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parkerslatte · 20 hours ago

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The Purest Kind of Love || Part Two

Azriel x Fem!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

Summary: The morning after the bond snaps between Y/N and Eris, Eris goes to talk to Y/N but can’t seem to have a genuine conversation. Azriel works through his frustration.

The Purest Kind of Love Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

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•••

The High Lord of Autumn paced outside of the large double doors into the room where the one who had turned his life upside down resided. The citrus scent he remembered from the previous night invaded his senses. It must have been nearly an hour since Eris left his own chambers early that morning to make the walk through the Forest House to where he knew the people of the Inner Circle were residing.

Despite the five separate rooms each housing members of the Inner Circle, Eris somehow knew exactly which one Y/N resided in. It was the grandest one and previously Eris’s own bedroom when he was a child. The small burn mark on the door was still present from where he singed it out of anger when his powers were just developing.

No matter how much Eris tried to distract himself, his palms sweat as he took one more shaky step towards the door. The citrus scent made his heartbeat increase as he slowly raised his fist and knocked on the door. It echoed through the empty corridor and Eris looked around, he didn’t want to be seen.

A faint reply croaked from the other side of the door. “Come in.”

Once his hand was on the handle, Eris pushed open the door. It creaked loudly and he internally groaned. When Eris fully stood inside of the room, the citrus scent mixed with a cedar and…salt. The door closed behind Eris as his eyes fixated on Y/N.

“Oh,” she said with a hint of disappointment. “I thought you would be someone else.”

From the scent alone, Eris guessed who she hoped it might have been. He didn’t say anything.

The room fell into complete silence as Eris took small calculated steps closer to Y/N. The salty smell grew the closer he got to her. The streaks on her face was a clear indication of the tears she must have shed.

“Did you sleep well?” Eris asked, already knowing the answer.

“I haven’t slept,” Y/N replied.

“I thought as much,” Eris said. “If it brings you any peace; I haven’t slept either.”

“Funnily enough it doesn’t,” Y/N snapped.

“My, my, there’s no need to bite my head off,” Eris said, his voice calm.

Y/N’s eyes met his for the first time and the bond hummed to life between them. It made Eris want to step closer to her– it was as if a rope was tied around his waist and was pulling taunt, beckoning him in her direction.

“You seem nice enough, Eris, perhaps a little full of yourself, but I am clearly not in the mood now,” Y/N stated.

Eris held his hands up in defence. “I didn’t come here to fight you. If you must know, my original intention was to ask if you were okay.” A flicker of surprise flashed across Y/N’s eyes but it was gone as quick as it arrived. “But you seem to have already answered that question already.”

A long sigh passed Y/N’s lips. “No, I am not okay. How could I be?”

“A mating bond snapping was not what I expected to feel last night,” said Eris, holding his hands behind his back and fiddled with a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket.

“You are not the only one surprised by that news,” Y/N said. “Now, will you please leave me alone. I don’t feel like talking right now.”

Eris nodded. “As you wish.”

As he turned his back, he tried to ignore the small sigh of relief slipping from Y/N’s lips. As his hand touched the cool metal of the door handle, Eris inclined his head to Y/N.

“Just so you know, I am finding this news just as surprising and as hard as you,” Eris muttered. “I may not show it, but I am terrified.”

Eris didn’t wait around to hear if Y/N would respond. The door flung open and he stepped into the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in her room.

When he was back in the corridor, Eris wiped his palms on his jacket and groaned. He hadn’t meant to come across so condescending, he had every intention of being genuine and asking her if she needed anything, if there was anything he could do. But the moment he found himself slipping into that vulnerability, his defences rose and were harder than steel.

“That is a sight I wasn’t expecting,” the irksome voice of Rhysand spoke.

“This is my home in case you forgot, Rhysand,” Eris drawled, already irritated to spend time Rhysand’s presence.

“A home that I helped you claim,” Rhysand replied.

“Did you? You and I seem to be remembering differently,” said Eris, his voice dripping in annoyance. “I seem to recall that your two lap dogs, Azriel and Cassian, doing most of the work while you eye fucked your High Lady.”

A threatening growl emitted from Rhys. “Careful, Eris. You just claimed your title as High Lord. It would be a shame to pass it along so quickly.”

“Exactly, I just became High Lord. My powers have increased, Rhysand. I could incinerate you where you stand and I wouldn’t need to even move an inch,” Eris stated, folding his arms across his chest, looking down his nose at the High Lord of Night.

“What were you doing in Y/N’s room?” Rhysand asked.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Eris commented. “This is my house, I can go where I like.”

“Stay away from her, Eris,” Rhysand sneered.

“Or what? Your shadowsinger will take me to his torture chamber?” Eris questions. “I don’t see how checking on someone after they have been crying the whole night is a valid reason to be tortured but I guess that is just how the Night Court works.”

“She was crying?” Rhysand asked, eyes darting to the closed door.

“Sobbing her heart out,” Eris said. “It was only when I comforted her did she stop.”

Rhysand glared at Eris. “Stay away from her.”

“Why? I seem to have done more than her friends did,” Eris retorted.

“I won’t warn you again, Eris,” Rhysand threatened.

A low chuckle slipped past Eris’s lips. “You seem to forget who you are talking to, Rhysand. I am the High Lord of this court. If you lay a finger on me, I am within my right to declare war against Night. And right now as it stands, the Autumn Court has more allies than the Night Court.” Eris took a step back and straightened his jacket. “I want you out of my court by midday. Y/N and Nesta are allowed to stay if they desire. They are the only two of your court I can abide having a conversation with.”

Eris turned on his heel and walked down the hallway just as Rhysand knocked on Y/N’s door. A faint ‘Go away’ was heard from the other side. Eris was not sure why but it made a smile tug at his lips.

***

Blood covered his hands and the dummy he had beat to a pulp. It was the third one Azriel had battered. The first two were thrown into the corner of the room haphazardly. There wasn’t a fourth one to use so Azriel immediately picked up the sharpest knives that were in the training room.

The ache in his chest hadn’t eased and it wasn’t because of the bargain. Something was lost in the Autumn Court; his hope. He had thought that his hope had been shattered beyond repair before. First with Mor and the next time with Gwyn. At least when he was with Elain, he never needed to cling to the hope of her being his mate.

As the first blade cut through the air, Azriel let out a long sigh. It was foolish to believe he would find his mate in Y/N. And Azriel did truly believe it for a time. There was no one else in the world that made him feel the way Y/N did. Even their transition from friendship into a relationship had been easy. He had always trusted her, confided in her, bonded with her. Azriel knew that his hope was shattered– for good this time. He couldn’t imagine a world where there would be someone better matched for him than Y/N.

Azriel threw the final blade in his hand and he watched as it missed the target completely and embedded itself into the stone pillar behind.

“Not only did you crack a glass, you now decide to begin destroying my home,” Cassian commented as he walked into the training room.

Azriel spared Cassian a quick glance before turning his back to him to grab bandages for his hands.

“You weren’t with us when we all came back from Autumn,” Cassian said. “Y/N said you left early.”

At the mention of her name, Azriel stiffened. “I came back last night.”

“Without Y/N?” Cassian questions.

Another person entered the room and the shadows around Azriel began to grow restless. He couldn’t handle any more questions.

“It seems as if you don’t know where your lover is either, Azriel,” Rhys commented. “I was wondering where she went after we arrived back here this morning. I was hoping she was with you.”

“If anything she is most likely at her cottage,” Azriel answered. His heart stung. Only hours ago he would have been calling it home. Their home.

“And do tell me that if she is there, why are you here?” Rhys questioned with a raised eyebrow. “You have a day off, typically we rarely see you.”

“You’ll be seeing a lot more of me,” Azriel growled as he wrapped his hands up.

Behind him, Cassian frowned, stepping closer to the shadowsinger, his eyes widening once he noticed his bloodied hands. “What happened to your hands?” Cassian asked.

Rhys inclined his head to the heap of training dummies in the corner of the room. “I assume Az is letting out some anger.”

“I’m not angry,” Azriel stated.

“Tell that to the dummies I now need to replace,” Cassian groaned.

Azriel turned his body to face his brothers, eyes cast down to the floor. “I will be returning to my room here. Only if that is okay with you, Cass.”

Cassian’s eyebrows furrowed. “Of course. But why? You’ve been living with Y/N for nearly four years.”

“There won’t be any more,” Azriel responded.

The High Lord glanced at the open doors of the training room. “I see. I hope that this doesn’t affect the work the two of you occasionally do together.”

“I can be professional,” Azriel snapped, pulling on the end of the bandage too tight.

“Why did the two of you split up?” Cassian questioned, still looking utterly confused.

“I’d actually like to know that myself,” Rhys added.

“It’s none of your business,” Azriel retorted. “But you will pry regardless of what I say. All you need to know is that we were not compatible.”

Cassian snorted. “Not compatible my ass! Az, I’ve seen the way you look at her. You look at her like she is the centre of your universe, as if she was a goddess herself.”

“And how did she look at me?” Azriel asked, honestly curious. Though Cassian was rather talented at overexerting the truth, he wanted to know the way Y/N looked at him when he wasn’t looking. Did she look at him the same way? Or did she look at him the way many others did…in pity.

“I never really noticed a difference in the way she looked at you,” Cassian replied. “But she was… touchier with you than anyone else.”

Azriel deflated at Cassian’s answer. Did Y/N never look at him any other way but neutrally? Was he wrong about the connection they had the whole time?

“I see,” Azriel voiced.

Rhys’s gaze still bore into Azriel as if he were trying to read his body language but Azriel had gotten used to hiding how he feels so he was an expert in deception. There was a presence in his mind and Azriel knew that Rhys was lurking, just waiting for him to lower his walls to find out the true story. The walls in his mind remained impenetrable.

“I still don’t understand why your relationship ended,” Cassian wondered aloud. “You have been happier than you have in years.”

“Can you just leave it alone, Cassian!” Azriel snapped. “I do not want to talk about it anymore. Our relationship ended because of our incompatibility, that is all. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Of course he told a lie, he had to. Azriel didn’t want to admit to his two happily mated brothers that the female who had lit up his life was mated to another– destined for a life of fiery love with a High Lord; it was what she deserved. He remembered the pity in their eyes when Gwyn had told him she had found her mate and Azriel never wished to be looked on like that again by anyone.

Once again, Cassian’s mouth opened as if to argue back but after quickly looking at Rhys, Cassian closed his mouth. Rhys’s orders were most likely whispered into his mind. Azriel was grateful.

“If you don’t mind, I need to go and collect my things,” Azriel stated, making his way towards the door.

Only after a few steps, however, it was as if the world was mocking him as Y/N appeared in the threshold. Azriel’s whole body went rigid as he looked at her. She looked exhausted.

“Az,” Y/N whispered.

For a split second, Azriel wanted to run back into her arms and pretend as if he were her mate instead. He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and bury her head into her neck, breathing in her sweet intoxicating scent. They would return home and everything would be as it should.

After that second was up, Azriel’s face washed over with one made of stone. His expression didn’t change. Y/N shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a habit Azriel knew all too well. It indicated that she was nervous or uncomfortable. By the tension in the air, Azriel knew that she was feeling the latter.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, Azriel walked towards the open doorway, aiming to leave without a fuss. Y/N watched him the whole way, her eyebrows knitted together. His intention was to leave without a fuss but as Azriel walked past Y/N, his arm knocked her shoulder, causing her to stumble the smallest amount.

Azriel closed his eyes and continued his stride. He hadn’t meant to knock her. He was too focused on leaving that room that nothing else really mattered. But Azriel didn’t look back, he couldn’t– because the moment he did, he knew he would run back to her and beg on his knees for her to take him back.

Once Azriel was far enough away, he stopped and let his wings scrape on the floor, not having the energy to hold them up anymore. He looked down at his bandaged hands to find the blood soaking through the white fabric. With a clench of his fists, Azriel continued down the hall, trying to scrub any thought of Y/N from his mind.

***

Neither Rhys’s nor Cassian said anything as they stood motionless in the training room. Y/N didn’t have anything to say either as she took a small hesitant step inside. Did Azriel tell them? She thought. Though if she had to admit to herself, she didn’t want anyone knowing of her bond with Eris yet. She knew that nobody would take kindly to the news.

“What did you do to him, Y/N?” Cassian asked.

“I–” Y/N failed to find the words as she replayed Cassian’s question in her head. What did I do?

“Why do you assume I did something?” she questioned.

“You saw him,” said Cassian, gesturing to where Azriel disappeared. “I have never seen him that angry before.”

“Again,” Y/N repeated. “Why do you assume that I did something?”

“I don’t see you looking too upset,” Cassian scoffed.

Y/N frowned. “How do you know what I feel? Just because I am not punching and beating things up doesn’t mean that I am not upset.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten us and tell us why your relationship with Azriel ended,” Rhys chimed in. “Azriel is reluctant to tell us.”

“It is none of your business,” Y/N snapped. “It is private between Azriel and I.”

“And Eris,” Rhys added.

“What?” Y/N questioned.

“I watched him slip out of your room this morning,” Rhys commented, picking a piece of lint from his clothes.

“After he tried to comfort me after Azriel left me alone after the celebration,” Y/N explained, getting more irritated by the second. “If you dare to think anything else, Rhysand, mother help you.”

Rhys shrugged. “I wasn’t implying anything.”

Cassian who had silently stood beside Rhys spoke up. “Why don’t you go home, Y/N? Azriel is staying here and it doesn’t seem like he wants to see you.”

Y/N scoffed. “So if Azriel is upset then you don’t want me around? Why haven’t you assumed that I also want to be around my family? Or does that sentiment only extend to Azriel for the both of you? After all, I was never invited to family dinners by the both of you, that was always Feyre, Mor or Azriel’s job. It seems like I was only your family once Azriel and I were in a relationship, despite the fact that I have known you for around five hundred years.”

“Y/N–”

Cassian was cut off by Y/N’s hand. “No, it’s fine. I now know exactly where I stand.”

“You know we think of you as family,” Rhys cut in.

Saoire shook her head. “No, Rhys, you don’t. I see that clearly now.”

Neither Rhys nor Cassian had the chance to respond as Y/N quickly left the room. She didn’t exactly know where she was going but all she knew was that she wanted to be alone. As she walked down the corridor, she could faintly smell the familiar scent of Azriel and Y/N’s eyes burned with unshed tears. She knew that there was no way to convince him to stay with her. Her soul was tied to someone else, the male she was fated to be with.

Eris Vanserra was someone Y/N had never met personally; only heard stories about– and most of the stories were not positive. Yet, when she danced with him last night, even if she wasn’t leaning into his fake flirtations, she had an amazing time dancing with him. Even this morning when he checked up on her after their mating bond snapped, he didn’t need to do that. And left the room when she asked him to. It was the bare minimum but they didn’t align with the stories of the cruel, evil, wicked High Lord that the Inner Circle had spoken about for many years.

Y/N shook her head, hoping to rid herself of thoughts about Eris and continued down the hallway. No destination in mind, all that she wanted to do was be alone and dive into her own research– anything to distract her from her reality.

Taglist:

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#acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #high lord eris #azriel x eris #eris acotar #eris x reader #azris

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harryspurpleloofah · 2 days ago

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A Taste of You Instead

Picture is most definitely not mine ‼️‼️‼️

Summary: y/n is a chef who travels the world working in little restaurants and having her own pop up stands at festivals. She ends up having to stay in the villa because of an emergency and her and Harry come down to get water at the same time and end up hooking up.

Warnings: start and end are just fluffy, p in v sex with protection (use protection guys), nipple play, no one really plays the role of a Dom or a sub, subtle flirting between y/n and Harry the entire time, tit sucking

Mr and Mrs Lowe owned a beautiful holiday villa in the Bahamas. It was complete with a private chef who they had hired about a week ago for the high profile guests coming to stay. It was Harry Styles. With his guitarist Mitch and his drummer Sarah. Their son Arlo was with Mitch’s mother back in England. They’d also brought their mutual friend Pauli so Harry wouldn’t be third wheeling.

The whole group was buzzing with excitement, voices overlapping as they scattered throughout the villa to pick rooms. The air smelled of salt and sunscreen, a reminder of how far away they were from real life.

“Is this real?” Sarah called out from upstairs, her voice echoing. “I think this bathroom is bigger than my flat!”

“Dibs the room with the outdoor shower!” Pauli shouted, already halfway down the hall.

Mitch, less concerned about claiming a space, threw himself onto the oversized couch in the living room, right next to Harry. He grabbed the sleek brochure that had been left on the coffee table, flipping through it casually.

“Check this out,” Mitch said, holding it up so Harry could see. The cover had a photo of the villa bathed in golden light, with a caption that read, ‘An Exclusive Escape: Your Paradise Awaits.’

Harry leaned over, squinting at the text. “They really went all in on the marketing, huh?”

Mitch chuckled, turning a page. “It’s not just the house. They’ve got this whole... experience thing planned. Private yoga sessions, snorkeling tours, and—” he paused, raising an eyebrow, “a one-night ‘luxury dining experience’ with a personal chef. Fancy.”

Harry let out a laugh, shaking his head. “That doesn’t sound like us at all.”

“Speak for yourself, mate. I fully intend to live like a billionaire this week.” Mitch grinned, tossing the brochure back onto the table. “Who do you think the chef is? Like... a real one from a show or something?”

Harry shrugged, leaning back “Don’t know. Probably some bloke who makes tiny portions look pretty.”

A soft but deliberate ahem cut through the air behind him. Harry froze, Mitch’s eyes widened slightly as he looked past him.

Harry turned slowly, his gaze landing on her. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

“Not a bloke,” she said simply, her voice calm but with a hint of teasing, “and the portions will be perfectly sized, thank you very much.”

“Right..sorry about that.” Harry smiled apologetically and ran a hand through his hair.

She smiled back, “don’t worry. Mr and Mrs Lowe just asked me to drop by and make sure you guys have settled in well. Any problems?”

Sarah comes back just then with Pauli, his face in a pout, “there’s no hot water from the sink.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow as she thinks for a second, “huh. Shouldn’t be a problem. Did you leave it running for a bit? Takes a bit of time.”

“Yeah for a good few minutes.”

“Alright. I’ll ask someone about that and have it fixed for you.”

“Thanks so much.”

Her gaze switches back to Harry, “now if that’s all I’ll see you guys at dinner tonight. And it’ll just be me no bloke with tiny portions.”

Harry winces in apology at being reminded once again of his mistake.

As Y/N turned back toward the kitchen, the group lingered in the living room, a little quieter than before. Sarah raised an eyebrow at Harry, clearly trying to suppress a grin.

“‘Probably some bloke,’ huh?” she teased, plopping onto the couch opposite him. “You’re off to a stellar start.”

Harry leaned back, crossing his arms defensively, though his cheeks betrayed him with a faint flush. “I didn’t know she was there,” he muttered.

She doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge,” Sarah offered, smiling.

At dinner, the patio was set with a long wooden table under a canopy of string lights, the sea breeze carrying the scent of fresh herbs and sizzling garlic from the open kitchen. The group was buzzing with excitement as they sat down, wine glasses clinking and laughter filling the air.

Y/N emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray, setting down the first dish with practiced ease. “Tonight’s menu is a little taste of the Mediterranean,” she said, her voice calm but warm. She explained the dish, a roasted red pepper and goat cheese tart without missing a beat, her eyes skimming the group until they landed on Harry.

“Not too small, I hope,” she added with a sly smile.

Harry sighs at the subtle jab at his earlier comment before chuckling, “alright that was a bad move. I’m sorry.”

She smiles softly, “enjoy your food guys.”

Dinner had stretched into an easy, flowing evening, laughter filling the air as everyone sat back and enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere. By the time Y/N had cleared the last of the dishes and wiped down the kitchen counters, it was well past 11, and she was starting to feel the weight of the day.

She’d tried calling her usual driver earlier, but he’d canceled because of an emergency, and now, every taxi app she tried only showed unavailable drivers. She frowned at her phone, frustration building

“Still here?” Sarah’s voice interrupted her thoughts as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, a glass of wine in her hand. She looked at Y/N with a small smile. “Everything alright?”

She glanced up, showing her phone to Sarah with a frustrated sigh. “My driver canceled hours ago, and now there’s no way to get a car out here. I was thinking of walking down to the path, but I can’t get anything close”

Sarah’s face twisted into concern. “Wait, what? Walk down the path? It’s pitch black out there. You’re not doing that.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I wasn’t planning on going on a hike, just needed to get to the main road and hope for a cab.”

But Sarah protested “No way. It’s way too late and it’s not safe.”

Pauli came into the kitchen, “What’s going on? Is someone trying to leave in the middle of the night?”

Y/N shrugged, holding up her phone. “Just trying to figure out how to get home. My ride bailed, and now it’s too late to get a replacement.”

Pauli shook his head. “Not on my watch. I don’t care if you’ve got a time machine, you’re not walking down that path to the main road alone, and that’s final.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, Pauli. I’ve done worse.”

Mitch, always the quiet one, stepped into the room and leaned against the doorframe with his usual laid-back vibe “You sure about that?” he asked glancing at the clock. “It’s getting late. Maybe you should just stay the night.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing between them. “I don’t want to intrude. It’s your getaway. You didn’t sign up for a surprise roommate.”

“Nonsense. You’re basically our friend now. Besides you’ve already done enough for one day you gave us a lovely dinner.”

“She’s right.”

Harry stood in the doorway, his presence effortlessly commanding. His sweatpants and t-shirt were simple, but the way he carried himself made them look intentional, almost tailored. His hair was slightly tousled, and he held a bottle of water loosely in one hand.

“You don’t even know what’s happening.”

Harry stepped further into the room, his smile soft but sure. “I don’t need all the details. Just heard you’re thinking about heading out on your own this late, and that’s not happening.”

“You make it sound like I don’t have a choice,” Y/N said, tilting her head.

“You don’t,” he replied easily, leaning one hip against the counter. “Not because anyone’s forcing you, but because it’d be ridiculous. There’s more than enough space here, and I’m pretty sure none of us want to wake up to a news story about someone wandering down an unlit road in the middle of nowhere getting hurt.”

Pauli nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. ‘Chef disappears into the abyss’ is not a headline we’re aiming for.”

Y/N glanced at the others, then back at Harry, whose gaze was steady but relaxed. “And if I insist on leaving?”

Harry smiled, his tone light but firm. “Then we’ll insist you stay. It’s a holiday—it’s supposed to be easy, remember?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re awfully persistent.”

“It’s a skill,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening. “One night, Y/N. You’ll thank us in the morning.”

“Fine,” she said with a playful sigh, throwing her hands up. “But only because it’s easier than arguing.”

“Smart choice,” Mitch said with a small smile.

The villa was quiet, its sprawling layout and darkened hallways lending a hushed intimacy to the late hour. Y/N crept down the stairs barefoot, her silk pajama pants brushing lightly against her legs. She hadn’t meant to stay up this late, but the weight of the day had settled in her chest, leaving her restless.

Water. That was her excuse. She needed water.

When she entered the kitchen, she stopped short.

Harry was already there, standing by the counter in loose black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, the hem brushing his hips. His hair was an unruly mess, like he’d been tossing and turning before deciding sleep wasn’t worth the fight. He was mid-sip from a glass of water when he noticed her.

“Midnight cravings?” he asked, his voice low, the kind of quiet you only hear when the rest of the world is asleep.

“Just thirsty” she replied, stepping further into the room. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

“Me neither.” He set his glass down and leaned against the counter, his hip jutting out just enough to make it look effortless. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

She went to the sink, reaching for a glass from the cupboard. She filled it slowly, her movements deliberate. “You always wander around this late?”

“Sometimes,” he said, watching her with an easy smile. “Hard to turn off the brain y’know?”

She nodded, turning to face him. “Yeah. I get that.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the silence stretching but never uncomfortable. The kitchen, dimly lit by a single overhead bulb, felt almost too small, the air thick between them.

“You seem more awake than I’d expect for someone who’s had a long day,” he said, tilting his head slightly, his green eyes sharp but warm.

Y/N shrugged, lifting her glass. “Water’s magic.”

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “That what they say?”

“That’s what I say,” she said back, taking a sip.

Harry stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, closing the space between them. “You always this quick on your feet?”

“Occupational hazard,” she replied, her voice steady even as her pulse quickened.

“Impressive,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips for just a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes again.

The shift in the air was palpable, like the pause before a storm. Y/N felt her breath hitch as he reached out, his hand brushing hers where she held the glass.

“You’re really hardworking y’know?,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower. “I like that.”

“Is that right?” she replied, arching a brow, her fingers still wrapped around the glass even as his lingered on hers.

“Yeah. Ambitious and..driven. It’s refreshing.”

She should’ve said something clever. She should’ve stepped back, put space between them. But instead, she stayed where she was, her gaze locked with his.

“I don’t think this is the kind of conversation most people have at this hour,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

Harry’s smile deepened, his dimples making a brief but devastating appearance. “Guess I’m not most people.”

And then he was closer, the glass forgotten as he set it down on the counter. His fingers brushed against her wrist, his touch featherlight, but it sent a spark racing up her arm.

“Is this usually how your late night kitchen runs go?” she asked, her voice steady despite the heat blooming in her chest.

“Not really but I’ll make an exception.”

Y/N barely had time to process his words before he leaned in, his lips brushing hers. It was soft at first almost testing, but when she didn’t pull away, it deepened. His hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss grew hungrier.

She let the glass slip from her fingers, the sound of it landing on the counter distant and unimportant. Her hands found their way to his chest, the soft cotton of his shirt bunching beneath her fingers as she clung to him.Harry’s breath hitched as he pressed her back against the counter, his body warm and solid against hers. His hands explored her sliding from her waist to her hips then back up to her jaw.

Y/N’s hands fisted in his shirt pulling him closer, her body instinctively arching toward him as the cool counter pressed against her back. She felt the warmth of his body seep through the thin fabric, the hard lines of his chest against her palms making her head spin.

He shifted slightly, his knee brushing against her leg as he slotted himself between her thighs. The motion was unhurried, but the weight of him was unmistakable. His hand slipped from her waist to her hip, his thumb pressing into the curve there, grounding her even as the heat between them grew.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured against her lips his voice low and gravelly, his breath hot against her skin.

Her response was immediate, her voice steady despite the way her pulse thundered. “I’m not telling you to stop.”

Harry pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his green eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, his lips quirked into a crooked smile, one that made her stomach flip.

“Good,” he whispered, his voice a velvet promise.

His lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, where he lingered nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. Y/N’s head tilted back, a soft gasp escaping her as his hands slid under the hem of her shirt, his touch searing against her bare skin.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice rough but steady, his fingers pausing just above her waistline.

“Yes” she breathed, her own hands trailing down his torso, brushing against the waistband of his sweatpants.

His hands slipped beneath her top, skimming over her waist and ribs, his thumbs grazing the underside of her chest. He paused glancing at her, waiting for the slightest indication that she wanted him to stop.

When she arched into his touch instead, he let out a quiet groan his lips finding hers again as his hands moved higher, his thumbs brushing over her sensitive skin.

One of his hands trailed down her side, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her pajama pants. He paused again, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Still okay?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice firm, though her breath hitched as his hand slid lower, his fingers exploring with a confidence that left her dizzy.

Her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more of his touch, and Harry obliged, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring every reaction he pulled from her.

Harry’s lips were relentless his hands moving with practiced precision, sliding up under her pajama top to cup her breasts fully. His thumbs brushed over her hardened peaks, drawing a gasp from her. Her hips bucked against his instinctively the ache low in her belly becoming unbearable.

“Sensitive aren’t you?” he murmured. He dipped his head to her neck again, nipping the delicate skin, tugging her top up and over her head in one swift motion.

“You talk too much,” she shot back, her voice breathless but steady, her hands tugging at his shirt in retaliation.

He smirked, pulling back just enough to help her peel it off him, revealing the toned planes of his chest and the tattoos scattered across his skin. Her eyes lingered for a moment, taking him in.

Their mouths crashed together, all teeth and tongues now, their earlier teasing giving way to raw, unfiltered need.

Harry’s hands slid down her sides, hooking into the waistband of her pants and pulling them down in one smooth motion. His palms trailed back up her thighs, spreading them as he stepped between her legs again.

“You’re gorgeous,” he breathed, his voice low. His hands gripped her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter, and the cool marble against her bare skin only heightened the heat pooling between her legs.

His fingers traced up her inner thigh. He groaned low in his throat at the feel of her, leaning in to press a kiss just below her ear. “So wet already,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval.

Her response was a whimper as his fingers began to circle her in slow, deliberate motions, teasing and testing what made her writhe against him. Her head fell back, her hands clutching at his shoulders for balance as her breathing grew ragged.

“Harry,” she gasped, her voice cracking on his name.

“That’s it, love,” he muttered, his lips traveling down her chest, his tongue flicking over a hardened peak before he took it into his mouth. His free hand gripped her waist to steady her as his fingers worked her over, building her higher and higher until she was on the edge.

“Please” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders as her hips moved against his hand.

“What do you need?” he asked, his voice a low rasp as he pulled back just enough to look at her.

“You” she said simply, her gaze locking with his, her cheeks flushed and lips parted.

“Hold on,” he murmured, his voice rough but full of care.

She blinked up at him, her own breathing uneven, and watched as he stepped back slightly, his hands reluctantly leaving her body. He reached for his sweatpants, which had been discarded hastily on the floor, and pulled a small foil packet from one of the pockets.

“Just gotta be careful yeah?”, he smiles at her.

She watches him put the condom on and nods.

Harry gripped her thighs, pulling her against him. Their eyes stayed locked as he aligned himself with her, pausing just long enough to let her adjust to the feel of him.

The first thrust stole the air from her lungs, and Harry groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as he began to move. His pace was measured at first, but it quickly became clear that neither of them was interested in restraint.

“You feel so good,” he murmured against her skin, his voice barely audible over their shared rhythm.

Her reply was incoherent, a mix of moans and whimpers as her release built to a breaking point.

You’re stunning,” he said, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them if he tried.

Y/N let out a small laugh, “Flattery gets you nowhere Harry.”

“Doesn’t feel like nowhere,” he countered, his hands gripping her thighs as he pulled her to the edge of the counter. “Feels like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, “God you’re so big..” he gripped her thighs to hold her steady. The sound of their bodies smacking together filled the kitchen, mingling with their ragged breaths and soft moans.

He pulled back, almost completely, before thrusting forward again pounding his cock deeper into her, the motion deliberate and slow. His hips snapping against hers with more urgency, each thrust driving deeper, harder. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room.

Her cries grew louder as she reached the edge, her body arching into him as the tension inside her snapped. Her release hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her shaking and clinging to him, her nails digging into his back.

Harry followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep a guttural groan escaping him as he came undone. His grip on her hips tightened, holding her close as he spilled into her, his body trembling with the force of it.

Their breaths mingled in the quiet of the kitchen, both of them still trembling slightly as they came down from the orgasm. Harry stayed close, his body pressed against hers, his hands gently smoothing over her sides as if grounding them both.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice soft and low, the usual cheeky edge replaced with genuine care.

Y/N nodded, her fingers brushing through the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice still a little shaky. “You?”

“Better than okay” he said, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. He eased back, his green eyes scanning her face, searching for any sign of discomfort.

When he was satisfied, he carefully slipped away, helping her down from the counter. She wobbled slightly, and his hands were instantly at her waist, steadying her with a gentle smile.

She watched as he went to get a glass of water and a clean dish towel. Settling beside her, he handed her the glass, his hand resting lightly on her thigh.

“Drink,” he urged softly.

She took a sip, the cool water soothing against her throat. Meanwhile, Harry unfolded the towel, dampened with warm water, and began gently cleaning her up. His movements were tender his eyes flickering to hers every so often to make sure she was comfortable.

After a while, Y/N shifted slightly in Harry’s arms, reluctantly pulling herself upright. “I should probably... you know, head up,” she said softly, glancing toward the staircase.

Harry’s arms tightened around her for a moment before he let her go, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, probably a good idea,” he agreed, though the reluctance in his voice mirrored her own.

She stood, smoothing down her borrowed t-shirt, one of Sarah’s from earlier and glanced back at him as he leaned back against the couch. His hair was a mess of soft curls, his face flushed and glowing in the low light, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips. He looked far too good for someone who’d just spent the last hour being utterly wrecked.

He caught her staring and raised a brow, that effortless charm creeping back into his expression. “What? Already miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a grin. “Hardly,” she said, though the warmth in her voice gave her away.

Harry stood too, stretching slightly before stepping closer. “I’ll walk you up,” he offered, his voice softer now.

“I can manage,” she replied, but there was no real protest in her tone.

Together, they padded up the stairs, their bare feet barely making a sound on the wooden steps. The villa was quiet, save for the faint rustling of palm trees outside.

Soon it was the group’s last day at the villa. Y/N hadn’t stayed over every single night but the time she’d spent with them was savored by them all and they’d definitely miss her.

The late afternoon sun spilled through the villa’s open windows, casting golden light over the long dining table where Harry and his friends sat, their plates filled with the last meal Y/N had prepared for them. The air buzzed with lighthearted chatter and laughter, the group savoring both the food and the company.

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Y/N,” Sarah said, setting her fork down with a satisfied sigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy a regular sandwich again.”

“Agreed” Mitch added, raising his glass in a silent toast to her.

Pauli leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin on his face. “What’s the secret? Is it the knife skills, the seasoning, or just pure magic?”

“Third one.” She responded while smiling as she made her way over to start to gather the plates.

Harry watched her from across the table, a soft smile playing on his lips. She moved with an effortless grace, her presence brightening the room just as much as the sunshine pouring in.

After lunch, the group lingered for a while, lounging on the couches and soaking up the last moments of their holiday. Eventually, though, the time came to start packing up, and the air grew tinged with the bittersweet weight of goodbyes.

Out on the front porch, their bags gathered near the waiting car, Sarah enveloped Y/N in a warm hug. “Thank you for everything,” she said earnestly. “You’ve been amazing.”

Pauli was next, wrapping Y/N in a dramatic bear hug that made her laugh. “If I’m ever in a food coma again, I’m blaming you,” he said, winking as he stepped back.

Finally, Harry stepped forward, his hands in his pockets and his smile soft but radiant. “They’re not wrong, you know,” he said, his voice low. “You’ve been incredible.”

“And you guys have all been lovely guests.” She replied.

Harry chuckled, pulling his phone from his pocket. “So, uh,” he started, holding it out to her. “Any chance I could get your number? For... you know, culinary emergencies.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, but her smile widened as she took his phone and punched in her number. “Only if you promise not to text me at three in the morning asking for pancake recipes,” she said, handing it back to him.

“No promises,” he replied, his grin boyish and charming as he glanced down at his phone.

The car honked softly, breaking the moment, and Harry gave her a small, reluctant nod. “Guess that’s my cue,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.

“Guess so,” she replied, her chest tightening just a bit as he stepped back.

As the car pulled away, Y/N stood on the porch, waving as they disappeared down the winding drive. The villa felt quieter already, the absence of their lively energy palpable.

She glanced down at her phone, the screen lighting up with a new message: "Thanks again, Chef. Hope this isn’t goodbye."

A soft smile spread across her lips, and she typed out a quick reply: "Not goodbye. Just see you later."

#harry styles #new writers on tumblr #fanfic #harry fluff #fluff #harries #new writing blog #reqs open #fluffy #smut #harry styles reader insert #harry styles imagine #harry smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut

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cameronwillow · 3 days ago

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Am I making you feel sick?

Father Charlie Mayhew x fem reader

When Charlie Mayhew sees you, a magnetic and sultry member of the church, his obsession begins dangerously.

CW: Perv! Charlie, masturbation, oral male and female receiving, degrading, praise, unprotected PnV, bratty reader,

The markings on Charlie’s back were a humbling reminder of his sin. He focused his efforts onto appearing normal. A regular service. A way to give the people encouragement, guidance and a spiritual feast. But keeping his composure while you played with the fringes of your skirt, the curves of your thighs exposed as you crossed your ankles. That proved to be a significant challenge.

You were a regular member of the church. Your attendance was isolated. Your presence came after the death of your grandparents a few months prior.

He remembered first seeing you. As if a halo shined above your head as you confidently strode into the building. The click of your platform shoes echoed across the floor as you plopped onto a seat. Charlie nearly stumbled over his sermon when you met eyes that day. Your gaze was focused. Made up eyes with a mixture of curiosity and rebellion.

Above your heart, you wore a silver cross. The muscles in your neck flexing as you chew a piece of bubble gum. Beautiful wasn’t fitting enough to describe you. Charlie was enchanted by the way you tried to follow along in your Bible but you seemed to be a step behind.

His cock started to throb when you would separate your legs, exposing the black lace material that covered your pussy. After the third time he saw you, Charlie approached you with a confident stride. He hoped it was enough to cover the urge to wince at his wounds. It’s what he deserved after his fist jerked himself off the previous nights.

He readied himself to speak but you looked him up and down with a slight smirk.

“Yeah?” You ran the tip of your tongue along the edges of your teeth and Charlie cleared his throat.

“God looks favorably on those who are devout to him. And I know he looks down on you with deep appreciation.” He was used to his charm working immediately. Charlie prepared for flirtation in return, a giggle or even batting eyelashes but instead you snorted with a flick of your hair.

“Duh. That’s why I come here. I know God loves me otherwise I wouldn’t be alive.” He opened his mouth to question what you meant but you spun on your heels and walked away.

Charlie was self admittedly obsessed with you. He found every excuse imaginable to walk by your area. He found you online. His fingers shook and his forearm was sore from busting a load when he looked at your photos.

But his deep desire for you only grew when he ran into you at the diner. You drank a milkshake and nibbled on the remainder of your fries. When you saw him, you waved him over. Charlie plastered on a smile and spoke your name with a feign politeness.

“Can you be a good little priest and watch my purse?” You asked him and he swallowed. He nodded as you walked to the near restroom.

Charlie understood fully it was juvenile to search your purse but when his fingers fell on the material of lace, an overwhelming feeling of excitement came. He pocketed the pair of panties and gained his strength when you returned.

His life before turning to the cloth consisted of perverse acts and they lingered within him like a poison. You were possessing his every thought just like corrupted angels that turned away from God. Charlie was tired of his own rough hand. One that inflicted regular discipline. One that desperately wanted to touch you.

He walked around the church during nightfall. Kneeling before the candles and begging for any assistance. For strength to resist. But it was too much. So much so, that Father Charlie began stealing more and more things. A lipgloss tube. Chains. A secondary fragrance. Anything that could bring him closer to you.

Charlie concluded and pried himself out of the intoxication of the image of being between your legs.

“Take solace in the congregation!” He cried out, holding his hands up. “Lean onto God for your salvation against this treachery!” Charlie quieted.

The service concluded and the rainfall began. Numbers dwindled except you. His breathing trembled as he strode to you. “Ah, is your mind filled with worry?” He tucked his hands behind his back. You popped your hip and stared at the wood intricacies.

“I can’t go home. There was a leak in my apartment ceiling. I’m about to phone a friend so I can stay with him while it’s being fixed.” You adjusted your ring and Charlie clenched his fists.

The mention of another male made him feel nearly nauseous. Charlie clicked his jaw and raised his eyebrows. “You can have sanctuary here. We have rooms-“

“God, why do you talk like that?” You turned to face him and he was taken aback by your aggressive tone. “Like you’re my age. And you act like you’re the same age as Jesus!”

You gripped his collar suddenly and Charlie let out a gasp. Your breath smelled like strawberries. The shine to your lips with a hint of glitter. “Get over yourself, Father. Just because you wear this ridiculous outfit, doesn’t mean you’re anything less than a little boy.”

Every word you spoke was laced with a condescending bite. You let him go but Charlie didn’t step back. His eyes kept falling to the wicked mouth giving him a slew of insults that were a muffle in his ears.

“Anyway. I keep trying to call him but there’s barely any service in here.” You roll your eyes and Charlie musters his confidence back.

“You can stay here tonight. Give him a call in the morning. I can promise you safety here.” His voice was barely above a whisper. You seemed to contemplate it for a moment. Your stare narrowed before a minimal softness came.

“Well. I guess I can spare one night.”

Charlie led you in silence to his room. Every footstep was heavy. The weight of his internal battle tormenting him. He stood in silence as your fingers traced the walls, lingering on the hung cross and twirled the quilt on his bed.

You sat down, resting your palms on your knees and met his look.

“How long have you been catholic?” The question was genuine and his intrigue increased as you chuckled. You examined your nails with a lilting response.

“Not long. Grew up around the church but left when I was eighteen. Swore it off until these super hot guys in a band attacked me,” His jaw dropped and rage ignited his chest. “But I happened to have my Cross. Guess you could call it Divine intervention. I stabbed the man with it in the eye. Maced the other one. Third dude ran away.”

You completed the sentence with a giggle. “I promised God that if he got me out, I’d join the church. And I keep my word.” You pressed your hands together in prayer.

Charlie lost control of his body and he moved towards you. He set his large hands on your shoulders, squeezing your muscles and he bent down. “How could anyone want to hurt you?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” He pressed a finger against your lips and you pulled it into your mouth. Charlie grunted and removed it.

You sank down on the floor, unbuckling his pants with a practiced ease. Peering at him, you smiled and hooked your finger in his trousers.

His size and girth made your mouth water. You allowed your lips to part, drool pooling down your tongue that stuck out. You removed his boxers, Charlie’s dick twitching as you slapped the tip against your tongue. You licked his length, dragging motions that made his vision go white.

When you took him in your mouth, moving your neck to deepthroat, he moaned and his hand set on your head. Charlie pumped your skull, thrusting but you pulled off. Messily sucking his balls and he started convulsing.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He pulled the strings. He held the reins and control was his.

A part of him unlocked, one that he tried to put away. Charlie growled and yanked you off his shaft. Laughter escaped you, as you still believed you called the shots.

“Oh my god! You were about to cream down my throat and I only did it for a minute or two.” He stood there as you dug the pair of stolen panties from his pocket.

“Did you really think I was that stupid? You think I don’t know a fucking pervert when I see them?” You flicked them at his face and Charlie’s cheeks heated. “You’re disgusting.”

He reached and gripped your jaw. Charlie backed you up until you were slammed on the bed, his knee between your thighs as his cock pulsed. He wrapped that same hand around your throat, squeezing until you were staring at him with wide eyes.

“I am going to ruin you and that sweet little pussy you flash at me. You think this is a goddamn joke?” His voice was rasped with lust and a sickness he caught the moment he saw you.

Charlie let go of your throat and watched you cough. He tore away your panties, shredding off the skirt and stared at your dripping cunt. He let his head fall to the side, dark brown eyes focused on your flustered expression.

You went to gain some sort of momentum to support yourself but Charlie gave your pussy a sharp slap.

You made a shrieking noise at the impact and he scoffed. “Oh don’t act so fuckin stupid. Is that little corrupted brain of yours not getting it?” Weeks of build up poured out of him and he smacked your center three more times. Each strike harder than the last.

Your mouth pressed in a line, a poor attempt to conceal the pleasure. Charlie allowed a sinister smile to curl. “You’re almost as fucked up as I am, doll.” Your eyes widened as he slowly let his mouth graze your lower half.

He let his full lips brush against your bare skin as he breathed in. Charlie smelled the scent of your pulsing cunt and the wild need ignited in him. The priest gripped your hips as his knees pressed into the floor. He smashed his mouth against your pussy.

It was better than the sweetest candy. The most saccharine sensation as he parted his lips and found your clit. Charlie’s dick was so hard that his hand picked up the discarded panties. He wrapped them around his cock, moaning at the relief as his tongue tasted you.

Charlie worked you over, his other hand keeping your hips in place.

His nose hit the right spots and he wasn’t shy about being messy. You were panting, holding his head and grinding as much as you could. Your moans were better than his favorite song. Charlie had plenty of experience burying his face between a woman’s legs. It was something that he did not only for their pleasure but his own.

Feeling your body contract, moving into his corrupted touch made Charlie’s eyes roll back as more slick soaked his mouth. You cried out, a series of, “Oh god, fuck! F-fuck.” You sounded on the brink of tears.

Charlie pushed two fingers inside you, making your whimpers become pathetic. He pumped them as he lifted himself, hovering over you with a wet chin. “Open that whore mouth,” he commanded and you did.

Charlie let the spit fall, coating your tongue and lips. “Swallow it. You know all about that, huh?” He enjoyed the sight of you beneath him. Charlie kissed you. Deeply and hungrily. He sucked your lower lip lewdly, letting a thick groan escape him. You returned it in kind, pressing your chest against his, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off his arms.

Your fingers felt the scars on his back but Charlie didn’t care. Every single self inflicted mark was worth it if it meant he could be with you.

“Fuck me, please. Please fuck me,” You begged and Charlie’s dick fucking hurt but he loved the pain. He ran the tip of his cock against your clit, smearing the cum and continuous wetness.

He sank into your entrance, stretching you and you both let out a harmonious sigh. Charlie’s half opened eyes observed you arch your back but that familiar fire burned in your eyes. You tightened your legs that were around his waist. He knew you were trying to flip over. Not now. Charlie aggressively thrusted into you, bringing his hand down to spank the side of your ass.

“Oh no, you don’t get to ride me yet. You’re gonna lay there like the helpless little sinner you are.” He growled and heaved your thighs over his shoulders. Getting an even deeper angle as your ass was off the mattress.

Drool escaped your hung open mouth and he let his palm feel your lower stomach. “Yeah? You feel that? Feel me in your pathetic pussy? You,” Thrust,” “Are,” thrust, “Mine.”

“Yours,” You sobbed and he smacked your face.

“You can do better. You can do fucking better than that.” Charlie smeared the spit on your mouth, cheek and slapped it again. “Tell me you’re a good girl.”

“I’m a good girl. I’m your good girl.” You pleaded with growing pleasure.

“See? You obey me. Deep down,” He felt the bulge again. “You’re a desperate little girl needing to be fucked. By someone as sick as me.”

You let out a wail, moans of pleasure coming out in staccato breaths. Charlie busted his load into your pussy, his lips hovering over yours as you both humped each other.

He rolled over, sinking you on his cock. Your tits were in his face, he sucked your nipple as you bounced. Charlie felt your fingers scratch his chest, marking his skin in the shape of a Cross with your nail.

He pried off your tit, his hands holding your waist. “Pussy squeezin me so tight. Like you can’t get enough. Greed is a sin,” Charlie sucked your pulse point and brought you to a second climax.

You fucked yourself on his dick. Mewling as he coated your insides with cum. “You’re my dirty little sinner. Give me every last drop. Let me have it,” He whispered the last part of the sentence.

He didn’t forget your tale of woe. Charlie put away your confession in his mind. You were put in a position of self defense. But if you hadn’t been so bold, you wouldn’t have walked into the congregation.

You slowed down, lazily riding his dick with a dazed expression.

“Get on your knees. You’re gonna lick my cock clean and finish the little game you started.”

Reuploaded

Dividers by @enchanthings-a

Tagging @bloodibambiidoll @cxrrodedcoffin @stillwjk-channie-lixie @starkeysprincess @fear-is-truth @oceanblvd111 @marchsfreakshow

#nicholas alexander chavez #Nicholas Alexander Chavez smut #father charlie mayhew #father charlie grotesquerie #father charlie x reader #father charlie smut #charlie mayhew x reader #charlie mayhew smut #charlie mayhew #grotesquerie

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neptunescore · 3 days ago

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Please elaborate on carlandoscar.. I would love to hear your thoughts and I want to be convinced

Hello nonnie<3

God I have so much to say, like their dynamics just make so much sense??

First of all, just the absolute poetry that is their current stages of life. I don't know if that's the sentence you'd use to explain it, but. just listen:

Oscar- what might be

Lando- what is / what could be

Carlos- what could've been

Bc isn't that what they are.

We all know Oscar is championship material; he's got the mentality, and his racecraft and understanding of the car just gets better, especially considering the fact that it's literally his second year in F1.

Lando is the one who is, right now. He very nearly got his first championship this year, and he's just getting better. I've also written 'could be' mostly bc of the fact he still isn't a champion yet, but even with all my mclaren haterism, I do know it's a very realistic possibility.

Carlos, on the other hand, is all spent potential. Not necessarily wasted potential, bc I do feel he made a name for himself, but he's spent all his potential in teams that never gave him a proper chance to compete. Like with Renault and Mclaren it was the car, and with Ferrari it was the car AND the team's clear show of favour (not said in like a bad way, more so in a sad way). And obv torro rosso was smthng else.

So, just. The combination of these 3 different stages is so compelling to me.

Next, we have their relationships with each other.

With Lando and Carlos and all their history, as well as them still being so close with each other, while Oscar and Carlos are always making snide remarks about one another. Except. Then you have Carlos calling them 'magnets' and Oscar only speaking up when Carlos does smthng small on track, and suddenly. They're giving each other fist bumps. They're smiling at each other when their eyes lock. They're following each other on instagram. And they're talking.

And ofc, you also just have Lando and Oscar. Lando, who will take any chance he has to tease Oscar. And Oscar, who will keel over and die with laughter at anything remotely funny, Lando says. Lando, who gave oscar his Sprint win without even being asked. Oscar, who's followed team orders with no complaints to make sure Lando stayed in championship contention.

They're just so perfectly intertwined.

Now, on to my more rpf thoughts.

I honestly fully believe that while Lando and Carlos have been friends for much longer, Oscar and Carlos would get together first. I can totally see both of them being forcefully/coincidentally put into situations where there is no choice but for them to talk. Over time, I think they just start to enjoy it. Like first, they feel genuine irritation with each other over their stupid arguments. Now, they're having fun. They like getting on to each others nerves. It becomes a sort of game.

This just keeps happening until one day they take it too far, stumble into uncharted territory, then stumble into each other, and then just stumble into bed together. Come morning, Oscar is waking up to the smell of freshly made pancakes, and him and Carlos are arguing about toppings and, well. It just feels natural. It clicks. They're together now, and neither of them even has to say it bc the other one just knows.

Lando is much more complicated. Honestly, I think he'd have a whole crisis about it. First, he'd go thru the 'wait, am I G-A-Y???' breakdown during his F2 years. Then, he'd go thru the 'ohmygod I LIKE CARLOS?!?' breakdown midway thru their second year together in Mclaren. And I can totally imagine him having his, 'wait why do I think Oscar is cute and why am I still not over Carlos why is this happening to me.' breakdown during the summer break after Oscar's first year.

Honestly, I've already written way too much now😭 if yall are still interested and wanna know how I think Lando gets with them just leave me an ask and I'll respond to that bc this is WAY to long. And if you're interested in their relationship/bedroom dynamics, then feel free to ask abt that too bc I have put MUCH thought behind it😭😭😭

Anyway, I hope this convinced you at least a little bit nonnie<3

#nep's inbox🪐#yh i got wayyy too carried away😭#formula 1 #formula one #carlandoscar #carlando #landoscar #carlos sainz jr #oscar piastri #lando norris #f1

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rainforestakiie · 3 days ago

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hello everyone!

merry christmas!

here is my christmas gift for everyone! i hope you all like it! it's just a short au, but i hope it's good enough.

Life was unforgiving, a relentless tide that threatened to drown Adam every waking moment. Each day felt heavier than the last, like carrying stones in his chest. His boys, his entire world, were struggling in ways he couldn’t always reach. Adam loved them more than life itself, more than his own breath. If it were possible to take their pain and bear it for them, he would have done so without hesitation. But this year—this crushing, merciless year—had left him grappling for solutions, for ways to hold everything together.

Eve, their mother, had died when Abel was just a toddler, too young to remember her laughter or the softness of her touch. Cain, on the other hand, carried the weight of her absence like an invisible anchor, dragging him down into a sea of anger and sorrow. The grief burned in him, raw and festering, and no matter how much therapy Adam arranged, no matter how much he tried to reach him, Cain’s pain found ways to seep out. He bottled his emotions, compressing them into a tight coil that would inevitably snap, releasing all the bitterness in sharp, devastating bursts.

Abel adored Cain, following him with wide, innocent eyes full of admiration. But Cain couldn’t bring himself to meet that gaze. He avoided Abel, pushed him away, his anger turning inward, his love for his little brother drowned beneath the weight of his grief. And Abel, sweet and tender-hearted, would turn to Adam, his voice trembling as he asked, “Daddy, why doesn’t Cain like me?”

Those moments broke Adam. He would soothe Abel as best he could, whispering reassurances he didn’t fully believe. Meanwhile, Cain’s muffled sobs echoed from behind his closed bedroom door. Adam felt like he was being crushed under the weight of it all, as though he were the one dying, slowly and quietly, under the stress and sorrow.

When December approached, Adam made himself a promise. This Christmas would be different. He would give them a holiday they’d remember forever, a glimmer of light in their darkened world. He picked up every overtime shift he could, leaving the boys with their kind, elderly neighbor, Mrs. Whitaker. The extra hours drained him, but the thought of their smiles kept him going. They deserved joy, deserved a Christmas that felt magical. He swore to himself he’d give them everything.

The tree was the first step. Adam let them choose the decorations, watching with quiet joy as Cain’s usual scowl softened into something resembling a smile. They wandered through Walmart, Abel’s tiny hands tugging at Adam’s sleeve every few seconds to show him some shiny ornament or string of lights. Cain lingered by the electronics aisle, his eyes lighting up as he spotted the Xbox display. Abel, ever the dreamer, stopped by the toy section, his gaze repeatedly drifting to a colorful dollhouse. Adam pretended not to notice how long Abel stared, but he mentally added it to his list. Whatever it took, he’d get them those gifts. It was going to be a good Christmas. It had to be.

But fate, cruel and unrelenting, had other plans.

They left the store as dusk fell, the air biting and crisp, their bags filled with ornaments and garlands. Abel’s mittened hand slipped into Adam’s as they crossed the parking lot, his high-pitched chatter bouncing into the cold night. Cain trailed behind, earbuds in, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets.

It happened so fast… and yet so slowly.

Adam would replay the moment in his mind a thousand times, the scene burned into his memory like a scar that would never fade. Abel’s hand slipped from his grasp—just for a second, just long enough for the boy to dart ahead.

“Abel!” Adam’s voice cut through the crisp air, sharp with panic.

Then he heard it. The low growl of a car engine revving, tires screeching against the icy pavement. His heart leapt into his throat as time seemed to slow to a crawl. He dropped the shopping bags without thinking, the sound of ornaments shattering barely registering in his mind. His legs moved before his brain could process, every muscle screaming as he lunged toward his youngest son.

“Abel!” he roared, his voice raw with terror.

The headlights blinded him, twin beams cutting through the gathering twilight. Abel froze, his wide eyes reflecting the glow like a deer caught in the path of an oncoming truck. Adam’s world narrowed to that single moment, the sound of his pounding heart drowning out everything else. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the fabric of Abel’s coat—so close, so agonizingly close…

And then the impact.

The sound was sickening, a dull, hollow thud that echoed in the parking lot and seemed to reverberate in Adam’s very bones. The car skidded to a stop, but the damage was done. Abel’s small body crumpled to the ground, motionless.

“No,” Adam whispered, his voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

He fell to his knees beside Abel, scooping his limp body into his arms. The boy’s face was pale, his lashes fluttering weakly as he let out a faint, wheezing breath.

“Daddy?” Abel’s voice was so soft, barely a whisper, but it shattered Adam’s heart.

“I’m here, baby,” Adam choked out, tears streaming down his face. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Cain stood frozen a few feet away, his earbuds dangling from his ears, his face pale as he stared at his little brother. For the first time in years, the anger was gone, replaced by pure, unfiltered fear.

“Call 911!” Adam barked at no one in particular, his voice cracking. “Someone call an ambulance!”

The driver stumbled out of the car, their face pale and trembling, words spilling from their mouth in a frantic, incoherent stream. Adam didn’t even look at them. All he could see was Abel, his sweet, precious boy, so small and fragile in his arms.

The world blurred around him, time losing all meaning. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder, but Adam’s focus never wavered. He held Abel close, whispering promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“Stay with me, buddy,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please, stay with me.”

Cain dropped to his knees beside them, his hands trembling as he reached out, hesitating before placing them on Abel’s tiny arm.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

Adam looked at his eldest son, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and desperate hope. For the first time in what felt like forever, they shared an unspoken understanding. They were a family—fractured, hurting, but a family nonetheless. And they would fight for Abel with everything they had.

A week later, the hospital room had become their second home. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and the soft hum of machines monitoring Abel’s recovery provided a constant background noise. Abel lay propped up in his hospital bed, his leg encased in a bright blue cast, small doodles already decorating its surface thanks to the nurses. His face was pale, but his eyes still held their spark of determination, his bravery shining through in every small smile he gave Adam and Cain.

Adam sat by his youngest son’s side, exhaustion etched into his features. The bags under his eyes told a story of sleepless nights spent worrying, praying, and strategizing how to manage the mounting bills. The Christmas he’d envisioned, filled with presents and laughter, felt like a distant dream now. Every spare penny was going toward the hospital, and the magic of the holiday seemed to be slipping away. But Adam refused to let his boys see his despair. He forced a smile, even as his heart felt heavy.

“You know,” Adam began, his voice warm and upbeat, “I heard on the news that Santa’s making his way down from the North Pole. They say the snowstorm coming tomorrow means he’s testing his sleigh to make sure it’s ready for Christmas Eve.”

Abel’s face lit up despite the pain that flickered in his expression when he moved too quickly.

“Really, Daddy? Santa’s coming soon?” His small hands gripped the edge of the blanket, his excitement momentarily washing away the weariness in his voice.

“That’s right, buddy,” Adam said, brushing a stray curl from Abel’s forehead. “And you know what? I bet he’s got something special planned for you. I mean, who else is as brave as you, huh? Santa must have noticed that.”

Abel smiled, but it faltered after a moment. His eyes fell to his hands, his fingers twisting nervously.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he whispered. “For being stupid. If I hadn’t run off…”

“Hey,” Adam interrupted gently, leaning closer. His voice wavered, but he kept it steady enough. “No, Abel. None of this is your fault, do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. Things happen, and all that matters is that you’re here with us. Don’t ever think you’re to blame for this.”

Abel nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Okay, Daddy.”

Across the room, Cain sat in a chair by the window, his back turned to them. His posture was stiff, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. The reflection of his face in the glass showed the turmoil he refused to voice. His jaw was clenched, and his gaze was distant, focused on something outside that wasn’t there. Adam knew the guilt was eating at him too—Cain had barely spoken since the accident. He hadn’t even yelled or snapped, which somehow hurt more than his usual outbursts.

“Cain,” Adam called softly. “Why don’t you come sit with us? Abel’s been waiting for his big brother to tell him a story.”

Cain hesitated, his shoulders tensing. For a moment, Adam thought he might ignore the invitation, but then Cain stood, his movements slow and deliberate. He walked over, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets and perched stiffly on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, squirt,” Cain muttered, his voice gruff but soft. He avoided Abel’s eyes, instead staring at the cast. “Nice artwork you’ve got there. Who drew the dinosaur?”

Abel’s grin returned, as bright as the morning sun.

“Nurse Kelly! But I told her where to put it,” he said proudly. “You can draw something too, Cain!”

Cain’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile.

“Maybe later,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Adam watched the exchange with a quiet sense of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. No matter how broken they felt, no matter how much the year had battered them, they still had each other. And somehow, that had to be enough.

As the evening wore on, Adam stayed by Abel’s side, reading him stories about reindeer and snowmen, while Cain sat silently, occasionally chiming in with a sarcastic comment that made Abel giggle. The snow outside began to fall, dusting the town in white, and for the first time in days, Adam allowed himself to hope.

They might not have the perfect Christmas he had dreamed of, but they still had love. And love, Adam thought, could make even the hardest winters feel warm.

Adam swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he pulled at the frayed ends of his sweater sleeves. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the calm facade he tried so desperately to maintain. Clearing his throat, he forced a smile and glanced between his boys.

“Hey,” he began, his voice uneven, “Why don’t we write our letters to Santa? He’s gonna need to know what you guys want for Christmas, right?”

Abel’s eyes widened, his face lighting up with a gasp of excitement. “Really, Daddy? We can write to Santa?”

Before Adam could respond, Cain’s voice cut through the moment like a dull blade.

“Why?” he asked flatly, not even bothering to look at Adam. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Adam blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Well...”

“Because Santa won’t know what to get you otherwise,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light, though the strain crept into his words.

Cain’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as he scoffed. “We can’t afford a Christmas this year, so what’s the point?”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, the cheerful spark in Abel’s eyes flickering as his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?” Abel asked, his voice trembling.

Adam tried to laugh it off, waving his hand dismissively. “Santa is magic, remember? He doesn’t need money. He’s got elves and all that Christmas magic stuff.”

Cain let out a bitter snort, shaking his head.

“Santa doesn’t exist, Dad,” he muttered, his tone sharp and final. He lifted his gaze to Adam, his dark eyes filled with an anger and sadness that cut Adam to the core. “I know it’s you. You’re the one who works your ass off so we can have Christmas. And this year? There’s no Christmas.”

Abel’s lower lip quivered, tears welling up in the corners of his wide, innocent eyes.

“Santa... doesn’t exist?” he whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief. His small hands clutched the edge of his blanket as though it could protect him from Cain’s words.

Adam’s chest tightened as he hissed at Cain, his tone sharp but quiet.

“Enough,” he said firmly, his eyes darting toward Abel, whose cheeks were streaked with tears.

Cain huffed, rolling his eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered, standing abruptly and stomping toward the door. The sound of the door swinging shut behind him echoed through the room, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake.

Abel sniffled, his small body trembling as he wiped at his eyes.

“Daddy... is Santa real?” he asked, his voice desperate, pleading for the truth.

Adam’s heart shattered. He crouched beside the bed, gently taking Abel’s hand in his.

“Of course, he is,” Adam said softly, though his voice broke under the weight of the lie. “Santa’s as real as the magic in Christmas, buddy. And you know what? I bet he’s waiting to see your list right now.”

Abel sniffled again, hesitating. Adam reached for his notebook and a fluffy, pom-pom-tipped pen that one of the nurses had left behind. Placing it gently on the bed beside Abel, he gave his youngest son a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t you start on your list while I go check on Cain? Just write down everything you want, okay? Santa’s got this.”

Abel’s wide, teary eyes stared down at the blank paper, his small hand reaching hesitantly for the pen.

“Okay, Daddy,” he whispered. “But... is Cain gonna be okay?”

Adam ruffled Abel’s brown curls, his voice soft and soothing. “He will be. He’s just sad right now, that’s all. But I promise, everything will be okay.”

Abel nodded, clutching the pen tightly as Adam stood. Casting one last glance at his youngest son, Adam forced himself to step out of the room, his heart heavy.

The hallway felt colder, lonelier, as Adam searched for Cain, his stomach twisting with worry. Cain was only thirteen, still a child himself, no matter how much he tried to act otherwise. Adam knew the anger Cain carried was just a mask for the hurt he couldn’t put into words. Finding him, reaching him—that was the only way forward. Adam took a deep breath and moved toward the elevator, silently praying he wouldn’t fail them again.

Abel sniffled, staring at the blank page in front of him. The notebook felt heavy in his lap, not because of its weight but because of what it represented. What could he ask Santa for? The dollhouse he’d seen at the store? The cuddly Care Bears he’d wanted for so long? He shook his head. Those things didn’t matter right now. Not really.

Abel’s tiny fingers curled around the pen, his brow furrowed in deep thought. What he wanted wasn’t a toy. What he wanted... was for his family to feel whole again.

The pen touched the paper, and Abel began to write in his uneven, childlike handwriting:

‘Dear Satan,

Hi, it’s me, Abel. I hope you and the reindeers, and the elves are doing okay! I’ve been trying to be good this year, even though sometimes it’s hard.

I thought a lot about what I want for Christmas, but it’s not toys or anything like that. I just want my daddy to be happy. He’s so tired all the time, and I think he’s really sad too. He works so, so hard to make sure me and Cain are okay, but I wish he didn’t have to. Maybe you can help him not have to work so hard anymore? And maybe... maybe you could bring him someone who can make him smile again.

And Santa, I want Cain to feel better too. He doesn’t like to talk to me, and it makes my heart hurt. I think he’s sad like Daddy, but he won’t tell me why. Could you make him happy again? I miss him. I miss when he used to laugh and play with me.

That’s all I want, Santa. Just for my family to be happy. And, if you can, please make it snow this year! Cain really likes the snow, even when he doesn’t admit it.

Thank you.

Love, Abel

As he finished, Abel sniffled again, staring down at the page. His small chest rose and fell with a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if Santa could do all that, but it didn’t hurt to ask. Carefully, he placed the notebook on the table beside him, leaning back into his pillows with a soft sigh.

He doesn’t notice his spelling mistake at all as he folded it up.

The cold air hit Adam’s face as he rushed out of the hospital, the sliding doors hissing shut behind him. His eyes scanned the parking lot and the dimly lit sidewalk beyond until he finally spotted Cain, sitting on a bench just outside the hospital’s entrance. His hood was pulled up over his head, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the ground.

Adam approached cautiously, his heart heavy with worry and frustration.

“Cain,” he called gently, but his eldest didn’t look up.

“Leave me alone,” Cain muttered, his voice tight.

Adam sighed, stepping closer. “I can’t do that, bud. I need to talk to you.”

Cain huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s there to talk about?”

Adam sat down beside him, the bench creaking under his weight. “Cain, I know you’re hurting. I know it’s been really hard since... since your mom passed. But you can’t keep taking it out on Abel. He doesn’t understand why you’re so angry, and it’s breaking his heart.”

Cain scoffed, his jaw tightening as he turned to glare at Adam. “Why do you always take his side? You don’t get it.”

Adam frowned, his voice soft but firm. “Then help me understand. What’s going on, Cain?”

Cain’s hands balled into fists, his voice rising. “How can I be happy when it’s his fault Mom’s gone?”

The words hit Adam like a punch to the gut. His heart shattered, and for a moment, he could only stare at his son in disbelief.

“Cain,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “It wasn’t Abel’s fault. Your mother got sick, sweetheart. No one could have stopped it—not you, not Abel, not me.”

Cain shook his head violently, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “She wouldn’t have gotten sick if she didn’t have Abel! If he wasn’t born, she’d still be here!”

Adam reached out, placing a hand on Cain’s shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off. “That’s not true, Cain. You were so little back then, you don’t remember everything. Your mom loved you both so much, and she wanted Abel. She was sick before she even knew about him.”

Cain turned away, his voice breaking. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Adam insisted, his tone steady but pained. “I was there, Cain. I saw it all. Your mom... she fought so hard to stay with us. She loved you more than anything. She loved Abel too. Losing her wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just happened.”

Cain’s shoulders trembled, but he refused to look at Adam.

“I hate him,” he whispered, though the words lacked conviction.

Adam’s heart ached as he leaned closer. “You don’t hate him. You’re angry and hurt, and I understand that. But Abel loves you so much, Cain. He looks up to you, and he doesn’t understand why you push him away. He just wants his big brother to love him back.”

Cain’s breath hitched, and for a moment, Adam thought he might break through. But then Cain shook his head, standing abruptly. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Cain—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” Cain shouted, his voice echoing through the quiet night.

Adam watched helplessly as Cain stormed further into the parking lot, his chest tight with sorrow. He wanted to fix this, to hold his family together, but the cracks ran so deep.

“Cain,” he called again, his voice softer now. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here. I love you, kid. Don’t forget that.”

The snow fell gently at first, the flakes swirling down like delicate whispers from the heavens. Cain stood frozen, his emerald eyes wide as the first flake landed on his gloved hand. But as he stared closer, his brow furrowed, his voice small and uncertain.

“It’s... red?”

Adam’s stomach twisted at the words. He blinked, following Cain’s gaze to the flecks of snow that dusted the ground around them. It wasn’t white—it was crimson, like the snow itself had been stained. His breath caught as he instinctively reached for Cain’s shoulder, his fingers trembling slightly.

“Cain,” Adam said carefully, his voice low and steady, “Let’s get back inside. This... this doesn’t look right.”

Cain nodded mutely, his earlier anger dissipating into something far more fragile—uncertainty, perhaps even fear. Adam guided him toward the hospital’s entrance, his hand resting firmly on the boy’s shoulder as the sliding doors whooshed open.

Once inside, they turned to watch through the glass as the snowfall grew heavier, the once-gentle flurries transforming into a steady cascade. The red snow blanketed the cars, the pavement, the world outside. Adam’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he tried to process what he was seeing.

“What in the world is this?” he muttered, half to himself.

Beside him, Cain made a soft sound, a noise somewhere between curiosity and unease. His forehead pressed lightly against the glass as he stared out, his breath fogging the surface.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he murmured.

Adam swallowed hard, his mind darting back to Eve, to the winters they’d shared together when the snow came soft and white, blanketing the world in peace. But this… this was something else entirely. It wasn’t supposed to snow at all—Adam had only mentioned it to Abel as a way to keep the boy’s hope alive, to give him a sense of magic during such a difficult time.

But now it was snowing. Red snow.

Adam glanced down at Cain, who was still staring out with a mixture of wonder and unease.

“Cain,” Adam said quietly, “I don’t know what’s happening, but... let’s not tell Abel just yet, okay? He doesn’t need to worry about this.”

Cain hesitated, then nodded. “Okay…”

Adam’s hand rested lightly on Cain’s shoulder again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He tried to push the unease down, to bury it beneath the weight of his responsibility. But as the red snow continued to fall outside, he couldn’t help but wonder: was this some strange, miraculous sign? Or something else entirely?

Adam felt like he was trapped in a surreal dream, one where the universe had suddenly decided to grant him reprieve from years of hardship. The letter from Eden Apple Insurance remained on the table, untouched since he first read it. No matter how many times he glanced at it, the words didn’t change. Insurance. Fully covered. Abel’s medical bills cleared. His mind raced as he tried to piece together how this could even be real.

And yet, it wasn’t just the medical bills. Everything was... shifting. Subtly, then undeniably.

The next day, Adam received another letter. This time it was from the bank. He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers trembling as he opened the envelope. Inside was a notice about a loan he’d taken years ago to cover unexpected expenses. It had been eating at him, every payment feeling like a weight tied to his ankles. But now the letter said the loan had been forgiven. Written off due to “processing discrepancies.”

“Processing discrepancies?” Adam muttered aloud, baffled. His heart raced. Was this even legal? Was it real? He didn’t have time to dwell on it before his phone buzzed.

It was a text from his cousin, Darren, who had borrowed a couple hundred dollars last year and conveniently forgotten about it. “Hey, Adam. Just sent the money I owed you to your account. Sorry it took so long. Thanks for being patient.”

Adam dropped the phone on the table, staring at it like it had sprouted wings. Darren? Paying him back?

That night, as Adam tucked Abel into bed, Cain lingered in the doorway of the hospital room. Adam half-expected his eldest son to grumble about something or stomp off outside to wait for him, but instead, Cain crossed his arms and leaned against the frame, watching Abel with a faint smile on his face.

Adam hesitated, glancing up. “Something on your mind, kiddo?”

Cain shifted awkwardly but didn’t leave. Instead, he spoke, his voice softer than usual. “I, uh… was thinking we could have lasagna tomorrow?”

The words hit Adam like a truck. He froze, blinking at Cain as though he’d just spoken in another language.

“Lasagna?”

Cain gave a small, almost sheepish shrug. “Yeah. I mean, I know we haven’t had it in, like… forever. But I was thinking about Mom a lot lately. I don’t think she’d want me to... I don’t know, keep being this... angry.”

He fidgeted, his face flushing slightly, his green eyes flicking down to the floor. “I just… I feel like I should try. For her. And for Abel.”

Adam’s throat tightened as he tried to find words. His first instinct was to double-check, to make sure this was actually his son standing in front of him. But instead, he simply nodded, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ll make it. First thing tomorrow.”

Cain’s lips twitched into a grin. A real grin. “Cool. Thanks, Dad.”

Adam blinked several times, then glanced out the window where the red snow continued to fall, blanketing the ground in its strange, otherworldly shimmer. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be possible, that this bizarre, blood-coloured snowfall wasn’t a natural phenomenon.

But it wasn’t just the snow.

The next morning, another unexpected shift: the car. Adam had been worrying about it for weeks, hearing the strange clunking noises whenever he drove to work or the hospital. The repairs were going to cost him a fortune—money he didn’t have, even with the other miracles happening. But when he checked the mail, there was a letter from the local auto shop.

“Due to a holiday promotional raffle, your car has been fully repaired at no cost to you. Merry Christmas!”

Adam sat back in his chair, staring at the letter with wide eyes. He hadn’t entered any raffle. He hadn’t even stepped foot in the shop recently.

Then Cain came downstairs, tossing his backpack onto the couch with a grin. “Hey, Dad.”

Adam looked up, blinking. “Hey. You’re... in a good mood.”

“Yeah, school wasn’t so bad today,” Cain replied, plopping down at the table and grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl.

“Oh, and guess what? Ms. Kline actually cracked a joke in history class. Can you believe that?” He laughed, shaking his head.

Adam stared, dumbfounded. Cain. Laughing. Smiling. Talking about school as though it didn’t weigh him down like a millstone.

“Uh, lasagna tonight, right?” Cain asked, glancing up.

“Y-Yeah,” Adam stammered, still processing. “Lasagna.”

Cain grinned. “Cool.”

It was as though the universe had flipped a switch. And then came the hospital call that threw him for another loop: Abel was being discharged early. Christmas Eve, to be exact. Adam nearly dropped the phone, his mind whirring. “Wait, what? Are you sure? I thought you’d keep him through Christmas!”

The nurse on the other end chuckled. “It’s a Christmas miracle, Mr. Dawson. His recovery’s been remarkable. We’ll have the paperwork ready for you tomorrow.”

Adam hung up, his head spinning. He glanced again at the window, at the crimson snow falling steadily, glittering in the faint sunlight. There was no logical explanation for any of this. None of it made sense.

As he rubbed a hand over his face, he murmured to himself, “What in the world is going on?”

Cain’s voice came from the living room. “It’s a Christmas miracle, Dad. Just roll with it.”

Adam couldn’t help but laugh softly, his gaze drifting back to the red snow outside.

“A Christmas miracle,” he whispered. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But for the first time in years, Adam felt something he hadn’t dared to feel in a long time.

Hope.

Christmas was just around the corner, and Adam had a sinking feeling that, if he hurried, he could still create the perfect holiday for his boys. The red snow swirling outside was strange, unsettling even, but it couldn’t ruin their Christmas... could it? When he picked Abel up from the hospital, it was the first time in weeks that Adam had felt light—truly light—as if an invisible weight had been lifted from his chest.

Abel’s small arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and he buried his face against Adam’s chest, his voice soft, “I’m so glad I’m home, Daddy.”

Adam grinned, his heart swelling with love as he gently patted Abel’s back. He could hear Cain humming beside them as they walked up the stairs to their flat. Cain looked so... happy, so carefree, like nothing was wrong.

Adam shifted Abel higher on his hip as they reached the door, a small frown tugging at his lips. The one thing that weighed on his mind was that he hadn’t been able to finish the Christmas decorations before Abel came home. He’d wanted it to be perfect for them. He opened the door, stepping inside... and froze. His heart skipped a beat, a strange feeling of dread curling in his stomach as his eyes widened.

Both Cain and Abel gasped, their voices filled with wonder. Cain looked at him, his brow furrowed in disbelief, “When did you have time to do all this?”

Abel squealed, his arms tightening around Adam in pure joy. “Daddy! This is amazing!”

Adam let out a soft, awkward laugh, his eyes darting around the room. The living room was... overdone. Every inch of their home was covered in decorations, down to the hallway, kitchen, and even the bathroom. Cain and Abel’s shared room, with the bunk beds, looked like something out of a dream—or maybe a nightmare, depending on how you looked at it. Adam carefully set Abel down on the sofa, scratching the back of his head nervously.

How did this all happen?

“Dad?!” Cain’s voice called out from the kitchen. “You made cookies?”

Adam blinked, staring at Cain as he entered the room, a plate of cookies in hand. They were perfectly shaped, decorated like little Santa faces and reindeer, their eyes glittering with something almost too perfect. Adam’s mouth hung open, confusion flooding his mind. Did he make these? He didn’t remember baking cookies. But they looked so... real, so delicious.

Cain hummed, moving toward Abel with a playful grin, offering him one of the cookies. Abel gasped, his eyes wide with delight.

“Daddy! They’re so cute!” he giggled, picking up a reindeer cookie, “Look, this one has red eyes!”

He laughed, delighted by the bizarre little treat.

Adam’s lips twitched into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze drifted to the Christmas tree, its dark red, purple, and black ornaments gleaming in the strange light of the room. It was... something, alright. A bit much, even. Too much. But somehow, everything felt so perfect—too perfect. He couldn’t remember doing it, yet it was there, overwhelming him with its eerie beauty.

Something was wrong, but for a moment, Adam couldn’t figure out what. He only knew that, for better or worse, everything was just... done.

Adam’s heart thudded in his chest as he slowly stepped further into the flat, his eyes taking in every inch of the transformed space. Twinkling fairy lights adorned the walls, shimmering garlands hung over doorways, and stockings were neatly hung by the window ledge—one for each of them, including a tiny one for the dog they didn’t even have. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner of the living room, a mix of red, purple, and black ornaments gleaming under the glow of string lights.

Cain plopped onto the sofa beside Abel, a cookie already half-eaten in his hand.

“Seriously, Dad,” he said around a mouthful. “You really outdid yourself. This is, like, Pinterest-level stuff.”

Adam blinked, his mind scrambling to make sense of it all. “Uh…”

His voice cracked slightly as he tried to form words. “Thanks…?” He sounded so unsure it made Cain glance up.

“Wait,” Cain frowned, raising a brow. “You did do this, right?”

Adam scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes darting to the cookies in Cain’s hand. He didn’t remember making cookies. In fact, he didn’t remember doing any of this. His gaze swept over the Christmas decorations again—the perfectly strung lights, the coordinated tree ornaments, the festive throw pillows on the couch. How could he have missed this? Was someone else in his flat? Was he losing it?

Abel’s squeals of excitement snapped him out of his thoughts. The little boy held the reindeer cookie up to Adam with bright, sparkling eyes.

“Daddy, look! It’s Rudolph, but his nose is so shiny! And he has the cutest little antlers!” Abel giggled, his tiny hands cradling the cookie like it was a treasure.

Adam forced a smile, his lips twitching slightly.

“That’s, uh, great, buddy,” he managed, his voice uneven.

Cain flopped back against the couch, pulling another cookie from the plate. “Man, you were busy,” he said, his voice light and relaxed.

“I mean, I didn’t think you’d even have time to get decorations, let alone set all this up.” He gestured vaguely at the room, then bit into another cookie.

Adam shifted nervously. “Yeah…” he murmured. “Busy.”

“Daddy?” Abel tilted his head, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Did you make all this for us? It’s the best Christmas ever!”

Adam’s chest ached at the sincerity in his youngest son’s voice. He crouched down in front of Abel, brushing a stray curl out of his face.

“Of course, I wanted to make this special for you,” he said softly. And it wasn’t a total lie. He did want to make it special. He just… didn’t know how all of this had come together.

Abel threw his arms around Adam’s neck, squeezing tightly. “Thank you, Daddy!”

Adam hugged him back, his heart both full and bewildered. When Abel pulled back, Adam glanced at Cain, who had stuffed another cookie in his mouth and was now flicking through a Christmas catalogue that had somehow appeared on the coffee table.

The flickering red glow from the snow outside caught Adam’s eye, and he glanced toward the window. The crimson snowstorm had picked up again, blanketing the streets and rooftops in an eerie glow. Adam felt a chill creep up his spine, though he quickly shook it off. Whatever this strange snow was, it had brought something to his family—something warm and magical.

“Alright,” Adam said, clapping his hands together. “Cookies before dinner isn’t exactly the best idea, but I’ll allow it. Let’s figure out what we’re making tonight.”

“Lasagna,” Cain piped up without hesitation.

Adam blinked, then laughed softly. “Right. Lasagna it is.”

As the boys chattered excitedly about Christmas morning, Adam stepped into the kitchen, running his hand along the countertop. Everything was spotless, perfectly arranged, as though someone had come in and scrubbed the place down to a shine. There were even candy canes arranged in a neat little jar on the counter, tied with a red ribbon.

He stared at the candy canes for a long moment, his stomach twisting. He didn’t have an explanation for any of this. But when he glanced back into the living room and saw his boys smiling—really, truly smiling—for the first time in what felt like forever, he decided he didn’t need one.

Lasagna. Eve was the one who always made it, and it was always perfect. The boys loved it, and so did he. How in the world was Adam supposed to make something half as good? He didn’t want to disappoint them—not now, not ever. But looking at them, seeing Cain laughing softly as he spoke to Abel, his heart swelled with love. Cain was always so good with him, so kind, and Abel, sweet little Abel, was glowing with happiness. Adam’s chest tightened with resolve. No, he wouldn’t disappoint them. He couldn’t. He was going to make the best lasagna in the world, no matter what.

With a deep breath, Adam entered the kitchen, determination in his steps. He unpacked the brown paper bag with all the ingredients, his hands moving methodically as he prepared to make something that could at least come close to Eve’s masterpiece. But as he scanned the cupboards for the baking tray, something caught his eye.

His brow furrowed as he crouched down, examining his oven. The handle felt strangely cool, and when he pulled it open—Adam froze. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the most beautifully made lasagna he’d ever seen. Perfectly layered, steaming, with golden-brown edges... and beside it, garlic bread, perfectly crisped.

Adam blinked, mouth agape. "What the...?" he muttered under his breath.

Who had broken into his flat? Who had decorated everything, made cookies, lasagna... and—Adam’s gaze shot to the counter. There, lined up like a holiday dream, were mugs filled with hot chocolate. Whipped cream piled high, sprinkles scattered on top, and a piece of chocolate sticking out like it belonged in a picture-perfect holiday ad.

His mind raced. What in the living hell was going on?

Was he losing his mind? He didn’t remember doing any of this. His pulse quickened as a cold shiver ran down his spine. The decorations, the cookies, the lasagna, the hot chocolate—who was doing this? Was someone watching him? The strange, perfect nature of it all felt too... unsettling.

Too good to be real.

He tried to steady his breath, but his heart was pounding. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was here, watching. Helping him, maybe? Or worse... controlling everything.

The weirdness didn’t stop there, no. The entire night, Adam found himself stumbling across oddities that left his mind spinning. He just wanted to enjoy a film with the boys, share a cozy night together without disappointment. Their television was old and cracked, the screen was patchy, and it didn’t pick up all the channels, but Adam had accepted that.

Except, when he turned the TV on, the screen lit up perfectly. He bit his bottom lip, staring in disbelief. It wasn’t just the screen—it was everything. The colours were sharper, the picture clearer than it should’ve been, and there were more channels than the TV should have been able to pick up.

"How did that happen?" Adam muttered to himself, but before he could ponder it further, Abel, perched on the couch next to him, looked up with wide eyes.

“Daddy, can we have popcorn?”

Cain, ever the realist, tried to gently remind Abel they didn’t have any. Adam smiled softly, determined not to disappoint, and hummed, “I’ll just run to the shop quick!”

But before he could leave, he spotted a perfect bucket of fresh, salty and sweet popcorn sitting right on the kitchen counter.

His stomach twisted. He hadn’t made that. It was... too perfect.

When it was time for the boys to go to bed, Adam went to tuck them in, but when he stepped into their room, something else was wrong. The bunk bed—their bunk bed—had fresh, soft quilts, fluffy pillows, and snug sheets that smelled sweet. Cain gasped, staring at the bed in awe, and Abel squealed with joy upon finding a stuffed bear tucked under his covers.

Adam sheepishly tucked them both in, feeling a strange mixture of exhaustion and confusion. He stood still for a moment, his heart swelling with love for his boys, but a cold dread filled him as he scanned the perfectly decorated living room again.

Everything was so perfect. Too perfect.

What was going on? Adam’s gaze landed on something that stopped him dead in his tracks—Sinsmas. It was written everywhere—on the walls, on little notes scattered about. Sinsmas? He frowned, confused. What the hell was that?

Then, he noticed a small piece of paper on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, he saw it was Abel’s Christmas letter to Santa. Adam smiled, thinking maybe Abel had dropped it. His heart warmed as he read the sweet, innocent words, but his lips twitched when he noticed something odd. In big, colourful letters, it read…

“Dear Satan...”

Adam blinked, his mind racing. Did Abel really just write a letter to Satan instead of Santa? He laughed quietly, at first thinking it was just a mistake—maybe a simple mix-up. But as the sound of his own laugh faded into the strange silence of the room, he felt something else: a deep, gnawing unease.

Abel had written a letter to Satan. The devil? What was happening? His mind flashed back to the strange events of the past month—how everything seemed off, like a bad dream playing out in real life. The decorations, the cookies, the lasagna... Sinsmas—none of it made sense.

A wave of dizziness hit him, and he stood there for a long moment, staring at the letter in his hands. His smile faded, and in its place, an overwhelming sense of wrongness settled deep in his bones. Abel hadn’t just mixed up the names. It felt like this was more than a simple mistake. And for the first time, Adam couldn’t shake the feeling that something... or someone... was pulling the strings.

A deep, unsettling hum of confusion buzzed in his head. The world was starting to feel like it wasn’t his own anymore.

Satan?

No. Nooooo. The devil didn’t exist. It was just a story, a myth, a bedtime tale. He and Eve used to joke about it, back in the day—laughing, teasing each other about how they were Adam and Eve from Eden. As if they were the stars of some ancient fable. It was all just that—a fable. There was no heaven. No angels. No God. No hell. And certainly, no devil.

Nope. No.

Adam’s breath hitched as he sank into the sofa, his gaze fixed on Abel’s Christmas letter, his mind working overtime to make sense of it all. His left hand slowly moved to cover his mouth, his thoughts tumbling together like a twisted puzzle. Red snow? Red snow? How could he ignore that? It had snowed, but the snow had been red. And then his luck—his terrible luck—had suddenly turned around. Money problems vanished, a new car appeared out of nowhere, the television fixed itself, and the decorations... the decorations that had shown up overnight. And let’s not even talk about the food.

"Was... was this... all of this..." Adam whispered shakily, his heart beginning to pound with a growing sense of unease.

The sudden puff of hot breath against his neck made his blood run cold.

A voice, smooth and velvety, teased the air. "My work?"

Adam’s body froze. His heart raced, hammering against his ribs as the hair on the back of his neck stood up in sharp, icy awareness. His emerald eyes widened, and without thinking, he whipped his head around.

A man was standing just behind him, casually leaning against the back of the sofa, his arms crossed smugly over the cushions. The man’s lips curved into a smirk that was almost predatory, and his eyes—his eyes—glittered red and gold, like molten metal catching the light. Adam’s stomach twisted into a knot, his mind screaming that this wasn’t real.

Then, the man shifted slightly. A tail. It swished behind him, a sleek, dark appendage that flicked playfully against the floor, sending Adam stumbling back in shock. He yelped, his feet tangling as he fell backwards onto the floor, his backside landing with a painful thud.

The man stared down at him with an almost amused glint in his eyes. His horns—horns—glittered with the red glow of the room.

“Sorry, I should have greeted you first, huh?” The voice was almost too sweet, like syrup—sickly sweet.

Adam’s heart pounded in his ears. His breath came in sharp gasps as he scrambled to push himself back against the sofa, his hands shaking.

“Who... who are you?”

His voice was barely a whisper, tight with fear. He instinctively covered the back of his neck, as if that would somehow protect him from this... thing.

The man smirked wider, and Adam could see the sharp, glinting teeth in his mouth. He laughed—a low, dark sound that made Adam’s skin crawl. The man twirled, flowing across the back of the sofa like it was nothing, his claws trailing lazily along the cushions.

"I'm sure you know who I am," he purred, his voice dripping with amusement.

Adam shook his head violently, his voice growing frantic.

“You’re not real!” he shouted, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "This isn’t real!"

But as the man continued to grin at him, as his tail swayed lazily back and forth, Adam’s certainty began to crack. Something was deeply wrong here. The world had shifted. And this man... this creature wasn’t just some figment of his imagination.

Adam’s heart raced. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt heavy, like they didn’t belong to him.

“No. This isn’t happening,” he muttered, but his voice wavered, unsure.

The man leaned down slightly, his red and gold eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. “Oh, but it is. And it’s my work, Adam.”

Adam froze at the sound of his name. How did he know his name?

The man’s smile widened, as if he could hear the desperate beat of Adam’s heart. “Didn’t you wonder why everything changed, Adam? Why everything is... so perfect now?”

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “You can stop pretending it’s all just a coincidence. I made it happen.”

Adam's breath caught in his throat. What did this man—this thing—want from him? What kind of nightmare was this?

But the man’s grin never faltered, and Adam knew, in the pit of his stomach, that whatever this was... it was only just beginning.

Adam's gaze followed the man, his heart pounding wildly as he watched him move around the room. The man—no, the devil—was casually strolling through the living room, as if this was his home. With a flick of his claws, he rearranged the decorations, and in a blink, the entire atmosphere of the room shifted. The lights twinkled brighter, the tree grew, and the space seemed to become even more beautiful—almost overwhelmingly so.

The man let out a pleased coo, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I think the boys will like it better if the tree was bigger," he murmured, as if speaking to himself.

Adam’s mouth dropped open, and he stared in shock as the tree grew before his eyes, its branches stretching higher, its lights burning brighter. He could hardly believe it. This... this was insane.

The man—Lucifer—chuckled darkly, his voice smooth and lilting. "It’s not that bad."

His voice softened as he glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with Adam. “I’m here to help.”

"Help?" Adam whispered shakily, like a mouse caught in a trap. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His legs buckled beneath him, and he sank back onto the sofa, his mind spiraling out of control.

“You... the devil? Satan himself? Here to help?”

The man grinned wider, his blonde hair catching the soft glow of the lights.

"Well, Satan isn't exactly me," he purred, stretching out the words like a cat toying with a mouse. "He’s a sin. But Abel's letter was so sweet and pure-hearted, I couldn’t let it go down into the ring of wrath. Not when there’s such potential."

Adam blinked, his brain struggling to catch up.

"Abel's... letter?" he stammered. What was happening? His mind couldn’t form a coherent thought.

The man—Lucifer, he reminded himself—took a few steps closer, his eyes gleaming red and gold, gleaming with an unsettling, almost hypnotic light.

“Besides," Lucifer added, his voice taking on a smug, almost amused tone, "I am the King of Hell. I outrank Satan, anyway.”

Adam felt the air leave his lungs. The King of Hell? He wanted to ask more, to demand answers, but before he could form the words, Lucifer turned to face him directly, his eyes locking onto Adam's with an intensity that made his chest tighten.

“I'm Lucifer, by the way,” he purred, his voice low and playful. “I’d prefer if you called me Lucifer.”

Another strangled laugh escaped Adam, his whole-body trembling.

"Of course," he gasped, “Lucifer! Like—like the archangel, right?”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile, his tail flicking back and forth, almost like a cat’s.

"One and the same," he cooed. "The fallen angel."

Adam’s head swam as he tried to make sense of the madness. The devil. Lucifer. The King of Hell. The man standing before him had just made the Christmas tree grow, had rearranged his life without so much as a second thought. His world had been turned upside down in ways he couldn’t explain. The sweet smell of cookies, the beautiful decorations, the sudden appearance of presents, the perfect snow… it was all too much, and yet, here it was.

His mind was screaming for a way out, for an escape from the bizarre reality he found himself in. But Lucifer—the devil—was right there, standing in front of him, his demonic eyes shining brightly in the dim room, as though it were all just a game.

What the hell did he want with Adam?

What the fuck did he want with his boys?

Adam’s heart was racing in his chest, thudding painfully as Lucifer’s gaze never wavered. It was as though every movement the man made was calculated, predatory—a slow, deliberate dance that seemed to draw Adam in without him even realizing it.

Lucifer took a step closer, his movements fluid, effortless. His tail flicked in the air with a slight swish, as if it were playing with the tension that hung thick between them. He didn’t seem in a rush. He was enjoying this. Adam could feel his breath quicken as the air in the room seemed to get heavier with each second, each heartbeat, each breath.

“You’re so... tense, Adam,” Lucifer purred, his voice low and velvety, an unsettling warmth creeping into the words. He placed a hand on the back of the sofa, leaning in just a little closer, his red-and-gold eyes burning with amusement.

“Do I scare you, darling? You’re not usually this... wound up.”

Adam’s eyes widened in shock, and he took a small step back, trying to distance himself from the magnetic pull Lucifer seemed to exude.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He forced himself to stand tall, but his legs felt weak beneath him.

He wanted to run, wanted to scream, but his body refused to obey. Instead, he stood frozen, feeling the invisible weight of Lucifer’s gaze on him. The devil’s attention was like a heatwave, suffocating and inescapable.

Lucifer’s lips twitched into a smirk, clearly enjoying Adam’s discomfort.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, his voice a soft, honeyed tease. He took another step forward, his hand brushing lightly against the edge of Adam’s shoulder, his touch so gentle, so deliberate, it sent a shiver down Adam’s spine.

“Do you know how easy it would be to break that tension? To make you... feel good? I could show you what it’s like to let go...”

Adam’s breath hitched at the sudden proximity. Lucifer was so close now, close enough that Adam could feel the heat radiating off his body. The devil leaned in just enough for Adam to catch a glimpse of his sharp, pearly-white teeth, his smile wide and taunting. His scent was overwhelming—sweet, like cinnamon and smoke, but tinged with something darker, something intoxicating.

“You must know, Adam...” Lucifer murmured, his lips practically grazing Adam’s ear as he whispered. “You are beautiful when you’re frightened.”

He straightened up slowly, looking Adam dead in the eye. “But I can make you feel so much more than fear.”

Adam’s mind was spinning, trying desperately to piece everything together, to think through the madness, but it was impossible. His body felt like it was on fire, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. The fear was still there—so much fear—but something else stirred beneath it, something dangerous. His stomach twisted, part of him revolted, and yet, another part of him wanted to step closer, to reach out for Lucifer.

Lucifer seemed to sense the battle in Adam’s mind, and his grin deepened. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against Adam’s jaw, his touch feather-light, yet it felt like fire.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “You want this, Adam. You’ve wanted it all along.”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to deny it, to scream that this wasn’t real, that he wasn’t... interested in whatever game Lucifer was playing. But the words wouldn’t come. His lips were dry, his mouth too parched to speak, and his pulse raced in his ears.

Lucifer’s fingers trailed down Adam’s neck, slow and deliberate, like a predator savouring his prey.

“You’ve been hunted for so long, haven’t you?” he whispered, voice smooth and coaxing. “Fighting against it. Denying it. But now... now, you’re mine. Just let me have you.”

Before Adam could protest, Lucifer’s other hand came up to cup his face, gently but firmly, forcing him to look up. Lucifer leaned in, his breath warm against Adam’s lips, his eyes burning with lustful hunger. It was happening, Adam thought, his heart thundering in his chest. He was being hunted. And Lucifer... Lucifer was the predator.

Lucifer's lips brushed against Adam’s, just a whisper of a touch, so close, so torturously close.

“You’ve been running from this for so long, Adam. But you can’t keep running forever.” He pressed just a little closer, his lips nearly brushing against Adam’s. “Let me show you how sweet surrender can be.”

The room seemed to spin. Adam felt his body tremble, his breath shallow. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away, to run, but Lucifer’s touch was like a drug—warm, soothing, and dangerous all at once.

Adam’s heart raced, and for the first time, he didn’t know what was real anymore.

With a startled squawk, Adam practically launched himself away from Lucifer. His eyes were wide, staring at the devil like he’d just seen a ghost—one with horns and a tail.

“Y-you... you go back now!” Adam stammered, pointing at the air like he could somehow banish Lucifer with his finger. “Go back to... um...”

Lucifer tilted his head, an innocent expression playing across his face.

“Hell?” he offered, his voice sing-song, as if he were helping Adam find the right words.

“Yes! That's right! Go back to hell!” Adam practically shouted, hands flailing in desperate motion. “You’re—you're not needed anymore!”

Lucifer snickered, a sound that sent a shiver up Adam’s spine. He slowly crept closer, his tail trailing behind him like a snake, flicking and twirling.

“Can’t do that,” he purred, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Adam let out a strangled sound from deep in his throat. “What... what do you mean you can’t?”

Lucifer inched closer, eyes gleaming like a predator sizing up its next meal, claws crossed behind him in a too-casual way.

“Well, you see... my contract is with little Abel, not you, Addie. So, I’m afraid you can’t send me back to Hell,” he teased, a wicked grin stretching across his face.

Adam blinked rapidly, once, twice, as if trying to make sense of the absurdity of what he was hearing.

“Contract?!” he finally managed to get out, his voice a mix of confusion and panic. He grabbed onto Lucifer’s ridiculously elaborate jacket, yanking him forward, his fingers trembling with frustration. “What the hell do you mean you have a contract with my baby?! What do you want with Abel?!”

Lucifer raised a single claw to tap lightly against Adam’s hand, his voice laced with amusement. “Relax, darling. I’m not going to harm Abel. I’m not heartless, you know. He’s just a kid.”

Adam's grip tightened, his frown deepening as he pulled Lucifer closer, hissing through his teeth. “Then what do you want with him?”

Before Adam could process the question, Lucifer leaned in with unnerving speed and brushed his lips against Adam’s ear, sending a spark of electricity down his spine. Adam gasped, startled, but when he looked around to see where Lucifer went, the devil had somehow managed to slink away, now lounging lazily across the couch as if it was his own throne.

“What the—?” Adam’s jaw dropped, blinking in disbelief. “What the fuck was that?!”

Lucifer purred, an arrogant glint in his eyes as he made himself comfortable.

“It’s just... let’s say a free sample,” he teased, his voice dripping with mischief, an eyebrow arched as he looked up at Adam.

Adam’s eyebrows shot up so high, they practically disappeared into his hairline. “A free sample for what, exactly?”

Lucifer’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with far too much amusement.

“Well... for you, darling,” he purred, lazily curling his tail around the cushion, “Just a little taste of what’s to come.”

Lucifer’s smirk only deepened as he lounged across the sofa, his posture casual, but every movement was predatory, like a lion sprawled lazily after a successful hunt. His red and gold eyes glinted, amusement radiating from every inch of him. He ran a clawed finger lazily along the cushion, tapping to some unseen rhythm, as if the entire world was a game he was playing—Adam included.

Adam stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath shallow. The air around them felt thick, as though the very room itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next move. Lucifer hadn’t even broken a sweat, but Adam could feel the tension crackling in the space between them.

“A free sample, Addie?” Lucifer purred, his voice smooth, dripping with an unsettling sweetness. “For you, of course.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, eyes never leaving Adam. “Let’s say... I’m offering you a chance to experience what it’s like to be touched by a real god.”

He tilted his head, the playful glint in his eyes darkening just a little. “I’m sure you’ve always wondered. Haven’t you?”

Adam's heart skipped a beat, and he staggered back a step, his fists clenching. The words hit harder than any punch could. He couldn’t understand this—didn’t want to understand it. A god? He wasn’t sure if Lucifer was taunting him, playing some sick joke, or if something else was happening entirely.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Adam demanded, his voice trembling despite his best attempt at bravado.

Lucifer didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back further on the sofa, clearly enjoying watching Adam squirm. His tail flicked back and forth lazily, as if toying with the idea of pouncing.

“Everything in time, darling,” Lucifer purred, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You’ll understand soon enough. But you must know...”

His eyes locked onto Adam’s, smouldering with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. “Once you’ve tasted it, once you’ve felt my touch... there’s no going back. And trust me, I’ll make you crave more. You will crave more.”

Adam’s stomach churned, his hands shaking. His mind screamed at him to get out, to run, but his body refused to move. Lucifer was closing in on him, his predatory smile widening with each step. Adam could almost hear the sound of his heart thundering in his ears, each beat louder than the last.

“Why?” Adam found his voice again, though it was barely above a whisper. He took a step back, still trying to make sense of it all. “Why him? Why Abel? What’s your deal with my kid?”

His throat tightened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Lucifer’s glittering eyes. “You’re not taking him. I won’t let you.”

Lucifer’s eyes darkened slightly, but his smile never faltered. He propped himself up on his elbows, leaning in just enough to make Adam’s pulse quicken.

“Oh, darling,” Lucifer crooned, his voice low and intimate.

“I told you. It’s a contract.” His eyes glinted with amusement, watching Adam’s confusion ripple across his face. “I’m not here to harm the little one, not in the way you think. His heart is pure, and I’m... quite fond of purity. But the real question is, Adam... what do you want?”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat, his mind scrambling. What was this? Some kind of twisted game? The whole situation felt like a nightmare that he couldn’t escape.

“What I want...?” he repeated slowly, unable to believe the words were coming out of his own mouth. “I just want you to leave. To get away from my family.”

Lucifer’s smirk deepened, and his eyes shone with amusement. “But you don’t really want that, do you, Addie?”

“You’ve been... curious, haven’t you? Wanting something more. More than just a man. More than just some mortal touch.” His tail flicked again, brushing lightly across the floor. “And I can give that to you. All you have to do is take it.”

Before Adam could respond, Lucifer moved in a flash, standing so close that Adam could feel the heat radiating from his body. His red-and-gold eyes bored into Adam’s, searching, probing, and something in them flickered, something dangerously inviting.

Lucifer’s lips parted just slightly as if he was about to say something—but instead, he leaned forward, his breath hot against Adam’s cheek.

“Don’t worry, Adam. I’ll wait for you.” His voice was soft, almost sweet, as he grazed his lips lightly against Adam’s ear. “After all, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

And then, just as quickly, Lucifer backed away, his smirk never leaving his face. He sauntered back to the sofa, stretching out lazily, his tail coiling behind him in a hypnotic swirl.

Adam’s heart was pounding in his chest, his body trembling as if he’d just run a marathon. He was dizzy, breathless, and confused.

What was this? He shook his head, trying to force his mind to clear. It was madness. All of it.

But Lucifer’s next words made the pit in his stomach deepen.

“Just remember, Addie,” Lucifer cooed, his voice low and dangerous. “The more you resist, the more you’ll want. I’ll make you beg for it. It’s only a matter of time.”

Running a hand down his face, Adam groaned. This had to be dream.

A really-really bad nightmare.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #fanfic #au #guitarduck #fanficiton

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synchodai · 3 days ago

Text

That Arcane AU episode

S2E7, Pretend Like It's The First Time, is my favorite and most hated season 2 episode. I like it because it mirrors S1E7, The Boy Savior, my (and most people's favorite) episode: Ekko-centric, Silco stealing the show, gorgeous emotional choreography between Ekko and Jinx, a microcosm of its season's themes, etc.

I hate it because it is a microcosm of its season's themes and said themes contradict S1E7.

Let's talk about what The Boy Savior showed us:

Vi rediscovering her community and agency with the Firelights. For the first time in the series, Caitlyn is prisoner and Vi is the one with power over her, but Vi chooses to vouch for Caitlyn so that the Firelights ease up on her and agree to give the Hextech core back to the Piltover Council. This shows Vi and Caitlyn as equals with power and influence in two different realms that they use to move together towards a common goal. (Compare that to S2 where Vi is fully dependent on Caitlyn and contributes almost nothing in their mission to capture Jinx.)

Powder vs Jinx. Ekko tells Vi Powder is dead and only Jinx remains. Vi argues with him saying she can still save Powder. We see the seed of doubt she planted in Ekko sprout when he hesitates to kill Jinx on the Bridge of Progress when he sees Powder in her. (Inadvertedly, Vi saved Jinx's life here. Both Ekko and Vi are wrong because Jinx IS Powder.)

Zaun vs Jinx. Chem-Barons want Silco to hand over Jinx so that the Enforcers will lift their blockade. Sevika tells Silco Jinx is a liability in their mission for an independent Zaun. Silco refuses to hand over Jinx (because it's not a choice between Jinx or Zaun — Jinx IS Zaun, but that's a post for another day).

The Enforcer's brutality is shown in full force. Viktor argues with Jayce for ordering a blockade on the undercity. Ekko calls out Vi for the Enforcers treating people in the undercity like animals.

Why Silco fights for Zaun. He gives a whole speech about suffocating in the toxic fumes of the mines to reestablish his dominance and reaffirm Sevika's loyalty. He reminds them that just because they've had a taste of fresh air, it doesn't mean they should forget that they still all come from the dirt.

Jayce's moral spiral in the name of progress. He's tormented by his betrayal of Heimerdinger, calls on Enforcers to terrorize the undercity, alienates Viktor, and eventually makes the choice (with Mel's urging) to weaponize Hextech.

Ekko vs Jinx. The quick 3-minute scene on the Bridge of Progress did so much for Arcane's reputation. If you asked me what Arcane is about, I would point to that scene. It showed who Ekko is. It showed who Jinx is. It showed the history and relationship between them. It is a commentary on Zaun and its children. Every frame is literally a well-conceived painting. It placed Ekko and Jinx as foils — Ekko is what could be if everything went right and Jinx as what happened when everything went wrong.

Let's talk about what Pretend Like It's The First Time showed us:

Only Powder grieves Vi. Whether purposefully or otherwise, the episode paints Vi as someone who would have been better off as a child martyr. Mind you, in the original timeline, she was presumed dead at about the same age, but I suppose a teen languishing in prison doesn't have the same impact as a public tragedy with a visibly gruesome corpse. Vi's previously established connection with her community is diminished. They DID already mourn her and thought they lost her, and their grief was memorialized through a mural because they cared for HER. In S2, Ekko only paints a mural of Vi to placate Powder, implying that her sister was the only one to truly mourn Vi's passing.

Everyone is free to move to and from the Bridge of Progress. Where are the Enforcers? Why are they gone? Who's keeping out the undercity folks sick from mining gas from mingling with the topsiders? The episode doesn't care.

Silco's life is made better by forgiving Vander. This makes it seem that Silco turned to a life of crime out of spite for one person, when S1E7 had him make a whole monologue why he built his Shimmer empire in the first place. They were being poisoned in the mines — did him and Vander making up clear up all the toxic waste in the undercity? How? When they were younger and working together, Zaun was still polluted, so what's different now?

Perfection is either pretending problems never existed in the first place or everyone turning into lifeless statues. Ekko's version of a perfect world and Viktor's version of a perfect world are both heavily sanitized dystopias utopias that ignore history and come at the cost of sacrificing innocent people. The episode never interrogates this.

Ekko and Jinx. I love Stromae but that dance sequence does not live up to S1E7 at all. The animation consists of blurry and choppy frames — an unimaginative way to simulate the feeling of being in love. Ekko apologizes to Powder for being "consumed" by all the ways the undercity wasn't perfect and "giving up on it" WHEN HE NEVER DID. Maybe he gave up on trying to save Powder, but he kept fighting for the undercity. His flaw was (understandably) looking down on Jinx as an enemy and seperate from the undercity rather than someone who shared their plight. What Ekko had to overcome was seeing everyone as deserving of saving and not just establishing another gated community. He shouldn't have seen Jinx deserving of love only when she was Powder. He should have seen Jinx as Jinx (mental illness, full of shimmer, uncontrollable) and came to the realization she's still one of them.

TL;DR: The Boy Savior was supposed to throw the nickname in Ekko's face because instead of saving Jinx, he was already counting her out as a "necessary sacrifice" for their community to move forward. S1E7 tackled with the idea of having "necessary sacrifices" in the name of progress. Give them this problem child and save Zaun, give up on your sister and move on with your life, just sell out this person that no one cares about and is only a burden on society and everything would be hunky-dory. Silco said no, Vi said no, Ekko said yes and then hesitated (which still led to her death if Silco hadn't saved her). But the message is clear — you do not better your society by sacrificing a scapegoat. Jinx is a product of the evils of her environment, not the cause of it. Class solidarity and all that, something something we are closer to the homeless and the drug addicts than we are to the politicians and billionaires.

However, S2E7 affirmed that, yes, sometimes children do have to die and we do have to sacrifice people for the world to be a better a place. What a mess.

#arcane #long post #arcane critical #this one is rambling

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ashyjingles · 2 days ago

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Jason Grace and Cicero Parallels

(And Octavian and Catiline Parallels)

Okay so this is the start of me. Blogging my research experience I guess? I’m looking into Roman history starting with SPQR – A History of Ancient Rome by Mary Beard. It’s for my fic of Jason’s life at Camp Jupiter pre-swap (from the Heroes of Olympus Series by Rick Riordan) but also for fun. And depending on how much I talk about Jason this may or may not be comprehensible even without any knowledge of that.

I figured going chapter by chapter would help me organize my thoughts the best so I dont forget everything I wrote down by the end of the book. I mean like I have an abysmal amount of sticky notes in the book itself already but doing it this way will also keep my motivated I think

I’ll try my best to make this comprehensible in case anyone wants to follow along, but I think most of this is going to be for myself lol so I don’t have to reread the entire book for a single piece of information (hopefully)

The prologue was just a mention on how the book will be centered on the history of the city of Rome and Roman Italy because getting into the history of Roman everywhere is a bit too big of a project for one book (page 18). and I agree because SPQR is already over 500 pages already lmao

The other thing the prologue mentioned that I noted down was that SPQR is the acronym for “Senatus PopulusQue Romanus,” which means “The Senate and People of Rome.” (page 16)

Chapter 1 is titled Cicero’s Finest Hour and takes place in 63 BCE (Before Common Era). Despite Rome being founded seven centuries earlier, the Romans didn’t start recording their own history until the events of this year. As Beard put it, “Roman history, as we know it, started here,” (page 23) and is the reason she chose to start her book with the events of this year.

To summarize, Catiline (Sometimes Catilina) was a bankrupt aristocrat who tried running for one of two consuls which were the highest political positions in the city (This was before any emperors came along). He came from a distinguished old family who had a successful earlier career but was close to bankruptcy in 43 BCE and was dealing with a failing reputation. He advocated for debt relief which was “one of the most despicable forms of radicalism in the eyes of the Roman landed classes” (page 28).

Cicero came from a wealthy family as well, but it was outside Rome and thus he was considered a ‘new man’ without any political experience in the city which was looked down on. His climb to power rested on the shoulders of only his own skills — specifically his skill at speaking to a crowd. It won him the election of 63 BCE.

Some time after the election, Cicero got wind of a plot of Catiline’s to burn down Rome. Catiline was also building an army outside of the city. Cicero called a meeting in front of the senate and gave a famous speech that he later wrote down and spread copies of. Catiline then left town after the defeat in front of the Senate. Cicero continued to try and expose everyone left in the operation and succeeded because the conspirators had tried working with a group of Ghauls “who had come to Rome to complain about their exploitation at the hands of Roman provincial governors” (page 34) and provided names of everyone involved.

Cicero rounded up everyone that had evidence against them and without giving them a trial, executed them all. “Triumphantly, he announced their deaths to the cheering crowd in a famous one-word euphemism: vixere, ‘they have lived’ — that is, ‘they’re dead’.” (page 35) Eventually Catiline’s forces were defeated with Catiline on the front line. Cicero had many supporters after this defeat of terrorism, but soon his previous act of executing citizens without trial got him run out of town. He spent some time in North Greece before he came back to Rome, and his career never fully recovered.

Okay. Now I’m here to talk about Jason and how I think he and Octavian (and Reyna) parallel Cicero and Catiline because it was literally ALL I could think about while reading this chapter.

Like Catiline, Octavian comes from a long lineage of reputable people, whether politicians or soldiers or prophets, with him being a distant ancestor to Apollo. While he isn’t at risk of going bankrupt, he does have a certain want for power that leads to him vying for the position of praetor so much that in Heroes of Olympus he repeatedly seems hostile toward Reyna. (And Percy, but given his sudden appearance, greek vibe, and Percy’s own distrust of Octavian, I wouldn't say it’s unwarranted. Plus, at this point, Octavian had already been preparing to aim for the position of praetor now that Jason was gone.) Because we never really saw him interact with Jason, I can’t say anything about his canon relationship with him. So far, Octavian parallels Catiline in his aim for power.

Catiline attempts to stage Cicero’s assassination, but it’s unsuccessful. While it’s not entirely confirmed, what Frank points out leads the audience to believe that it was Octavian that tried killing Gwen.

Then he noticed the marks engraved into the wooden shaft of the pilum: CHT I LEGIO XII F. The weapon belonged to the First Cohort, and the point was sticking through the front of her armour. Gwen had been speared from behind — possibly after the game had ended. Frank scanned the crowd for Octavian. The centurion was watching with more interest than concern, as if he were examining one of his stupid gutted teddy bears. He didn’t have a pilum. – Page 142, The Son of Neptune

Of course, with the doors of death being opened she lived, but both instances were an attack on a Roman from a Roman. Catiline also turns to an outside source like the Ghauls, while Octavian turns to outside sources like monsters. The monsters don’t act as a double agent toward a character playing Cicero, but they are double agents and end up being on Gaea’s side. Granted, Octavian’s enemy at that point were the Greeks, not his fellow Romans.

While this is a much looser parallel, Catiline was run out of town and killed on the front lines of the army he amassed. Octavian died in the catapults in the battle on Camp Half-Blood after being ridiculed by the protagonists. Is this a strong enough parallel for me to heavily consider it? No, but it crossed my mind and given his previous parallels to Catiline I thought it was at least mentionable.

Jason, to me, parallels Cicero. His dad is Jupiter, so while similarly to Cicero he has the background for the positions he fills, he doesn’t quite have as much experience as other candidates. Of course, he was brought to Camp Jupiter incredibly young and started building skills just as early as Octavian, but for the sake of the parallels, just go with me here.

While Cicero relies solely on his speech skills, Jason is clearly a formidable fighter. We don’t have many instances of him using his verbal prowess, but I think that to be as good of a praetor he seems to be described as, it wouldn’t be nonexistent. Plus, while facing off against large threats such as that one giant in The Lost Hero, he has an entire speech ready on the tip of his tongue without him even having to do much to remember it.

“I'm the son of Jupiter, I'm a child of Rome, consul to demigods, praetor of the First Legion. I slew the Trojan sea monster, I toppled the black throne of Kronos, and destroyed Titan Krios with my own hand. And now I'm going to destroy you Porphyrion, and feed you to your own wolves." – Page 510 of The Lost Hero

While this isn’t a political speech, the rest of his lines throughout the series give his words a bit of a sophisticated feel, especially in comparison to Leo’s comedic feel. Considering he grew up in Camp Jupiter from an early age and was probably taught Cicero’s works just like many people in later years (until even now) used his works in various classes from learning Latin to studying the rhetorics of speech. Jason would have most likely seen his works growing up in various settings, so I wouldn’t think it too far-fetched to say that he probably modelled his own speeches around Cicero’s. (This is something I would like to incorporate in my fic, so if anyone has any good recommendations for specific pieces/books/sources of his speeches to read I’m open!)

While this is a sillier and much looser parallel, they both turn to either Greece or Greek culture. Cicero flees to North Greece after he’s shunned for executing citizens without trial, and while it is nowhere near the same magnitude of villainy, Jason leans toward Greek culture after his amnesia-drenched months spent at Camp Half-Blood and is shunned for becoming ‘too Greek’ along with the Argo II bombing New Rome and him going to the old lands. He does return to Camp Jupiter though as Pontifex Maximus after giving up his title as praetor to Frank when the zombies spawned by Diocletian's Scepter deem him too ‘Un-Roman’ to command them. Cicero does the same and returns to Rome a year after his exile, but while Jason flourishes (for however short of a while) his career never quite recovers.

Now, I mentioned Reyna as another Cicero parallel, did I not? Her family was long established with and favoured by Bellona, though she and her sister were her first children to be born into her line. Unlike Cicero, she had the experience and background.

However, Octavian rivals with her much throughout the series. It’s her orders he defies, it's her he tries to overthrow, and they don’t have a very friendly relationship overall no matter how professional they manage to act with each other. Her quotes speak to her eloquence (pun intended) and her ‘step too far’ as Cicero was travelling to old land against rules and counsel. Granted, I think her parallels are not as strong as Jason’s, but I think combined, she and Jason make a good Cicero parallel to rival Octavian’s Catiline.

Between all of these, I wonder if these parallels are intentional on Riordan’s part. We know that he’s used parallels before, given all of the original quests in the PJO series that Percy goes on and Silena and Clarisse’s explicit parallels to Achilles and Patroclus. It is also entirely possible I’m just reading into it too much.

Of course, there could be plenty of other parallels to myths that could fit better. I just haven’t gotten there yet. But this is the one I’m noticing now, and it’s strong enough that regardless of whether it seems to be intentional in the books, it’s one I think I’m going to be including in my fic. Foreshadowing Octavian’s plans in HoO by paralleling him and Jason/Reyna to Catiline and Cicero is something I’m really interested in doing tbh.

If anyone’s still with me, thoughts? I’m choosing to post this to share my ideas and possibly receive some discussion on them, so feel free to support or debate any of them lol, whether it’s a small detail or the topic itself entirely. I still need to reread HoO for this project, and I’ve also never really shown this much of an interest in history so this is a little new to me lol.

For future posts regarding my thoughts on this book I'll be using the '#SPQR' tag. Anything for the fic but not specific to the book will use '#SPQR fic' just for some sense of separation. I'll also link posts for future chapters on this post so their easier to find.

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xomakara · 1 day ago

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After Midnight

SUMMARY | You are on a blind date, and the guy turns out to be a total jerk. Increasingly uncomfortable, but too polite to get up and leave, you are grateful to be rescued by Yangyang, the cute college frat boy in your class and the object of your affections, who comes over and gives you an out.

PAIRINGS | Yangyang x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE | smut, college au, non-idol au, blind date gone wrong

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, slight dirty talk, praising, vaginal penetration

LENGTH | 8,887 words

TAGLIST | ---

NETWORKS | @k-vanity @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Finally managed to get something written for Yangyang! Finally! Thank you @shadowkoo for the beautiful banner! I hope you all like it and enjoy it 💚

The dimly lit bar feels like a scene out of someone else’s life. The hum of conversation buzzes around you, but it feels distant, muffled by the tightening knot in your stomach. You shift uncomfortably on the barstool, your fingers tracing the condensation on your glass. Across from you sits Wooseok—your blind date. A guy who seemed charming over texts but now drips with an arrogance so thick it could coat the walls.

“So,” he says, leaning back arrogantly, his smirk as cocky as his tone. “You into sports? Or are you one of those artsy types?”

You force a smile, trying to mask the irritation clawing at you. “A little of both, I guess.”

His laugh is sharp, dismissive. “Yeah, I heard that one before. Bet you love yoga or something, right? All that ‘namaste’ crap.”

Oh god. You glance at your half-empty drink, wishing it were stronger, faster. Anything to numb this awkwardness. Why did you agree to this? Why didn’t you just ghost him when his condescension became clear over text? But no, you’d been raised too well for that. Too polite. Too much of a people-pleaser. And now here you are, stuck.

He picks up the thread again, his voice rising above the ambient noise. “Anyway, I’m more of a gym guy. You know, real fitness. Not that flaky stuff. Gotta stay in shape, especially if you want to keep up with me.”

You nod absently, your eyes darting across the room. Relief floods through you as you spot Yangyang, the cute frat boy from your class. He’s sitting with a group of friends a few tables over, laughing and sipping beers. His smile lights up the room, and you feel a pang of longing.

If only this were a date with him.

As if sensing your gaze, Yangyang glances over. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away. His lips curl into a reassuring half-smile, and you feel a flutter of hope. Maybe—just maybe—he’ll save you from this nightmare.

But then your date leans closer, his cologne overpowering even the faint smell of beer and smoke. “So, what do you say we get out of here? Maybe grab some dessert? My treat, of course.”

His tone is smooth, almost too smooth, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. You open your mouth to decline, but the words catch in your throat. Before you can muster a response, Yangyang stands up, his attention shifting fully to you.

“Y/N!” he calls out, his voice warm and playful. “How’s it going?”

Your date frowns, his annoyance obvious. “Who’s this guy?”

You feel a surge of gratitude as Yangyang approaches, his presence radiating confidence.

“I’m Yangyang,” he says, extending his hand to your date. “A friend of hers. Classmate, actually.”

Your date shakes his hand reluctantly, his jaw tight. “Nice to meet you.”

Yangyang’s grin widens, and he turns to you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You weren’t answering my texts earlier, so I figured I’d come find you. What’s the deal? Having fun?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. But then you realize—he’s giving you an out. A way to escape this unbearable situation. “Oh, uh… yeah, sure. It’s been… interesting.”

Yangyang chuckles, his gaze flicking between you and your date. “Well, I hate to interrupt, but we’ve got that group project meeting tomorrow, and I need to go over some notes with you. You free to head out now?”

There’s a pause, and you can practically see the gears turning in your date’s head. Finally, he straightens up, his pride clearly wounded. “Sounds like you’ve got plans. Guess I’ll let you go.”

You stand quickly, relief washing over you. “Thanks for… uh, dinner? Drinks? This.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, no problem. Have fun with your… homework.”

Yangyang steps closer, his arm brushing yours as he guides you toward the exit. “Don’t be rude, man. Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, once you’re out of earshot.

Yangyang grins, his dimples deepening. “No problem. Couldn’t let you suffer through that alone. You looked like you needed rescuing.”

You laugh softly, the tension easing slightly. “You have no idea. How did you even know it was me?”

“Oh, I saw you walk in earlier,” he admits, his voice lowering. “Figured I’d wait a bit, see how things went. When things got weird, I knew I had to intervene.”

You glance at him, your cheeks heating. “That’s… kind of amazing, actually.”

He shrugs, looking away briefly. “Happens to the best of us. Anyway, you okay? Want to grab some coffee or something? My treat.”

Your heart skips a beat. Coffee? With him?

“I’d like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You both step outside, the cool night air hitting your faces. Yangyang walks close enough that both of your arms brush occasionally, sending shivers down your spine.

“So,” he says, his tone light but teasing. “What’s next?”

You turn to him, your pulse quickening. “Depends,” you reply, feeling bold suddenly. “What do you want to do?”

“Funny you should ask,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. He meets your gaze, his eyes dark and intense. “Because I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

Before you can respond, he steps closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

You swallow hard, your heart racing. “Yes.”

He smiles faintly, his hand reaching out to lightly touch your waist. “Good. Because I don’t wanna take this slow.”

And then, without waiting for an answer, he presses his lips to yours. His kiss lingers on your lips, a sweet, dizzying sensation that makes your knees weak. You glance up at him, his dark hair catching the faint glow of the streetlights, and he grins, a playful glint in his eyes.

“So,” he says, his voice light but teasing, “coffee? Or do you want to see if I can make this even more interesting?”

You laugh softly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. The date with Wooseok feels like a distant nightmare now, washed away by Yangyang’s effortless charm.

“Coffee sounds good,” you reply, tilting your head slightly. “But if you’re trying to impress me, you might have to work harder than that.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and nudges you playfully. “Challenge accepted.”

The two of you walk side by side down the dimly lit sidewalk, the quiet hum of the city surrounding you. Yangyang leads you to a small, cozy café tucked away from the main street, its windows glowing warmly. Inside, the air smells of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries, and the soft murmur of conversation fills the space. A young barista behind the counter glances up with a bright smile as you approach.

“Hey, Yangyang,” the barista says, their tone friendly but subtly flirtatious. “Long time no see. What can I get for you tonight?”

Yangyang smiles back, leaning casually on the counter. “Hey, Ruby. Two coffees, please—something strong. And maybe a slice of that chocolate cake.”

“Coming right up,” Ruby replies, their fingers already moving deftly over the espresso machine.

As Ruby works, Yangyang turns to you, his expression shifting to one of curiosity.

“So,” he begins, his voice dropping just enough to feel intimate in the bustling café, “what made you agree to a blind date with him? He seemed… not your type.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you think back to Jake’s arrogance. “I don’t know. I guess I thought it was worth giving it a shot? But yeah, he was… not my type. At all.”

Yangyang nods, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s trying to read something deeper. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Not when you’ve got me around.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you meet his gaze, feeling a sudden intensity in the air between you. Before you can respond, Ruby sets down two steaming mugs on the counter, each topped with a swirl of foam.

“Here you go,” Ruby says, sliding the plate with the chocolate cake toward you. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Yangyang says, taking the mugs and handing one to you. “Let’s grab a table.”

You follow him to a small corner booth, the dim lighting casting shadows that make the space feel private. As you sit across from him, the warmth of the mug in your hands contrasts with the coolness of the night outside. Yangyang takes a slow sip of his coffee, watching you over the rim of his cup.

“So,” he says again, setting his mug down carefully, “tell me something about yourself. Something real.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling both amused and intrigued by his directness. “Something real? What kind of question is that?”

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “You seem like someone who doesn’t open up easily. So, I’m curious. What’s something most people wouldn’t know about you?”

Your heart skips a beat at the question, and you shift uncomfortably, unsure how much you want to reveal. But there’s something about the way Yangyang looks at you—calm, attentive, and genuine—that makes it hard to resist.

“Okay,” you say slowly, picking at the edge of the cake with your fork. “I… write poetry. Like, really bad stuff, mostly. But it helps me process things.”

Yangyang’s lips curl into a slow, appreciative smile. “That’s pretty cool. Do you ever show it to anyone?”

You shake your head, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks. “No. It’s just… for me. Private.”

He nods thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving yours. “Fair enough. Maybe one day, though, you’ll let me read some. If you want to.”

The suggestion hangs in the air, heavy with possibility, and you find yourself wondering what it would be like to share that part of yourself with him. Before you can dwell on it too much, Yangyang reaches across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he says softly, his touch sending tingles up your arm. “But I hope you know I’d listen. To anything you wanted to say.”

You swallow hard, feeling the heat of his words settle deep in your chest.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yangyang’s expression shifts, a flicker of something raw crossing his face before it settles into a gentle smile.

“Maybe because I like you,” he admits, his voice low and sincere. “And maybe because I saw the way he was treating you, and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to fix it. For you.”

The honesty in his words leaves you breathless, and you realize, with a jolt, that you’ve been holding onto so much tension since the start of the night. With him, though, it’s different. Easier. Like you can finally exhale.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I did,” he replies, his voice firm but warm. “Because you deserve better than that. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to show you how much better.”

The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you find yourself nodding slowly, a knot of emotion tightening in your throat.

“Okay,” you manage to say, your voice shaky.

Yangyang’s smile returns, brighter this time, and he leans forward, his hand slipping beneath the table to rest on your thigh. The contact sends a spark through you, and you bite your lip, glancing up at him with uncertainty.

“I really like you, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice filled with promise. "Tell me if I’m moving too fast.”

Your pulse quickens, and you feel the weight of his hand on your leg, warm and deliberate. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

He laughs softly, his breath feathering against your cheek as he closes the distance between you. “Like I said before, I don’t wanna take this slow.”

And then his lips are on yours again, soft and insistent, pulling a quiet gasp from deep within you. His hand tightens slightly on your thigh, drawing you even closer, and you melt into the kiss, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the electric hum of connection. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, and you part your mouth willingly, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire, and he presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

“God, you’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice ragged. You don’t have the chance to respond before he speaks again, his voice thick with urgency. “We should go somewhere quieter. Somewhere we can focus on each other.”

Yangyang’s hand slips into yours, his fingers interlacing with yours as he leads you out of the café. The cool night air nips at your skin, but his touch is warm and grounding, a steady anchor in the otherwise chaotic evening. His hoodie swishes against his jeans as he walks, and you can feel the faint hum of excitement radiating off him.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice just above a whisper, curious and a little nervous.

He glances at you, his smile soft and mischievous. “Trust me?”

You hesitate for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

He squeezes your hand tighter, like he’s trying to reassure you without saying it aloud. And then he breaks into a light jog, tugging you along with him. You don’t question it, following his lead with a laugh bubbling up in your chest. There’s something freeing about running through the streets with him, letting go of all the awkwardness and tension from earlier tonight.

The park comes into view after a few minutes, its gates already closed for the night. But Yangyang doesn’t seem fazed. He pulls you along the iron fence until he finds a small gap where a section of bars has rusted and bent outward.

“Shortcut,” he says with a wink, crouching down to slip through first. You hesitate again, looking around nervously. The park is eerily quiet, the shadows of trees stretching across the ground like skeletal hands. But Yangyang sticks his head back through the gap, his eyes bright and encouraging. “Come on, I promise it’s worth it.”

Swallowing your doubts, you duck through the gap after him, brushing dirt off your jeans as you straighten up. Yangyang takes your hand again, guiding you deeper into the park, away from the well-lit paths and toward the darker, more secluded areas. The crunch of leaves underfoot grows louder, and the scent of damp earth fills the air.

Finally, he stops near a large oak tree, its branches twisted and gnarled, reaching out like they’re trying to embrace the sky. The moonlight filters through the gaps in the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the ground. It’s quiet here—peaceful, almost magical.

"Here?" You asked.

"Yeah," Yangyang nods. "Look up."

You tilt your head back, feeling a rush of awe as you take in the view. The stars glitter against a dark blue background, like tiny pinpricks of light in an infinite canvas. The air feels clear and fresh here, free from the noise of the city, and the wind rustles softly through the trees, adding to the serenity.

"I wanted to bring you to my spot," Yangyang murmurs. "Where I go when everything gets too much. When the world feels overwhelming."

You looked at him. "I'm sure you bring other girls here."

"Nah," he replies, a flicker of regret crossing his eyes. "I came here before I even joined the frat. Back when it was just me, getting by on scholarships and part-time jobs."

You reach for his hand, running your thumb along his knuckles gently. "You had a tough time?"

He smiles sadly. "Yeah. And even now, when I've got help with tuition and the whole student life deal... the pressures are still there, you know?"

It's strange to hear him talking like this, opening himself up to you. It feels vulnerable and intimate. You take a tentative step towards him. "I think I can relate. Even though I have a scholarship and good parents, I still have to balance work, studying and finding time for social life, and it can be a lot."

Yangyang nods, and you can tell he understands. He tilts his head, searching your face as he searches his next words. "What would help you deal with all that?"

The question takes you by surprise. You think it over carefully. "Spending time with friends. Releasing emotions through writing. Watching tv." You look back up at the stars and try again. "But the thing that helps most, the most soothing thing for me, is just going somewhere alone, listening to nature or the city. Finding somewhere peaceful and calming."

"Somewhere like here?" He asks.

"Yeah," you sigh contentedly. "I haven't found somewhere quite like it, though."

His hands settle on your hips as he pulls you in for a sweet, lingering kiss, his teeth lightly grazing your lower lip. You smile against his lips, and the butterflies in your stomach turn into something wild. He backs you up against the trunk of the tree, his body flush with yours, and you can't help but run your hands up his neck and into his soft, dark curls. The moonlight illuminates his face, revealing the hunger in his gaze. You close your eyes as he trails kisses down your neck, sending a thrill up your spine. He lifts his head and searches your gaze again.

God, he tastes so good, you think, your mind hazy with desire. His flavor is sweet, like the coffee you shared earlier, but there’s an undercurrent of something wild and untamed, something that sets your pulse racing even faster.

When he pulls back, his breath comes out in uneven puffs, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I saw you in class.”

Your lips curve into a smile, giddy and breathless. “Really?”

He nods, his curls bouncing slightly. “Every time you walked into the room, I couldn’t focus on anything else. You have no idea how many times I almost asked you out, but I kept chickening out.”

You laugh softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Well, I’m glad you finally did.”

“Me too,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. Then his lips are on yours again, softer this time, more deliberate. His hands roam down your sides, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rest on the bare skin of your lower back. The coolness of the night air contrasts sharply with the warmth of his palms, sending a shiver up your spine.

You press closer to him, your own hands fumbling with the zipper of his hoodie. When you pull it down, he shrugs it off his shoulders, tossing it aside without a second thought. Underneath, he’s wearing a plain white T-shirt that clings to his torso, outlining the muscles you only catch glimpses of during class. Your fingers dip beneath the fabric, skimming across his skin, feeling the tautness of his stomach beneath your touch.

He groans into your mouth, his body tensing under your exploration. “Jesus,” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “You’re killing me.”

You smirk against his lips, feeling a surge of confidence. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he growls, pulling you even closer. “Not even close.”

His hands move higher, sliding up your ribcage until they’re cupping your breasts over your bra. You arch into his touch, a needy sound escaping your throat. His thumb brushes across your nipple, teasing it into a hard peak, and you gasp, your head tilting back as pleasure shoots through you.

“Yangyang…” you murmur, half-pleading, half-whining.

He presses a quick series of kisses along your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. “Tell me what you want,” he says, his voice thick with hunger.

You bite your lip, suddenly shy. “I…”

He grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “That’s okay. Let me guess.”

And without waiting for your answer, his hands shift again, one sliding down to palm your ass while the other slips beneath your waistband, his fingertips trailing dangerously close to where you need him most.

Your breath hitches, your whole body trembling with anticipation. “Yangyang…” you say again, this time more urgently.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes gleaming with desire. “Yeah?”

“Please,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible.

His answering smile is slow and triumphant. “Anything for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as Yangyang’s lips press against yours again, this time with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine. His hands move to your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You melt into him, your fingers threading through his dark curls as the world around you fades away. The cool night air is no match for the heat building between you, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

Just as you’re about to deepen the kiss, a sharp voice cuts through the silence. “Hey! You two! What do you think you’re doing?”

You freeze, your body stiffening as you recognize the authoritative tone. Slowly, you pull away from Yangyang, your eyes widening as you turn toward the source of the noise. A tall, broad-shouldered park ranger stands a few feet away, his arms crossed and his jaw set in disapproval. His uniform fits him like a glove, emphasizing his muscular build, and his sharp, observant gaze locks onto you both.

Yangyang curses under his breath, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Crap,” he mutters, tugging at your hand. “Let’s go. Now.”

Before you can respond, he’s already pulling you deeper into the shadows beneath the tree. Your pulse races as you follow him, the thrill of being caught making your stomach twist in knots. You glance back over your shoulder, your heart pounding as the ranger takes a step closer, his flashlight sweeping across the ground.

“I said stop!” the ranger calls out, his voice echoing through the park.

You press yourself closer to Yangyang, your breaths coming in short bursts. “What do we do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Yangyang glances around frantically, his mind working quickly. “We need to lose him,” he says, his eyes darting toward a small trail leading deeper into the park. “Come on, let’s go this way.”

Without waiting for your response, he drags you along the path, his grip firm but reassuring. The trees close in around you, their branches creating a natural barrier from the ranger’s view. You stumble slightly, the uneven ground making it difficult to keep up, but Yangyang’s hand stays locked around yours, guiding you forward.

The sound of heavy footsteps grows louder behind you, and you can hear the ranger muttering under his breath. “Kids these days… always causing trouble,” he grumbles, his frustration evident.

Yangyang smirks despite the situation, his playful nature peeking through. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. “We’ll give him the slip.”

You can’t help but laugh nervously, the tension between you and Yangyang growing stronger with every step. As you round a corner, Yangyang pulls you into a dense bush, muffling your laughter with his hand. You hold your breath as the ranger’s flashlight beam passes by, illuminating the leaves around you momentarily.

When the light disappears, Yangyang releases a shaky laugh. “That was close,” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You nod, your heart still racing from the adrenaline. “Too close,” you agree, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yangyang’s gaze softens as he looks at you, his playful demeanor melting into something more serious. “You okay?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nod again, feeling a warmth spread through you at his concern. “Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. “Just… a little shaken.”

He chuckles, his confidence returning. “Well, I guess we showed him, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade. “I wouldn’t exactly call that showing him.”

Yangyang shrugs, his dimples deepening as he grins. “Close enough. Now…” He pauses, his expression turning mischievous once more. “How about we get out of here before he comes back?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his suggestion. “And go where?”

His grin widens, and he steps closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “My place,” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting. “It’s not far. We can be there in ten minutes.”

Your pulse quickens at the thought, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest. Part of you wants to playfully protest, to tease him about his boldness, but the other part—the part that’s been drawn to him since the moment he walked into your life—is already saying yes.

Yangyang must sense your hesitation, because he adds, “I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

You look into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you find is sincerity and a flicker of desire. And maybe, just maybe, a touch of vulnerability. It’s that last part that seals the deal, pushing aside any lingering doubts.

“Okay,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

His answering smile lights up his entire face, and without another word, he takes your hand and leads you out of the bush, navigating the dimly lit paths of the park with ease. The cool night air brushes against your skin, sending goosebumps down your arms, but Yangyang’s touch keeps you grounded, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos.

As you leave the park behind, the streetlights guide your way, casting long shadows that stretch and shrink with each step. Yangyang’s pace quickens, his excitement palpable, and you can’t help but match it, your own anticipation building with every passing second.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity but is probably only a few minutes, Yangyang stops in front of a modest apartment building. His free hand reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys as he unlocks the door. He ushers you inside, his movements almost frantic with eagerness.

The apartment is cozy, with simple furnishings and a faint scent of laundry detergent and fresh air—just like him. Yangyang leads you to the living room, where he finally lets go of your hand, turning to face you. His chest rises and falls slightly, his breathing still a little uneven from the rush of the escape.

“So,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “what do you think?”

You take a moment to survey the room, your eyes lingering on the small details—the bookshelf filled with textbooks and novels, the worn couch draped with a blanket, the faint hum of a refrigerator in the background. It’s nothing fancy, but it feels lived-in, comfortable. And somehow, that makes it even more appealing.

“It’s nice,” you admit, your voice soft.

Yangyang’s smile returns, warmer now, less playful and more genuine. “Good,” he says simply, stepping closer. “Because I didn’t bring you here just to show you my apartment.”

Your breath hitches as he closes the distance between you, his hands reaching up to cradle your face. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, and you can feel the sincerity in every brush of his fingertips. When his lips meet yours, it’s slow and deliberate, a marked contrast to the urgency of earlier.

This time, there’s no rush, no fear of being interrupted. Just the two of you, lost in the embrace that neither of you seems willing to break.

Yangyang breaks the kiss, his eyes locking with yours. His hands slide down to your shoulders, then lower, tracing the curve of your back until they settle on your hips. The heat between you is palpable, a tangible force that seems to push and pull at the edges of your restraint.

“Do you trust me?” he asks quietly, his voice low and steady.

You nod, though the question sends a shiver through you. Trust. It’s such a simple word, yet it feels so heavy in this moment. You realize, almost suddenly, that you do trust him—completely. There’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the world who matters, that makes it impossible not to.

“Good,” he says, his lips curving into a sly smile. “Because I want to show you something.”

Without waiting for a response, he takes your hand and leads you deeper into his apartment. The hallway is dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting long shadows across the floor. The air is quiet, save for the faint sound of your footsteps and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards beneath you.

Yangyang guides you to a door at the end of the hall, one you hadn’t noticed before. He pauses for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at you before reaching out to turn the handle. The door swings open with a soft click, revealing a cozy bedroom bathed in the warm light of a bedside lamp.

His bedroom. The thought flutters in your mind, sending a fresh wave of excitement coursing through you. Yangyang steps inside first, pulling you in after him. The door closes softly behind you, sealing the space as your own private world.

The room is simple but inviting, with a large bed taking up most of the space. A pile of pillows rests against the headboard, and a few books are scattered haphazardly on the nightstand. A faint scent of cedar lingers in the air, mingling with the familiar smell of laundry detergent that seems to follow Yangyang everywhere.

He turns to face you, his eyes dark with intent. “I wanted to bring you somewhere… quieter,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Somewhere we could be alone.”

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythm accelerating as his words sink in. Alone. The word carries a weight that’s both thrilling and terrifying. You glance around the room, taking in the details—the softness of the carpet underfoot, the warmth of thelighting, the way the shadows seem to dance along the walls. It’s intimate, cocooning, and somehow perfectly fitting for what you know is about to happen.

Yangyang steps closer, his hands settling on your waist again. This time, there’s no hesitation in his touch—just confidence, laced with a tenderness that makes your knees weak. He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

The request hangs in the air, a silent promise that sends a jolt of electricity through your veins. You nod again, unable to find the words to respond. Yangyang smiles, a slow, knowing grin that makes your stomach flutter.

With one hand still resting on your waist, he reaches up with the other, sliding his fingers through the loose strands of your hair. The gesture is gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s savoring the texture and weight of it. You close your eyes, tilting your head slightly to give him better access, and feel a soft hum of pleasure ripple through you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted to tell you that since the first day I saw you.”

The confession catches you off guard, sending a rush of warmth flooding through your chest. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, and see nothing but honesty reflected there. It’s overwhelming, the depth of feeling in his expression, and it leaves you momentarily speechless.

Before you can respond, Yangyang shifts his grip, guiding you toward the bed. His movements are deliberate, each step calculated to draw you further into the moment. When you reach the edge of the mattress, he stops, his hands sliding from your waist to rest on your hips.

“Sit,” he commands softly, his voice a velvety rasp that sends shivers dancing down your spine.

You obey without hesitation, lowering yourself onto the plush comforter. The fabric is soft beneath you, and the faint scent of linen fills your nostrils, adding another layer of sensory overload to the mix. As you settle in, Yangyang kneels beside the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

For a moment, there’s silence—a charged, electric kind of stillness that seems to hold the weight of everything unsaid between you. Then, slowly, deliberately, Yangyang reaches out, his fingers brushing against the buttons of your shirt.

“May I?” he asks, his voice a teasing half-whisper.

You nod again, your throat too tight to speak. Yangyang grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and begins working on the buttons with expert precision. Each pop of the closure seems to echo in the quiet room, a symphony of anticipation that heightens the tension between you.

When the last button slides free, he tugs the fabric apart, revealing the thin layer of lace beneath. Your breath hitches as his eyes flick downward, briefly scanning the sight before returning to your face. “So pretty,” he murmurs, his tone a mix of awe and desire.

Without warning, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of your throat. The sensation is fleeting but insistent, a tease that leaves you yearning for more. You instinctively tilt your head back, giving him better access, and feel a surge of satisfaction when he obliges by trailing kisses along your collarbone.

“Yangyang...” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with a combination of need and uncertainty.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips curved into a wicked smile. “Shh,” he says gently. “Just let me love you.”

And with that, he resumes his exploration, his hands and mouth working in tandem to unravel every thread of resistance within you.

Yangyang’s hands move with an almost reverent grace as he undresses you, his touch light but deliberate. Each piece of clothing he removes feels like a revelation, not just to him but to you as well. You feel suddenly exposed, yet entirely safe in his presence.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and gravelly with emotion. His fingers brush against the edge of your bra, hesitating for a moment before carefully unclasping it. The fabric slips away, revealing you to his gaze, and you catch a flicker of awe in his dark eyes.

“You don’t have to say that,” you whisper, your cheeks heating under his intense scrutiny.

Yangyang shakes his head, his smile soft and genuine. “I know what I see,” he says simply. His hands cup your shoulders, thumbs brushing lightly over your collarbones, and you shiver at the tenderness of his touch. “And what I feel… it’s overwhelming.”

He leans in then, his lips finding the sensitive skin just below your ear. A sound escapes you, half-laugh, half-groan, as his teeth graze the lobe gently. His hand trails down your arm, fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake before wrapping around your wrist. He guides your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the rapid thudding of his heart.

“Feel that?” he asks, his voice thick with desire. “That’s all you.”

You nod, unable to speak, your own heart pounding in response. Yangyang’s free hand snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The solid warmth of his body against yours is intoxicating, and you cling to him instinctively.

His lips find yours again, this time with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. The kiss is deep, consuming, every stroke of his tongue igniting a blaze within you. His hand slides lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, and you gasp into his mouth as his fingers tease the soft curve of your hipbone.

“Yangyang,” you breathe, clutching at his shoulders for balance.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasps, his breath hot against your cheek. His fingers dip lower, brushing against the wetness between your legs, and you clench your thighs together, both resisting and inviting his touch.

“I—” Your voice falters, uncertain, as his fingers ghost over your most sensitive spot. You arch into the sensation, your hips tilting involuntarily.

Yangyang chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your body. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his tone reassuring. “Take your time. We have all night.”

His words send a shudder through you, a mix of relief and anticipation. You relax slightly, letting go of some of the tension that had been coiled tightly within you. Yangyang takes advantage of your momentary surrender, his fingers sliding back between your legs, this time with purpose.

The first tentative touch makes you jerk, a sharp intake of breath escaping your lips. Yangyang holds still, watching you intently, his expression a blend of concern and arousal. “Too much?” he asks, clearly trying to read your reaction.

You shake your head quickly, your cheeks burning. “No,” you manage to whisper. “Just… unexpected.”

A slow grin spreads across his face, and he resumes his exploration, his fingers tracing delicate patterns against your folds. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, your body responding eagerly to his ministrations.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration. “You’re incredible.”

His fingers press harder, delving deeper, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed. Yangyang shifts his position slightly, angling his fingers to hit that perfect spot inside you, and you feel yourself spiraling closer to the edge.

“Yangyang,” you choke out, your voice trembling with need. “Please…”

“Please what?” he teases, his voice low and husky. His free hand cups your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple in rhythm with his finger movements.

You whimper, torn between the dueling sensations of his touch. “I… I don’t know,” you admit, frustrated by your inability to articulate the raging storm within you.

Yangyang chuckles again, the sound dark and intimate. “That’s okay,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you deeply. His fingers quicken their pace, stroking in and out of you with increasing urgency. “Let yourself go. Let me take care of you.”

The combination of his words and actions is too much, and you feel the wave building inside you, cresting higher and higher with every thrust of his fingers. Your breath comes in shallow pants, your body tensing as you approach the precipice.

“Yangyang, I—”

He doesn’t let you finish. Instead, he presses a hard kiss to your lips, swallowing your cry of release as you come apart in his arms. Your body shudders, waves of pleasure rolling through you, leaving you boneless and gasping for air.

Yangyang pulls his fingers from you slowly, watching your face with rapt attention. His eyes are dark, filled with a mixture of awe and possessiveness. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re amazing.”

You blink up at him, still dazed from the intensity of your orgasm. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you manage to joke weakly.

Yangyang laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, we’re just getting started,” he says, his voice dropping to a teasing purr.

Yangyang’s hands trail down your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His touch is deliberate, almost reverent, as if he’s memorizing every curve and dip of you. When his fingers brush against the side of your thigh, you shiver, the sensation sending a spark of electricity through your veins.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. His eyes never leave yours, their intensity making your breath hitch. “I want to see you touch me.”

His words send a jolt of arousal through you, but there’s also a flicker of uncertainty. You’ve never been this intimate with anyone before, not like this. The thought of exploring his body feels thrilling and terrifying all at once. But when he guides your hand to his chest, the moment becomes too electric to resist.

Your fingers curl around the soft fabric of his hoodie, hesitating for just a second before you tug it up and over his head. The movement exposes the warm skin beneath, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the thrum of his heartbeat underneath your palm. It’s intoxicating.

“Go on,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Touch me.”

You do. Your fingertips trace the ridges of his collarbone, the muscles of his shoulders, the faint dusting of hair that trails down his sternum. Each touch sends a shiver through him, his breath hitching as your exploration grows bolder. When your hand skims lower, brushing against the waistband of his jeans, he groans, the sound raw and needy.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

His reaction emboldens you, fueling the fire that’s already burning between you. You let your fingers dip beneath the hem of his shirt, sliding along the taut planes of his abdomen. His skin is warm and smooth, the muscles beneath tense with anticipation. You can feel the way his body responds to your touch, the way he shifts closer, his breath fanning across your cheek.

“So good,” he rasps, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

His praise sends a thrill of pleasure through you, your confidence growing with each passing second. You slide your hand higher, brushing against the edge of his nipple, feeling it pebble beneath your touch. He gasps, arching into your hand as a low moan escapes his lips.

“Turn around,” he says suddenly, his voice commanding yet laced with urgency. “I want to touch you.”

You obey without hesitation, turning to face the bed and leaning forward slightly. The position puts you on display, your back arched and your ass lifted slightly. Yangyang’s breath hitches as he takes in the view, his gaze darkening with hunger.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “You’re perfect.”

He strokes your sides, his fingers trailing up to your ribcage before dipping lower, pushing the material of your dress aside to expose the lace of your panties. The sight of them makes his grip tighten, his fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls them down slowly, revealing the curve of your ass and the delicate skin beneath.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, his voice rough with need. “I want to taste you.”

Before you can respond, he drops to his knees behind you, his hands cupping your ass as he presses a series of light kisses along the crease of your thigh. The sensation is electrifying, sending shivers of anticipation rippling through you. You can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the promise of what’s to come making your core throb with need.

When his tongue finally makes contact, you cry out, your hands clutching the sheets as waves of pleasure crash over you. He licks a slow, deliberate path up your folds, his tongue darting inside you with relentless precision. The sensation is overwhelming, your body trembling as he works you with expert skill.

“Yangyang,” you gasp, your voice breaking as he grazes his teeth along your clit. “Please—”

He doesn’t let you finish. Instead, he bites down gently, the sharp sting followed by a rush of warmth that sends you spiraling. Your thighs tremble, your body tightening as he continues to stroke and tease, his tongue flicking faster and harder until you can’t take it anymore.

“I’m close,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his hands gripping your hips as he redoubles his efforts. The sudden surge of pressure builds rapidly, your body tensing as you teeter on the edge. And then, with one final thrust of his tongue, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of pure bliss.

Your legs give out, but Yangyang catches you, guiding you gently to the bed. You collapse onto your back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. He climbs onto the bed, hovering over you with a predatory smile.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with admiration. “But we’re not done yet.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he positions himself between your legs. You can feel the thick ridge of his cock pressing against your entrance, the heat of him making you ache with need.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice low and strained.

You nod, unable to form words as your desire consumes you. With one swift movement, he pushes inside you, filling you completely. The sensation is intense, your bodies perfectly aligned as he begins to move.

Yangyang’s breath hitches as he slides into you, the heat of his body pressing against yours. You feel every inch of him, thick and demanding, filling you completely. His hips move with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His lips find yours again, kissing you deeply as he sets a steady pace, drawing out the moment.

“You feel so good,” he whispers against your lips, his voice low and trembling. “So tight… so perfect.”

His hands grip your hips, holding you firmly as he continues to thrust into you. You can feel the way he’s holding back, wanting to savor this moment, but the strain in his voice tells you just how much he wants to let go. Your own desire is building, spiraling higher with every movement of his hips. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on, desperate for more.

Just as the tension between you reaches its peak, a loud POP echoes through the apartment, followed by the sudden absence of light. The room plunges into darkness, the only sound now the heavy breathing of the two of you.

“What… what was that?” you ask, your voice shaky and breathless.

“Power outage,” Yangyang replies, his tone amused but still strained. “Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves for a while.”

The darkness seems to heighten everything. Without the distraction of sight, your other senses become sharper. You can feel the warmth of Yangyang’s body pressed against yours, the weight of him grounding you. His breath tickles your neck as he kisses your collarbone, his movements growing more insistent as the adrenaline of the unexpected outage pushes him closer to the edge.

“Let’s not waste it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with desire. He shifts slightly, adjusting his angle, and you gasp as a new wave of sensation hits you. His thrusts become deeper, harder, each one bringing you closer to the edge.

“Yangyang…” you moan, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, his voice rough with need. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“I want you… I need you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

He growls in response, his hips snapping forward with renewed urgency. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the silence, mingling with your ragged breaths. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, the pressure building inside you with every thrust. Yangyang’s hand moves between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and stroking it with expert precision.

“Almost there,” he promises, his voice a harsh whisper. “Come for me. Let go.”

The darkness feels like a cocoon, wrapping around you both as you fall apart. Your body shudders, your muscles tightening around him as you reach your climax. Yangyang follows soon after, his movements becoming erratic as he buries himself deep inside you, letting out a deep groan as he spills inside you.

For a moment, all you can do is cling to each other, the weight of your bodies the only anchor you have in the dark. Yangyang rests his forehead against yours, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

“That was…” he starts, but trails off, his voice soft and vulnerable.

“Perfect,” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles softly, kissing your forehead before pulling out of you and lying down beside you. You roll onto your side, facing him in the dark, your fingers tracing the contours of his face.

“What now?” you ask, your voice curious.

“Now…” he pauses, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now we wait. See how long this lasts.”

The thought sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. There’s something thrilling about the uncertainty, about being forced to slow down and enjoy the moment. You nestle closer to Yangyang, feeling his arm wrap around your waist as you rest your head on his chest.

“I could get used to this,” you murmur, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Yangyang’s chest rises and falls with a soft chuckle, his voice warm against your ear. “I could too,” he admits, his tone laced with contentment. “There’s something about the dark that makes everything feel… simpler. No distractions, just us.”

You smile into the darkness, feeling the weight of his words settle between you. His fingers trace lazy circles on your back, the gentle rhythm soothing yet electrifying all at once. The power outage has stripped away the usual comforts of light and sound, leaving only the raw connection between you two. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t anticipated, but now that it’s here, you realize how much you crave it.

“Do you think we’ll be stuck like this for long?” you ask, your voice soft as you nuzzle closer to him.

“Who knows?” he replies, his lips brushing against your temple. “Maybe it’s a sign. A chance to slow down, to really feel each other without anything else getting in the way.”

His words send a flutter through your chest. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, the way he’s embracing the moment rather than letting it frustrate him. It’s one of the things you love most about him—his ability to find beauty in the unexpected.

“You’re right,” you murmur, tilting your head to press a kiss to his collarbone. “This is kind of nice. Just… being together like this.”

Yangyang hums in agreement, his arm tightening around you. “Yeah,” he says after a pause, his voice low and thoughtful. “It’s perfect.”

The silence stretches between you, broken only by the occasional rustle of sheets or the soft whisper of his breath. You trace the lines of his chest with your fingertips, marveling at how familiar yet endlessly fascinating his body feels. Each curve and plane feels like home, like something you never knew you needed until now.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks suddenly, his voice curious.

“I was thinking about how glad I am that you were there to bail me out of that bad date,” you admit, your voice soft but laced with gratitude. “If it wasn’t for you… I don’t even want to imagine how that night would’ve ended.”

Yangyang chuckles, the sound warm and comforting against your ear. “Well, I couldn’t let you suffer through that alone, could I?” he teases, his fingers brushing lightly over your shoulder. “Besides, I think we both know how much better this turned out.”

You smile, feeling a blush creep into your cheeks despite the darkness. “Yeah,” you agree, tilting your head to press a kiss to his chest. “This was definitely better. So much better.”

He hums in agreement, his hand moving to cup the back of your head gently. “I’m just glad I could be there for you,” he says, his tone sincere. “You deserve someone who makes you feel as amazing as you make me feel.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you tighten your hold on him, nuzzling closer. “You do,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You really do.”

The silence between you is comfortable, filled with unspoken words and lingering touches. You trace the lines of his chest again, your fingers pausing over the faint scar near his ribs. It’s a mark you’ve grown familiar with, one that tells a story of its own.

“Do you ever think about how different things might’ve been?” you ask suddenly, your voice tinged with curiosity. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

Yangyang pauses, his hand stilling on your back. “Honestly?” he says after a moment, his voice thoughtful. “I try not to think about it. Because the way things are now… this… it’s exactly where I want to be. With you.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Me too,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to his skin. “Me too.”

The power outage may have thrown you into darkness, but in that moment, you realize it’s brought you closer to something infinitely brighter. The moonlight and the stars seem to be flittering brighter above you and you decide, maybe, for tonight you won't wait for the lights to come back on.

Because this is perfect as it is.

#kvanity #ksmutsociety #nct #wayv #nct scenarios #nct stories #nct fanfics #nct imagines #nct smut #wayv smut #wayv stories #wayv fanfic #wayv yangyang #yangyang #liu yangyang #yangyang x reader #yangyang smut

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hurtspideyparker · 3 days ago

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An Unexpected Irondad Christmas 🎄

Peter was having a very boring Christmas.

May was working a 12 hour shift, all his friends were busy with their families, and the streets were too quiet to patrol.

It seems even criminals have a conscious.

While the presents under the tree were strictly off limits, May did let him open his stocking on his own. Therefore his special Christmas breakfast included a hot chocolate bomb and microwavable bacon, his lunch a festive green and red gummy bear salad, and dinner... he was honestly a bit sick of sweets, so box mac and cheese it was.

Peter is browsing channels for a good Christmas special while the water boils when a knock booms through the apartment.

Peter frowns, remote hanging limply in his hand while he tries to recall if he's expecting someone. Sometimes Ms. Hacket from down the hall gets lonely and comes for tea.

The knock sounds again, more impatiently, and Peter sets the remote down to answer the door.

He opens it a crack and then freezes.

"Mr. Stark?"

He's in a nice coat, long and black with a collar and three buttons. His hair is fluffed up with specks of white, and his dark sunglasses have droplets of water from the melted snow.

"Hey kid. Merry Christmas. Or Hanukkah. Or... whatever. Happy holidays."

Peter opens the door more fully now. He can see that Mr. Stark is holding something, several plastic bags stuffed heavily.

"Merry Christmas to you too. Um, I didn't get you a gift or anything, was I supposed to?"

Tony looks down at the bags in his hands like he forgot they existed.

"Oh. No, definitely not. This is a funny story actually. Y'know, I have this big Christmas dinner at the tower every year, beautifully catered food, all my friends around a big table, Pepper makes this delicious coffee cake for dessert. We drink, stuff our faces, the more drunk of us sing stupid holiday songs. It was really nice actually, considering most of us don't have families to do that stuff with."

He looks wistful, eyes not in the present.

"That... sounds really nice Mr. Stark," Peter says when Tony spends too much time lost in thought.

"Yeah. Well, the band broke up this year, all my friends are gone, or hate me, or both. Pepper's in Florida with her parents, who also hate me, especially because of all the on-again-off-again stuff, so I definitely wasn't welcome there. Rhodey can't travel with his injuries. And I—" he breaks off into a laugh, hysterical and whining, "forgot to cancel the catering order!"

Peter stares at him with wide eyes. The man only falls further into laughter, but the glisten in his eyes is anything but joyful.

Eventually he calms, straightening up and showing off the bags in his hands, "I have so much food, really nice, expensive, well done food for a big family of super humans and spies, and I'm completely alone! I even offered Happy a Christmas bonus to stay and eat turkey but apparently he actually has family—"

"You bribed Happy?"

"Christmas. Bonus."

He holds out the bags to Peter, "anyways. You're a growing boy, your aunt seems hardworking. You guys deserve nice food so. Here. You take it."

Peter's hands hesitate to reach out but Tony simply dumps the bags into his twitching palms anyways, the boy nearly dropping them from the unexpected handoff.

"It's untouched. There's turkey, ham, ribs, three types of potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, extra gravy for Nata—uh, feta bites, balsamic glazed carrots, peas, corn, stuffing, fresh baked rolls... you get the idea. Just didn't want the food to go to waste and I know your aunt can't cook to save her life so. Actually, where is she? Should probably be an adult and say hello."

Peter stares in amazement and intimidation at the bags in his hands. He can now see they're full of food containers, dozens of them.

"She's not home. Holiday pay is pretty good so she's at work."

Tony takes his sunglasses off, blinking at the kid.

"Oh. So you're alone? That's depressing."

Peter has to bite his tongue so he doesn't point out the older man's much lonelier, much more depressing predicament.

"Yep. I don't mind that much, I'll see her later tonight and open presents. I've just been watching movies. And thank you so much for all this food Mr. Stark, you didn't have to think of me."

"It's no problem, really."

They both stand there for a moment. Tony looks around as if the chips in the door frame are paintings at Le Louvre, and Peter stares at the man with his awkward posture and red marked hands from carrying all the heavy food.

"Did—did you want to come in?"

"I suppose I could spare a few minutes," Tony answers without delay, shoving past Peter into his home.

Continue reading on AO3 ☃️

#irondad and spiderson #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #mcu #marvel #marvel mcu #christmas #ao3 link #marvel fanfiction #may parker #ao3 fanfic

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1mnshw · 3 days ago

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a very risky gamble // s.r.

words - 3.1k

spencer reid x female oc

type of fic: enemies to lovers

SSA Vivienne Harper is pulled into a grisly cult case with the BAU, but the real challenge isn’t the killers—it’s working with Spencer Reid, the brilliant profiler she swore she’d never deal with again. As the body count rises and buried tensions flare, Vivienne must outsmart a deadly cult while facing a past that refuses to stay buried.

— — — — — — — — —

one

Ever since Vivienne was young, she’d always loved silence. It wasn’t a disdain for noise—when you grew up in New York, the chaos of the city became less a nuisance and more a constant, unshakable rhythm of life. No, it was something else. Silence felt like clarity, like the space where she could fully let go and breathe. Just her and the low hum of the open air.

She’d say, by rough estimate, she got about three minutes of it that morning. Three whole minutes from the time she walked into the building until Julian Mercer knocked on her office door.

“Harper, we need to talk. Got a minute?”

He barged in without waiting for an answer, already settling into the chair opposite her desk. That was Julian Mercer for you—patience wasn’t part of his vocabulary. It always seemed like he had too much on his plate to bother with niceties, which, given that he oversaw one of the busiest FBI field offices in the country, wasn’t far from the truth.

He tossed a thick file onto her desk with a thud, the kind of file that could probably double as a weapon in several states.

“Young boy, fourteen. Found dead near the Capitol.”

“Good morning to you too, Mercer,” Vivienne said dryly, flipping open the folder. The photos inside were grim—grimmer than most cases she’d handled recently. “Vocal folds removed post-mortem?”

“Yes. Look at the next picture.”

Vivienne frowned, but when she turned the page, her stomach sank. Carved into the victims’ chests was a symbol she recognized instantly.

An eye, its pupil cradling a dove, with the crescent moon underneath. The design was as intricate as it was chilling. She didn’t have to think twice to know what it meant.

She tried to steady her voice when she spoke, but it came out rougher than she intended. “They’re back?”

“They’re back,” Julian echoed grimly, his tone heavy with unspoken implications. “And this is just the beginning. Which is why the brass wants us to collaborate.”

Vivienne narrowed her eyes at him. “Collaborate?”

“With the BAU in Quantico.” He clasped his hands together and leaned forward slightly. “Now, you know we don’t have the manpower to send a full team down there, and I have to stay here and keep things running…”

He trailed off, gesturing vaguely as if Vivienne was supposed to pick up on the rest. When she didn’t, he sighed.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his seat, “the Bureau told me to pick my best agent. After I sent them and the BAU unit chief your file, they were both thoroughly impressed. You’re going down there as a temporary member to help solve this case.”

“Julian, what?”

“You heard me, Harper. You’re going to assist the BAU on this case in Quantico. This is a huge opportunity, and you should accept it as a compliment. I—”

She cut him off. “Respectfully, I decline. This is ridiculous. Mercer, you need me here, not in Virginia.” She slid the file back across the desk toward him. “There are cases in this city—my city—that need my attention. People here need my help.”

Julian didn’t flinch. He slid the folder right back to her, his movements deliberate, almost dismissive. “Respectfully, Vivienne,” he said as he stood, leveling her with a steely gaze, “this isn’t a choice; it’s a requirement. This is part of your job, and unless you’d like to explore other career opportunities, I suggest you go home, pack your things, and prepare to leave. They sent their jet here, and it leaves in two hours.”

The click of her office door as he left echoed louder than Vivienne wanted to admit. She let out a frustrated groan, raking her hands through her hair. Damn it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t see the stakes. She understood the gravity of the case—better than anyone, probably. But to drag her out of New York to work with a team she had no connection with, in a city she hadn’t lived in since she trained at the academy? It felt like a waste of time and resources. Still, trying to argue with Mercer was like trying to move a mountain with a teaspoon. The man wasn’t going to budge.

So she sighed, grabbed the file in front of her and her keys, and left. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel the whole way home, the weight of inevitability settling over her like a heavy blanket. By the time she reached her apartment, she was already halfway resigned.

— — —

She arrived at the airstrip ten minutes early, her fingers gripping the handle of her suitcase as she approached the jet waiting on the tarmac. She paused at the edge of the catwalk, staring up at the sleek private plane. It gleamed in the dim light of the overcast afternoon, all polished steel and understated power.

Julian’s words echoed in her head. This is a huge opportunity. Begrudgingly, Vivienne admitted he wasn’t wrong—neither he nor the brass were the type to blow smoke up your ass, no matter how bad the situation was. If they wanted her on this case, they believed she’d bring something to the table.

Still, a small, defiant part of her wanted to resent the whole situation.

Nonetheless, she sent Julian a quick text.

Thank you.

He responded quickly, which was a surprise.

Don’t make me regret it.

Vivienne smiled as she drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and climbed the stairs, her heels clicking against the metal steps. As she stepped into the cabin, she had to admit—despite herself—it wasn’t half bad.

In fact, it was ridiculous. Luxurious leather seats, polished wood paneling, and enough legroom to stretch out comfortably made it clear: the BAU was in a different league. This wasn’t just a jet; it was a statement.

She dropped her suitcase near one of the seats, brushing her fingers over the armrest. “Well,” she muttered under her breath, “this almost makes up for being yanked out of the city.”

Almost.

It was hard not to imagine what her own department could do with the kind of budget that paid for this. She sank into one of the seats, the plush leather cushioning her in a way that was almost absurdly comfortable. Her gaze wandered to the large windows, offering a view of the jet engines gleaming in the muted light. For the first time since Mercer had dropped this bombshell, she felt a flicker of something unexpected—curiosity. The BAU wasn’t just any unit; it was the kind of team agents dreamed about joining. Legends in their own right. Maybe—just maybe—there was something to be gained from this after all.

As the engines hummed to life, Vivienne let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The soft vibration under her feet grounded her, and she allowed herself a small, wry smile. Quantico wasn’t home, and she wasn’t thrilled about leaving New York, but there was a certain thrill in the unknown. Working alongside a team like this, tackling a case that would undoubtedly be challenging and grim, was the kind of puzzle she’d secretly always craved. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she could make this work.

— — —

Hotch led her through the bustling halls of the BAU with his usual no-nonsense efficiency. Agents moved with purpose around them, their conversations blending into a low hum of activity. The building’s atmosphere was different from her office in New York—less chaotic, more deliberate.

“You’ll find we operate a little differently here,” Hotch said as they approached the stairs. “This team is small but specialized. Everyone brings a unique skill set to the table, and we rely on that dynamic to tackle these cases. Our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, will be meeting you later on. She’s on her way in.”

Vivienne nodded, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Understood. I’ve read up on the unit’s case history—it’s impressive. I’m looking forward to seeing the team in action.”

Hotch glanced at her, his expression giving nothing away. “They’re looking forward to meeting you. We’ve had to operate shorthanded on cases like this before. Having another experienced profiler will be an asset.”

She followed him up the stairs, the quiet intensity of his words not lost on her. It wasn’t a glowing welcome, but she wasn’t expecting one. Hotch struck her as the kind of leader who spoke through action, not words.

When they reached the bullpen, the space was alive with the low buzz of conversation and the shuffle of papers. A conference room off to the side was lit, the walls lined with evidence boards, but the team had gathered near the center of the room.

“Everyone,” Hotch began, his voice cutting cleanly through the ambient noise, “this is Agent Vivienne Harper. She’s joining us from the New York City field office to assist on this case.”

All eyes turned toward her, and she instinctively straightened her posture. Hotch stepped aside, gesturing toward each member of the team as he introduced them.

“Derek Morgan,” Hotch started, motioning toward the tall man leaning casually against a desk. “He’s our tactical expert and one of the best at getting into the minds of offenders.”

Morgan grinned, stepping forward to shake her hand. “Welcome to the team, Harper. You ready for the big leagues?”

Vivienne raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Big leagues? That what they call it when you’ve got a coffee machine that actually works?”

Morgan chuckled, crossing his arms. “Oh, I like her already.”

Hotch moved on, ignoring the exchange. “Emily Prentiss,” he said, indicating the dark-haired woman beside Morgan. Emily stepped forward, her smile warm but confident. “It’s nice to have another profiler on board. You’ll find we don’t bite. Well, most of us.”

“Good to know,” Vivienne replied, shaking her hand. “I’ll keep my guard up, just in case.”

“Jennifer Jareau,” Hotch continued, pointing to the blonde woman who stood next to an evidence board, clipboard in hand. “She’s our communications liaison and media coordinator.”

JJ smiled, offering a handshake. “You can call me JJ. Don’t worry—we’ll ease you in.”

“I appreciate that,” Vivienne said. “Just don’t expect me to smile for the cameras.”

JJ laughed. “Noted.”

“David Rossi,” Hotch said, turning toward the older man seated at a desk with a cup of coffee in hand. “He’s one of the founding members of the unit and brings decades of experience to the team.”

Rossi set down his mug, offering a polite nod. “Welcome, Agent Harper. Don’t let the chaos fool you—we’re very organized. Usually.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Vivienne said, chuckling.

“And this is Dr.—“ The man standing behind the group stepped forward and cut Hotch’s introduction short.

“Vi.”

Vivienne’s pulse spiked. She hadn’t heard that nickname in years, not since the academy. The only person who ever called her that was—

“Spence.” They stared each other down, and the intensity on both of their faces was enough to silence the rest of the team.

Hotch cleared his throat and attempted to break the tension in the room. “You two have met?”

Spencer spoke, not breaking eye contact with Vivienne. “We met when we were both in training.”

“How long has it been? Five, six years?”

“Five years, seven months, and seventeen days. Not nearly long enough.”

“Clearly.”

Hotch’s sharp tone sliced through the thick tension. “That’s enough,” he said, stepping forward slightly as though positioning himself between them. His gaze flicked between Spencer and Vivienne, calm but commanding. “Whatever history you two have, leave it outside this office. Understood?”

Vivienne forced herself to look away from Spencer and nodded, her jaw tightening. “Understood.”

Spencer’s response was quieter but no less resolute. “Understood.”

Morgan, sensing the shift in energy, gave a small grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, this just got interesting. You sure you’re not gonna need a referee for this, Hotch?”

Hotch shot him a sharp look, and Morgan immediately quieted, but not before muttering, “Alright, alright, just checking.”

“Everyone, back to work,” Hotch continued, voice firm. “JJ, you and Prentiss check with Garcia on potential connections with the cult. Morgan, I need you and Harper to finalize the timeline. Reid, go over the backgrounds with Rossi.”

The team scattered, but before they all went to take care of their respective tasks, Spencer stopped Vivienne.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low and edged with irritation, the same tone that used to make her blood boil. Judging by the sharp look in his eyes, he was just as annoyed by her presence as she was by his.

Vivienne let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “Oh, you know, just building a damn rocket, Spencer. What do you think I’m doing? I’m here to work. The Bureau sent me, just like they sent you. Hate to break it to you, but you’re not the only golden agent of the FBI.”

His eyes narrowed, a glint of sharp disbelief flickering in them. “Yes, I’m aware, Vi. I just didn’t expect you to be the ‘highly regarded’ New York agent Hotch and Mercer have been raving about. Though, now that I think about it, I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m sure you’re still the same reckless person you’ve always been.”

Vivienne squared her shoulders, the old nickname lighting a familiar spark of irritation. “First of all, I told you to stop calling me that. It’s Vivienne—but I guess listening isn’t exactly your strong suit. Second of all, I’m sure you haven’t changed much either. Still hiding behind your precious facts and statistics, clinging to your spreadsheets like a lifeline, instead of actually doing something out in the field?”

Spencer's jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might actually snap back—something he rarely did. Instead, he straightened his posture and fixed her with a cool, unwavering stare.

“Facts and statistics save lives, Vivienne,” he said, his voice calm but laced with steel. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. You’ve always been more comfortable charging in headfirst and hoping your instincts will catch you. And hey, maybe they do sometimes, but how many people have you put at risk with that reckless approach?”.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Vivienne shot back, crossing her arms. “I didn’t realize we were measuring success by how many textbooks you can memorize in a week. But sure, go ahead, Spencer. Quote me some studies about how I’m doing my job wrong. That’s so much more helpful than actually, you know, doing the job.”

His lips twitched, almost like he was biting back a smile—or maybe a smirk.

“At least I don’t need to prove I’m the smartest person in the room,” he said. “Some of us let our work speak for itself.”

Vivienne started to respond, but Morgan cut in between them, a playful glint in his eyes. “You with me, Harper?”

Vivienne gave him a quick nod and followed him over to the other side of the room, but not before giving Spencer one last glance.

Spencer plopped down next to a stack of case files, flipping through them as he glanced over at Vivienne. After he handed her half the stack, he spoke. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

“I feel like what you’re about to say isn’t going to be about my undeniable expertise and sharp wit,” Vivienne said dryly.

He laughed, but shook his head. “We’ll get to that later. You and Reid, what’s the deal?”

Vivienne shot him a glare, groaning. “Come on, Morgan. Can’t you ask me about anything else?”

“I get it, it’s just— I’ve known the guy forever. He’s usually so calm, and I can probably count the amount of times I’ve seen him mad on one hand. But all of a sudden you show up, and all that gets flipped on its head. I’m not complaining, it’s pretty entertaining to watch,” he laughed, and Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Obviously something happened.”

Vivienne raised her eyebrows at him, smiling. “If you think it’s entertaining, you’re the only one.”

“Maybe,” Morgan said with a grin, leaning back casually in his chair. “I’m just intrigued.”

Morgan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, clearly waiting for some juicy tidbit. Vivienne stared at him for a beat, then sighed, knowing he wouldn’t drop it until she threw him a bone.

“Fine,” she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Reid and I met at the Academy. We didn’t exactly… get along.”

Morgan raised a brow, his grin widening. “Didn’t get along? That’s an understatement, judging by the way you two were about to throw punches back there.”

Vivienne smirked. “We were competitive, okay? He thought he was smarter than everyone, and I wasn’t about to let him walk around like he was the second coming of Einstein.”

“Let me guess,” Morgan cut in, “you made it your personal mission to knock him down a peg?”

“More like a few pegs,” Vivienne admitted with a shrug.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. “So that’s it? Just a couple of old rivals butting heads again?”

Vivienne hesitated, her eyes flickering across the room to where Spencer was sitting. “Something like that. It doesn’t matter. We’re here to work a case, not revisit ancient history.”

“Fair enough,” he said, though the glint of curiosity in his eyes didn’t fade entirely. He stood, grabbing the case files and flashing Vivienne a knowing grin.

“Come on, let’s get back to work before Hotch wonders why we’re sitting around gossiping.”

Morgan’s grin lingered as he moved toward the evidence boards, carrying a stack of case files under one arm. Vivienne grabbed her half of the pile and followed, letting his easy demeanor chip away at the irritation still simmering in her chest.

The bullpen was alive with the hum of focused activity. Agents moved between desks, flipping through files, pinning photos and diagrams to the walls, and mapping out connections. This was a team at its peak—efficient, driven, and unified. And now, whether Vivienne liked it or not, she was part of it.

Morgan dropped his files on the table with a dramatic thud, flashing Vivienne another teasing grin. “Alright, Harper, let’s see if that New York expertise can keep up.”

“Oh, please.” Vivienne smirked, pulling out a chair. “You’re about to get schooled, Morgan.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

As they delved into the files, the tension faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of collaboration. For now, the case took precedence, and Vivienne was more than ready to prove that she belonged here.

— — — — — — — — —

hi! hope u liked this. this is ch1 of many, and i'll be cross-posting on a03 once i hit 3 chapters if u prefer that format!! this is my christmas gift, from me to you. love ya!

(p.s. i imagine s6/7 spencer in this, and this will be when the fic is set, but we will be 👀overlooking the ENTIRE plot of emilys death. bless!)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x female oc #criminal minds #spencer reid fic

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mickey-1996 · 10 hours ago

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The Phantom

Genre: Angst with a hint of fluff

Ship: Rafe x Pogue!Reader

Summary: The scene at the end of OBX 1 when things get heated in the Phantoms boat house. Rafe and readers secret relationship gets exposed and it ends with Kiara giving an ultimatum.

Not completely proof read

—

You and Rafe had a complicated relationship. As a pogue, you spent your days with John B and his group of friends, enjoying adventures and the freedom of the Outer Banks. Rafe, however, was a Kook Prince, benefiting from the perks of his status. You never really cared about the rivalry between Pogues and Kooks; in fact, you found it cringe. Still, you worried about the consequences if anyone found out about your secret romance with Rafe.

You were afraid, not because of what others might think, but because you cared about Rafe’s safety. You knew he would do anything to keep your relationship a secret because he worried so much about how his father would react. Rafe's fear was not about the opinions of the wealthy people in the Outer Banks; it was about the heavy expectations from his father.

Every moment you spent together was risky, and Rafe planned everything carefully. The secrecy of your relationship felt like a heavy burden, making him cautious. You balanced the excitement of your relationship with the fear of being discovered.

You, JJ, Pope, and Kie had been working on preparing Sarah and John B for their big escape to their new life. You had gotten food and fuel but were currently trying to get “The Phantom”, a boat that JJ’s dad owns, to the already decided departure location.

JJ raved on and on as the door of the building slide open and you finally got a good look at it.

“Jay this is a beauty right here,” You say gliding your hand along the side of the boat, there was a hint of sarcasm in your tone. It was pretty dusty and smelled of old salt water.

“Really, right in front of her,” He says motioning to the boat “You wouldn’t be smoking weed if it wasn’t for her,”

You just quipped a little ‘mhm’ before looking back at the boat. You weren't fully immersed in the wild drinking and smoking antics that the Pogues indulged in. You would if the day was stressful or in celebration, but you usually had work sooner than you would like and didn’t feel like getting fired in case they smelled anything on you. Most places wouldn’t care since almost everyone on the island participated in the usage, but the country club had stricter rules. Where you both fortunately and unfortunately worked at. It’s good money, but you had to deal with kooks all day.

As you, JJ, and Kie finally got moving the sound of tired screeching caught your attention.

“Pope. Finally” Kie runs towards the back entrance before quickly stopping.

Rafe walks in. You stand there in a mix of shock and annoyance, well, all three of you do. “Hey there, what’s going on? JJ?” Nothing is said for a beat or two until Rafe taunts again, “How are you guys doing?”

Your guys’ attention turns at the sound of a whistle. You watch as Barry rounds Kie’s car. He clears his throat briefly, and a cocky smirk appears on his face. “Well, well,”

You look back at Rafe as he creeps up behind you. So many silent words are shared when you lock your eyes. It’s mostly in the look you give him of “What the hell are you doing?” “You need to go home before the cops realize they got the wrong guy,” and “Please don’t.” He tried to ignore these messages as he looked away, but he knew deep down he should listen.

Your attention turns back to Barry as you hear a clicking of a gun. JJ’s hands immediately raise, and that same look of annoyance and shock graces his features.

“See, don’t think I forgot about you and me on the side of the road.” Barry steps closer. “I’m here because I want my motherfuckin' money.” He grabs the side of JJ’s neck and pushes the gun into him.

Kiara screams his name and steps closer, but Rafe picks her up. She kicks and thrashes, screaming almost incoherently.

There’s an internal struggle happening inside you about what to do. You could intervene in the situation between Barry and JJ, but that could put both of you in danger of getting shot. You could choose to do nothing, but that would make you feel like a bad friend and a coward. Finally, you could help Kiara. Rafe is unlikely to harm either you or her intentionally, making this the safer option. Ultimately, Rafe tends to listen to you in the end.

You turn to Kie and Rafe, Barry yelling at JJ as the blonde lays pinned to the floor by the brunette. You quickly move to intervene.

“It’s not you who we want Kie,” Rafe explains, “Where’s John B?”

You were currently between them trying to split them apart, which they both luckily complied with. If it were anyone else, you know Rafe would be so quick to get violent.

“I don’t know,” Kie yells before slapping him with on strike to the cheek.

You’re shocked, to say the least. There was only one word in your mind dumbass. You love Kie but you're not sure what she was trying to accomplish, she was just escalating the already escalated situation.

“I really wish you didn’t say that,” Rafe gently pushes your tight grip off of his shirt before stepping closer to her. You try to push yourself between them, daring you, but at least your friend will be okay.

“I know what you did,” Kie starts.

"Kie, please don’t," you whisper, glancing back at her with worry. You admire her courage as she speaks her beliefs, even when things are falling apart around her. But right now, her strong determination feels wrong to you. It makes you uneasy to see her standing tall, not aware of the possible consequences.

“What? What’d I do?”

“You murdered Peterkin!” she yelled, and fear flickered in Rafe’s eyes. Even Barry stopped his harassment of JJ at those words, but it was only for a brief couple of seconds.

He looked down at you, as if searching for something—anything—that might help him. He was looking for you to say the right words, words that could save him, anchor him, or perhaps help him forget the chaotic situation you were in. He was waiting for you to speak, but you couldn’t find the words. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t lead to something worse?

Something snapped in Rafe, and in that high-stakes moment, his movements felt faster than the speed of light. He shoved you aside, making you stumble into an open drawer filled with miscellaneous tools. It didn’t hurt, but a stinging sensation flared up on your side. In a swift motion, he had a grip on Kie’s neck, choking her. You’d never witnessed this kind of violence directed at someone so defenseless. Rafe could be a jerk, but he had always drawn the line at harming women and usually kept his acts of terror away from your watchful eyes.

You moved with a similar speed back to their side. His mind wasn’t in his usual state, You couldn’t treat this the same. It don’t matter if your friends knew anymore.

“Rafe, Baby,” You plea gently resting one hand on his bicep.

There’s pain in his eyes, and he quickly realizes what he has done. His grip loosens significantly, but he doesn’t step back. “Don’t you ever say those words again,” he warns. He loses the confidence he had before; it’s almost desperate as he yells, “Where’s John B?”

All the commotion in the room between Barry and JJ, as well as between Rafe and Kie, meant you hadn’t heard Pope arrive. However, he made his presence known as he struck Rafe’s back with a metal pole.

“Don’t touch her!” Pope yells trying to strike Rafe but this time he ducks.

Rafe lands a solid punch on Pope, knocking the pole from his grasp. However, Pope quickly regains his footing, dodging Rafe's follow-up strike, and counters with a series of hard punches to Rafe's face. Gripping Rafe’s grimy gray t-shirt, Pope relentlessly hammers his fist into Rafe, delivering blow after blow.

You try to get between it, not caring for your safety anymore but Kie holds your wrist as she finishes her last wheeze.

Barry notices that his “Boyfriend” isn’t winning his fight anymore and turns his attention from kicking Jay to a pulp to the commotion in front of you. JJ sees his window though and grabs Barry’s foot as he goes to intervene.

“Kie, Kick it!” JJ yells but to you it’s clouded by white noise as you watch Pope, your close friend who wouldn’t hurt a fly, beat the shit out of your secret lover.

“Pope!” You yell, finally finding your voice.

Your friends catch onto your efforts of bringing Pope back to reality and assist you.

A plethora of “That’s enough” “Pope” and “Snap out of it” are thrown but that still doesn’t stop Pope from grabbing nearby rubber and wrapping it around Rafe’s throat.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces. It’s like an alarm clock waking you from the trance you were in. You decide to get physically involved as you pull Pope back, it’s not until Kiara screams “Look at me” that he finally lets go of Rafe.

“Shit, oh, shit,” JJ mumbles looking down at Rafe. He’s wheezing and coughing on the concrete floor both covered and surrounded by his own blood.

Kie goes to comfort Pope while you drop to your knees, pulling Rafe into your arms. They just stare at you; it’s as if the world has gone silent.

“Baby,” you whisper softly, brushing his hair away from his face with gentle movements. “Shh… I’ve got you.” Tears stream slowly down your cheeks as you comfort him. Rafe’s hand lightly grips the side of your arm, not roughly, but as a grounding gesture. “It’s okay, Rafe. It’s going to be okay,” you breathe out, barely audible. One arm supports him while your other hand caresses the side of his face, being careful not to smear the blood.

It might sound cheesy, but it felt like you two were the only ones who existed. Even with your three friends watching and Barry listening in, whenever you and Rafe locked eyes, sharing that deep understanding, it always seemed like you were the only two people alive.

You weren’t worried about society anymore or his father, you wanted to protect him and love him.

It was probably only a minute but it felt like you were crying forever before Rafe’s breathing leveled.

Your friends around you just looked at each other, silently saying “what the fuck” in 82 different languages.

“Guys, we gotta go, like now,” Kiara rushed breaking the silence. Her and the other two followed her to the car so they could hook on the boat.

You stayed on the floor, ignoring her words. Only a couple beats passed before Rafe spoke, his voice strained from Pope’s earlier attacks, “Go,” he starts,”I’ll be fine, Baby,”

“But-“

“I know,” He cracks a small smile even if his words were a mix of sadness and disappointment.

You gave him a small sideways kiss on his lips, that only JJ saw out the corner of his eye. You whisper silent goodbyes before your stand, softly laying him on the ground below.

The other pogues were already in the car waiting for you. The air was tense the second you got in, they all stared at you.

“Y/N… wanna tell us what that was?” Kie said cautiously as you wiped a final tear from your eyes.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you try to dismiss but you should’ve known they were gonna dismiss the subject that quickly.

“I don’t wanna hear that,” JJ starts, whipping his head toward you, “Why didn’t you tell us you’re fucking the kook prince?”

“Who said we were fucking?” I question with the same attitude.

“Oh please,” He rolls his eyes before raising his voice three octaves to mock me, “It’s okay Baby, I got you, I love you Rafe’s Poo,”

“I never said all that,”

“You didn’t have to, your eyes said it all,” Pope chimes in.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” I turn my gaze to the passing terrain as Kiara drives, “It’s okay when John B does it but it crosses the line when I do,”

“This is different, Y/N. Sarah never tried to kill us, that psycho you call baby makes it his goal everyday,” JJ explains.

They were right but even if you explained why you cared so deeply for Rafe they wouldn’t understand.

“Bros before Hoes, I don’t want you two seeing each other ever again,” Kiara orders, “Do you understand?”

“Yeah” I grumble, “You act like I don’t already followed that code.”

“Oh really,”

“Really, It’s not like I cheer him on when he’s beating your ass. I help you guys always. Sorry I comfort him when Pope decides to try and make his kill count one,” The amount of attitude dripping from your voice was almost sickening, you should’ve just left it at a simple “yeah”.

The car screeches and Kiara turns her whole body to face me, “Promise to never speak to him again or get out of my fucking car right now,”

———

A/N: if i’m being honest the last bit was just me winging it but I might make a pt. 2. Wait… why this lowkey cringe. YALL ELIMINATE ME.

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