”

Katie’s eyes narrow. “You’re not sure?”

“I mean, I know it’s something with negotiations. Like, high-level stuff. It’s complicated.” You wave it off like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t really matter. Because it doesn’t, right? You’ve never been the type to get too involved in his work. You just trust that he knows what he’s doing.

Carla tilts her head, curious but not pushing further. Peter, on the other hand, leans against the kitchen island, his lips curving into a smirk. “Something with negotiations? So, what? Is he, like, a spy or something?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Are you sure?” Peter presses, his tone teasing but with just enough edge that he’s probably half-serious.

“Not everything is out of a Bond movie, Peter,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“But the view!” Katie says, pulling everyone’s attention back to the massive windows overlooking the water. “I can’t believe you get to wake up to this every day.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Carla adds. “I’d never get any work done.”

“I manage,” you say, grinning. The truth is, it’s still surreal to you too. This place is everything you didn’t know you wanted, and sometimes you catch yourself staring out those windows, trying to remind yourself that it’s real.

“Man, I bet you never want to leave,” Katie says, still wandering around like she’s in a museum.

“Not when she has everything she needs right here,” Peter quips. “Look at this kitchen. You could probably host a Michelin chef here.”

You open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water. “I wouldn’t know. I mostly use it for reheating leftovers.”

“You’re telling me this place has a kitchen like this, and you’re eating takeout?” Carla gasps dramatically, as if this is the most offensive thing she’s heard all day.

You shrug, uncapping the bottle. “Priorities.”

There’s a pause as everyone takes another lap of the apartment, taking in the minimalist, yet undeniably luxurious decor. The vibe is light, but you can feel the unspoken curiosity still lingering in the air.

“So … how well off are we talking, exactly?” Katie asks, not looking at you directly but instead at the marble countertops.

You shrug again, like it’s not that big of a deal. “Comfortable. Let’s just say he’s good at what he does.”

“I’ll say,” Peter mutters under his breath, and you can’t help but smirk.

For a moment, there’s silence again, but then Carla’s eyes light up like she’s had the best idea in the world. “Wait. Hold on. You know what I need to see?”

You raise an eyebrow, curious but already a little wary of where this is headed. “What?”

“Your closet.”

You blink, caught off guard by the request. “My closet?”

Katie jumps in, clapping her hands together. “Oh my god, yes. I didn’t even think of that. You have to show us.”

“I-” You hesitate, glancing towards the hallway. You hadn’t planned on giving them a tour of your personal space. “It’s not-”

“Come on!” Carla insists, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the hallway with an eager grin. “We won’t judge. We just want to see.”

“Please?” Katie adds, pouting slightly for emphasis.

You laugh, giving in. “Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As you lead them down the hallway, you can feel the anticipation in the air. When you stop in front of the large double doors, their excitement is palpable. You twist the knob, pushing the doors open with a small sigh.

“Okay, here it is.”

The collective gasp that follows is almost comical. You step aside, letting them wander into the massive walk-in closet, which feels more like a high-end boutique than anything else. The walls are lined with shelves and racks overflowing with designer labels. Chanel, Dior, Balmain, Gucci. Every label under the sun is here, all neatly arranged and organized in a way that’s both overwhelming and aesthetically pleasing.

Carla immediately rushes to a rack, her fingers brushing over the fabric of a Givenchy gown. “Are you kidding me?”

“This is unreal,” Katie whispers, her voice filled with awe as she runs her hand over a pair of Louboutin heels. “It’s like a dream.”

Peter whistles low, leaning against the doorframe, trying to play it cool, but even he looks impressed. “I’ve never seen this much designer stuff in one place.”

“I’ve only worn, like, half of it,” you admit sheepishly.

Carla spins around, her mouth hanging open. “Half? You could dress an army in here.”

You laugh, leaning against the doorframe, watching them fawn over the collection like kids in a candy store. It’s surreal, seeing your life through their eyes. To you, it’s just your brother’s way of making sure you’re taken care of, but to them, it’s something out of a movie.

Katie pulls out a vintage Valentino dress, holding it up in front of her. “I would die for this.”

“Please don’t,” you tease. “It’s just clothes.”

“Just clothes?” Carla repeats, incredulous. “This is practically a museum of couture.”

They spend the next several minutes pulling out pieces, laughing and gasping at everything from limited-edition handbags to extravagant gowns, and you can’t help but smile. It’s kind of fun, seeing them so excited, even if you still feel a little weird about the whole thing.

Finally, Carla turns to you, eyes wide. “Okay, you have to let us borrow something for the next event. Like, you have to.”

You shake your head, laughing. “We’ll see.”

But as they continue to gush over your closet, you realize that maybe it’s not such a big deal after all. Maybe sharing a little piece of this life with them doesn’t have to feel strange. Maybe it can just be fun.

***

Class is over before you realize it. Professor Turnier’s lecture on the intricacies of international negotiations had been more droning than usual, and the faint buzz of students gathering their things fills the hall. You shove your notebook into your bag, barely listening to the idle chatter around you. There’s a slight tension in the air that you can’t quite place, a sharpness that feels out of sync with the mundane end to the lecture.

You stand up to leave when you hear the professor’s voice, smooth and calculated.

“Could you stay behind for a moment?”

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder. His words aren’t unusual. He often asks students to hang back to discuss assignments or offer advice on projects. But something about his tone feels different. Off.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and nod, offering a polite, if tight, smile. “Sure.”

The last few students file out of the room, their footsteps echoing in the now-empty lecture hall. You hesitate before walking down toward his desk, feeling his gaze tracking your movements. His office is just off the hall, an enclosed glass-walled space where you can already see stacks of papers cluttering his desk.

“Come in,” he says, gesturing towards the open door, his voice too casual.

You step inside, noting the heavy scent of tobacco clinging to the air, and the way the blinds are partially drawn, casting strange shadows across the room. You stand near the door, feeling a sudden urge to stay as close to an exit as possible.

“Have a seat,” Turnier offers, motioning toward the chair across from his desk.

“I’m okay standing,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, even though your instincts are kicking into overdrive.

The professor doesn’t push it. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers together, watching you with a strange smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve been doing quite well in this course,” he starts, his voice calm and slow. “Very well, actually.”

You nod, unsure where this is going. “Thanks. I’ve been putting in a lot of work.”

“I can tell,” he replies. “You’re … very impressive.”

There’s a flicker of something unsettling in his words, and your stomach tightens.

He clears his throat, standing from his chair and walking around the desk to lean casually against the front of it, much closer now. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Someone like you, with your intelligence, your connections, could really go far in this world.”

You glance toward the door, wondering how much longer you’ll have to listen to him before you can politely excuse yourself. “I’m just focusing on the coursework right now. Trying to stay on top of things.”

“Of course,” he says, nodding, but his eyes are still on you. There’s a slowness to his movements, a deliberate lack of urgency that feels like he’s setting up for something. “But you could be doing so much more. I could help you.”

You take a step back instinctively. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

His smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it now. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You stare at him, the air in the room thick with a sudden, unmistakable tension. The distance between you feels far too small. He’s watching you with a kind of predatory stillness, like he’s waiting for a reaction, like he wants you to feel trapped.

“I should probably go,” you say, your voice steady but your heart pounding in your chest. “I have another class soon.”

Before you can move, his hand darts out, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip. The shift from casual to threatening is immediate, and panic flares in your chest. “You’re not going anywhere yet.”

You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip, pulling you closer. His other hand moves to your waist, fingers curling possessively as his breath catches in a disgusting, anticipatory way.

“I could do a lot for you,” he murmurs, his face too close to yours now. “You’re smart enough to know that. I could make your career. Or ruin it.”

His hand slides lower, and you freeze, caught in the horror of the moment, disbelief mixing with disgust. But then something in you snaps.

“Get off me,” you say through gritted teeth, your voice trembling but fierce.

He laughs, a low, condescending sound that makes your skin crawl. “You don’t want to make this difficult.”

Your body moves before your mind fully catches up. With all the force you can muster, you slam your knee upward into his groin. His breath catches in his throat as he doubles over, releasing you instantly, his face twisting in pain. He stumbles back, clutching himself, groaning in agony.

You don’t wait for him to recover. You turn toward the door, ready to sprint out of his office and never look back. But just as your hand grips the doorknob, you hear his voice, raw and venomous behind you.

“You’ll regret this.”

You stop, your pulse pounding in your ears, but you don’t turn around.

“I’ll make sure you regret this,” he spits, still hunched over but his voice sharp and filled with fury. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

You swallow hard, every muscle in your body tensing.

“You think your money can protect you?” He sneers, his words like poison. “I have friends — powerful friends. You think you can humiliate me like this and just walk away? You’ll never have a career. I’ll make sure of it.”

You stare at the door in front of you, every instinct screaming at you to leave, but his words hang in the air, twisting into something darker, something more sinister.

“I know people. People who could make your life hell. Mafia connections, sweetheart,” he says with a sickening smirk, though his voice is still ragged from the pain. “You have no idea how easily I could ruin you.”

Your breath catches, your fingers gripping the doorknob so tightly your knuckles turn white. His threat lingers, the weight of it pressing down on you. You’ve heard stories — whispers of people who move in dangerous circles, people who have connections that go far beyond what you’d ever imagined dealing with.

You know he could be bluffing. He probably is. But what if he’s not?

You force yourself to open the door, stepping out into the hallway, your legs trembling. You don’t look back. You can’t. The hallway is empty, the echoes of your footsteps the only sound as you walk, faster and faster, away from his office, away from the suffocating tension of what just happened.

But his voice, that horrible promise, follows you like a shadow.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

You step out of the building, the cool Mediterranean air hitting your face, but it doesn’t calm the storm inside you. You feel the bile rise in your throat as you stop just outside the doors, leaning against the wall and trying to steady your breathing.

Your mind races, replaying everything that just happened. The feel of his hands on you, the way he looked at you, the way he thought he could get away with it. And then his threat — the weight of it hanging over you, heavy and suffocating.

What now?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you don’t look at it. You can’t focus on anything but the gnawing sense of fear and anger churning inside you. For a second, you consider going back. Reporting him. But then you remember the look in his eyes, the cold certainty in his voice when he made that threat.

Mafia connections.

It sounds ridiculous, like something out of a movie. But here, in Monaco, where money and power intermingle in ways that blur the lines between the law and something far darker, it doesn’t feel so far-fetched.

You push yourself away from the wall and start walking, needing to move, needing to get away from the university, from the weight of what just happened. But as you walk, your mind keeps circling back to the same thought.

He’s not going to get away with this.

You refuse to let him.

***

You don’t remember driving to Charles’ apartment. The world outside had blurred into a haze of flashing lights and slick streets, your breath ragged in your chest as you fought to hold back the tears. By the time you park the car, your hands are shaking, white-knuckled on the steering wheel. You sit there for a second, trying to gather yourself, but the weight of what happened presses down, heavy and relentless.

Finally, you stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut, your footsteps hurried as you rush toward the entrance of the building. Your vision swims, the tears threatening to spill over, but you force yourself to keep moving, to get to Charles.

You don’t even knock when you reach his door. You punch in the code he gave you a long time ago and push the door open, not caring about anything but the need to see him, to feel safe for even a second.

Charles is in the living room, standing by the kitchen counter, his head turning the moment you step inside. His face instantly shifts from casual surprise to deep concern when he sees you — your tear-streaked face, your trembling body. He moves toward you without hesitation, his arms reaching out before you can even say a word.

“What happened?” He asks, his voice low and urgent as he pulls you into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you close, his warmth grounding you in a way you didn’t even know you needed.

You try to speak, but the words are stuck in your throat, tangled with sobs. You collapse into him, your legs giving way as the tears finally break free. His grip tightens as he catches you, lowering you gently onto the couch, cradling you like a child. You bury your face in his chest, gasping for air between sobs.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, rocking you gently, his hand running through your hair in soothing strokes. “You’re safe now. You’re with me. Just breathe, okay?”

You try to follow his instructions, but your breaths come out jagged, choking on the tears. It feels like the whole day is crashing down on you at once, and the more you try to hold it together, the more everything falls apart.

He keeps murmuring reassurances, his hand never leaving your hair, his other arm a firm anchor around your shoulders. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just take your time.”

It takes a few minutes before you can even manage to form a coherent sentence. The sobs slow, but your whole body still trembles in his arms. You pull back just enough to look up at him, your face wet, eyes puffy, but the words still feel thick on your tongue.

“Charles …” Your voice breaks, and another hiccup escapes before you can stop it. “It’s … it’s my professor. H-He …”

His face hardens instantly, the warmth in his expression replaced by something darker, colder. “What did he do?”

You swallow, trying to steady your breathing, but the panic rises again as the memory of that office, the way his hands grabbed you, floods back. You squeeze your eyes shut, your words coming out in a rush. “H-He tried to touch me. He wouldn’t let me leave. I-I had to push him off me, and he said … he said he’s going to ruin me, Charles.”

Your voice cracks, and fresh tears spill over as you cling to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Charles doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel the tension radiating through his body. His grip on you tightens, and when you finally open your eyes, you see the fury etched into his face, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might snap.

“He what?” His voice is low, almost too calm, but there’s a dangerous edge beneath it.

You nod, your words barely a whisper. “He grabbed me, and I pushed him, but he … he said he’s going to fail me now. He said he has mafia connections, and he’s going to ruin my life.”

For a second, Charles just stares at you, his eyes dark with something unnameable. Then, suddenly, he pulls you even closer, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it feels like he’s trying to shield you from the entire world.

“He’s not going to do a goddamn thing,” Charles says, his voice rough but steady. “I won’t let him. I promise you, he won’t get away with this.”

You hiccup, shaking your head against his chest. “But he … he said-”

“I don’t care what he said,” Charles cuts in, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder. “He’s not going to touch your career. He’s not going to touch you. I’ll make sure of that.”

Your whole body shakes, the weight of his words sinking in, but the fear doesn’t leave. It clings to you, tight and suffocating, like a shadow you can’t shake. “He said he knows people, Charles. Dangerous people.”

“I know people too,” he says, his voice hard, cold in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re my sister. He’ll wish he’d never crossed you.”

You pull back slightly, blinking up at him, your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He lets out a slow breath, his hand brushing a tear from your cheek. “You don’t need to worry about that. Just trust me, okay? I’ll handle it.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll take care of everything. You just need to focus on staying safe. I won’t let him come near you again.”

Your lip trembles, and you lean into him, letting yourself be comforted by his certainty, by the strength of his promise. But the words the professor had said — his sneering, his threats — they linger in your mind, gnawing at you.

“What if he really can do it?” You whisper, the fear creeping back in. “What if he ruins me, Charles? What if-”

“He won’t,” Charles says firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You press your face into his chest again, trying to breathe through the panic. He holds you, rocking you gently, his voice a steady anchor in the storm.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “You’re my little sister. No one messes with you and gets away with it. Do you understand?”

You nod against his chest, your tears slowly subsiding as his words wrap around you like a protective shield.

“I’ll make him pay for what he did,” Charles says, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “He’s not going to hurt you again. And he sure as hell isn’t going to ruin your career. I’ll make sure of it.”

For the first time since you walked into his apartment, you feel a small flicker of relief. Charles has always been the one to make things right, the one who takes care of things when you can’t. If anyone can fix this, it’s him.

“But how?” You whisper, looking up at him, your voice fragile.

He meets your gaze, his expression softening just a bit, though the fire still burns in his eyes. “I have my ways.”

The cryptic answer doesn’t do much to soothe you, but there’s something in his voice, in the way he holds you, that makes you trust him. You know he means what he says. He always has.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into him again, your body exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Charles says, his voice gentle now. “I’ve got this. You just need to rest. Take a breath. You’ve been through enough.”

His words wash over you, and you feel yourself relaxing slightly, the weight lifting just enough for you to breathe again.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand still cradling you like you’re something precious. “You don’t need to thank me. You’re family. I’ll always protect you.”

***

Max sits at the head of a long, polished mahogany table, a glass of whiskey resting in front of him. The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across the room, reflecting the power and wealth that permeates everything around him. He’s calm, calculating, the very image of control, his blue eyes scanning the room as his men discuss the details of the night’s business. There’s an unspoken respect, an awareness that every word spoken in his presence is weighted, measured, as if any misstep could have consequences.

Charles is beside him, his right-hand man and oldest friend, the only one who can match Max’s intensity. Charles leans back in his chair, but there’s a tension in his posture tonight — something Max doesn’t miss.

Max notices everything.

It’s been that way since the day he took over the family business, since he became the Max Verstappen, the name that inspires both reverence and fear in equal measure.

His phone buzzes on the table, breaking the momentary silence. He reaches for it, raising an eyebrow when he sees the number. Unknown, but local.

“Hold that thought,” Max says to the room, lifting a finger as he stands up and steps away from the table, phone in hand. He walks toward the tall windows overlooking the city. Monaco spreads out beneath him, glittering under the night sky. With a flick of his thumb, he answers the call.

“Yeah?” His voice is deep, smooth, but edged with impatience. He doesn’t do pleasantries with strangers.

There’s a pause on the other end, and then a voice, hesitant but smug, seeps through. “Mr. Verstappen. I wasn’t sure if you’d answer.”

Max frowns slightly, recognizing that tone — someone who thinks they’ve called in a favor, someone who believes they have power. He hates those kinds of people.

“Who is this?” He asks, cutting to the point.

“This is Alan Turnier. I was told you’re a man who gets things done … discreetly.” There’s an oily confidence to his words, and Max’s frown deepens.

He’s heard the name before. Some professor at the university, an arrogant prick by all accounts. Charles had mentioned him in passing a few times, and now the man is calling him, of all people.

“And what exactly do you want from me, Professor?” Max’s voice is low, his tone dangerously calm. He already doesn’t like where this is going.

“Well,” the professor begins, “I’ve got a problem. A student. A rather difficult one, actually. She’s been causing some … trouble, and I need her to be taken down a peg or two. You know, rough her up a bit, teach her a lesson.”

Max’s grip on the phone tightens, but his face remains impassive. He’s handled scumbags like this before. He’s used to people thinking they can use him to solve their petty problems.

“Who’s the student?” Max asks, keeping his voice steady, though there’s a hard edge beneath it now.

The professor chuckles like he’s sharing a secret. “Her name’s Y/N Leclerc. She’s been a real pain. Thought she could get away with disrespecting me, so I figured I’d call in a favor. Make sure she learns her place.”

Max stops breathing for a moment.

The name hits him like a sledgehammer, slamming into his chest with a force he didn’t expect. His mind races, his body going rigid as every instinct flares up. Charles’ sister. Your name. The girl he’s known for years. The one he’s always been protective of, even if he’s kept his distance. The one who’s always had that soft, unaffected smile that somehow disarmed him, even when nothing else could.

His free hand curls into a fist.

“What did you say?” Max’s voice drops dangerously low, quieter now, but the threat in it is unmistakable.

“I said she needs to be put in her place,” the professor repeats, not realizing the fatal mistake he’s just made. “A little lesson in respect. Maybe scare her a bit — she’s been thinking she’s untouchable.”

Max’s vision narrows. The world outside the window blurs as a violent rage surges through him. He’s usually calm, calculated, but this? The idea of anyone laying a hand on you? His jaw tightens, his pulse quickening with the force of the anger boiling inside him.

Without another word, Max pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it for a second. He doesn’t think — he acts. His grip tightens, and with a sharp motion, he hurls the phone across the room, sending it crashing against the wall. The sound of it shattering echoes through the room as shards of glass and metal fall to the floor.

“Max?” Charles’ voice cuts through the haze, concerned and alert. He’s already on his feet, moving toward Max. “What the hell was that about?”

Max doesn’t answer immediately. His chest heaves with barely restrained fury, his hands still balled into fists at his sides. He breathes deeply, trying to steady himself, but the rage won’t let go. It claws at him, consuming him.

“Max.” Charles is in front of him now, eyes searching his face for an answer, his own tension rising. He’s seen Max angry before, but this? This is different. Personal. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Max finally meets his gaze, his voice like gravel as he speaks. “That was Turnier. The professor.”

Charles’ eyes narrow at the mention of the name. “What did he want?”

Max clenches his teeth, trying to control the storm inside him. “He wanted me to rough up a student for him. Said she was causing trouble.”

Charles’ face darkens, his own anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Who?”

Max’s eyes burn with intensity as he holds Charles’ gaze. “Y/N.”

The moment her name leaves his lips, Charles freezes. The color drains from his face, and his jaw tightens. “What?”

Max doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t need to. The weight of what the professor asked for hangs heavy between them, the unspoken understanding thickening the air.

“He didn’t know she’s your sister,” Max says, his voice low but lethal. “Didn’t know she’s my family.”

Charles exhales sharply, his fists clenched. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Max growls, his voice hardening. “I hung up. Smashed the phone.”

There’s a long pause as the two of them stand there, the weight of the situation settling in. Charles looks like he’s ready to explode, his hands twitching as if he wants to hit something, anything, to release the rage coursing through him.

Max, however, remains deadly calm on the outside, even though the fury inside him is almost unbearable. His mind races with possibilities, with thoughts of what he’s going to do next. He has power, more than Turnier could ever imagine, and he’s going to use every ounce of it to make sure that man never comes near you again.

“We’ll handle this,” Max says finally, his voice cold, determined. “He’s going to regret even thinking about touching her.”

Charles nods, but his eyes are still filled with a kind of wild, protective fury. “I want to be there when you do.”

Max meets his gaze, and for the first time since the call, a grim smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You will be.”

For a moment, they stand in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the city below. Then Max turns back toward the table, his movements deliberate as he grabs the decanter of whiskey and pours himself another glass, the liquid sloshing into the crystal tumbler.

“Call Nico,” Max says to Charles, his tone businesslike but laced with an edge of menace. “We’re going to need a cleanup crew. And tell him to bring the big car.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, already pulling out his phone, his expression steely. Max takes a long sip of the whiskey, the burn of it doing nothing to dull the fire inside him. He knows what needs to be done, and he knows exactly how to make Turnier pay.

The professor had no idea who he was messing with.

Max sets the glass down with a sharp click, his mind already working through the logistics, the steps he’ll take to destroy the man who dared to threaten you. Because this isn’t just about revenge. It’s about protecting what’s his. And as far as Max is concerned, you’ve always been part of that.

“I’ll take care of it,” Max says, more to himself than to anyone else, his voice low and final.

And he will.

No one touches you. Not ever.

***

Max moves through the dimly lit warehouse with the kind of purpose that turns heads and commands silence. Every step is deliberate, every movement calculated. His men line the walls, standing in the shadows like sentinels, but none of them speak. Not when Max is like this. Not when the air is thick with the unspoken threat that something bad is about to happen.

Charles walks beside him, his face set in hard lines, his shoulders tight with barely restrained fury. The kind of fury only family could ignite. The kind that burns hotter and longer than anything else.

At the center of the room, tied to a steel chair, is Professor Turnier.

He’s already bruised, his face swollen from the initial “conversation” Max’s men had with him. But this? This is different. Max and Charles didn’t come here to chat. They came to finish this.

Turnier’s eyes dart nervously between the two men as they approach. His arrogance, his smug self-assurance — it’s gone now, replaced by something desperate and fearful.

“Please … I didn’t know!” Turnier’s voice trembles as he speaks, his words tumbling out too quickly, as if speed could save him. “I didn’t know she was your sister. If I’d known-”

Charles steps forward before Max can, grabbing Turnier by the front of his shirt and yanking him forward, close enough that the professor’s breath hitches in fear. “You think that matters?” Charles hisses, his voice low, lethal. “You think it makes a difference who she is to me?”

Turnier’s lips quiver, his face pale. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean?” Max’s voice cuts in, smooth but ice-cold, his hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored suit as he steps up beside Charles. “You didn’t mean to assault her? Didn’t mean to threaten her future? Didn’t mean to call me, of all people, to finish your dirty work?”

Turnier’s mouth opens, but no words come out. Max watches him with a look of disdain, his lip curling slightly. It’s pathetic, really — this man, who had so much confidence, so much entitlement when he thought he had control, now reduced to a trembling, sniveling mess.

Max tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he studies Turnier. “Do you know what I do to people who ask me to hurt someone I care about?”

Turnier shakes his head frantically, tears already beginning to spill from his eyes. “Please … I didn’t know. I didn’t know who she was. I was wrong, I see that now. Just — just let me go. I’ll leave. I’ll disappear. I won’t come near her ever again. I swear!”

Charles lets out a low, bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He releases his grip on Turnier’s shirt, only to backhand him across the face with such force that the chair tilts. The professor yelps, blood spraying from his split lip as he teeters before slamming back down onto the floor.

“You think it’s that easy?” Charles growls, his hands flexing at his sides, itching for more. “You think you can just walk away after what you did?”

Turnier groans, his head lolling to the side. “I-I made a mistake. I can fix it. I can-”

“No.” Max’s voice is sharp, final. “There’s no fixing this.”

He steps closer, crouching down so he’s at eye level with Turnier, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes boring into the professor’s. Turnier tries to look away, but Max grabs his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “You thought you were untouchable, didn’t you? That no one would question you. That you could do whatever you wanted and get away with it.”

Turnier’s breath comes out in shaky gasps, his eyes wild with fear. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

Max shakes his head slowly, as if he’s disappointed. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about what you can do. It’s about what I’m going to do to you.”

Turnier whimpers, his whole body shaking now, the weight of his impending fate finally settling in.

Max stands, his movements graceful, effortless. He turns to Charles, who is vibrating with rage, his fists clenched, every muscle in his body taut like a coiled spring.

“Charles,” Max says calmly, “what do you think we should take first?”

Turnier’s eyes widen in terror as he realizes what’s coming. He jerks in the chair, trying to free himself from the ropes that bind him, but it’s no use. His voice cracks as he screams, “No, please — no! Don’t!”

Charles steps forward, his eyes gleaming with a cold, focused hatred. “The tongue,” he says, his voice low, almost detached. “He won’t need that anymore.”

Max nods, as if that was exactly the right answer. He moves to the side, and one of his men steps forward, placing a gleaming pair of pliers on the table in front of them. Turnier’s screams grow louder, more desperate, but Max simply gestures to one of the guards.

“Gag him,” he orders.

The guard nods, shoving a rag into Turnier’s mouth to stifle his cries. The professor writhes in his chair, his face contorting with panic, but there’s nowhere to go, no one coming to save him.

Max picks up the pliers, turning them over in his hand, his eyes cold and detached as he tests their weight. He looks at Charles. “Do you want the honors, or should I?”

Charles’ lips twist into a grim smile, and he steps forward, taking the pliers from Max without hesitation. “I’ve got it.”

Turnier’s muffled screams are nothing more than background noise now, a pathetic, meaningless sound that neither man pays much attention to. Charles leans down, grabbing Turnier by the jaw and forcing his mouth open, the gag now drenched with the professor’s tears and saliva. He positions the pliers inside the professor’s mouth, gripping his tongue with merciless precision.

Turnier’s eyes roll back in his head, his body jerking violently against the ropes. Charles pauses, glancing over at Max, who watches with a cool, detached expression.

“Do it,” Max says, his voice calm.

And Charles does. The sound of the tongue being ripped from Turnier’s mouth is wet, violent, and final. Blood gushes from the professor’s mouth as he slumps forward, his body sagging in the chair as he groans in pain, the gag doing little to mask the wet, gurgling sounds of his suffering.

Charles tosses the bloodied piece of flesh to the floor, wiping his hands on a handkerchief one of Max’s men offers him. He looks down at the professor, disgust evident in his eyes.

“Not so smug now, are you?” Charles mutters, stepping back as Max approaches again.

Max crouches down, staring at Turnier, who can barely keep his head up. “We’re not done,” Max says softly, his voice chilling in its softness. “You hurt her. You wanted to destroy her life, her future. Now we’re going to make sure you never hurt anyone again.”

He motions to the guard once more. “Strip him.”

The men don’t hesitate. They move quickly, cutting away Turnier’s clothes until he’s bare, his body trembling in the cold air of the warehouse. Max nods to Charles, who steps forward, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He picks up a blade this time — small, sharp, efficient.

Without a word, Charles steps forward and swings the knife with brutal precision. The scream that comes from Turnier’s throat — guttural, primal, filled with the pain of someone who knows they will never be whole again — echoes through the empty warehouse.

Max watches impassively as the professor collapses in on himself, blood pooling beneath the chair, his sobs now nothing more than broken gasps. He kneels again, leaning in close, his face calm, his voice quiet.

“If you ever thought you were untouchable, I hope tonight has taught you otherwise. You will never speak again. You will never harm another woman again. You will spend the rest of your life as a reminder of what happens when you cross someone who’s mine.”

Max stands up, looking at Charles. “Make sure he’s cleaned up. Dump him where someone will find him. Let him explain to the world what happened without his tongue.”

Charles nods, his chest still heaving with anger, but he knows it’s over. Turnier’s life is ruined. He’ll live, but barely. And the fear will stay with him forever.

Max takes one last look at the professor, broken and bleeding, before turning to leave. His voice, cold and resolute, echoes in the warehouse as he walks away.

“No one touches her. Ever.”

***

The next day, you walk into the lecture hall with your usual sense of dread. Every step feels heavier than the last, the weight of what happened with Professor Turnier pressing down on you like a lead blanket. Even though Charles assured you everything was handled, you can’t stop the anxious thrum of nerves coursing through you. What if Turnier follows through with his threat? What if he finds some way to make your life hell without you even knowing it? The thoughts circle in your mind like vultures as you make your way to your seat.

The room is already buzzing with the usual chatter of students. You sit down next to Camille, who shoots you a quick smile before returning to scrolling through her phone.

"Are you okay?” She asks absently, still distracted by whatever is on her screen.

You nod, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah, just tired.”

Camille glances at you, her brow furrowing slightly, but she doesn't press it. "Same. This class is killing me. I swear if I have to sit through another one of Turnier’s mind-numbing lectures, I might actually pass out.”

The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. The thought of seeing him, of facing him after what happened, makes your stomach twist. You wonder if he’ll look at you, if he’ll acknowledge anything at all — or if he’ll act like nothing happened. The idea makes your skin crawl.

More students trickle in, filling the room, the noise level rising with laughter and chatter. You find yourself scanning the doorway, bracing yourself for the moment when Turnier walks in with that smug expression, as if he still holds all the power. Your heart hammers in your chest, fingers gripping the edge of your notebook a little too tightly.

But the door swings open, and instead of Turnier, someone else walks in.

There’s an immediate hush that falls over the room, the shift so sudden it feels like the air has been sucked out of the space. The new professor strides in confidently, carrying a few books under one arm and glancing briefly at the rows of students. He looks like he belongs in an entirely different world — a man in his mid-40s, tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. He wears a tailored suit, but his demeanor is far more relaxed than Turnier’s ever was.

He sets his things down on the desk at the front of the room, and for a moment, no one says a word. Everyone seems to be waiting for some kind of explanation, the tension palpable as the professor faces the class.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says, his voice calm, clear, and authoritative. “I’m Professor Mathieu, and I’ll be taking over for the remainder of the semester.”

You feel the shift in the room as everyone processes what he’s just said. Whispers immediately break out among the students, confused murmurs of “What happened to Turnier?” and “Did anyone know about this?” ripple through the lecture hall. Your heart skips a beat, and you sit up straighter, shock momentarily pushing the anxiety aside.

Camille leans in toward you, her voice a hushed whisper. “Did you hear that? What do you think happened to Turnier?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “No idea,” you say quietly, hoping the tremor in your voice isn’t noticeable.

At the front of the room, Professor Mathieu doesn’t seem fazed by the murmurings. He taps his hand on the desk lightly, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“I understand you all have questions,” he says, his tone not unkind, “but I’ve been asked to inform you that Professor Turnier is no longer available. As far as the specifics of his departure, that’s not something I can discuss. What I can tell you is that I’ll be taking over for the rest of the semester, and I expect we’ll all be able to adjust without any issues.”

You can feel the tension in the room crackle like static. Some students exchange glances, but no one dares ask any more questions. You, on the other hand, are frozen in your seat. No longer available. The words echo in your head like a distant bell, sending a surge of relief and confusion through you.

Camille nudges you, leaning in closer. “Do you think he got fired?” She whispers.

You shrug, keeping your voice low. “Maybe. I mean, it’s weird that we didn’t hear anything about it.”

“Super weird,” she agrees, still watching the new professor with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “I wonder what he did.”

The same question nags at you, but for an entirely different reason. You think of Charles, his words from last night still fresh in your mind: I’ll take care of it. He won’t hurt you ever again. You wonder what exactly he meant by that. Clearly, Turnier isn’t coming back, but what happened to him?

Professor Mathieu opens a folder on the desk and begins to speak, pulling your attention back to the front of the room. “Now, as I said, we’ll be continuing with the curriculum as planned, but I’ll be implementing some changes to the structure of the course. We’ll focus less on rigid theory and more on practical application, which I believe will be more engaging for all of you.”

The shift in focus seems to settle the room slightly. The murmurs die down as he moves into his lecture, his voice smooth and confident. But even as the class starts, you can’t shake the feeling of something monumental having shifted.

You’re barely paying attention as Professor Mathieu drones on about diplomatic history and the complexities of statecraft. Your mind is somewhere else, replaying the events of last night, the relief you felt when Charles held you close and promised to make things right. You glance at the students around you. They have no idea, no inkling of what almost happened. What could have happened.

Suddenly, you feel Camille nudge your arm. You blink and realize you’ve zoned out completely.

“Are you okay?” Camille whispers, her voice laced with concern. “You look … spaced out.”

You offer her a small smile, though you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.”

Camille studies you for a second, clearly not convinced, but she drops it. “Well, this is going to be an interesting semester,” she says, her voice light, but there’s an edge to it. “I mean, Turnier just disappearing like that? Something’s gotta be up.”

You glance over at her, trying to play it cool. “Maybe he retired early or something.”

“Yeah, but no one knew? No announcement, nothing? Feels sketchy.”

You don’t respond, just nodding along as you turn your attention back to the new professor, who’s already deep into his lecture. But as the minutes tick by, you can’t help the growing sense of unease in your chest. There’s relief, sure — Turnier’s gone. But the fact that it happened so suddenly, so completely, leaves you with more questions than answers. What did Charles and Max do?

Camille shifts beside you, flipping through her notes and scribbling things down. “At least the new guy seems decent,” she mutters. “Way better than Turnier.”

You nod, though your mind is elsewhere. You can barely focus on the lecture, your thoughts spinning like a whirlpool. Is Turnier really gone for good? Did Charles and Max … do something more than just get him fired? You remember Max’s cold eyes, the way he’d told you once, in passing, that he’d do anything for family. That no one crossed him or those he cared about without consequences.

What kind of consequences?

Your phone buzzes in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts. You glance down discreetly and see a message from Charles.

Everything’s taken care of. You’re safe.

You stare at the words for a long moment, a chill running down your spine. Safe. The word should make you feel better, but somehow, it only deepens the mystery.

You glance around the lecture hall again. Everyone else is oblivious, focused on their notes, their laptops, their whispering conversations about the sudden change in professors. But you know something they don’t. You know that the world you live in is a lot more dangerous than they realize.

***

When you step out of the building, the afternoon sun blinding for a second, you blink to adjust. Students mill around the campus courtyard, some gathered in groups, others rushing to their next class. You fish your car keys out of your bag, already mentally going over what you’ll make for dinner tonight, but as you approach the edge of the steps, you stop dead in your tracks.

Max is there.

Leaning casually against the sleek, charcoal body of his Aston Martin Valkyrie, arms crossed, aviators shielding his eyes. The car is a thing of beauty — sleek lines and aggressive angles, a car that demands attention. And it’s getting it. You can feel the stares from all around. Students have slowed their pace, eyes darting between Max and you. Whispers start spreading through the crowd like wildfire, curious and speculative.

You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your pulse picks up. It’s not unusual for Max to turn heads, but seeing him here, on campus, waiting for you, feels like something else entirely. He’s never been the type to drop by unannounced — especially not in a setting like this.

You step down from the stairs, feeling like every pair of eyes is following you, but your focus is on Max. His casual confidence is unnerving, but then again, it always has been. There’s something about the way he carries himself, like he’s always in control, that makes it hard to breathe around him sometimes.

“Max?” You call out, a mix of confusion and concern in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

He pushes off the car and takes off his sunglasses, revealing those sharp, blue eyes of his, which are locked entirely on you. He walks toward you with a swagger that’s impossible to miss, as if he owns every inch of space he moves through.

“I’m here to pick you up,” he says smoothly, voice low but with a hint of amusement.

You look over your shoulder, towards the student parking lot. “But I drove here,” you protest, feeling a little ridiculous saying it aloud. You motion vaguely in the direction of your car. “I’m fine. I can-”

Max cuts you off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll have someone pick it up and drive it back to your place. You’re coming with me.”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the dozens of gazes on you. Max doesn’t seem to care about the attention at all, which isn’t surprising. He’s used to it. But the thought of climbing into his car, with what feels like half the campus watching, sends a jolt of nervous energy through you.

“Max, I-” you start, but he opens the passenger door with a casual, almost commanding gesture.

“Get in,” he says, his tone leaving little room for argument.

You glance around, noticing some of your classmates openly gawking at the scene. You feel a flush creep up your neck, but there’s no way out of this without causing even more of a spectacle. With a sigh, you lower your head slightly and step forward, sliding into the seat of the Valkyrie. The leather is cool against your skin, the interior smelling of something clean and faintly masculine. Max shuts the door behind you and walks around to the driver’s side, slipping in with fluid grace.

As soon as the door closes, the low hum of the engine fills the air, and Max glances over at you. “Seatbelt,” he says quietly, waiting until you click it in place before pulling away from the curb.

You can’t bring yourself to look out the window as the car glides through campus. You know everyone’s watching. You can almost feel the collective curiosity, the questions that will follow this moment — why is Max picking you up? What’s your relationship? The ride is smooth, the low rumble of the engine making it feel like you’re floating. Max doesn’t speak, and neither do you, but the silence is charged with something unsaid, heavy in the space between you.

It’s not until you’re out of campus, away from the prying eyes, that you risk a glance at him. His jaw is set, eyes focused on the road ahead, his hands relaxed on the wheel. There’s something about the way he drives — calm, controlled, like he’s in command of everything around him.

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of how to ask the question that’s been gnawing at you since this morning. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you break the silence, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Did you … did you and Charles have anything to do with Turnier being replaced?”

Max doesn’t answer right away. His fingers flex on the steering wheel, his gaze still straight ahead, but there’s a flicker of something dark in his eyes, something cold and calculating. For a moment, you think he might brush off the question, but then he exhales through his nose, a short, humorless sound.

“We took care of it,” he says, his voice firm, unflinching. There’s a note of pride in it, too, a quiet sort of satisfaction.

You feel a shiver run down your spine. “What … what did you do?” You ask, even though you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Max glances at you, his gaze steady, unyielding. “Turnier won’t be taking advantage of anyone else. Ever again.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. You stare at him, trying to process what he’s just said. There’s something final in his tone, something that makes your chest tighten with a mixture of relief and dread.

You swallow hard, turning your gaze back to the road. The tension in the car is palpable now, thick and unspoken. You know better than to push for more details. Max and Charles operate in a world where consequences are swift and absolute. You don’t need to ask what they did to Turnier. The important thing is that he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.

But the weight of that realization — of what Max and Charles might have done — sits heavily in your stomach. You glance at Max again, trying to find something in his expression that might offer more reassurance, but his face is unreadable.

“So that’s it?” You ask, your voice small. “It’s over?”

Max nods, a slight tilt of his head. “It’s over.”

You should feel relieved. You should feel grateful. But there’s something unsettling about how easily they made Turnier disappear. About how calmly Max talks about it, like it’s just another business transaction.

The car continues to glide down the road, and for a while, neither of you speaks. You’re lost in your thoughts, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. The reality of it all is sinking in now — Turnier’s gone. He’s not coming back. But at what cost?

You steal another glance at Max, wondering how much he’s willing to do for you. For Charles. For family.

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words barely audible.

Max doesn’t respond immediately. He keeps his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. But then, after a moment, he nods once, almost imperceptibly.

“Anything for you,” he says, his voice low and quiet. But there’s a weight to his words, a promise that hangs between you like a silent vow.

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, the sound of the engine filling the silence. Part of you wants to ask more questions, to understand what exactly Max did. But the other part of you — the part that knows how dangerous his world is — tells you to leave it alone.

So you do. You sit back in your seat, watching the city blur by outside the window, and try to focus on the fact that, for now, you’re safe.

***

Max pulls the Valkyrie into the underground garage of his building, and the moment you step out, the cool air hits your skin, grounding you again. The weight of the day, of everything that’s happened, still presses on your chest. You follow Max through the private elevator, feeling the tension rise the higher you go. When the elevator doors slide open, revealing Max’s penthouse, the warm glow of the lights and the familiar scent of home greet you.

Charles is waiting.

He stands by the window, a drink in hand, but the moment he sees you and Max step in, his expression softens. He strides over, his eyes searching your face, concern etched in every line of his posture.

"How’re you holding up?” Charles asks gently, wrapping you in a brief but firm hug.

You exhale into his embrace, grateful for the comfort. "I’m … better,” you admit, your voice steadier than you expect. But the presence of both men, these two constants in your life, makes everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Charles glances between you and Max as he steps back, something flickering in his eyes. “Good. You’re in safe hands.” The way he says it, like there’s something more behind the words, makes your heart skip a beat.

Max doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, tall and imposing, his gaze fixed on you. You feel the weight of it, the intensity, and it’s making you too aware of everything — the closeness of him, the way his arm brushes against yours as you move toward the dining table, the way your pulse quickens every time he looks at you.

The table is already set — simple but elegant. You all sit, and Charles takes the head of the table, a casual smirk tugging at his lips as Max takes the seat opposite you. The food is rich and fragrant, the kind of meal that should make your mouth water, but you’re finding it hard to focus on anything other than the electricity buzzing in the air between you and Max.

The dinner conversation starts out light. Charles talks about work, a new deal he’s working on, and you try to engage, but your mind keeps drifting back to Max. His presence is impossible to ignore, especially when you feel his eyes on you. Every time you steal a glance at him, he’s already looking at you, like he’s been watching you the whole time.

And he has been watching you.

It’s not subtle, the way Max’s eyes linger on you, the way his gaze softens whenever you speak, like he’s memorizing every word. You try not to read too much into it — this is just Max being Max, right? He’s always been protective, always looked out for you. But tonight … there’s something else in the way he looks at you, something deeper, more intense.

You take a bite of your food, trying to focus on anything other than the heat creeping up your neck. But every time you dare to look back at Max, you catch his gaze, and your heart stutters in your chest. There’s a softness in his eyes, something that makes your breath hitch, and you have to look away before it overwhelms you.

Charles, ever the observer, doesn’t miss a thing. He watches the silent exchange between the two of you for a good part of the meal, his eyes flicking between you and Max like he’s piecing together a puzzle. His lips quirk up in a knowing smile, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

It’s halfway through the meal when the silence stretches a little too long, the weight of the unspoken tension thick in the air. You keep your eyes on your plate, your hand trembling slightly as you reach for your water glass. Max hasn’t said a word in what feels like forever, but his gaze — God, you can feel it like a physical touch.

And then, just when the tension feels unbearable, Charles leans back in his chair, placing his utensils down with an exaggerated clatter, and clears his throat dramatically.

"Alright,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This has been fun and all, but I’ve had enough of watching you two make heart eyes at each other across the table.”

Your fork freezes midway to your mouth. You glance up, eyes wide, and catch Max’s expression — a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his face.

Charles grins, entirely too pleased with himself. "Seriously,” he continues, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "I mean, it’s cute, don’t get me wrong. But how long are you two gonna keep pretending there’s nothing going on here?”

Your face burns, and you open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. You don’t even know what you’d say if you could. Deny it? Laugh it off? You’re not even sure what this is, let alone how to explain it.

Max doesn’t flinch. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, and raises an eyebrow at Charles. "Heart eyes?” He repeats, his tone casual but with a hint of a challenge.

Charles smirks, not backing down. "You heard me. I’ve been sitting here watching you two eye each other like you’re the only people in the room. I swear, it’s exhausting.” He looks at you then, his eyes softening slightly. "And for the record, there’s no one in this world I’d trust more with my sister than you, Max.”

Your heart skips a beat. The weight of Charles’ words sinks in, heavy and full of meaning. Max doesn’t react immediately, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch.

Charles leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his grin widening. "So, why don’t you two put us all out of our misery and just kiss already?”

The room goes still. You can’t breathe. You glance at Max, your heart racing, and for a split second, you think maybe he’ll laugh it off, that this is just Charles being Charles, stirring the pot for his own amusement.

But Max doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t hesitate. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering, and before you can even process what’s happening, he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he moves.

The next thing you know, Max is in front of you, and without a word, without a second of doubt, he reaches across the table, his hands sliding under your arms. He pulls you out of your seat with such ease, like you weigh nothing, and before you can even register it, you’re being tugged across the table toward him.

Your breath hitches, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders as he pulls you closer. His grip is firm but gentle, and his face is just inches from yours now, his eyes dark with something you’ve never quite seen before.

And then, with a slight tilt of his head, Max closes the distance.

His lips press against yours, warm and soft, and the world around you melts away. Everything goes quiet, every sound, every thought, drowned out by the feel of his mouth on yours. It’s a slow, deliberate kiss, like he’s savoring every second, and your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can feel it through your chest.

You can feel his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, and you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you kiss him back. The taste of him, the warmth of his skin — it’s all consuming, overwhelming in the best possible way.

Charles lets out a low whistle from across the room, but you barely register it. All you can think about is Max, the way he’s holding you, the way his lips move against yours like he’s wanted this for a long time.

“Well,” Charles says, breaking the moment with a grin, “about damn time.”

Max’s breath lingers warm against your lips, and for a moment, the world feels suspended — just you and him, the faint hum of the city outside, the quiet flicker of candlelight on the table. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you even closer, and the electricity between you ignites into something undeniable.

You kiss him again, harder this time, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hand slides up your back. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and there’s an intensity in the way he’s holding you, as though he’s been waiting for this moment for years. It’s a slow burn at first, but then something shifts, the heat between you building until you feel like you might explode if you’re not closer, if you can’t feel more of him.

Max responds in kind, his grip on you firm, and his lips more insistent. You forget where you are, lost in the sensation of him — the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body pressed against yours. It’s like nothing else exists, nothing else matters.

But then, from across the table, Charles clears his throat loudly.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and Max’s eyes flash with frustration, as if he’s annoyed at being interrupted. You glance over at Charles, who’s sitting with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in amusement, but his expression is serious.

“Alright, alright,” Charles says, his voice calm but firm, like he’s trying to keep the situation from spiraling. “That’s enough for now.”

Max shoots him a look, clearly not on the same page, but Charles just shakes his head.

“Nope, not happening,” Charles continues, pointing between the two of you. “Nothing — and I mean nothing — gets any further without a ring.”

A heavy silence falls over the room. You blink, trying to process what Charles just said. You and Max are both frozen, still tangled together, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You expect Max to say something — to push back, to laugh it off — but instead, he lets go of your waist and steps back, his jaw tight.

Without a word, Max turns on his heel and walks out of the dining room.

You’re left standing there, stunned, your heart racing for a whole new reason. “What … just happened?” You murmur, looking at Charles for some kind of explanation.

Charles looks just as confused as you feel, his eyes following Max as he leaves the room. “I don’t know,” he admits, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t think he’d-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Max strides back into the room, something small and familiar in his hand. Your eyes widen when you realize it’s a jewelry box. The dark velvet catches the low light, and it’s clear from the way Max holds it that this isn’t a last-minute idea.

He stops in front of you, his expression steady, but there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes — something raw and vulnerable. He meets your gaze, and his voice is low, serious when he speaks.

"Good thing,” Max says, flipping open the box with a flick of his thumb, revealing a dazzling diamond nestled in the center, "I’ve had this since the first time I saw you. Years ago.”

Your heart stops. Literally, you can feel it stutter in your chest as the words sink in.

“What?” The word escapes your lips in a whisper, your gaze darting from the ring to Max’s face, trying to understand if this is real, if you’re not imagining the whole thing.

Max holds your gaze, his eyes unwavering. “I knew,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I knew from the first moment I met you, there was no one else. You were it for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t think. You can’t speak. The room feels smaller, quieter, like the entire world has narrowed down to just this — the man standing in front of you, the ring in his hand, the weight of what he’s saying.

Charles, who had been watching the whole scene with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, now leans back in his chair, crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Max doesn’t take his eyes off you. “I’ve been waiting,” he admits, his voice soft but certain. “Waiting for the right time. But Charles is right. There’s no point in pretending anymore.”

Your chest tightens. You’ve always known there was something between you and Max, something unspoken, something simmering beneath the surface. But you never expected this — never expected him to have felt it for so long, to have been carrying this weight of certainty with him all this time.

The ring sparkles in the dim light, beautiful and overwhelming, and your mind races, trying to catch up with your heart.

“You’ve had that … since we met?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max nods once, his gaze unwavering. “Since the day Charles introduced us,” he says, his voice low, gravelly. “I knew then. And I’ve kept it, waiting for you to feel the same. I didn’t want to rush you, didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t ready for.”

There’s a pause, the silence between you both filled with a thousand unsaid things.

Charles clears his throat, the amusement in his voice more pronounced now. “So, are we going to do this properly, or what? You’ve got the ring. She’s standing right there.”

You shoot Charles a look, but you can’t help the small, nervous laugh that escapes your lips. “You’re really ruining the moment, you know that?”

Charles shrugs. “Just trying to help.”

Max smirks, and for a brief second, you see the playful edge return to his expression. But then his eyes are back on you, serious, and the weight of what’s happening comes crashing down again.

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his presence filling up the space around you. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” Max murmurs, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “And I’ll keep loving you for the rest of my life. If you’ll have me.”

You blink back the sudden wave of emotion that threatens to spill over. You never imagined that this moment — this moment — would feel so natural, so right.

“I don’t-” you start, your voice catching, but then you take a deep breath and try again. “I don’t know what to say.”

Max’s smile softens, and he takes your hand, pressing the small jewelry box into your palm. “Say yes,” he whispers.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring up at him, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions racing through you. But then you look into his eyes — those dark, steady eyes that have always been there for you, always protective, always his — and the answer is clear.

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out past the lump in your throat. “Yes, Max.”

Max’s face breaks into a smile, something soft and relieved, and before you can say another word, he’s pulling you into his arms, kissing you with a fervor that leaves you breathless all over again.

Charles lets out a low whistle from the other side of the table, his voice laced with humor. “Well, it’s about damn time.”

Max doesn’t pull away this time. He just kisses you deeper, one hand cupping your face, the other pressing the ring box into your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you know it is.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he grins. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

You laugh, your heart soaring, and whisper back, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

Max pulls the car up to the curb in front of the university, his sleek Valkyrie drawing curious stares from students lingering outside the building. You’re still adjusting to the events of the night before — the suddenness of it all, the weight of the engagement ring now resting on your finger. It feels unreal, like you’re caught in some strange but thrilling dream.

He gets out of the car first, walking around to open the door for you. His hand extends toward you, a protective gesture, and you take it without hesitation. The moment you’re standing, Max pulls you into his arms and kisses you, slow and deliberate, as if he’s making sure the entire campus knows that you’re his.

There’s a pause when he pulls away, his hand still resting on your lower back. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around? Make sure no one bothers you?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Max gives you one last look, his brow furrowed slightly with concern, but then he steps back and nods. “Alright. Call me if you need anything.”

With that, you turn toward the building, the weight of his gaze on your back as you walk away. Your heart is still racing from the kiss, and you know you’re about to walk into a storm of questions — your friends haven’t even had time to process everything that happened yesterday.

Sure enough, the second you’re inside the courtyard, you hear voices calling your name. You look up to see a group of your classmates, their eyes wide, jaws practically on the floor. They surround you like a pack of excited reporters, eager to get the scoop.

“Who was that?” Katie asks, her eyes still fixed on the spot where Max’s car had been. “And please don’t tell me that’s the same guy who picked you up yesterday. Because holy shit, girl.”

Peter, arms crossed, steps closer, squinting at you with a mix of amusement and suspicion. “Is that why you’ve been acting weird lately? You’re seeing someone?”

You can’t help but smile, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Uh, yeah,” you say, holding up your left hand to show the ring. “That’s Max … my fiancé.”

The group collectively gasps, the air around you suddenly filled with a flurry of shocked exclamations.

“Fiancé?” Carla nearly shrieks, grabbing your hand to inspect the ring up close. “Excuse me? Fiancé? How the hell did we not know about this?”

Katie, clearly still processing, stares at you with wide eyes. “You mean to tell us you’ve been engaged this whole time and didn’t even mention it?”

You laugh nervously, knowing what’s coming. “No, no, it’s not like that. It’s … it just happened. Yesterday.”

The shocked silence that follows your words is almost comical. They all exchange glances, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said.

“Yesterday?” Peter echoes, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You mean you got engaged yesterday?”

You nod, feeling the pressure of their disbelief. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

“And you’ve been seeing this Max guy for how long exactly?” Carla, her arms crossed, eyes skeptical.

You hesitate, knowing the answer is going to send them into another round of questioning. “Uh … officially? One day.”

The shock hits them all at once. They’re staring at you like you’ve just announced that you’re moving to Mars. The disbelief is palpable, and you can practically hear their minds racing.

“One day?” Katie finally blurts out, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You got engaged after one day of being together? Are you serious right now?”

Carla, clearly concerned, steps forward and lowers her voice, like she’s trying to be gentle. “Y/N, I love you, but … are you sure about this? One day? That’s … I mean, that’s crazy.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of their judgment, but you stand your ground. “Look,” you say firmly, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “I know it sounds insane. But we’ve known each other for years. Max is Charles’ best friend. We’ve been in each other’s lives for so long, and … we’ve loved each other for a long time. We just didn’t make it official until now.”

Your friends exchange glances again, clearly unsure of how to react. They’re still in shock, still processing, but you can tell they’re trying to understand.

“Okay, but …” Peter starts, struggling to find the right words. “How did you go from ‘just friends’ to engaged overnight?”

You laugh, the memory of last night flooding back, and you shrug. “It wasn’t exactly overnight. It’s been building for a while. We’ve both known how we felt, but neither of us acted on it. And then … well, things happened, and we just decided to stop pretending.”

There’s a long pause as your friends take that in, their faces softening a little. You can see the concern in their eyes, but also a flicker of understanding.

“So … you’ve loved him for years,” Katie finally says, slowly nodding. “And he’s loved you for years. But you just made it official now?”

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Exactly. It might seem fast, but we’ve known this was coming for a long time. We just didn’t realize it until now.”

Your friends are quiet for a moment, and then Carla sighs, throwing her hands up in the air. “Okay, fine. I still think it’s crazy, but … if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

Peter chimes in, smiling a little. “I mean, the ring is gorgeous. And that car? Damn.”

There’s a ripple of laughter through the group, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. They’re not completely on board yet, but they’re starting to come around.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Katie teases, nudging you playfully. “If you’re moving this fast, I’m assuming it’s next week?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “We haven’t even talked about that yet. It’s still sinking in for both of us.”

Carla grins. “Well, I guess we’ll have to start dress shopping soon. It’s probably going to be some extravagant, over-the-top wedding.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought, your heart fluttering. “I don’t know about that. But … yeah, maybe.”

They laugh again, and you can feel the tension easing. The questions aren’t completely gone, but they’re starting to trust that you know what you’re doing. They’re your friends, after all — they want you to be happy, even if they don’t fully understand how this all happened so fast.

As you start walking toward the lecture hall together, Peter loops his arm through yours. “Alright, tell us everything. How did he propose? And how did we not know you were in love with him this whole time?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s a long story …”

“Well, we’ve got time,” Katie says with a grin. “You can fill us in after class. We need details.”

As you all head inside, you glance down at the ring on your finger, the weight of it feeling more natural with every passing minute. It’s strange how quickly everything has changed, but it also feels like it’s been a long time coming. Like this was always where you were meant to end up — with Max, with the man who’s loved you from the start.

And no matter what anyone else thinks, you know in your heart that this is right. You and Max may have only made things official yesterday, but the love between you has been there all along, quietly waiting for the right moment to bloom.

Now, it’s finally your time.

***

Class lets out early today. You’re grateful for the extra time, but it’s a bit inconvenient — Max isn’t supposed to pick you up for another half hour. Standing outside the lecture hall, you scan the sea of students milling around, watching them scatter toward their cars or the nearby café.

You check your phone. No messages. It’s still too early for Max to be on his way, so you settle on waiting near the steps, trying to enjoy the sun and the slight breeze. You absentmindedly twist the engagement ring around your finger, the cool metal grounding you. The past few days have been a whirlwind, and every time you look at that ring, it still feels surreal. But it also feels like everything is finally falling into place. You belong with Max. You always have.

"Hey.”

The voice cuts through your thoughts. You glance up, blinking in surprise as you see a guy from your class approaching. You recognize him vaguely — one of those people who sits in the back, never really participating in the discussions. You’re pretty sure you’ve never spoken to him before, but now here he is, leaning against the wall near you with a smirk that makes your skin crawl.

“Hi,” you say politely, not wanting to be rude but also not particularly interested in starting a conversation.

He doesn’t take the hint. “I’ve seen you around,” he says, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You don’t usually hang out here after class. Waiting for someone?”

Your instincts tell you to keep this short. “Yeah, my fiancé. He’s picking me up soon.”

The word fiancé doesn’t seem to deter him. In fact, it seems to spur him on. His eyes flick down to your hand, where the ring gleams in the sunlight, and then back up to your face with a cocky smirk.

“Fiancé, huh?” He steps a little closer, his voice lowering as if trying to be conspiratorial. “That sounds serious. But, I mean, you don’t really seem the settling down type. You sure you wanna tie yourself down so soon?”

You stiffen. “I’m sure,” you reply firmly, shifting your weight and turning your body slightly away from him, hoping he’ll get the message and leave you alone.

But he doesn’t. “Come on, we’ve never really talked, but I’ve seen you around. You’re smart, cool … definitely too interesting to be someone’s fiancée already.” He flashes you what he probably thinks is a charming smile. “What’s the rush?”

You swallow, trying to keep your cool. “There’s no rush. I’m happy. I’m with someone I love, and we’ve been together for a long time.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s not a lie either. It’s not something this guy needs to know, anyway.

Instead of backing off, he leans in closer, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Maybe you don’t know what you’re missing. Just saying, you and I could have some fun.”

You take a step back, feeling your pulse quicken. “I said, I’m in a relationship.”

He shrugs, as if your words are meaningless. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time. What’s the harm in a little flirtation? It’s not like he’d know.”

Your patience snaps. “I’m not interested,” you say more forcefully, taking another step back. “Please leave me alone.”

The guy laughs softly, shaking his head. “Wow, playing hard to get, huh? I get it. You’re probably bored with this fiancé of yours, right? Guys like that, they don’t know how to keep things interesting.”

Before you can respond, you hear the familiar roar of an engine. Relief floods through you as you spot Max’s Valkyrie pulling up to the curb. The second the car comes to a stop, the door swings open, and Max steps out, his eyes immediately locking on you — and the guy standing too close for comfort.

Max takes in the scene in an instant. His entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, shifting from calm to deadly. His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stalks toward the two of you with purpose.

The guy is oblivious at first, too caught up in his own attempt at charm to notice the approaching storm. “Come on, sweetheart,” he’s saying, his hand moving slightly toward your arm. “Just give me a chance.”

That’s when Max arrives.

Before the guy’s hand can even brush your sleeve, Max grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him backward with enough force to make him stumble. The guy lets out a startled yelp, spinning around to face Max, his expression morphing from confusion to fear the moment he realizes who he’s dealing with.

“Hey, man, I was just-” the guy starts, but Max cuts him off with a low, menacing growl.

“She’s not interested,” Max says, his voice deadly calm. His hand is still gripping the guy’s shoulder, but it looks like he could crush him with that one hand alone. “And you’re going to walk away. Now.”

The guy’s eyes dart between you and Max, clearly weighing his options. He starts to stammer, trying to salvage his bravado. “I-I didn’t mean anything by it, man. Just talking …”

Max’s grip tightens, his knuckles turning white. “You think you can talk to her like that? Disrespect her?” He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper that’s somehow even more terrifying. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

The guy’s bravado crumbles completely. His face pales, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ll go. Jesus …”

Max releases him with a shove, sending the guy stumbling backward. He doesn’t wait around to see what happens next — he turns and practically sprints away, disappearing into the crowd of students.

For a moment, there’s silence. Max watches the guy retreat, his chest heaving with barely restrained fury. Then he turns to you, his expression softening immediately.

“You okay?” His voice is gentle now, a stark contrast to the cold fury he’d just displayed.

You nod, still a little shaken but grateful. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Max steps closer, cupping your face in his hands and scanning your expression for any sign of distress. “If he touched you — if he so much as breathed on you wrong-”

“He didn’t,” you assure him, placing your hands over his. “You got here just in time.”

Max’s eyes flicker with something dark, a protective fire that hasn’t fully extinguished. “Good,” he mutters, pulling you into his arms. He holds you tightly for a moment, as if he needs to reassure himself that you’re safe. “I don’t like anyone looking at you like that.”

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I don’t like it either. But it’s okay now. You’re here.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’m always here. And I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “I know.”

He kisses you then, right there in front of the university, his lips capturing yours in a slow, possessive kiss that tells everyone watching exactly who you belong to. When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’ll make sure no one ever bothers you again,” Max murmurs, his voice low but fierce.

You smile up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

With one last glance around to make sure the guy is well and truly gone, Max leads you to the car. He opens the door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of security. Max is always in control, always one step ahead. And you trust him completely.

As Max pulls away from the curb, his hand finds yours, resting between the two of you. You don’t need to say anything — the silence between you is comfortable, filled with the unspoken promise that no matter what happens, you’ll face it together.

***

After dinner, the soft clatter of cutlery fades into the background as you start clearing the plates. The dim light from the chandelier casts a golden glow over the dining room, making the atmosphere feel intimate, heavy with something unspoken. Max leans back in his chair, watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You stack the plates, trying to focus on the mundane task, but you can feel his eyes on you, tracking every movement. Your breath hitches slightly as you turn toward him, plates in hand, and smile nervously.

"Do you want dessert?” You ask, your voice light, though your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

Max’s gaze darkens, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smile that sends shivers down your spine. “The only dessert I want,” he says, voice low and gravelly, “is right in front of me.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as his meaning sinks in. You freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, the way his eyes travel down your body like he’s already undressing you in his mind. Your hands tremble as you put the plates back down on the table, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

He doesn’t move from his seat, but there’s a tension in the air, pulling you toward him as if he’s some magnetic force you can’t resist. “Come here,” he says softly, but it’s not a request. It’s a command.

You hesitate for a second, unsure if you can even make your legs move, but then your feet carry you around the table, closer to him. By the time you’re standing in front of Max, your knees feel weak. His eyes stay locked on yours, full of heat and possession.

When you’re within reach, Max takes your hand, pulling you gently toward him. You end up standing between his legs, feeling the heat of his body seep through his clothes, and all at once, your breath catches. His hand slides up the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate, sending a thrill of anticipation shooting through you.

Max’s other hand rests on your waist, tugging you closer until you’re pressed against him. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your stomach through your dress, “I’ve been patient with you. So, so patient.”

Your hands find his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself. “Max …”

He looks up at you, his eyes half-lidded but full of that same intensity. "Tell me something,” he says, his tone suddenly shifting, darker, more dangerous. “Has anyone else ever touched you?”

You blink, taken aback by the question. You feel your face heat up again, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “What?” You stammer, barely able to string two words together under the weight of his gaze.

Max’s hand tightens slightly on your thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that send jolts of electricity through you. “I asked,” he says softly but firmly, “if another man has ever touched you.”

The meaning of his question slams into you, and your throat goes dry. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest. You try to find your voice, but it comes out barely above a whisper. “No … no one.”

A satisfied smile spreads across Max’s face as he tugs you even closer, his hands sliding up your waist. His voice is a low, rumbling growl. “Good. Because if they had, I would’ve tracked down every single one of them.” He pauses, eyes gleaming with dark intent. “And made sure they didn’t have hands to touch anyone with again.”

Your breath catches at the promise in his voice, a possessive edge that sends a delicious shiver down your spine. You know Max means every word. There’s no doubt in your mind that if anyone had dared to cross that line, he would’ve hunted them down, one by one. His protection is absolute, as is his desire.

You shake your head, barely able to focus on anything but the way his hands feel on your skin, the way his words wrap around you like a cocoon. “No one’s ever touched me like that,” you whisper again, more firmly this time. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Max’s eyes darken further, his grip tightening on your hips. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on his lap, straddling him, your dress bunching up around your thighs. His hands settle on your waist, holding you in place. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. “Because you’re mine.”

The words send a thrill straight through you, and you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly. Your body reacts to his touch, to the way his hands move with deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring every second. His lips trail up your throat, pressing kisses that make your head spin.

You close your eyes, your breathing ragged as you let yourself sink into the moment, into him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans softly in response, his grip on you tightening.

“Max …” you whisper, barely able to form coherent thoughts with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s making you feel.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes blazing with desire and something deeper — something that makes your heart pound harder in your chest. “You’re mine,” he says again, his voice low and commanding. “And no one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever have you.”

You nod, breathless, and he smirks, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

Before you can react, Max leans in and captures your mouth in a searing kiss, his hands roaming over your body as if he can’t get enough. The kiss is heated, intense, filled with all the pent-up emotion that’s been building between the two of you since that first moment you laid eyes on each other.

His hands slide down your back, pulling you impossibly closer as his mouth moves against yours with urgency. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, and you can’t help but respond to him, your hands gripping his shirt tightly as if you’re afraid to let go.

The world outside fades away. There’s only Max — his touch, his kiss, his possessiveness, and the way he makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe.

He pulls back, breathless but grinning like he’s won a prize, “No one will ever doubt that again.”

Max’s lips hover over yours, his breath warm and steady, igniting something deep within. He shifts you slightly in his lap, adjusting his hold, and then, with deliberate slowness, his mouth trails down, leaving a scorching path along your jawline and down your neck. His movements are unhurried, savoring every inch of skin like he has all the time in the world.

You can feel your pulse pounding under his lips as he kisses lower, the anticipation building with every second. Max pauses, his mouth just inches from the neckline of your dress, his hands firm on your waist. His eyes flick up to meet yours, a dark, hungry glint in them.

“Mine,” he murmurs softly, the single word vibrating against your skin. Then, without warning, his teeth graze lightly over the delicate fabric of your dress, right where your hardened nipple is pressing through. The sensation is startling, electric — enough to make you gasp and arch involuntarily.

A low, approving sound rumbles from Max’s chest as he lightly takes the hardened bud between his teeth, through the fabric, teasing and testing. His gaze stays locked on yours, watching every reaction, every twitch of your body. He’s not just touching you — he’s learning you, reading you, knowing exactly what makes you shiver and tremble beneath his hands.

You bite your lip, a soft moan slipping out despite your best efforts to hold it back. Your fingers clutch the back of his neck, tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Max hums in satisfaction, his tongue flicking out briefly to wet the fabric, making it cling to your skin. The sensation is maddening, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless.

“Tell me,” he murmurs against you, his voice rough and low, “how long have you wanted this?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, his mouth closing over your covered nipple once more, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Tell me how long you’ve been dreaming of me doing this to you, touching you like this.”

You swallow hard, trying to think past the haze of desire clouding your thoughts. “Max, I-” Words are impossible when he’s touching you like this, when his lips are doing things to your body that make your thoughts scatter in every direction.

He growls softly, releasing your nipple with a final, gentle tug of his teeth that makes your whole body jolt. “Answer me,” he demands, his hands slipping under your dress, pushing it higher until the cool air of the room brushes against your bare thighs. “How long?”

The urgency in his voice, the possessiveness — it’s overwhelming. Your breathing comes in shallow pants as you try to form a coherent thought, try to answer him. “Since … since the first day we met,” you finally manage to whisper, your voice trembling with need.

Max’s hands pause on your thighs, his grip tightening. His eyes blaze with something fierce, something primal. “The first day?” He repeats, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, as if he’s savoring the admission. “You mean to tell me you’ve wanted me like this-” his hands slide up, pushing the hem of your dress higher, exposing more of your skin “-for years?”

You nod, helpless under his gaze, under his touch. “Yes … always …”

A dark, satisfied smile curls his lips. “And I’ve waited,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his fingers tracing the curve of your inner thigh, “all this time. Waiting for the right moment to make you mine. To claim you.” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “No more waiting.”

You shiver at the intensity of his words, the promise in them. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty — only the overwhelming certainty that he’s going to take you, claim you, in every way he’s ever dreamed.

Max’s hand slides higher, skimming the edge of your underwear. His touch is featherlight, teasing, and you can’t help the way your hips tilt toward him, seeking more. He lets out a low chuckle, his fingers dancing along the lace edge but never quite dipping beneath it.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “So perfect.” His thumb presses down lightly, just enough to make you gasp. “All mine.”

You bite your lip, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “Max, please-”

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his expression serious, almost reverent. “No one else gets to touch you like this,” he says, his voice firm and steady, as if making a vow. “No one else ever will.”

You nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “No one else, Max. Only you.”

His eyes darken further, and then he’s moving, shifting your position on his lap until you’re leaning back against the table, his body hovering over yours. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s fierce, almost punishing, as if he’s pouring all the years of pent-up desire and frustration into that one kiss.

His hands move with a single-minded determination, sliding your dress up and over your hips, exposing the thin scrap of lace beneath. Max pauses, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, laid out before him like some offering, and something feral flashes in his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, his hand sliding up your thigh, fingers brushing against the lace. “All mine.”

You whimper softly, your body arching toward his touch, and he growls softly in response, his fingers pressing more firmly against you.

“And no one else has ever touched here,” he says softly, almost like a question, his fingers teasing along the edge of your underwear.

You shake your head frantically, your eyes locked on his. “No, Max. Only you.”

The satisfaction in his expression is almost palpable, his chest heaving with barely restrained control. “Good,” he murmurs, his hand slipping under the lace, fingers finding your slick heat. He groans softly, his head dropping to your shoulder. “So wet for me. Just for me.”

You moan softly, your hands tangling in his hair as his fingers slide deeper, finding that sensitive spot that makes your whole body shudder. He watches you, his eyes never leaving your face, as if memorizing every reaction, every gasp, every moan.

Max stills, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. His chest heaves with every labored breath, and his pupils are blown wide with desire. But underneath all that raw hunger, there’s something deeper, something softer. A question. A pause.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, his voice rough and low, almost strained. His fingers brush lightly over your cheek, a gentle contrast to the way his body is pressed against yours. “Tell me now if you want me to stop.”

You meet his gaze, seeing the war within him — the need to take what’s his battling against the desire to protect you, to make sure this is what you want too. The vulnerability in his eyes, the way his thumb caresses your cheek, makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

“I want this,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the trembling of your body. “I want you.”

Something shifts in his gaze — any lingering uncertainty melts away, replaced by pure, unadulterated determination. He swallows hard, his jaw clenching. “I need you to understand,” he says softly, his voice almost guttural, “that once I have you — once I’m inside you — there’s no going back. You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

Your breath catches, your heart beating wildly at the weight of his words. “I know,” you murmur, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath. “I want to be yours, Max. Forever.”

That’s all it takes.

Max’s mouth crashes against yours, the kiss bruising and desperate, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of his need, his love, into it. His hands move quickly, tugging the lace of your underwear down your legs and tossing it aside. Then, he’s standing, pulling you up with him.

With a single motion, he sweeps the table clear, dishes and glasses clattering to the floor, forgotten. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the table, your legs spread wide around him. The cool surface of the wood contrasts sharply with the heat of your skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Look at me,” Max commands, his voice low and husky. His hands cup your face, holding you still as his eyes bore into yours. “I need to see your eyes when I make you mine.”

Your breath hitches as he steps between your legs, his hand sliding down to grasp his length. He’s hard and heavy in his palm, the sight of him — so big, so ready — making your heart race even faster. He strokes himself slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, and your body clenches with anticipation.

“Max,” you breathe, your hands reaching out to clutch his shoulders. “Please …”

He lets out a low growl, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady. The broad head of his cock brushes against your entrance, and you can’t help the way your body arches toward him, seeking more.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice a strained whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You shake your head, your nails digging into his skin. “You won’t. I want-”

The words die on your lips as he begins to push inside, the stretch of him almost unbearable. Your breath catches, and Max’s grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might crack.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. He’s barely inside, just the tip, but it feels like too much and not enough all at once. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, liefje.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “No … no, it’s — it’s so good. Keep going, Max, please-”

He exhales sharply, his breath hot against your neck, and then he’s pushing in further, inch by inch, until he’s seated deep inside you. The fullness is overwhelming, the sensation of him stretching you, filling you, sending sparks of pleasure and pain shooting through your body.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but cling to him as he stills, giving you time to adjust. His hands are trembling against your skin, and you realize with a start that he’s holding himself back, fighting to keep control.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice tight with strain. “So fucking perfect. And you’re mine, do you understand? No one else will ever have you like this.”

You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yes, Max. I’m yours — only yours.”

His eyes blaze with something dark and fierce, and then he’s moving, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward again, burying himself deep inside you. The movement is slow, measured, but you can feel the barely restrained power behind it, the way his body is trembling with the effort to go slow.

“Fuck, schatje,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re so tight, squeezing me like that. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You gasp softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your body trembling with every thrust. “Max … please … I-”

He growls softly, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips tightening. “What do you need?” He murmurs, his voice a low, rough whisper. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” you breathe, your body arching into his, seeking more of the pleasure only he can give you. “I need … more …”

Max’s breath catches, and then he’s moving faster, his hips driving into you with a force that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. The table creaks beneath you, but you barely register it, too lost in the feeling of him inside you, filling you completely.

“Is this what you wanted?” He growls, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “To have me fuck you like this, to take you hard and deep?”

You can’t form words, can only moan and nod, your body trembling with every thrust. Max’s hands slide up your back, holding you closer, his pace relentless.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. “So fucking good. I want to keep you like this forever, keep you under me twenty-four-seven. Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

His words send a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, your body tightening around him. “Max-”

He’s panting now, his movements becoming erratic, his control slipping. “I hope you know,” he murmurs, his voice rough and desperate, “that I’m never letting you go now. You’re mine — forever.”

You can’t do anything but cling to him as he takes you, his body driving into yours with a force that leaves you breathless. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter until —

“Max!” You cry out, your body convulsing around him as the orgasm rips through you, shattering you into a thousand pieces.

Max groans, his hips slamming into yours one final time before he stills, his body shuddering with his release. His head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the harsh panting of your breaths, the steady thud of your racing hearts. Max’s hands are still trembling as they slide up to cup your face, his lips brushing softly against yours.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice rough and raw. “I love you so much, schatje.”

You smile softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “I love you too, Max. Forever.”

And as he kisses you, slow and tender, you know that forever with Max is exactly what you want.

[emeritusemeritus]

Girlfriend Wars [Fred Weasley]

(Gif not mine)

Title: Girlfriend Wars

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!reader (established relationship) & George Weasley x Angelina Johnson (established relationship)

Timeline: Non-specified, though I imagined it set after Goblet of Fire.

Summary: Angelina Johnson, girlfriend of George Weasley, struggles telling her boyfriend and his twin brother apart. Reader, girlfriend of Fred, does not. Only a game of blind testing can determine who is better at telling the twins apart.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual acts, though no graphic description or smut is used, established relationships. Pretty much fluff.

As always, I’ve used artistic license to allow access to both dorms, regardless of sex, for the benefit of the story.

There were many things you loved about your boyfriend Fred being an identical twin, especially as you were so close with his slightly younger brother; constant companionship, lifelong friendship, dual protectiveness that couldn't be matched. On the other hand, there were a few things you disliked entirely; the inability to find much alone time and the constant fear of being walked in on (this was more due to them sharing a room and a dorm... but it still counted).

The thing you hated most of all however, was people mistaking your boyfriend for George. And by people, specifically George's girlfriend Angelina. How the hell she couldn't tell her own boyfriend apart from his twin brother baffled you completely.

Fred's reaction to her constantly mistaking her for his brother did however amuse you enough to make up for any grievance you had on the matter.

You were sat in the common room long after classes had finished, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat on one sofa, Ginny and you sat on the other. Fred was talking to Lee and some first years over in the corner, no doubt plotting something or making a deal you didn't want to know about whilst George had ran up to their dorm to fetch something relating to their scheme. You all flickered your eyes over to the sound of the door opening and saw that Angelina, Alicia and Katie had walked in, books in hand, as they made their way into the room.

You followed her diligently with your eyes as she headed straight towards Fred with a smile on her face. Both Lee and Fred had begun walking back over to you, Fred pocketing a few sickles into his trousers with the smug smirk on his lips. As she approached him in the middle of the common room, he briefly looked up at her and without hesitation he bluntly said "nope," and carried on walking back over to your group. She stood dumbfounded for a few moments, shocked at the sudden rejection until Fred dropped down onto the sofa between you and Ginny and threw his arm around you, not even slightly fazed by her. You had to bite your lip not to laugh at Fred's blunt delivery and her following reaction, much like Ginny who had watched the entire thing and was trying to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle the giggles threatening to spill out.

George had walked down the stairs carrying their briefcase only a few moments later and smiled at his girlfriend who stood there with an almighty awkward expression. George absently threw the briefcase over to Fred who luckily caught it before it could hit anyone as George went to go kiss his girlfriend, blissfully unaware of the situation that had just nearly unfolded. Ginny walked off at this point to join Harry and Ron after her brother had called her over, sitting on the floor in front of Hermione as they conversed. Fred threw down the briefcase onto the now vacant seat beside him and shoved the sickles he'd made into the little velvet coin pouch before closing the briefcase.

"How does she get so confused?" You asked out loud, quiet enough so that only Fred could hear. "You don't even look the same."

Fred turned to face you and gave you a look of utter confusion at your statement, declaring that he and his identical twin didn't look the same, "are you joking?"

"No," you laughed, though it was true. You'd spent so much time with both the twins that you were able to tell them apart easily.

The truth was that you'd developed feelings for Fred early on in your friendship and those feelings had caused you to finally tune your ability to tell them apart, never wanting to be caught staring or flirting with the wrong twin. Over time, you had begun to notice all the differences between them that only seemed to be exaggerated as they grew up and now to you, you could hardly see them as identical anymore.

"You look more like Percy," you joked, deadpan in expression. Fred immediately took offence and lunged at you, tickling you into submission as he laughed at your squirming body. Tears threatened to spill at the intensity of the tickles as Fred knew the exact spots to target to make you relent.

"Seriously though, you don't look remotely identical to me," you said after you'd recovered and caught your breath. A familiar, foreboding twinkle suddenly appeared in Fred's eyes, which from experience you knew meant something potentially dangerous was about to happen.

"Oi Georgie!" Fred shouts as he looks over towards his brother who was still stood with Angelina, smiling and whispering cutely to each other. George whips his head round to look at the mischievous brother with a questioning gaze. "I've had an idea." Never a good thing to hear come from Fred Weasley's mouth, you thought.

George made his way over to you both almost immediately, trailing Angelina with him by their interlocked hands. "Sup Freddie?"

"My girl says we don't look identical, I think we should put it to the test," Fred says with his trademark smirk, casting a wicked glance at you as he slings his arm back around your shoulders.

"What do you mean not identical?" George says in bewilderment as he looks at you. You shrug in reply, unfazed and unashamed of your statement. Surely it shouldn't be a surprise to him, you'd been foiling their attempts at switching places many times over the years, never believing them when they actively tried to persuade you that the one wearing the G jumper was George and the alternative when you knew for a fact it was not.

"What do you say? Girlfriend test!" Fred says, pointing between you and Angelina. You cast a glance at Angelina who looked absolutely mortified by the proposition, clearly unsure of her ability to differentiate between to the two. You on the other hand laughed at the suggestion, thinking it could actually be quite fun.

"Yeah wicked!" George laughs, sharing a look at his brother before turning towards his girlfriend and immediately seeing her trepidation, "unless you don't want to." Angelina looks towards you and sees that you are clearly up for the challenge with your smile.

"Uh sure," she says nervously, feigning a smile towards her boyfriend. You turn to Fred and share a knowing glance at each other, knowing she wouldn't have the faintest chance of winning, she could barely tell them apart right next to each other.

"Jordan you're referee," George says, calling over Lee who seemed to unquestioningly fall into line with their plan, just as usual.

It takes all of five minutes to arrive at the boys dorm where you would conduct your little game, away from the prying eyes and ears of the other students. You and Angelina were sat on two wooden chairs in the middle of the messy room, awaiting orders. You were laughing at something Lee said as he prepared notes, taking his role of referee very seriously whereas Angelina was sat quietly with a smug smile on her lips, apparently finding her confidence.

"Right, Angelina you are contestant A, y/n you're contestant B. Winner gets to chose their own prize. Rule number one, no hard feelings whatever happens," Lee says, looking towards all of you as you nod. "Rule two, no inappropriate touching or contact with the other brother's girlfriend." Again, earning a very honest nod, each of you knowing the clear boundaries there. "Rule three, um, I guess that's it really. I'm keeping score, ladies, blindfolds on." He handed out two spare house ties to both you and Angelina and your respective boyfriends began to tie them around your eyes so that you would be completely blindfolded. You could hear George and Angelina struggling with the task, no doubt because of George's stumbling and nerves, catching Angelina's hair in the bind. Fred however, had no issues getting you blindfolded, and had even leaned down into your ear to teasingly whisper, "this is familiar princess", earning him a not so gentle shove to shut him up which he laughs at.

"Okay, girls what number am I holding up?" Lee asks, checking that you couldn't see anything.

"Umm 4?" Angelina replies, taking a wild guess and sounding unsure of herself.

"How do I know? I'm blindfolded you tosspot," you joked, earning a laugh from all three boys in the room but not from the girl beside you. You felt a hand on your shoulder briefly, knowing that it was Fred who had not yet moved away from you, his thumb absently stroking the patch of skin he could touch over your collar.

"Right, round one!" Lee announces. "Starting easy, we're starting with their voices, gentlemen I'd like you to gather around contestant A and say her name out loud," Lee says, falling deeper into a role of gameshow host rather than referee. You feel Fred move away from behind you as the twins shuffle about and approach Angelina.

"Angelina."

"Angelina."

"Umm, the first one?" She asks, unsure of herself.

"Correct!" Lee says and you hear Angelina huff out a relieved breath.

"Contestant B!" You heard a shuffling at the twins moved to stand each side of you.

"Y/n."

"Y/n."

There was no denying that their voices were eerily similar but you had a finely tuned ear and could tell that the slightly breathiness of the first voice was undoubtedly your boyfriend.

"First one was Fred," you said quickly.

"Correct! Okay ladies keep the blindfolds on, next we're doing a touch test. One twin will stand in front of you and you can touch their face to determine if it's your boyfriend or not."

They started with Angelina, one of them stepping closer to crouch down in front of her so that she could try and feel for who it was. A minute passed and she was clearly struggling.

"Um, George?" She says nervously. A moment of silence passes until Lee speaks out, "incorrect that was Fred Weasley! Contestant B!"

You feel one of the twins moving to stand in front of you, crouching down so that you were eye level with each other. You begin to feel around for the face and begin by touching their hair and bringing your right hand down to the right eyebrow, trying to be gentle and not gauge any eyes out in the process. You smirked, feeling the telltale scar that sat on the eyebrow of your boyfriend and ran your finger over his cheek towards his nose to check for the little chicken pox scar. Once you were certain, you slowly ran your fingers down his face towards hip lip and leaned forward with a smirk to capture his lips with yours, knowing exactly who it was. You pulled away, hearing Fred let out a little breath of laughter and you spoke clearly, "Freddie," before leaning in to whisper to him, "hoped it was George." You immediately squealed, feeling him tickle you as a punishment for your teasing as Lee announced your were correct.

"Okay last round, a kiss test," Jordan says. Immediately you and Angelina squark out your complaints but he silences you a moment later, "forehead kiss only." Angelina went first and incorrectly guessed that it was Fred, even though it was actually George who had kissed her.

"Y/n, last chance to take a clean sweep!"

You felt movement in front of you and then felt a pair of lips delicately place a kiss on your forehead. The kiss immediately felt wrong, like there was a shyness to it. You didn't doubt that Fred would try his hardest to try and confuse you by not kissing you in his regular style but this felt entirely different. You could also smell the strong laundry smell that radiated off the Molly crafted, knitted jumper that George was wearing, whereas Fred was still wearing his shirt and jumper, meaning that it could only be one person.

"Georgie gross!" You laughed, attempting to wipe the spot he had kissed, earning a laugh from the boys in the room.

"Contestant B is the winner!" Lee announced as someone reached around to untie your makeshift blindfold, immediately coming face to face with Fred who lunged into a kiss as you both smiled at your victory.

As you pulled apart, you saw that George and Angelina looked slightly awkward with each other and you had to cringe a little at their interaction, feeling a little guilty for them.

"Good game, good game," Lee went around shaking everyone's hand as the room filled with laughter.

"Mate you could always be a game show host if the quidditch commentator thing doesn't work out," you laughed as he lit up and nodded enthusiastically at the prospect.

"So," Fred whispers into your ear, coming to stand behind you as he leans down to rest his head on your shoulder, his arms shaking around your waist. "What will your prize be princess?" His voice is dripping with innuendo as he teases you and you can picture the smirk on his face already as he nuzzles into your hair. "Watching one of your favourite muggle movies, a sugar mouse from honeydukes or something better?"

His mouth comes to nibble at your neck gently, just enough to cause a shiver to run over you as he licks at the mark he's just made. You twist your neck to look up at him, not answering his question directly and grin devilishly as you reply, telling him all that he needed to know, "better put that tongue away Weasley, you'll be needing it later."

Fred openly groans as his head falls on your shoulder at the implication of your words, his arms pulling you in tighter as arousal washes over him, knowing exactly what it did to him. You let out a little chuckle and move to spin around around in his arms to that you're facing each other, both smiling as he pulls you in for a scorching kiss.

"Um, I'm still here you know," Lee says jokingly, earning a quick pillow to the head as Fred breaks the kiss only for a second to reach down and launch the closest pillow at him with impressive precision.

"Point taken, maybe I'll go find George and Angelina," he mumbles, causing you and Fred to pull apart, realising that the other couple had since evacuated.

"I feel kind of bad," you admitted.

"For being able to tell which twin is your boyfriend? Thought that was a basic requirement to be honest," Fred replies, mocking Angelina in a subtle way. You tap his chest at his words, but couldn't deny he was wrong.

"I'm just saying, a few mistakes I can understand, especially from behind or something but she clearly can't even tell in broad daylight," he snickers.

"Maybe it's all a ploy, maybe it's you she actually wants and just uses it as an excuse," you laugh, earning a bark of laughter from Fred.

"Well I am the better looking twin," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Amen," you say, pulling him by the collar for another kiss until you pull away, giving him your most seductive look as you pull him by the hand towards the edge of his bed.

"So... my prize," you say seductively, enjoying seeing the look of shock and excitement quickly pass over his face until the look of arousal washes over his twinkling eyes and a small smirk tugs at his lips.

"Colloportus," Fred says absently, pulling his wand from his pocket and pointing it towards the door, locking it with just a flick of his wrist, allowing you to claim your prize in private.

[zablife]

John + Solomons!sister thoughts:

This chaotic woman babysitting his kids. At this point all of them call her "Aunt y/n" ❤️. The thing is she can't control herself so, she's telling them a story but in the same way Alfie did with her (can you imagine Alfie telling bed stories to his little sister? 🫠) Well, so, she's telling them something like: "then the princess, who was in the fucking castle, was forced to marry this man . He was a cunt! A fucking cunt..."

And in that moment John returns, and he's wtf! 🤷‍♀️. That's not the kind of language to use in front of his kids! But they're so happy listening to her that in the end he let her finish the story 😂. Probably he joins his kids, too.

The Runaway (Partners in Crime AU)

John Shelby x Y/n Solomons 

GIF credit @alicent-targaryen

Read previous part Shots Fired

John sat in pensive silence, hands clasped in his lap as his older brother’s shadow passed over him threateningly. He felt like a child waiting for punishment, but no one could make him feel worse than the condemnation that came from within. His mind had been on your disappearance all day.

“What the fuck were you thinking, John?” Tommy said pacing the floor as he pinched the bridge of his nose harshly.

“I swear it wasn’t my idea, Tom. You know what she’s like,” John protested.

Tommy stopped in front of a chair, fingers curled around the back tightly as he glared at his brother, “Is that what I’m supposed to tell Alfie?”

John looked away in defeat, shoulders hunched. Why did you have to be so bloody stubborn, he wondered, anger bubbling up inside of him. When he’d gone to check on you yesterday, the nurse told him you’d discharged yourself hours earlier. He’d flown into a rage, overturning the bed and table until she handed him a letter between shaking fingertips, begging him to leave.

“Tell me once more,” Tommy insisted.

“Here, read it for yourself,” John answered with a huff. He fished the note from his coat pocket and tossed it across the kitchen table. It was creased and torn at the edges from where he’d already read it many times over, trying to discern meaning from your cryptic words. 

Tommy snatched it up, scanning the hastily scribbled writing and squinting in the dim light at your poor penmanship.

I couldn’t stay here. I have a personal matter to settle, but I’ll see you again in a familiar place when I'm done. I owe you a black eye and two kisses xx

“The fuck’s she on about, eh?” Tommy said, hurling the paper back at his brother. “What place?”

John simply shrugged, too exhausted to speculate.

Tommy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Were you two fucking? If so, you need to tell me now.”

John’s body pitched forward with a burst of laughter. “Oh, fuck off, Tommy!”

Growing irritated Tommy stormed out, calling over his shoulder, “Find Y/n, NOW! Before Alfie finds out about this!”

———————————————

Three weeks later…

“You won’t believe what happens next!” you tease out slowly, watching the little faces gathered around you.

“Does he find the princess?” Clara asked, clutching her teddy bear.

“Yes! But that’s not all! Cheeky bastard leans over for some heavenly bliss,” you said, kissing your hand to demonstrate dramatically.

The children shrieked and squealed before Katie piped up excitedly, “He kissed her?”

You nodded, “I mean…not a proper snog cause she weren’t awake. And, more importantly, girls, he didn’t ask! A lad’s gotta treat you with respect,” you reminded them with a wag of your finger.

“Can we please have another story after this one?” William interrupted, chubby hands pushed together pleadingly.

“You tell stories better than daddy,” Katie proclaimed with a giggle.

Following the sound of his children's laughter, John climbed the stairs quietly. His heart thundered in his chest as he strained to listen for the female voice he knew well. A thousand questions crossed his mind, but the relief he felt quieted them all as he caught a glimpse of you from the hall.

You shifted in the small bed to make yourself more comfortable, adjusting the sling that held your bad arm. “No, this is the last one. I’m cream crackered!” you said, stifling a yawn.

“Why do you talk funny?” Katie asked, her lisp adorably more pronounced.

“Why do you?” you countered defensively.

“I can’t help it, I’m missing my front teeth,” she replied sweetly, opening her mouth wide to reveal a wide gap.

You leaned forward to examine her, pinching her chin between your thumb and forefinger. Nodding thoughtfully you exclaimed, “Oh, right. Got a man down at the bakery who looks like you. He’s called Walter.”

“Is Walter getting new teeth like me?” Katie asked hopefully.

You furrowed your brow and shook your head, “No, I don’t think so.”

John leaned against the door frame watching you with his children. He was somewhat surprised to see this softer side of you, though he always knew you must have one. He watched the corners of your eyes crinkle into a smile as you continued joking with the children and he found himself smiling as well.

“I feel sorry for Walter then,” Katie said, big blue eyes looking up at you sorrowfully.

“No, don’t trouble yourself, love. He’s a right cunt,” you said matter-of-factly. "And a dirty little snitch as it turns out. Do you know what we do to them?"

John leaped forward. “Alright, bedtime!” he announced. “Y/n, can I speak with you?”

You looked up, realizing he was home. “So you finally found me,” you said with a grin. “Did you come for those kisses?” you teased as you rose to greet him, batting your lashes at him playfully. The children whooped in delight, jumping up and down as they watched both of you carefully.

“Bed!” John instructed, pointing for them to lie down. Guiding you out into the hall, he closed the door to their room and when you attempted to walk away from him, he pulled you back to him demanding, “Where the bloody hell have you been?”

“You speak to me like that again and it’ll be a black eye for you, understand?” you warned him.

“Alright, calm down,” he said, relinquishing his grip on your wrist. “I was worried,” he admitted in a quiet voice.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked down at your feet and nodded in understanding. “M sorry. Sabini’s men came looking for me at the hospital. I had to leave.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve taken care of it,” John said lowly.

Your eyes flicked up to his, a sudden spark lighting within you as you shook your head at him. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

John ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Fine, you don’t need me,” he said, pushing past you to take the stairs two at a time.

You followed after him into the kitchen where he was noisily opening cupboards to distract himself from your rejection.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m good at what I do so I don’t need my man to rescue me every time I’m in trouble, John."

“Oh, fuck off, Y/n!” he shouted, spinning around to look at you. "I may not be your man, but I'm still your partner. Why can't you trust me?” he asked, chest rising and falling quickly with his rapid heartbeat. You meant more to him than any woman had since Martha and he couldn’t understand why you insisted on shutting him out.

You stood staring at him, a lump in your throat in place of an explanation. Why were you like this? Was it years of working for Alfie or the fear of admitting you cared about someone? You couldn’t say. You’d never been good with words, but you had to try or this might be the end of your friendship.

“Look, I’m shit at telling people how I feel about them, alright? I learned everything I know about family from Alfie and you know what a numpty he is,” you let out a desperate laugh that fell flat when you saw John’s wide eyes staring back at you. “I couldn’t risk Sabini hurting you too. You’ve got kids to think of!” you said, eyes welling with tears. “I don't have anyone so it wasn't as much of a risk for me. You think I don’t trust you, but I’d fucking die for you, you arsehole.”

John exhaled the breath he’d been holding listening to you and rushed to embrace you, letting you cry into his shoulder. “Hey, you’ve got me. You’ve got all of us," he assured you as he stroked your hair gently. "Promise me you won’t do that again. I couldn’t lose you.”

You nodded against his shoulder, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand as embarrassment washed over you. John loosened his grasp on your shoulders and stepped back to give you space. Digging into his pocket, he bit his lip before offering a handkerchief. Looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye, he attempted to lighten the mood. “If you’re going to come round more often to see the kids, stick to bedtime stories, yeah?”

You hiccuped out a little laugh asking, “No small talk?”

“Not if it’s about Walter,” he joked, looking away with a chuckle. 

You blew your nose into the hanky as you mumbled, “Sleeping Beauty again, I reckon.”

John winced, “I hate that one.”

“Says the man who grabbed the tit of an unconscious woman,” you retorted playfully.

“How many times do I have to apologize for that? I did save your life that night you know!” John said, voice tinged with mild irritation.

A smile slowly began to creep over your face as you brought your hand up to caress his cheek softly, “Thank you, Barney.”

His bright blue eyes searched yours and found a sincerity he'd never seen before. “You’re welcome, alley cat," he whispered into the stillness of the night. His term of affection made you feel warm and comforted and for once you didn't feel like dismissing it with a joke or running away.

Read part 5 Plus One

[leighlew3]

What were the aspects of Supergirl (show in general or character) that resonated with you personally?

First and foremost, Kara herself... as someone with a ton of trauma, who would have every reason to do not so great things or wield her power for evil, yet does good things and channels her energy into trying to help people -- she's amazing. She is someone who feels isolated a lot of the time and struggles with anger issues but ultimately is such a light and a good person and somebody that just wants to do good for the world, even when it's not always appreciated or understood. Even if it means constant self sacrifice.

I relate to pretty much all of that.

I also loved the idea of Supercorp obviously, because it was such an epic tale in how they were so similar but so different and so inherently fated to be side by side. It could've been so successful if canon romantic on the show instead of just baited. Taking the decades-old lore of Super vs Luthor and instead turning into Super & Luthor -- a story of hate turned into a love story -- that's an incredible concept, and so rich and full of so much storytelling potential. Them just being friends is the 'lite' version of turning that lore on its head. But to go even deeper would've been nothing short of revolutionary.

Alas, instead they chose to tarnish the show's legacy and taint the good it DID do elsewhere in LGBTQ representation (because YES a show can have ancillary rep but still queerbait a lead dynamic -- especially when it's bait that existed before any other rep was even introduced on the show) ...by choosing to be one of the worst examples of queerbait in TV history (due to all of the romanic tropes and parallels and teases and lack of denials by TPTB who very clearly wanted people to stay tuned in based on hope for canon endgame since that very first Clois parallel in 2x01). It was also just an absolute waste of creative potential and true travesty that ultimately only hurt the show and cast and fans and everyone involved, whether everyone is ready to admit it or not.

Anyway, I enjoyed the fact that so many of the characters -- from Kara and Lena (these two especially), to Alex, Nia, and Kelly... so many of them came loaded with one form of trauma or another, but they still were ultimately inherently good people, a great example of 'found family', and heroic as heck in the end, no matter how dark it got at times for some. In large part because they had each other. I mean, I wish they all weren't LITERAL superheroes or supernatural by the end because I think the show (amongst numerous other issues) lost sight of their own messaging that "anyone can be a hero even without powers" but -- they really were inherently such good / ripe characters, the women especially (plus Brainy and J'onn).

Sure, they all (again, the women especially) often were sadly let down by superficial or just plain poor writing and overall creative direction a lot of the time, especially in the end -- but at the core, everyone could find something to relate to in at least one character, if not multiple characters, and that's great.

I know much like fans of Dana Scully in the 90s, a LOT of girls/women were inspired to get into STEM over this last decade now because of Katie McGrath's portrayal of Lena Luthor. And even more people related to Lena's trauma as a survivor of lifelong abuse at the hands of her family and especially her unhinged brother. Seeing that someone can slip into darkness as the result of years of sadistic mind games and abuse of all kinds but still come out the other side a hero, empowered, and a good person who helps others and is capable of loving and deserving of being loved? That's beautiful, and Lena offered that to SO many viewers, so it's no wonder she was a top fan favorite second only to the lead herself. And seeing how that impacted people, was so very moving.

Seeing people impacted by Alex's coming out arc in Season 2 was amazing. Having the first trans superhero on TV was amazing. And so on...

Look, there's a lot the show did wrong. In fact, possibly more was done poorly or wrong than well or good, overall, unfortunately. Alas, there were some little sparks of light to be truly appreciated.

But again, for me, I connected most to Kara's story, her strength, her dichotomy, and her indelible sense of HOPE... despite every reason at times to give up. And to the Kara/Lena love story, in all its infinite, incredible, and still mostly untapped potential.

[leonardalphachurch]

this is the main cast of kids:

Theodore Theta Dakota - child of Leonard L. Church and Oliver “North” Dakota [seperated]

Junior Tucker - child of Lavernius Tucker and CB (dead)

Charles Palomo - child of— haha what does that matter? he’s living it up at the tucker’s place he’s fiiiiine

James Biff Jr. - child of Georgina Biff and James Biff (dead), nephew of Mark Temple

these are supporting/characters im less sure of:

Lopez Brown II - child of Sheila Brown and Lopez Brown (i might give them a better last name later lol i just needed a placeholder for now)

Katie Jensen - niece of Dick Simmons (who is the parents? maaaaybe she’s just his way younger sister? why would she have a different last name… actually nonsense question simmons dad definitely walked out on him and he was raised by a step father what am i talking about. theoretically simmons is so trans to me i could have him also just be her father but uh. uhh. simmons is not being pregnant lmao. the idea of church lasting a full pregnancy is already a fuckin stretch here okay. WAIT OKAY. jensen is his half sibling but it’s not with his mother and step dad it’s with his father and step mother. sorry he got a new family he like a better than youuuu. so is his fathers name simmons or jensen……. i don’t know lol)

Antoine Bitters - child of Kaikaina Grif, nephew of Dexter Grif (theoretically i could give grif some random woman that he knocked up but that feels. icky idk why. kai going through on her decision not to get an abortion and grif having to step into help raise sometimes makes sense to me… idk why he has his fathers last name tho. i guess his father is chill and in the picture? i guess he could also be their younger brother. i feel like i can only do that with one of them tho lol)

Eta and Iota Church - child of Carolina Church and York Church [divorced] (those wouldn’t be their final names obviously lol. i think york takes her last name tho)

Matthews - i don’t care about his parents but he’s dating bitters maybe kimball? i guess? or she can be volleyballs mom. actually.

Valerie “Volley” Grey-Kimball - child of Dr. Emily Grey and Vanessa Kimball (why not. let’s go crazy let’s go stupid. i don’t actually have any opinions about this ship i just think she should get cool lesbian moms.)

do doc and donut get children. i don’t think so i think they’re like. the cool gay uncles. caboose also doesn’t have a child but he does have a dog. i guess smith can be his nephew also. he has a lot of sisters

the main four are set in stone and basically but if you’ve got ideas for any other characters or better ideas for the ones i have here i’m all ears

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Philip | Lean On Me | Romantic

Struck by faintness and anxiety, you find comfort with the man you’re secretly sweet on.

Requested by Katie & Nina (merged similar)

The starry sky above is visible through the roof and it casts a gentle ambiance over the dinner table. It is clear that Nathanael has put a lot of love and effort into designing this year’s hut for Sukkot and you observe it with awe as you take slow sips of wine, enjoying the food and atmosphere. Diagonally across from you sits Philip, causing you to be very much aware of your own movements. What has caused this sentiment of bashfulness around the man in question lately has been a mystery as of now.

“We are so lucky to have an architect in our midst.” Mary of Magdala muses next to you, a soft smile over her lips as she takes a few grapes to eat. “I’ve never sat in such an elaborate sukkah.” 

“Me, neither.” you agree with her. “Our father used to build them in our backyard, but it was nothing like this.” 

Across the table, your brother Andrew snorts a laugh at the mention of abba’s tents during the Feast of Tabernacles. Your eyes glitter with amused nostalgia as you look at him. 

“That was something else.” Andrew breathes, smirking behind his cup of wine. “Remember that one time that it collapsed on us in the middle of the night? Simon had the biggest bump on his forehead the day after.” 

You huff a laugh at the memory, Mary smiling at the idea. 

“I have rarely seen abba so guilty before. Or after, for that matter.” you remark.

“What is that about me?” Simon quips, trying to join the conversation halfway through as he swallows a piece of bread. “I heard my name.” 

For a second, you and Andrew look at one another before bursting out into laughter.

“Nothing— Nothing, just that one year during the Feast of Tabernacles, that we were all sleeping in our hut, when one of the posts suddenly gave way and caused that awful—” You point at your forehead as Simon cuts you off.

“—I thought we agreed to not mention that anymore, (Y/n).” he hisses, directing an annoyed frown your way, “Especially not while in company.” 

You show your palms in defence, Andrew snickering at the scene. Simon glares at him before turning back to his previous conversation with Thomas, clearly not in the mood to talk to his younger siblings anymore about the embarrassing moment in question. 

Mary smiles. “That sounds like quite the experience. My mother tried her best in making our Sukkot feasts good memories, but every time we had a celebration, I just realised how much I missed my abba.” You put a hand on her shoulder and softly squeeze. 

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” 

She shrugs and gives a soft hum. “I’m feeling better about it, now. Grief eases overtime, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” you mutter, “But it never fully goes away.” 

For a moment, the part of the table you’re sitting at it silent. You are the first to break said quietness by clearing your throat. “I’m going to get some water. Does anyone want some?” 

“Me, please.” Philip raises his hand. He hadn’t been part of the conversation, but now you are forced to face him head-on. Trying to keep down your shyness, you give him a gentle nod. 

“Anyone else?” you ask with a voice pitched higher than usual, causing you to once again clear your throat. 

The others shake their heads and you wiggle back on the bench to get up.

The moment you arise however, everything tilts on its axis for just a second. Your head suddenly spins as you close your eyes, irritation furrowing your brow together at how you could have forgotten that you shouldn’t stand too quickly—

“—(Y/n), is everything alright?” Mary asks worriedly, looking up at you. You hold up a hand for her to remain seated before using it to balance yourself a little. 

“I’m— I’m fine. I… I’ll be fine.” 

Andrew gives you a concerned one-over. “You look shaky. I— I thought it was under control somehow. How often has this been happening again lately? The dizzy spells? The heart palpitations?” 

“I said I’ll be fine.” you reassure them, “I’ll be right back.” You step over the bench to head outside, walking towards the table where Thaddeus and Little James had displayed all the beverages quite nicely, and grab the jug of fresh water as well as two cups to pour it into. The first cup is filled up easily, but halfway through the second one, you feel your vision suddenly blur a bit, a faint feeling coming over you. 

It causes the cup to spill over, but when you don’t respond to the water pouring all over your hand, you hear Andrew concernedly call out for you somewhere behind you. “(Y/n)!” 

You don’t even hear his footsteps approach you as your blood rushes inside your ears, your heart starting to pump painfully inside your chest. You drop the cup and step away from the table, only barely caught by your brother. “Oh— Easy— Take it slow— Don’t panic— Get—Get Jesus— Get Jesus!” 

Andrew’s panic only fuels your own as you sit in the grass, disoriented with a spinning head. Short of breath, you gently push him away. 

“Andrew, just— Don’t hold on so tight—” 

“Here, let me.” Simon urges, crouching down in front of you in order to get you to look up at him. “Can you hear me, (Y/n)? Hello? Can you stand up? Answer me.” He waves in front of your face and you slap away his hand, trying to focus on your breathing for your breast aches the quicker your heart beats. “Can you try to stand up? See if your legs work?” 

“—Guys.” A voice way calmer suddenly sounds, although it does not belong to Jesus. “Give the poor woman some space, will you?” Philip steps into your peripheral view as you look up, your head spinning so badly that you’re seeing double. A few gasps are heard from the tent and you realise that you’ve likely got an audience. “Don’t gawk,” Philip tells them, “Just stay inside and we will be back whenever she feels better.”

He silently sits down in front of you, not touching, just kindly keeping an eye on you.

“(Y/n), it’s Philip. Try to calm your breathing, alright? In through the nose, out through the mouth. You’re having a dizzy spell again. Don’t say anything, don’t stand up. Just sit here for a while. I’ll continue to speak to you. Try to focus on my voice, okay? Andrew is fetching Jesus for you. I believe He is currently on a walk with His mother.” Philip gives your brother a look, who gets the hint and rushes off, Simon in tow. “He will be here shortly. In the meantime, focus on your breathing. In… Out… In… Out…” 

You can hear him standing up, seeing his feet walk past you as he reaches the table behind you. You move to turn around and face him, but Philip already speaks up. “I’m here, don’t look at me, just keep looking down. I am getting you some water.” He grabs the cup you had originally filled for him and sits down on the ground again, gently bringing it into your hands, making sure to wrap your fingers around it so it sits snugly inside your palms. You try to take steady breaths, slowly sipping from the clay cup. The water is cool and eases your nerves somewhat.

“There you go. Nice and slow.” 

The timbre of his voice is pleasant as you smile gratefully, daring to let your eyes flicker up to meet him sitting in front of you. He gently smiles, patiently waiting for you to gather yourself, not rushing you in the slightest. Your breathing calms slowly but surely as you watch him. He mirrors a breathing pattern that works for you, making it easier for you to follow. In through the nose, out through the mouth. A blush spreads over your face at how kindly he’s looking after you without anyone asking him to.

“How are you feeling?” 

“A little better.” you say, still slightly out of breath. “My heart is still beating very fast.” 

Philip hums. “Just stay down for a while longer, then. Give yourself time to recover. Do you have any idea what caused your sudden spell of dizziness and panic?” 

You give a small shake of your head. “No. I was just having a good time at the feast, getting some water, and… It suddenly happened without warning. Perhaps I stood up too quickly back at the table, that sometimes causes these sudden attacks of faintness and heart palpitations. It’s not the first time, as you know.” 

A brief silence as Philip registers your words and thinks about what to say next. 

“I know you take good care of yourself, (Y/n). Out of your siblings, you’re the most reasonable and responsible.” You chuckle at his lighthearted comment. The knot of panic in your gut is starting to loosen up, disappearing slowly but surely as you speak to Philip. “Would you be comfortable with it if I checked up on you more often, to make sure you don’t put a strain on yourself?” 

Smiling softly, you nod at him. “Please. I’d… I’d really appreciate that, honestly.” 

Philip gives you a curt nod. “Of course. Your wellbeing is important to me.” You feel a sense of peace at the notion of him caring about you. 

The longer you sit with him, the more you calm down, feeling your panic melt away as time goes by. Your heart slows back down into its usual rhythm. When Andrew and Simon run back with Jesus right behind them, you already feel way more at ease. Philip stands without saying a word, giving the Messiah some space to tend to you. 

The two of you meaningfully look at one another for a brief moment, your heart pleasantly swelling at his smile, until the sight of Jesus’ soft eyes meets you instead. He hums knowingly, cradling your face in His hand as His other comes to rest on your shoulder. “Are you feeling better, My child? Your brothers came to me in quite a panicked state.” 

“I think they’ve got it worse than I do.” you admit in spite of your earlier anxiety. 

“You had someone looking after you very kindly.” He says, his grin growing a bit. “So, how are you doing now?” 

“I’m doing fine, Teacher. Thank You for coming to check up on me.” 

Part of you wants to ask — to request Him to heal you — but part of you is hesitant about it. It’s not that you’re afraid that He would deny you, but you still feel like a burden doing it. You have the privilege of travelling beside the Messiah and have spoken to Little James about the topic of chronic illness quite a lot, and part of you had already made peace with it to begin with. 

“I understand,” Jesus tells you as if He can read your mind; you are convinced that He actually can, since He is the Messiah and all. “I know your thoughts and feelings, (Y/n).” 

“It’s alright,” you whisper, “I’ll be fine regardless of it. What You said to Little James actually helped me, too. Even if not in this life, this is just a speck, right? And in spite of this, I will follow You.” 

Jesus hums, a thoughtful look shining in His dark irises. “I know it isn’t easy for you regardless.” He tells you. 

“I have a good friend to look after me.” you muse. Jesus smiles gently. 

“Just a good friend, huh?” He says. Of course He knows your heart and Philip’s just as much. “It is good to see the two of you be friendly with one another. Keep each other close and let the Father do the rest.” 

Your heart rears inside your chest. 

“Now, take it easy.” Jesus tells you before standing again. Instead of reaching out for you to help you stand, He steps aside to look at Philip. The man in question takes a moment to piece together what the Messiah’s intention is, until Jesus nods towards your still-seated form. Philip takes a deep breath and approaches, holding out a hand in your direction. With clammy palms, you take it, allowing him to help you up. As he hoists you to your feet, you nearly lose your balance again, causing him to gently grab your elbows to steady you. 

“Oh!” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes, I’m way better. Thank you.” 

Philip clears his throat. “Would you… Um… Would you like to take a walk? Maybe some fresh air, away from the crowd, will do you some good.” You breathlessly blush, look at your brothers, at Jesus, back at Philip as they all await your answer. 

“I’d really like that, actually.” Philip lets out a sigh of relief as you accept his offer.

Jesus smiles as He watches the two of you walk off. Simon leans towards Andrew, his voice reduced to a whisper as their eyes focus on you and Philip head to the outskirts of camp to enjoy a nightly stroll. “Do you think we should prepare for… You know?” 

Andrew hums. “Honestly, I think Philip is doing a better job than we are in supporting our sister. I think we would be quite lucky to have him as our brother-in-law, to be honest.” 

Simon can’t argue with that, crossing his arms as him and Andrew observe the two shadows strolling past the horizon, feeling a sense of peace come over him at the sight. 

[ghostie-in-wonderland]

Songs that remind me of the Obey Me Characters

some angst, some fluff

Lucifer: 

Eleanor Rigby – Cody Fry  Experience – Ludovico Einaudi  Colors – Halsey IDK he gives the gray vibe for like someone else’s blue (probably MC’s or his brothers)  All Too Well (10 Minute Version) – Taylor Swift 

Mammon: 

The Exit – Conan Gray The dude does everything for his family and has not healed one bit. Someone give this dude a hug fr.  Right Here – Chase Atlantic He’s always there for everyone else, and he’s honestly someone who’s MC’s ride or die. Consume – Chase Atlantic  Something in the Orange – Zach Bryan I think if he did something that caused MC and him to separate and go different ways, he’d be in the like top 5 listeners of this song within like four days. The Moon Will Sing – The Crane Wives Once again, does everything for everyone else and to make them feel better. He loves his brothers and MC so much that he gives up everything for them. Idk the lyrics “I shine only with the light you gave me” feels very Mammon-coded. 

Leviathan: 

How to Save a Life – The Fray  The Other Side of Paradise – Glass Animals  Heat Waves – Glass Animals 

Satan: 

Cosmic Love – Florence and the Machine Arsonist’s Lullabye – Hozier  Almost (Sweet Music) – Hozier I head cannon that he often feels like a replica/attempt of a replica of Lilith until MC gets there and he just suffers with feeling second best.  Better Man – 5 Seconds of Summer He tries to be a better person for MC especially (and for cats). 

Asmodeus: 

Someone to Stay – Vancouver Sleep Clinic Sort of goes hand in hand with the next one, but I think being the Avatar of Lust causes a lot of issues for him in that he is only seen as someone to sleep with and nothing more and I head cannon that he craves more than that. (Honestly, you can see multiple instances where it’s clear he does)  Someone to You – Banners  S&M – Rihanna  I can just see him loving Rihanna. Breakin’ Dishes – Rihanna 

Beelzebub: 

Alice – Peggy  The View Between Villages – Noah Kahan I think he finds it difficult and upsetting in seeing the differences between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm. I think it hurts him in a way to think about life before the fall and doesn’t feel worthy of his previous home.  Try – P!nk  Viva La Vida – Coldplay 

Belphegor: 

Northern Attitude – Noah Kahan Except his “northern attitude” is just murder… and he tries to do so multiple times.  Fight or Flight – Conan Gray I think he would rather die than to cry in front of people. He seems emotionally constipated (and makes it other people’s problems).   

Diavolo:  

S.O.S – Jonas Brothers  The One That Got Away – Katy Perry  City is Ours – Big Time Rush I mean he is the ruler of the Devildom. 

Barbatos: 

No body, no crime – Taylor Swift Ft. HAIM If you called him for help he’d have one question… why didn’t you ask him sooner?  Jackie and Wilson – Hozier  House of the Rising Sun – The Animals He just gives old New Orleans vibes… I can’t explain it. He also just gives the vibe of this song, maybe not the lyrics (depending on your head cannons), but definitely the instrumental part.

Simeon: 

Ophelia – The Lumineers  Breakeven – The Script After the war and all, I think he really wished that life would go back to normal, but it didn’t. I think he struggles with a sort of guilt from being on a side away from those he considers brothers, no matter what the war was about. I think he wants his family back and he doesn’t know how to and he feels overwhelmed and like he is drowning in guilt.  Waiting for Superman – Daughtry  Mind over Matter – Young the Giant 

Solomon: 

Bad Omens – 5 Seconds of Summer He stays and helps MC through it all, despite there being times, something he even admits to, of MC leaving him. MC could choose him sometimes, but Solomon would choose them every single time. Unknown/Nth – Hozier Solomon is pretty much a lonely sorcerer and the only one fighting for the human realm a majority of the time. When MC comes along and (depending on y’alls choices) hint at being willing to help protect the realm, he probably feels a weight lift off his shoulders, while another one is placed on his shoulders.  Black and White – Niall Horan  Work Song – Hozier I don’t think anything could stop him from being there for MC. I mean, a timeline sure as hell didn’t. 

[creative-creatures]

"Once Upon A Time...

Where summer seemed to never end and raindrops kissed the sky. Twenty two teens lived a dangerous life where many were left behind. Many a story were shown for their truth no matter how hard they tried. Oh sweet young children they were who just couldn't hide. Since one by one a story was spun and the teenagers lost their lives.``

-The Narrators

YO! New AU! well not really. I decided to redo The Acharya Curse and ended up changing the entire story... haha? anyway! I present to you something I will be working on while I work on the Circus AU!

Total Drama: Ever After!

What you need to know/Warnings:

 Everyone from the Total Drama OG cast will be in this AU (other seasons might be added later).

They aren't contestants in this, instead they are labeled Travelers or Story Folk.

Total Drama as a whole never happened in this AU as well. 

Chris Mclean, Chef Hatchet and Blaineley are all evil in this AU.

All fairytales followed will be off of their original written versions or the Brothers Grimm versions (Which for most cases are the original).

Only a select few will be simular to the more modern tellings.

There will be death, gore, and loss in this AU.

There will be ships.

Basic premise: 

8 of the 24 original contestants find themselves transported to a fairytale world where they are tasked to find a way back home or risk getting stuck. 

Not knowing why or how they got transported the 8 travelers set upon their mission. Thankfully, the only thing that changed about the travelers themselves in their teleportation was their clothing to better fit the fairytale vibe. 

The 8 travelers will run into multiple fairytales being played out by those they meet along the way. Sometimes the stories don't go as originally written, and sometimes they go brutally familiar to the original text. Due to this the travelers find themselves forced to witness the stories play out. They soon learn they can change the classic stories.

This story will continue and play out in future posts! 

some interesting facts for the Travelers:

They can follow fairytales depending on who and when they interact with different Story Folk… though unlike the Story Folk they aren't forced to follow the stories unless cursed.

A Traveler can be cursed to follow a fairytale by a Story Folk. When a Story folk does this they will switch places with the Traveler. Often it is done so they can free themselves from their designed fate.

To curse a traveler the Story Folk has to find the Fables Storybook and write the travelers name into their selected story.

Once a Traveler is turned they can get themselves turned back if they stab the Story folk who cursed them with a Devils Shard.

Travelers can only follow fairytales of where their chosen character is a human. (EX Cody becomes Jack from Jack and the Giant peach or something)

Travelers: 

Cody 

Sierra

Katie & Sadie

Geoff 

Trent 

Alejandro 

Lashawna 

Tyler 

Story Folk:

Owen ( Mad Hatter )

Courtney (Cinderella) 

Heather (The Snow Queen) 

Izzy (Cheshire Cat) 

Eva (Queen of Hearts) 

Noah (Sleeping Beauty with small mix of Kaj) 

DJ (Winnie the Pooh)

Lindsey (Rapunzel) 

Duncan (Aladdin) 

Beth (Thumbelina) 

Justin (Prince Charming) 

Harold (Pinocchio) 

Bridgette (Ariel) 

Ezekiel (Rumpelstiltskin) 

Gwen (one of the twelve dancing princesses) 

Blaineley (Maleficent/Evil Queen)

Chris + Chef (Narrators)

I dont own the images in this post... they are stock images I found that I just personally liked... also the chosen fairytales may change! Nothing is set 100% in stone yet.

[twinkleallnight]

Isle of Misfits

Chapter 10: Dealing with the Paparazzi.

Fandom: TRR x Platinum x OH x CoP x TNA x ?

Series: Isle of Misfits, Round Robin 24, hosted by @choicesprompts

Characters:

TRR – Liam Rys, Leo Rys, Olivia Nevrakis, Madeleine Amaranth

RoE – Katie Rys

TNA – Sam Dalton

Word count: 1240

The phone pinged.

‘1 new message’

Leo sighed and picked up to read. He was tired of explaining himself to Katie. The world never understood him or his desire to live a care free life. The paparazzi won’t let him breathe. But he thought Katie would understand. She would always know. He had tried to be honest with her, always.

He was struggling to stay abreast sailing through the rough waters when his brother decided to take the corrective action for Leo’s deeds . He was forced into this PR stunt of a circus with his childhood friend, Bertrand, playing the ring master. And as if Gods had not had enough of entertainment, he was paired with his ex, Madeleine! Just perfect!

Coming out of his reverie, he tapped his fingers on the home screen to check the new message .

‘Meet me at the beach restaurant in 10minutes to collect your dossier .

Countess Madeleine .’

“Better than having Sam Dalton as a mentor” he consoled himself. “His brains function through that Rocket in his pocket. At least Madeleine has her head over her shoulders.”

He dragged himself out of his bed. Sharp after 10 minutes he presented himself in front of the Countess.

“What do you plan to do with this?” He lifted the heavy bundle of papers filed into a folder neatly. ‘Prim and proper. So much like Madeleine.’

But Madeleine’s reply was totally off beat. “why you have not shaved?”

Leo shook his head as if trying to decipher. “What?” He moved his fingers through the over grown messy beard.

Madeleine scoffed, “ Let me make it clear Leo. You are constantly under lens.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t want.” He cut her off.

“You were the crown prince.”

“And I abdicated.” He tried to prove his point.

“Doesn’t matter. You can’t change who you are born as.”

“Why?” He pulls his fingers through his sandy blonde hair In frustration.

“Prince Harry abdicated too. But he is always in news.”

Leo scowled, “For heavens sake! Can’t they let me live in peace?”

“Only if you don’t give them chance to rip through your peaceful personal life.” She air quoted.

He nods in agreement. “And I can see, you are here to tell me, how.”

“Now you are talking business.” Madeleine smiled.

Leo closed his eyes for a moment. He had to do this for Katie, for his children. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Tell me what am I supposed to do?”

“You need to look perfect when you walk in public. It shows that you are leading a perfect and happy life.”

Leo smirked, “Yes it’s a very happy life.”

“Make it look like one and I can tell you, they will stop chasing you.”

“Fine! What next?”

“I have appointed a valet for you. He will help with your attire, hair and your over all appearance. You will not leave your room before he checks you.”

Leo rolled his eyes. He had no other option but to accept what was thrown at him.

For the next hour he went back and forth over the plans Madeleine had laid out for him.

******************************************

Bertrand’s office next day

Olivia was seated across Bertrand, discussing their next modus operandi. Olivia had successfully completed her task with Raleigh Carrera and was now assigned to the case of the exiled crown prince, Trystan Thorne, of Drakovia.

An urgent knock on the door brought them to a halt. They both looked at each other. Bertrand voiced, “Come in” , wondering who was their uninvited guest for the meeting .

Leo stormed in and slammed a tabloid onto the desk in front of Bertrand. Olivia stared back at Leo’s fuming face while Bertrand looked in confusion, “ What does this mean?”

“Open and see for yourself.” Leo pointed out his finger.

As soon as Bertrand picked the newspaper and unfolded it, his eyes went wide with shock. Olivia leaned towards him to peer into the news.

The newspaper had images of Leo and Madeleine sitting in a cafe. The first one had Madeleine gleaming at Leo and the second one showed them shaking hands near the exit. The tag line read ‘Former crown prince Leo Rhys, spotted with his ex, Countess Madeleine, at leisure on a private island. Do we smell something burning in Katie Rhys’ sweet home?”

A smile played on Olivia’s lips.

“Seriously?” Leo asked looking at Olivia’s reaction.

“It’s not about you.” She fanned away with her hand.

“From what I can see, it’s definitely about me.” He turned to Bertrand angrily, “This is how you were going to help me save my image and my marriage?”

Olivia spoke instead, “Its not his fault. Madeleine should have been more discreet while planning her meetings.”

Just as on clue, Madeleine stepped inside the office. “Speak for yourself. I know my job well.” She snatched the tabloid from Bertrand’s hand and glanced at the pics, dismissing it in an instant.

She focused on Leo, “ This is the reason I insisted you need to dress up properly. Had you been in a formal attire, this would have been ignored by the media as just another business meeting.”

“Great ! So now it’s all my mistake? You know what my mistake is? Trusting you guys with my future.”

Bertrand replied in a calm note, “I think you are over reacting. It’s just two pics, we can change the flow of events. My PR company can assure you, we are good at turning the waves in your favour.”

Before he completed his sentence, the doors to his office opened with a bang. Drake barged in raging in anger. “The hell you turn things only in your favour. You Beaumonts are the most mean and selfish men walking on this damn planet.” His voice echoed across the halls outside the office.

Bertrand’s eyes roamed behind Drake to check if there were any audience at his doors. He settled his gaze back on Drake. “May I know the reason for this intrusion?”

Drake sneered, “You call yourself CEO of a PR firm yet you don’t have updates of the newsflash on TV channels across Cordonia?”

Bertrand gave Drake an irritated glare and picked up the remote to switch on the flat screen hanging on the wall across his table. The screen brightened up with flashes of red haired lady bouncing on a dance floor. All of them in the room knew that was Olivia but the next few moments left everyone’s mouth hanging open.

Bertrand came into the frame trying to dance. He made some lewd gestures and then grabbed Olivia into a smooch.

Leo and Madeleine jolted back at Bertrand. Even Olivia had shock written all over her face. Definitely she was drunk that she didn’t remember this incident.

Bertrand gulped and fumbled with the remote to switch off the TV. He didn’t want to listen or let others in the room listen to the reporter’s remarks.

“I... I ... I can explain”, he said nervously.

Drake sprinted to him in two steps and held him by collar. “How many times are you going to explain? First my sister, then your back stabbing brother took Riley and now you target my girl friend?”

“Riley is with Max?” The baritone voice from the entrance of the office brought everything to standstill. They all turned to see Liam standing in a thunderstuck state.

Tags : @angelasscribbles @alj4890 @tessa-liam @lizzybeth1986 @3pawandme @annabellewynter @bascmve01 @bebepac @busywoman @dcbbw @choicesficwriterscreations @harleybeaumont @iaminlovewithtrr @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @neotericthemis @mom2000aggie @phoenixrising0308 @princess-geek @sazanes @secretaryunpaid @sfb123 @sillydg @tinkie1973 @txemrn @walkerdrakewalker @rubiwalker @703cowbarn @kyra75 @likealotus @kskvb20 @marietrinmimi @aussiegurl1234

[zorilleerrant]

Soup Quest

@flashfictionfridayofficial

It comes to her when she’s cooking soup, because when else would it come to her? Katie needs to make a stew. Not just a stew, of course, but it would be a big help if she could remember exactly what it was called, which is exactly why she doesn’t. Katie’s luck has always been just good enough and no better, and so she remembers: there is a stew, and it will grant them good luck, and she’s made it exactly once before.

She can’t mention it to any of the others, because they’d get too excited to find out there’s some kind of quest boon in edible form, and she’d never relax enough to figure out how to piece it together. Given the six soups on the stove at the moment, Katie’s not entirely sure she’s going to be able to relax enough to make it at all, even if she does remember how, but surely they’ll get used to the situation, right? Like once everyone else calms down, Katie’s bound to follow, sooner or later. Right?

She wishes she had her cookbook. It’s not that it would help overly much, because you can spend a lifetime reading that without finding what you’re looking for if you don’t know what it is. Then again, not knowing what it is might be exactly what her cookbook needed to flip open to just the right recipe, only that’s no good either, because it never happens until deep into the crisis and Katie doesn’t want anyone on death’s door when she finally manages to brew up a little bit of luck. And also it’s moot, obviously.

The ingredients were normal, and, also, if she’s remembering right, didn’t matter much at all. Not that the base ingredients end up mattering all that much in most soups that aren’t just, well, soup, so she might as well start with her mother’s basic ginger recipe, because it’s good for protection spells, and also it reminds her of home. There were carrots in it, she knows. She put carrots in everything back then because they were the only vegetable she could get to cut right the first time without a whole bunch of extra work.

Carrots are good. Carrots are easy. Carrots exist the same way here they’ve always done, or, at least, they seem pretty much the same. They taste fine. They’re not noticeably more or less magical than they ever were. Katie feels their colors might be not quite as bright, but they’re easy to find, so maybe it’s just a matter of not knowing where to get the really good crops that her family would know about, if she could ask them.

If she could ask them, of course, at least one of her parents would be able to rattle off the recipe of the top of their heads, most likely. Maybe it just seems that way because they’ve been doing all this so much longer than she has. Her oldest brother could do it because he keeps getting tagged in to help people prep for their quests and her youngest sister could do it because of that weird intuition thing she has where everything she makes turns out Just Right. The cousins all say it’s the magic coming back, but Katie thinks it’s just luck.

A lot of them have luck. A lot of them also have perfect recall, where she’s stuck reading everything out of a book that isn’t the most basic stuff she can put together in her sleep. It used to make her feel more in tune with the witches, which helped, being mostly around them, because it’s not like any of them were enough to keep just to themselves. She wishes they were. She wishes she knew what it was like to be a brownie surrounded by brownies until you knew everything off the top of your head, and not feeling like you might as well be reading out of a grimoire because no one knows where the magic comes from anymore.

Not that she minds the witches. It’s nice to have someone who knows and who she knows will be okay with it. It’s just that none of them ever tried the recipe – probably, because who knows who’s eaten it, what with the military and superheroes and whatever’s up with the demon kid – so no one can help her recreate something that Katie only ever tried to make for a test. Supervised. With all her equipment to hand.

She misses the ingredients. Not even what they were, but the way they were always lined up with neat little labels in matching handwriting, and you could tell whose they were by what label they picked. She learned to write just so like the rest of them, so it’s basically impossible to tell Katie’s handwriting apart, except she’s careless in the ticks on her i’s, just a little bit. But she likes the labels with the drawings of herbs in the corner, and that’s no one else’s favorite, just hers. Everyone knows what she picked out, set up all nice next to all of theirs.

Walking in and seeing everything, organized by size and shape and that phantasmal feel of what brewing quality they’re going to have, it feels like you can cook anything. Katie’s realizing more and more that everything she does worked as well as it did because it was part of everyone else’s flow of magic. Here, it’s just her. Just her labels on every single piece of food. She doesn’t need to know whose is whose because she’s the only one who makes the shopping lists, even if they never make her do the shopping.

It’s lonely, seeing everything labeled in her own hand.

It’ll bring them all together, if she can remember how to make the Quest Boon Stew. Tie them more than the prophecy has. Intertwined luck has its ups and downs, but at least it helps people think on their feet together. If she’s thinking what they’re thinking, it’s one step in the right direction. Not a Protect All Magic kind of step, but Protect Some Magic, at least.

And it’s old. That much she knows. It’s old enough that someone’s got to know of it, the way Katie does, even if they can’t recreate the whole on their own. Someone, somewhere, knows more of the secret ingredients than she does.

[dim-paper-lanterns]

on annabeth and rachel in pjo

maybe it's the aromantic in me, but I never realized that annabeth's and rachel's whole feud was over percy. to me, I always figured it was centered around annabeth's own isolation away from the mortal world.

ok, here me out. i always read annabeth's and rachel's relationship as annabeth's jealousy not over percy, but rather her demigod world. i mean, she was practically born knowing of the gods, and even if she didn't, we know that from a very young age (earlier than 7), she was introduced to the worst aspects of it. (I don't remember if she knew that athena was her mother pre-camp, but it doesn't really matter) so here you have this child, and she's scared and angry and no one in the mortal world believes her when she talks about spiders and dreams. its not hard to imagine that she would form some sort of bitterness towards the mortal world, especially since she left it (became a year-round camper w no contact w the mortal/outside world) at a very young and impressionable age.

"My dad’s resented me from the day I was born, Percy. He never wanted a baby. When he got me, he asked Athena to take me back and raise me on Olympus because he was too busy with his work."

and then she meets luke and thalia. for the first time in her life, she's respected, and protected and loved. and they believe her, about everything. they are older than her but they take her seriously and they promise her family. they left their mortal 'families' as well, they know exactly the terrors she has been facing. they are the exact kind of different she is, the same kind her father sighs at and her step-mother scoffs at. so now we have annabeth, and she is young and impressionable and the line between the demigod world and the mortal world has become firmly drawn.

camp half blood comes like a savior land. safety, respect, understanding, friendship. thalia's gone, annabeth becomes a year-rounder, she is surrounded by magic and powers and monsters. but this is her world, this is her camp, this is her domain. she tries, she really does try to reconnect with her mortal family by it doesn't work out and she is sent right back to camp. that's fine, all she needs is camp. she's going to make something of herself, she's going to become counselor, she's going to win every capture-the-flag, she's going to be chiron's best student, she's going to get a quest. she is going to be great.

“I tried to go home for that school year, but my stepmom was the same as ever. She didn’t want her kids put in danger by living with a freak. Monsters attacked. We argued. Monsters attacked. We argued. I didn’t even make it through winter break. I called Chiron and came right back to Camp Half-Blood.”

annabeth is 12 and full of fragile pride. percy enters camp and annabeth gets a friend, a chance and a crush all in one. everything is working out, but tensions are rising between the gods and tensions are rising in camp- its fine. annabeth is going to be great.

things are not going great. luke has betrayed them, has betrayed her. she seems to be in constant danger, by monsters and gods alike- even her summers are now filled with dangerous quests and battles. they go through the sea of monsters, they bear the titans curse. clarisse has her battle will, percy has his sea powers, grover has his saytr magic. drew has charmspeak, beckendorf has a dragon, nico is the son of the death god. thalia is back with her storm powers, lee has his magic, katie has hers, and annabeth is a strategist. but it's fine. she is not going to feel inferior, or weak, or lesser than. this has been her world since birth, this belongs to her. she doesn't need any mortal in it. not her father, not her step-mother, not her step-brothers, not her school 'friends'.

and then rachel arrives. she's pretty, she's sharp, she's funny. she's quick on her feet and she can see through the mist.

she is mortal.

and she keeps reappearing. she becomes friends with percy, which, hello? that's annabeth's partner. she goes with them into the labyrinth, annabeth's quest. she is a mortal.

this is what i made out of annabeth's feud with rachel. it wasn't jealously over a boy, it was because this mortal could come into annabeth's world, and take over everything annabeth has ever known. she cut herself off from the mortal world when she was 7, and here comes this mortal girl constantly tagging along with them, messing up her plans, taking over her missions.

annabeth is prideful. she is proud of her life, of everything she has created, free of mortals.

kronos's army arrives in new york. annabeth's friends are either dead, on luke's side, or fighting a losing battle protecting camp. they go on more and more missions, the gods aren't being helpful. its a hit or miss on if the new demigods can even make it past thalia's tree due to all the new monsters attacking them- annabeth buries children.

and throughout all of this, percy is off with some mortal?

the battle of manhattan arrives and call annabeth selfish or apathetic, but she revels in it. all of her efforts, her skill and strategy and struggle has been made worth it. she leads her campers into battle with victory in her eyes.

and then the mortal comes crashing out of the sky in a helicopter.

annabeth saves her, of course. but now she's got a mortal involved in what is quickly turning out to be a bloodbath, and rachel is talking on about paintings while annabeth's siblings die outside. its easy to hate her when she is constantly in annabeth's way.

LOL ANYWAYS

all this to say was that i misread annabeth's whole grudge against rachel so badly whoops. love her though

[mk-writes-stuff]

OC Interaction Tag

Rules: describe an OC of yours, then describe how that OC would interact with the OCs of the people who tagged you

Thanks @kaylinalexanderbooks and @illarian-rambling for the tags!

Kaylin’s OC: Maddie is an 11-year-old girl who is quiet, curious, and a bit of a risk-taker. She's generally well-liked but isn't sure why people like her. She fidgets and squirms and likes to remain active, especially with her hands. She's a STEM kid through and through, loving each letter in the acronym. Maddie takes things apart, such as pens, to see how they work and eventually joins her school's robotics club. She believes in direct fairness - will match your tone with her - and gets a little upset if she is misunderstood, which is often, since she thinks she's straightforward. Her honesty leads to her being nosy, as she believes everyone should be open. Maddie is an animal shapeshifter, and enjoys the physical sensation of morphing as well as pushing her limits a little too much. She's a gamer who prefers consuls with buttons and enjoys old sci-fi shows and modern cartoons. Despite not quite understanding emotions, she does try to be there for the people she cares about, and usually tries to defuse a serious situation with a little joke.

Katie’s OC: Astra DuClaire is a 25 year old witch. She was too poor to get a proper education, so she snuck into lecture halls and bribed her way into labs to learn her trade, eventually taking on the specialty of runic mechanics. After learning all she could, she slapped some steel baba yaga legs on a vardo wagon and began her business as a traveling mage in the sketchy land of her birth. As a person, the first thing one would notice about Astra is her arrogance. She's prideful to a fault when it comes to her magic, though this is mostly a front to cover up some deep insecurities regarding her lackluster education. She loves helping people, is hungry to learn new things, and has a deep, angry sense of social justice. She believes all people have inalienable dignity. In her dialog, she's coarse and has a raunchy saying for every occasion. It doesn't matter that she's five nothing, her argumentative streak stretches into next week and she will be a bitch about it. But as angry as she can be, she has just as big a capacity for wonder and love. Her hobbies include tinkering, embroidery, and pirating music.

My OC: Stellaris is a disliked nobleman, the younger brother of Sixth Station head Cassiopeia. He’s a scrawny-looking blond man with big purple eyes who wears shabby nobleman’s clothing and has a permanently flat affect. Stellaris is autistic, which makes him unpopular among nobles due to his complete inability to understand social cues and perform social niceties such as eating food he dislikes because it was offered to him. He has a kind heart but struggles to express it and communicate well to others. His special interest is history and he loves telling others about it and asking them about anything they know about it, but he doesn’t mind taking turns talking about interests if people are willing to take their turn listening to his. He is extremely blunt and honest at all times, even when it might come across as rude, although he frequently doubts or disparages himself because of how people have treated him.

How Stellaris and Maddie would interact: I think they’d get along very well! Stellaris wouldn’t understand Maddie’s interests, but he’d be happy to listen to her talk about her interests and tell her what he knows about Seven Stations technology, which I think she’d really enjoy. He’d definitely want to tell her about his interests and would be delighted to know that she’s from what he considers historical times and would probably ask her a bunch of questions. I think their communication styles are really compatible, he wouldn’t mind her being a bit nosy and trying to be straightforward. She might end up mimicking his tone and accidentally talking way louder than she should out of a misinterpretation that he was yelling at her (he tends to talk a bit too loud), but I think they’d get along despite this.

How Stellaris and Astra would interact: Honestly, I think she’d scare him at first. Astra has a very forceful personality that I think he’d find intimidating. I feel like Astra would initially find him a bit weird but would quickly figure out that there’s a lot more to him than his “strange” mannerisms and take a liking to him. I think if he ever talked about how the other nobles treat him, she’d get really angry on his behalf and he’d take a whining to that real fast. He’d start off just doing what she told him to because he’s a bit afraid of her, but I think he’d start chatting with her after she realized she wouldn’t hurt him. After that, I think they’d talk a lot about their interests, and he’d interrogate her about her life too, because her life reminds him a lot about history. He might accidentally pry a bit far and get her to bristle by asking about something she’s sensitive about, but he’d apologize profusely enough that I think she’d be willing to let it go.

I love this game! I hope y’all like the interactions, lmk what you think of them :)

@elsie-writes @rkmoon @televisionjester y’all want to play?

[newtonsheffield]

POOR ANTIHONY HE WAS SO NERVOUS, im dying to see kate in the same position later!! can we please see him stablish and more confident when time pass meeting with them for a lunch again?? poppy became friend with him??? and when neddy arrives???

I think Kate’s Poppy likes Anthony pretty much straight away and so does Mary. He can see that yeah, Anthony might have terrible taste in tea but he’s a good guy who is clearly very besotted with his granddaughter.

Poppy sits with Kate the next day, his granddaughter tucked against his chest just like when she’d been a tiny girl and she’d grinned at him and he would have given her anything she asked for, anything. He even went to that awful concert with her and Edwina who didn’t want Mary to take them because people around them would stare at Mary Sharma at a boyband concert. He’d still give her anything she wanted.

“What did you think of Anthony?”

He had watched the poor man all night, sweating in his suit, trying desperately to get them all to like him and it had seemed odd, because the one thing that really mattered had been so obvious. Anthony loved his granddaughter, and she loved him. “I think you’re in love with him.”

Kate stilled for a moment, her chin still resting on his shoulder, and her voice was soft, “Yeah, I’m in love with him and I just… he’s sweet, even if he’s a little bit silly and his car is embarrassing and he wears stupid moccasins. I just… want you to like him.”

“Your papa would have loved him.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, “Do you think?!”

“The man knows how to knit and I get the impression he’d lay down in a puddle so your shoes wouldn’t get wet. Of course he would have. He seems like a nice man though, I look forward to getting to know him better.”

Kate smiled, a tiny little smile, “We haven’t been together that long but I… I kind of feel like this is it for me. He loves me just…for being me and I don’t know, he’s very supportive he’s a great guy and I just… I love him. Disgruntled penguin look and all.”

His own heart fluttered in his chest at the look on her face, the yearning there and there was nothing else to say. “I like him then. Terrible taste in tea though.”

Kate groaned, “He didn’t tell me he was going to do that! I would have stopped him.”

There’s nothing to be done when Anthony nervously invites them in through the front door of his house, putting his hand out to shake.

“Mr Sharma, great to see you again, sir,”

He sighed, “You can call me Nalan, or Poppy, whichever you prefer. Now, let’s talk about the cricket, please. Katie told you you might have an in with some Ashes tickets.”

“I- I do!” Anthony said relieved, “I have some but my brother can’t go. Do you- do you want to come with me?!”

“I would love that, Anthony.”

And two years later he walked into a hospital room and his heart stops. His granddaughter is in the bed with her husband tucked up beside her and a beautiful little baby boy cradled between them.

“Give that boy to his Poppy, Anthony.”

[creamecafe]

Dating Xu-Xialing Would Include...

🚨 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐈𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 @editfandom and @gagalacrax 𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 🚨

Pairing: Xu-Xialing x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: none just fluff and a bit angst

Author's Note: I meant to post this when I was 14 almost 3 years ago in 2022. So here it is. So I'm sorry if it's bad.

• Her treating like the absolute queen/king you are

• Will threaten, hurt or kill anyone who disrespects, hurts, or makes you uncomfortable in any way

• Her drawing portraits of you

• Some days you would lay your head on her lap and she'll draw you.

• Her being overprotective of you.

• Especially since she has lost her mother, her father, and her brother never came back as he promised.

• Not really to show affection in public with other people.

• But with private, it's the complete opposite.

• She loves cuddling with you so much.

• Some nights, she'll be the big soon, but if she has trouble sleeping or nightmares, you offer to be the big spoon and hold her. (Not to mention she sleeps with a knife under her pillow, just in case anyone tries to break in)

• You being good friends with Shang-Chi and Katy of course.

• Sometimes she gets flashbacks of her childhood, especially her mother when she was alive, her father loving her, and when her brother didn't have to leave her.

• You comfort her by giving her cuddles, kisses and just holding her.

• She gets afraid that something bad could happen to you, you could die, or you might leave her one day.

• You always reassure her that nothing bad will happen to you or you won't leave her, and you'll always stay by her side no matter what.

• Training with her some days.

• Her teaching you how to use weapons and martial arts

• Sometimes when your training, and Xialing sweeps your feet and you hit the ground, you like to pretend your hurt and make her feel guilty

• And it really does work on her.

• She feels bad and walks up to you, but when she gives you her hand so you could get up, you take her hand and pull her to the ground

[suchathrilltobeagirl]

“Good Tuesday morning Ms Katie!”

I so love hearing from you and love you letting me ramble and babble as we “old gals can”. I don’t know it that is just a God given gift to help us not forget too much and become so “repetitive”. My greatest love 1st of all is “my walk with my Lord God!”. That is, in my heart and soul, the most important relationship there is. Next is my God blessed given family and my God blessed given best and close friends. Those we have to develop always to keep. From seeking God’s heart to embracing the closest friendships. On my own, I am weak and stubble, that is where all of the above becomes so cherished and needed. God is always there but some times others choose to get closer and some choose to fade away. Today as I was studying and reading King David’s Psalm 51 I couldn’t help be believe that he wrote that with me in mind, although I know that he wrote that after Nathan approached him about his relationship and sin with Bathsheba. But I do believe that my God had me in mind nonetheless as if broke David’s heart to pen it. It just so speaks to me, especially from verse5 as I was conceived by my mother and father out of wedlock and later given up to adoption. God’s hand at work and I so understand “being adopted” not only by my adoptive parents, they became my real parents, but also “adopted by God”, my real Abba Father with Jesus being my Big Brother and Lord and being sealed in God Holy Spirit. And my womanhood is also a God-blessed gift to my heart and soul. It does not matter what man sees; it only matters what God sees in our hearts and souls. Oh, forgive me Katie, I’m rambling and babbling here as always! Heather Caroling H.

Please don't apologise, Heather. I think people like us can create problems for God-fearing men and women. God is love, and His love is unconditional. Although it is not a licence to sin, anyone placing their trust in His son, Jesus, genuinely confessing their sins can and will receive His forgiveness. The Apostle Paul wrote:

"For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. [Romans 8 vv38-39 NKJV]

There are those who would (and do!) point fingers at people like you and I, calling us names and accusing us of all kinds of things. But even there, Jesus has a word for them!

He was addressing a crowd that brought a woman caught in adultery before him. The religious leaders were asking Jesus whether she should be stoned according to the law of Moses. Jesus responded:

“Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” [John 8 v7 NKJV]

If God hates anything, He hates hypocrisy!