#but there are probably ways to make it better

[vampmira]

open up what you got in your mind to me. [pt.1 – huntrix]

they've never met someone like you — a mortal who almost knew them .. better than they knew themselves. for the boys, it's annoyingly intriguing. for the girls, it's comforting.

paring(s): huntrix & saja boys x demon expert!gn!reader

warning(s): some movie changes, probably effected lore that makes no sense for the sake of the narrative

request: here ! this is part 1 – i loved it so much i had to make 2 parts hehe ,,, part 2 is here !

your family worked with the demon hunters for generations – mortals who studied the demons, found their strengths and weaknesses, worked as field researcher on demonology alongside the hunter to keep the honmoon safe.

unfortunately, your ancestors were unpowerful beyond their intellect and aura vision. physically, they were weak – protected only by the hunters. becayse of this, there was .. an accident. the demons found the weaknesses of the hunters – their darling researchers, so they did what demons would do.

thousands of years of pages and books and studies were lost in their attack. most information was mentally stored by hunters, but a substantial amount was still lost in physical ink. in modern times, these researchers are almost myths to hunters – legends. however, mythology tales say that the descendents of the researchers have all knowledge of the honmoon and the demons sealed away by it. of course, it remained apart of the stories celine told rumi, mira, and zoey growing up ... all until they met you.

they met you at a hidden pastry shop in seoul, hidden in an alleyway around the same area as that wack doctor zoey had so much faith in

it was the only place open after practice and rumi, as tired as she was, guided the girls in to enjoy the warm lighting and atmosphere

after declining the offers to go to the bathhouse for the 100th time, she thought this could be the perfect way to make it up to them

she ordered a few treats – mochi for herself, a little apple pie for zoey, steamed red bean buns for mira, and matcha for them all

the girls talked quietly, waiting for their order, until you called rumi up to retrieve the neatly wrapped box of sweets

when she came up to you, your fingers wrapped around her wrist, cold and startling

"i'm not sure how you got in here..", her eyes met yours, now void of the warmth you once held when she walked in, "but if a demon is ordering pastries from me, times must have changed." she shuttered under your hushed voice.

"d-demon...?" her skin was fully covered. even though her markings hadn't spread too far yet, she took precautions regardless, worried of the news that might ruin her relationships.

"i noticed your aura when you sat down. though, you don't seem that threatening... and the honmoon is completely intact aroun–"

"how do you..?" her eyes shook, almost pure horror behind them. there's tension between you two, fueled by her anxiety of being seen, of being exposed when her members were just right by the door. you studied her, her friends, and their auras alike, before you half smiled at her.

"my ancestors and yours were... very close." your voice rose, catching the attention of the pink and black haired girls. "do hunters not teach about researchers anymore?"

the three of them surrounded you quickly, eyes bright and curious

things like "we thought they were myths!!" and "you know about the honmoon!?" were thrown at you immediately

you debunked their mythology left and right, spending an hour after closing chatting with them

they felt.. seen? YOU felt seen!

you could finally talk to others about your aura vision and they could FINALLY get their hunter secrets off their chest

maybe it wasn't the best idea to spill it all in such a public place but who else would listen ?

celine got a very chaotic phone call later that night

and you? you got an invite to a luxurious penthouse and a few new friends

since then, you've helped them immensely

your memory was working like an endless library of information

you'd show them old diagrams your greatest great great great great grandparents had tucked away

discuss old journals that survived the attacks that became family heirlooms

told them fun facts about demons

especially to zoey, who seemed very intrigued by the fact that all demons had a weak spot in their chests due to their lack of personal souls

even, eventually, helped rumi tell the girls about her marks

zoey and mira were stunned in silence. rumi's arms were exposed, hands shaking in anxious terror, but you were right by her side. celine told her to always hide them but .. you understood. you accepted her mere minutes after meeting her. maybe the girls would do the same.

"rumi is.. something fascinating." you admitted. it sounded blunt, but you expressed it with a look of soft excitement. "she has mixed blood – the marks of a demon, the voice, soul, and heart of a hunter. she's never once lied about the kindness of her heart... the traits of hunters overpower any demon urges." you spoke for rumi as she stood there, feeling naked and scared under the judging eyes of her closest friends. "she's a pure experiment – but she's no less rumi. her aura proves that."

it took a few hours of conversations, explanations from both you, the expert, and her, the secret holder, but eventually, zoey and mira engulfed her in a hug – promising to keep the secret contained between the four of you. not even telling celine, in case she got them all in trouble. the golden honmoon was so close.. they'd be able to do this together, especially now that they have you.

during the events of the movie, they needed you a lot

but the last thing they wanted was a repeat of the accident

so they kept you their secret weapon ! working with you behind the scenes and away from the actual action

when the saja boys grabbed everyone's attention with their beautiful bodies and alluring voices, you were staring at their markings, especially at the joint fansigning they held

jinu noticed you about as much as he noticed bobby – just another person on staff

that is until he noticed how you stared at him

not ogling, but studying,, writing things down in the notebook you carried, covered in huntrix stickers

be lucky he noticed you over baby or mystery, otherwise you may have been targeted by their powers to throw you and huntrix off

he asked about you to rumi once .. the "mysterious person" on their staff that "always wrote in that notebook"

she was more worried about your safety than opening up to him but .. she thought..

if you helped her reveal herself to huntrix, maybe you could help jinu and the saja boys ?

they never expressed wanting help but she couldn't help but think about it

you hopped on board with her plan in secret, working on ways out of their servitude to gwima

it took a while but you figured that if you could channel your aura vision and hold them above the honmoon when it sealed, they could be healed of their marks too, human disguises left in tact.

it was only a matter of time before you tried it out.

[rawme-price]

So...healer!reader pt 5, shes already healed the guys individually, where will they go from here?🤭

It becomes a bit of a routine. The guys try not to ask for ur healing too often, they value u as a genuine member of the team and would hate for u to think ur just here for that. But, you do notice they all perform much better after you heal them. Plus, it kind of gets on ur nerves when they try to 'tough out' some of the minor pain, bc u can feel it radiating from them and now that you have healed them before there's really no reason for u to be shy about it again.

So, you make sure to heal them all at least once a week, sometimes more if they actually are hurt. Ghost goes all soft and pliant, simply enjoying the fact his chronic pain is gone for a bit. Price tends to take the time to smoke, hes learned that ur healing with smoke in his lungs feels devine. Soap doesnt have much constant pain besides mild tinnitus, so he and gaz tend to work out like hell beforehand bc it feels alot better when the magic has something to focus on.

But you never seem to ask anything in return. Its frustrating. Especially considering soap has explicitly offered you to bed and all you've done is turn him down with a small smile. Needless to say, the guys are concerned. Gaz calls a team meeting between the four of them, a furrow in his brow.

"Do you think we're taking advantage?"

Its a long and serious discussion. Price thinks they are, they all have some sort of power dynamic over you (some more than others). Ghost doesnt think so, hes seen you punch a guy's lights out for looking at you the wrong way, if you didnt want to do something then you wouldnt. Soap seems mixed, he trusts your decisions, but he doesnt want to have accidentally coerced you into anything. The discussion gets them nowhere, so finally gaz calls you in.

U give them a confused look, but seem overall relaxed. "Uh- everything okay?"

Price doesnt mince words, "if you dont want to heal us. You dont have to. If you dont feel comfortable working in this team, give me the paperwork and ill approve it, no questions asked."

"What?" Youre honestly baffled, looking between them like they're crazy. "What on earth makes you think i dont want to heal you?? If I didnt then I wouldnt??"

So they explain they're reasoning, finally leading to the last point of u never seeking out ur own satisfaction. They don't want to make u heal them if u dont get some sort of satisfaction in return, it feels predatory or whatever.

You cant help it, you laugh. A bit from nerves but also from relief bc you thought you were being kicked out. "Oh my god- thats it?" You try to cover ur grin with a hand.

"the hell do you mean thats it?!" Soap retorts, a bit put off by ur sudden mirth "this is serious!"

"God! No- its- you dont understand-" you take a few deep breaths before calming down. Looking them in the eyes you shrug "im asexual. I uh- dont feel sexual desire. Like. At all."

Before they can freak out, you strike down whatever fears u know they're thinking "whatever sexual moments did occur were totally my choice. I may not get satisfaction like you guys do, but I like to see you guys happy, I like to help. Besides, all this healing has given me alot of practice with my magic, I really dont want to stop."

You and them have another, quite long discussion, and decide to keep up the arrangement. You get to practice magic, and they get to have the best damn orgasms of their lives. In fact, this probably means you can heal them more often now that you have permission to really experiment with ur methods.

(HA YALL THOUGHT IT WOULD BE A FIVESOME HUH??? WRONG!! anyways happy pride to all my fellow asexuals!! Also dw guys this is NOT the end of the series lol)

[baepsays]

Musician Geto Suguru and his never-ending beef with his bandmates over your attention.

The thing is, as their main producer and just a very sought-after producer in the industry, he's barely able to leave his studio. Things were different before the scandal, before he was reintroduced to you, and before you two went official. His schedule was simple then—studio, recordings, shows, parties and clubs he was a regular at, getting high out of his mind on coke and weed, and going back to his studio. He barely saw any light, and his apartment felt foreign; hotel rooms were more homely than his apartment. Now it's lived in, with traces of you and the life he is building with you. Your—and now also his—scoundrel cat's claw marks are everywhere; there are stains on the couch, and all the smooth and shiny furniture is now matted. He also prefers his home studio, which he never came around to using, much better than the one at the company.

To simply say, things are mundane in the best way possible. Having lunches and dinners with his bandmates and just talking about things other than work or how he's losing himself was much more fun, he has to say. Especially when no one is throwing punches at him backstage, ahem—Sukuna—ahem. Of course it took more effort to carve out this new usual than how he used to just live off of drugs, caffeine, burning through cigarettes, and barely any food. He much prefers the boring days where he just goes from work to home to see you only at the end of the day, of course, not more than when you come to their shows. But he'll take anything, just to have you around for more than the mornings before and nights after work; it's a privilege. Even having you for more than just 3 shows for a tour is a blessing, due to the vast difference in your schedules.

Which is why he truly looks forward to days when you drop by to have lunch with him. Those weekdays are always a highlight of his week. So when he has to compete with his own bandmates for your attention or the home-cooked lunch you make for him to eat with him in the privacy of his studio, preferably sitting on his lap.

He wants to fight his own bandmates as violently as he used to. Choso, he gets; after all, Choso is the sweetest of them all; it sometimes does not make any sense to him how he ended up in this edgy rock band. But then again, where was Suguru going to find a vocalist and guitarist of Choso’s caliber? Yet still, Suguru does not appreciate it when he takes up your time when you two exchange recipes. Then there is Toji, always barging in to steal the precious food you made for Suguru, eating up most of the food while always making excuses about just one small bite. Suguru would have made Shiu (their CEO) kick Toji out of the company itself, just because of this petty reason, if there was anyone else better on the drums than him. 

Then there is Sukuna. Probably the one who pisses him off the most. Because why is the broody, scary, and one of the quietest men that Suguru knows like a social butterfly around you? Sure, you legally represent their band, but why is he so chatty around you about everything and anything? Is it not enough that he has to deal with one social butterfly, aka the nation's most desirable man and industry's favorite actor, Gojo Satoru, snitching out Suguru to you? There's now also Sukuna, snitching to you about how Suguru skipped meals to hole himself up in his studio for days or smoked more than two cigarettes a day. The worst part is when you drop by, you text in the group chat you are in with them to see if they would be at work that day. And you bring extra food for them or invite them sometimes to eat out with you two (and yet Toji still manages to steal off of Suguru's plate), and if it's just a you and Suguru kind of day, you still see them before or after your boyfriend locks you up in his studio with him.

Just like today, when you dropped by with a packed lunchbox for him and got roped up, yet again, with his bandmates. He got your text at exactly 13:34 PM that you entered the building, and sure, his studio was on the 19th floor, but it took only 5 minutes or so to get there. Unfortunately for him, he had to wait more than 30 minutes for you because you texted him you were just a floor below, in their practice room with his bandmates. And when 40 minutes were about to pass, Suguru had to essentially go down and abduct you by carrying you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and making a run for it with your bag in his other hand. He could hear Sukuna yelling his name from behind, but he made it just in time to the elevator to get away with you.

“The only reason why I will ever go fully solo is because of your little fan club.” He walked into his studio while grumbling and with you still dangling on his shoulder.

“Issok, I will replace you.” He threw you on the black leather couch and lay on top of you, like he just fought an army of hungry coyotes and ran a marathon at the same time. “Hmm, I see you guys are scheming behind my back now.” He looked up at you from where he buried his face in your chest.

“I say it's very up front.” You giggled and pushed away the loose strands of his hair covering his face, and he didn't reply. Instead, he lifted himself off of you to hover and then moved up to kiss you. It was sweet, smiling, warm faces basically pressed together. Everything still feels surreal, how mundane life is right now for him considering even just two years ago the kind of mess he got himself into. That how his life looked doomed after that moment, and yet here he was.

“I have this new track in the works.” He broke off the kiss and hovered over you with his hooded eyes and a smirk so sleazy, it always made you wonder about your life choices. “Oh, am I hearing it?” You raised your brows at him, and his smirk only widened into a half smile.

“Nope. You're getting on it.” Which basically translates to, ‘I am about to make you moan, and the recording is going into the track.’ You threw your head back into the couch as you tried to push him away and groaned in annoyance. Which was not much avail to you when, despite your efforts, he nuzzled his face in your neck and started leaving a trail of kisses from the base of your neck to your jaw, then up to your lips. And when his lips met yours, a small moan just absentmindedly left your lips as his lips slotted with yours. Suguru’s lips stretched into a big smile while his eyes remained closed, and he continued kissing you until he stopped to murmur into your mouth.

“Ooh. Save all of that for the track.”

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE II FIND MORE ABOUT MUSICIAN GETO

a/n: dividers by @/hyuneskkami

you can think about this as the epilogue to the musician geto au :3c which will take time. I have not graduated yet lol fuck lab exams and i am brainrotted by prince geto soooooo. you can assume what the scandal may beeeee you will be finding that and more band dynamics in the fic!

[arcanetrivia]

The thing about Discord is that just finding a server that has the conversations you're interested in can be difficult. Privately hosted email lists had this kind of problem too, that you sometimes could only even find out they existed by word of mouth, never mind join them. Sometimes you have to know a guy who knows a guy to get a hold of an invite code that hasn't expired by the time you come across it. (I get why they made the change that you couldn't make permanent ones if you weren't a Community server, but it can be frustrating sometimes.) Official servers for $THING may be listed publicly on $THING's website, but that's not the same as a by-fans-for-fans space that will probably have a much different culture and tone. There's Disboard, but not everything is on it. The central directory of a place like Yahoo Groups (whatever their other faults), being able to find communities and people that list certain interests on LiveJournal, the generally public or at least semi-public nature of a forum that can be found by a search engine... all of these supported discoverability. (And in my current primary fandom, besides the figurative "private group chat" that a Discord server is, I know there's some significant activity in literal private group chat. So unless you can somehow get admitted to a pre-existing group of friends, welp.)

IRC as a synchronous chat platform/protocol was there for a long time alongside (and is still in some cases, even with the ascendancy of Discord), and a lot of that ephemeral stuff has been lost unless people kept logs. But we're in a situation now where pretty much all there is, is the ephemeral, be it Discord, Twitter/Bluesky/Mastodon, Facebook (seems to actively work against finding and keeping up on what you want), Instagram (somehow even worse; my beloathed). DeviantArt worked decently well for a while, but every time they messed up site changes and policies in a way that angered artists, there was an exodus (similar to the waves of exodus from LiveJournal until now it's a ghost town unless you're Russian). Pillowfort... exists... but I am skeptical it's ever going to gain critical mass, even if Tumblr does completely go under one of these days.

And Tumblr itself... is better than nothing, but of course we all know how hard it can be to find things on because a lot of the older stuff isn't even indexed; and its structure really doesn't support coherent threaded conversation; and it's a bit too-little-too-late on their introduction of LJ/DW-style communities, which people here now don't seem to want.

(Semi-aside, not to be a Fandom Old, but re: reblogging/reposting, I see how such a thing can be a boon for those who really don't want to participate even on the level of an occasional comment here and there, but fandom was doing fine without such a feature on email lists, forums, LiveJournal. People actually were pretty annoyed when LJ tried to introduce a reposting-style feature, which was pretty clunky. The site hadn't been conceived with that sort of ecosystem in mind and it was rather grafted on. Think how people keep rejecting Tumblr's attempts at a short-form video feature: "Stop trying to be X other site and just be what you are! We're here because we want what is unique about this place!")

....sorry, I think I went on a bit of a pointless ramble there 😅

imo a discord server should be like a breakout room for fandom. like the place to run your wips by your besties or discuss your otp in more detail with a few people who were insane about it on your post or organise events with a handful of trusted mutuals etc etc. if it’s where ALL the fandom activity is going to happen it will inevitably foster a cliquey environment where the fandom is divided into “those in the server” and “those who aren’t”, lurking is disincentivised if not made outright impossible, people who feel uncomfortable joining in conversations and would rather interact with fandom through reblogging etc are largely excluded because there’s no repost mechanism, and the fandom itself becomes an enclosed space so new fans are limited in how much content and meta they can access without having to make the plunge into Joining The In Group, there’s limited scope for interaction between different communities within the same fandom, god it’s just an altogether dogshit stupid idea. what if we moved all fandom activity to really massive private groupchats. STUPID

[vampmira]

open up what you got in your mind to me. [pt.2 – saja boys.]

they've never met someone like you — a mortal who almost knew them .. better than they knew themselves. for the boys, it's annoyingly intriguing. for the girls, it's comforting.

paring(s): huntrix & saja boys x demon expert!gn!reader

warning(s:) EVERYTHING IN HERE IS A PART TWO TO THIS !! some movie changes, probably effected lore that makes no sense for the sake of the narrative, a little angst at the beginning

request | tags: @blueberrysquire @akariis4snowball @j0ykill

a/n: this is part 2 !! i had sooo many ideas for huntrix that i had to make another part for the saja boys so that it wasn't so long . this part isn't as good but i liked it so ☆☆☆

that night huntrix defeated gwima was a blur. all you remember was the zombie mob of fans, half of the fight, and the use of your aura vision to raise the saja boys above the honmoon before it glimmered in gold. jinu, who gave his newly found soul for rumi, was practically reincarnated through her sword – standing in front of her post-concert, arms open for her to fall into with tears from the both of them. everyone else? well, they felt lost.

the saja boys weren't sure what to do anymore. jinu was overjoyed, of course, but the boys knew nothing more beyond gwima and their mission. they didn't care much about music, nor their fans – which huntrix still couldn't wrap their minds around – and it's not like they had secret human hobbies. they never had time for that. until now.

post-gwima, they stayed in an apartment near the huntrix penthouse, trying to figure out their new lives. for the most part, they spent most of their time under your watch – to make sure they didn't go cause chaos – but also .. under your study.

you were weird to them

they weren't used to someone other than them.. knowing them

their capabilities, their knowledge, their origins.

actually jinu found your extensive understanding of what he is to be kind of comforting

he noticed how you never really drooled over them

you'd stare, sure, but in the same way an art critic would stare at a painted blue canvas with a smeared red dot in the middle

he felt like that red dot – unexplained but you somehow understood

when he told you about his past, it was a lot for him – talking about his cruel choice

but you.. didn't judge him.

in fact, you wrote it down in your notebook immediately, the one you never let the boys get too close to

he accepted you into his life when he entertained your interest in his history

unlike him, however, the other boys were uninterested

at first anyway

thank jinu for getting them to talk to you btw

it took a little bit of convincing – telling them that you wanted to give them something more than just gwima

even though they didn't want it ...

REGARDLESS they hang out around the penthouse

because they're no longer saja boys (uninterested and unsupported by any demon staff anymore)

they really had nothing to do but mildly annoy your personal space

including being the center of your attention when the girls are out

mira gave you one rule, "living room and bathroom. only." and you've succeeded so far. abby and romance were talking by the large scale windows, mystery was playing some game with baby (and obviously winning), and jinu sat in the middle of the couch, watching whatever movie rumi put on for him. you sat beside him, sketching in your one and only personal researcher book. your pencil drew out what you felt like was the final line in mystery's hair ... before you huffed, erasing it, and trying again.

that was... until the littlest demon startled you.

"mystery, they're drawing you." bored of his game, baby peered over your shoulder, only passively curious and really wanting to mess with you. heads turned at your exposure to the room, especially jinu, who looked over your other shoulder at the sketch you did of him earlier.

"you're.. sketching us?" the direct ask made you a bit nervous, especially being under so many eyes. (kind of. mystery was more just.. generally facing your direction.) "'weakness.. chest?' are you taking notes on us?" you stood up, nearly defensive, turning around to face the couch trio.

"if it weren't for your old friends, i wouldn't have to write it all down again." the boys went quiet, remembering the origin of your knowledge and powers. "i'm just.. tired of keeping it all inside. i need to get it out somewhere."

romance, true to his name, leaned over your shoulder, putting you both in a proximity much closer than you've ever had to experience before.

"then why don't we do something.. a little more fun .. to help you get it all out?"

normally sentences like that from him sound way more suggestive than he means them to be

but this time he came up with an actual solution to release your closed up, ready-to-pop-out-of-your-skin knowledge

they gave you a one way trip to infodump station ! an interview !

they wanted to learn more about you anyways

their fellow demons down below were the ones to wipe out your ancestors

not them

and they make sure you know it too

but they can't help but feel .. a little, tiny bit bad that you're now just a living library

a time capsule, holding onto so much information that you're about to burst 24/7

they had never met a researcher honestly

you intrigued them as much as they did for you

how much did you really know ?? did you know anything or is all this antsy behavior a ploy to make it look like you knew everything when you really knew nothing ??

their disguises were perfectly created to make every little fan fall for their attractiveness the second they looked at the boys

but you never drooled at them or had your eyes pop out of your head

you just always... stared. processing. tracing mindfully.

they didn't know what you were really abut. but they were about to find out. and really test your persona.

romance sat relaced in a chair as you circled him, pencil taking note of everything you noticed. how his markings were sharp, not rounded like rivers, how his skin was cooled, not burning hot. all things you already knew, but you found small comfort in knowing not much changed. you took a deep breath around his hair, nose scrunching up. he smiled, taking your cheek in his hand.

"new cologne." his voice was smooth, gentle. traditionally alluring. "just for you. do you like it?" he turned up his flirtatiousness, pulling you in closely, testing the waters of your focus.. before you turned away to start writing, completely uneffected.

"so many generations and you guys still smell like flames.." you mumbled to yourself.

"would you rather we smell like bubblegum?" baby tried to sass you, but you were too focused on the sharpness of his teeth to care. you stepped towards him, eyes widened.

"can demons still tear apart brick with the force of their canines?" you asked, rather close to his face. for a moment, he almost felt like the flustered one.

"yes..? no? i-i don't know." he crossed his arms, childishly. "i don't go around biting bricks." you jot it down still as you move towards abby. he's deeply relaxed, leaning back on the couch, comfortable shirt riding up to expose his famously toned abs. your eyes trail off of your notebook and they think.. they've got you.

"like what you see?" he teases. "you can touch them, you know." a bold move that brings you closer, nails tracing his skin. they're almost disappointed that abby is the one who stole your attention.. before they realize you're attention isn't stolen at all. you're drawing his markings with careful detail.

"where did yours come from? rumi's started forming on her arm when she was a kid, but they haven't reached her stomach yet. they grow with time, right? how old would that make you then..?" you dissolve into mutters they can barely decipher. "oh!! mystery!" he almost jumps behind the couch when you race over to him, making jinu laugh from the sidelines of their attempts to flirt with you. "i've never seen a demon sparkle! that's new.. is that just you? or is there a whole subspecies of sparkling demons? or is it your human disguise..?" your questions nearly overwhelm him, enough to make him forget how he's supposed to flirt with you, but romance pulls you away, whispering in your ear.

"it's not just him." he smiles, hand on your shoulder. "you're sparkling, too, sweetheart." if anyone could fluster anyone, it'd be him, even if it takes two rounds. his thumb runs against your chin. "you look so cute in this lighting, like a rose."

"speaking of which, what's the flora like down there? are there any? do they eat demons or are they like.. regular flowers? we knew more of demons than of gwima's realm. did they smell? i bet they might have.. would it be nostalgic or torturing?"

the boys share a look, and sigh. you went off into high speed muttering again.

you really were everything you said

uninterested in their flirts and more in knowledge

that almost made them like you more..

in the following times after the interview, they greeted you a bit more casually – sometimes cheerfully, asking if you had any new drawings or trivia you wanted to get off your chest

how did you . tame them !? does the whole hard to get thing actually work !?

it confused the girls wildly

but to see them adjusting to being here through someone who actually understood them instead of lying around, empty and lost, was a pick-me-up in the mornings

one morning, after being delivered a coffee, handsigned by the boys, you felt something click in your head, a sensation you had never felt before, and reached to put it in your notebook immediately

"demons, when properly befriended, like to be understood. they brought me coffee. do demons like coffee??"

[rawrfrferrari]

Bad Romance | MV 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x girlfriend!oc

Type: SMAU, PR Relationship.

[Request and Taglist] [Masterlist]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

f1wagsofficial

Liked by maxverstappendaily, maxlanaupdates and others

f1wagsofficial Spotted: Alana arriving solo two days in a row for FP & Quali while boyfriend Max Verstappen took the back entrance into the paddock.

Cameras caught only a few interactions, but let’s see what Sunday brings.

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gridgirlie she literally looked stunning yesterday I would also want to make a solo entrance

wifeverstappen lmao that fake couple arc lasted like 3 weeks

f1wagstea i don’t blame her. fake or not, she’s gotta protect her peace lol

redbullbabe33 maybe she’s letting max focus?? she doesn’t have to be glued to him lol

username1 idk they both seem chill… not everyone’s gonna cling for clout

lecfosi16 wasn’t she supposed to be at the garage? hmm

→ f1wagsofficial I think she was in the garage for quali, rest of the time she was I the club with his mother.

username2 first the kiss leak, now this… they were never meant to be.

maxlanaupdates maybe it’s to avoid giving the press too much too soon?

tifosiangel not y’all assuming they’re breaking up cause she showed up in her own car 😭

alana.miller

📍Monaco Grand Prix

maxlanaupdates

Liked by f1wagsofficial, maxlanaupdates and others

maxlanaupdates Max and Alana shows up at paddock together. Also Alana was also spotted going to the garage with his mother.

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redbullbabe33 She fits in like she’s been there all the time.

maxlanaschild Her walking ahead to give the journalists space to interview max.

wifeverstappen Max isn’t smiling like that… he looks tired not happy.

username1 Max really upgraded tbh 👀

trulylandhoe I feel like Lando’s definitely teasing Max about this rn 😂

maxyfanforever She got the mom approval y’all. IT’S REAL.

username2 Can she chill for one race? Just one?

teamalanam The way she waved at the cameras all sweetly 🥹

tracktales Too fast, too PR-coded for me.

TO LANDO'S PARTY

Max was behind the wheel, one hand gripping the steering lightly, the other resting on the gearshift. He hadn’t spoken in a few minutes, just the soft hum of the engine and occasional chatter from the outside world slipping through the barely cracked window.

Alana glanced sideways at him. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on the road, but not in the angry way she’d feared.

"You good?" she asked gently.

He nodded, but then shook his head. "Not really. P4 feels like a loss when you’ve been fighting for the top since round one."

"You drove hard," she offered. "It wasn’t your fault, strategy was all over the place."

Max sighed. "It’s not even about the position anymore. I just... I don’t feel like I’m enjoying it right now."

Alana stayed quiet for a beat, then said, "You’re allowed to be tired of something, even if you’re good at it."

He gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Problem is, I’m expected to be good at it. No room for tired."

The car rolled to a slow stop at a red light. Max leaned back, drumming his fingers lightly against the steering wheel.

"But hey," he said suddenly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "Lando won today! That made it better. I saw how happy he was when he got out of the car."

Alana smiled. "He deserves it."

"Yeah. I told him after the cooldown lap. ‘Bout time someone shut us all up." He chuckled.

She said, adjusting her hair in the rearview. "Finally, You've stopped sulking."

He shot her a sideways look. “I’m not sulking. You’re annoying."

"But I'm right."

The light turned green. He shifted gears and they eased forward, city lights starting to flicker more vibrantly now that dusk was sliding in.

"Thanks for not letting Anna push me much today," Max said quietly, eyes on the road. "I know you probably had content to post but-"

Alana tilted her head. "You think I care about posting when you’re this grumpy?"

"I’m not grumpy."

"You’re very moody." She poked his dimple. He didn’t argue that one. Just smiled faintly as they turned toward the coastline, Lando’s party venue coming into view in the distance, lights already blaring.

alana.miller

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landonorris

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caption: MAMA YE PAPA

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maxverstappen1 I’ve been replaced from the favourite to the second favourite.

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alana.miller You’ll always be my favorite, grump.

victoriaverstappen The babies adore her, what can I say? 😌

→ alana.miller I adore you all 💗

wagsexpose101 Who brings a full look to a family dinner if not for the cameras?

maxxalana.fp This is the content we needed. Thank you Max 🙏🏼

landonorris You’re lucky to even be second now tbh.

alana.miller In my defence, I give better cuddles and lots of snacks. 🐣

→ maxverstappen1 Where are mine?

→ alana.miller Get done with the sim fast

→ maxverstappen1 You dont know how fast I can be 😏

username1 They’re such a soft couple, my heart can’t take it.

wifeyverstappen Look how uncomfortable the kids are 😣

f1wagsdaily Jos leaving max at the gas station again because he's p2 in his family's favourite hierarchy now...

username2 Can we get a moment without the “look how perfect she is” rollout?

alanamiller4ever Her with Max's niece 🥺

username3 Them flirting in the comments was not on my bingo card for 2025

alana.miller

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alana.miller Monaco Memories 📸🩶

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maxverstappen1 You can't gang up with my cats against me.

→ alana.miller You're in my team first 😘

victoriaverstappen Monaco’s finest 🤩

wifeyverstappen Tell me you're a gold digger bitch with telling me you're a gold digger bitch.

kikagomes Cutie, we should hang out sometimes?

→ alana.miller Absolutely !!

username1 Mother is mothering the cats, kids ad Max.

username2 No one’s life is this perfect.

alanamiller.fp That dock photo made me sob. She’s such a softie 🥺

landonorris J and S chose their queen and we all bow

username3 All this for a girl Max met less than three months ago…

lilymhe adorableeee💕

alanaxmaxie Her and Max feel like endgame.

maxrbfanclub Max blink twice if you’re being PR-managed.

alanamillerdaily Max can you fight?

SPANISH GRAND PRIX, BARCELONA - JUNE 2025

The backdrop was loud, engines cooling, crews moving gear, fans still chanting names in the distance.

Max, helmet off and fireproofs unzipped to his waist, stood in front of the Red Bull hospitality wall. Reporters swamping around him to get content after the disappointing race.

“Max, obviously not the result you’d hoped for today, P10 after a tough weekend. Do you think your very public relationship with a model might be affecting your focus?”

Everything froze for just a second too long. Max’s jaw clenched. He looked directly at the reporter. Then took a step closer.

“Let me be very clear, my personal life has nothing to do with what happens on track. My girlfriend anything but a distraction. She's very supportive and keeps me grounded in ways most people wouldn’t understand.” His cold tone intimidated the reporter who gulped down and quivered back a little.

The paddock quieted a little around him. “If I finish P10, that’s on me and the car, not on the person who’s stood beside me through every frustrating weekend and still shows up with the same energy and belief.”

He took another breath, running a hand through his hair, still damp under the sun. “I’ll take responsibility for every race result. But don’t ever reduce a woman’s presence in a man’s life to a distraction just because it fits your headline.”

And with that, he gave a short nod to the Red Bull comms manager and walked off with his jaw tight.

RED BULL HOSPITALITY, BARCELONA - JUNE 2025

The door to the Red Bull hospitality swung open a little too sharply, catching the attention of everyone inside.

Max strode in, lips pressed into a hard line. A few heads turned, but no one said anything.

Alana stood near the coffee bar, laughing softly with Geri, Christian Horner's wife, one hand holding a bottle of water, the other brushing her hair behind her ear. Her smile made him feel like everything outside that moment could wait.

Max exhaled slowly. Without a word, he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Alana jolted slightly in surprise, then relaxed instantly into his arms.

“Hi,” she whispered with a soft laugh, reaching up to place her hand over his.

Geri’s brows lifted slightly, but she smiled knowingly. “Hello Max. I’ll give you two a minute,” she murmured before excusing herself.

Alana leaned her head slightly toward his shoulder, smiling gently. “You okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low, not wanting to push him. She assumed it was the frustrating P10.

Max didn’t say anything. Instead, he just buried his face into the crook of her neck for a beat, breathing in. Alana’s brows furrowed a little, her instincts kicking in.

Still, she didn’t ask again. She just slipped her hand behind his back and began rubbing slow, soothing circles against the tense line of muscle just above his spine.

Max’s grip on her eased just slightly. “Come on, Let's get back to the hotel.” she murmured after a moment, lacing their fingers as they stepped out of the hospitality, the early evening sun casting long shadows down the paddock.

As they made their way to the parking lot, Alana didn’t rush asking questions. She knew how heavy he was feeling and didn't need someone to poke him right now.

alana.miller

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alana.miller 🍒🇪🇸✨

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maxverstappen1 Still stamina‑checked by churros ❤️

→ alana.miller 😳

→ lando.norris 🤮 eww get a room

→ maxverstappen1 we already did. Bye ✌🏻

lilyzneime when are we doing another girls’ day?

→ alana.miller As soon as our fanboys stop being clingy. Sure...

→ lilymhe frrrr

wagscentral We loved a cultured girl 😌

flavybarla this Monday deserves a mini vlog 😌

→ alana.miller best monday

alanahatereww no one asked for 8 photos

→ alanapretty no one asked for your opinion lol

kellypiquetlove Max downgraded y’all just scared to say it

kikagomez barcelona dumped and slayed.

→ alana.miller 💕

username1 Her and Max are my Roman Empire

maxlanaforever i just know max has that 3rd pic as his lock screen

lilymhe PhD in ig dumps.

→ alana.miller graduated with valedictory.

zendaya suddenly i need to book a barcelona flight

→ alana.miller @/tomholland2013 Listen to ur wife.

→ tomholland2013 Sure Ma'am.

f1truthbombs influencer energy is so off-putting in F1

maxlanaupdates They stayed Monday and Tuesday to explore the city instead of going to Montreal or back to Monaco 🥹

username2 They're so cheeky and flirty. I can't 😭

maxielovebot trying hard to be interesting lol

alanamillerfpmodel The vroom vroom boy treating our girl right 🫶🏽

MAX'S HOTEL ROOM, BARCELONA - JUNE 2025

Anna tapped her pen against a Red Bull-branded notepad, scanning the week’s headlines on her tablet while Lexi sat poised, legs crossed, notes already highlighted in pastel pink.

Max was slouched in a chair near the window, in his Red Bull polo. Alana sat on the edge of the bed.

“Alright,” Anna began, sliding her tablet across the table. “The race day fallout is manageable, but the clip of the interview is gaining traction.”

Max didn’t flinch. “Good. He deserved to be shut down.”

Lexi gave a small nod of approval. “Your response plays well in your favor. We’ve already flagged and slowed a few of the harsher edits circulating. But you two need to recalibrate what’s public and what’s not.”

“I didn’t plan to say anything,” Max muttered. “But I’m not going to let her being bullied or frowned down like this” He waved a hand vaguely.

Alana looked at him quietly. Lexi cleared her throat. “It’s good that you’re comfortable. But now we have to be intentional. Especially with the next race and the movie premiere.”

Anna adjusted her glasses. “Speaking of... Max, are we still holding on your travel plans for Montreal?”

“No,” he said. “I want her there.”

That landed heavy in the room. Alana blinked once. “You want me at the Canadian GP?”

He looked at her directly now. “Yes. After the way Barcelona ended… I want you there.”

Lexi glanced at her client, gauging her reaction. Alana didn’t smile, but she gave the smallest nod.

“Fine by me,” Lexi said, scribbling it into her planner. “That actually works better for the timeline. You both land in Canada wednesday morning, stay through the weekend. On Monday you fly to New York for the premiere with Christian, Geri and Yuki”

Alana tilted her head, brushing her hair behind her ear slowly. “If I show up for Canada and the premiere… you’re coming to my Dior collection launch.”

There was a beat of silence. Max met her eyes. “Done.”

Anna blinked. “You’ll be in Paris?”

“I’ll be in Paris,” he confirmed, glancing sideways at Lexi. “Send me the details.”

Lexi didn’t hide her surprise, just jotted it down on her planner.

“So,” Anna summarised, exhaling. “Montreal GP with joint press coverage. NYC F1 premiere, coordinated entrance, brief interaction on-camera. Then Dior’s Paris launch.”

“And after that,” Lexi said, “You two owe each other absolutely nothing… for at least 72 hours.”

Alana let out a quiet laugh. “Oh Thank God!”

Max rolled his eyes as she smirked playfully. He stood up rolling his shoulders back. “I'll see you in Montreal.”

MAX AND ALANA'S ROOM, MONTREAL - JUNE 2025

The adjoining door creaked open at exactly 10:43 a.m., like it always did whenever she entered without knocking.

Max was sitting on the armrest of the couch in his room, still half-dressed in team shirt with a towel wrapped around his waist. hair towel-dried and sticking up slightly in the back. His lanyard lay discarded on the table next to his phone.

Alana stepped in like she lived there. “Just wanted to let you know I’m heading out for brunch with the girls,” she said, adjusting her twisted pendent in the mirror while he went back inside to wear his skinny jeans, Alana wishes to burn someday.

Max gave a slow nod, glancing at the mirror as he ran his hand through his hair halfheartedly. “Hmm. Lando offered to have dinner together.”

"Sure." Alana smiled faintly. “Don’t let them get under your skin.” She looked at him in the eye and straightened the collar of his shirt.

He looked over. “They won’t.”

“They will,” she corrected. “It’s media day. That's what they do.”

He huffed something that resembled a laugh. She picked up the Red Bull cap he’d tossed onto the coffee table and walked over to him, adjusting the peak slightly before pressing it into his hands.

“And if anyone brings up Monaco or Barcelona,” she added, tilting her head as she met his eyes, “Just say something vague, and walk away. Don't rage on them.”

He gave a slow blink. “You sound like my PR manager.”

“I should be,” she muttered under her breath, patting is arm. Max didn’t move.

She glanced at the time on his wall clock, then stepped up and leaned in. Her mouth brushing softly against his cheek, like it was a habit.

“Don’t cause trouble before brunch is over,” she said, grabbing the tote bag from the back of the chair.

Max came back to his senses and shyly muttered “I won’t.”

“You always say that.” And with that, she slipped back into her room, the door closing quietly behind her.

Max sat back on the couch and stared at the cap in his hand, the ghost of her kiss still warm on his cheek.

MONTREAL, CANADA - JUNE 2025

The brunch spot was tucked into a cobbled corner of Montreal. The five women had claimed a table near the window, half inside, half open to the breeze.

Alana sat between Flavy and Kika, long legs crossed, sipping her citrus drink. Their laughter flowed easily, until the tone shifted.

It started when two girls, maybe mid-twenties, who sat at the table behind them with red bull merch on, one of them holding her phone angled just enough to not look like she was recording.

Alana noticed them. It came like a sixth sense to notice cameras, after the becoming a public figure.

She didn’t say anything, but Flavy leaned over and muttered, “Ignore it.”

Then came the whispers. Loud enough to be intentional, soft enough to feign innocence. “She’s literally everywhere now. Like, why is she even in Canada?”

“I mean, Max is totally being managed. You can see it in his interviews, he looks drained.”

“She’s just another PR stunt. A stylish one, but still fake.” The table fell quiet for a moment.

Alana didn’t flinch. She calmly reached for the small silver butter knife and spread jam onto her toast.

Flavy glanced at her. “You good?”

“Peachy,” Alana said with a soft smile.

A few minutes passed. More laughter, more food, more ignoring the noise.

Until the girls stood up and approached their table, all too friendly now.

“Hi! Sorry to interrupt, but—” the taller one smiled too wide, “we’re huge Max fans, and we brought this little gift for him.”

She held out a small box, red ribbon wrapped around it. The other one chimed in, “Would you mind giving it to him? You know, since you’re… with him?”

“And maybe a quick selfie? You look sooo pretty!”

Kika blinked. Lily stared. Carmen looked like she might throw her coffee.

Alana smiled, sweetly and slowly rose, brushing crumbs off her cream skirt, and accepted the gift with delicate fingers.

“Of course,” she said smoothly. “I’d be happy to pass this along.”

The girls beamed. “But just a quick note—” Alana tilted her head, stepping just slightly closer, “next time you want to dissect a woman’s relevance, maybe don’t do it at the table directly behind her while wearing merch from the man she just kissed goodbye this morning.”

The girls’ faces paled instantly. Alana didn't stop smiling. She stepped back and handed her phone to Lily with a knowing look. “Shall we?”

The selfie was snapped, awkward but civil. The girls mumbled thanks and quickly retreated, muttering apologies that didn’t reach past their teeth.

alanamiller

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alanamiller Rooting only for the best 🤞🏼

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maxverstappen1 ❤️💙

→ alana.miller 😘

kikagomes queen of showing up and showing OUT

→ alana.miller Why hide such a masterpiece when you can flaunt 💁🏻‍♀️

alanamilfan rooting for her like she roots for him.

maxverstappen1 Stealing my kit so I have more casuals. Wow.

→ alana.miller Love You too 🫶🏽

f1sippingtea Her and Carman cheering for their boys together 🥺

redbullracing No one could slay the RB t-shirt better then you ☺️❤️

→ alana.miller It's totally my colour right !? 🥺

maxsrealwife you’re not the main character. he is.

→ alana.miller Always ❤️

→ username1 kdhckdsuvcouwa

→ maxlanaschild Gurl-

carmenmundt Goerge isn't taking you getting all the attention well 😂

→ alana.miller Sassy little bitch

→ georgerussell 🙄

username2 imagine treating fans like garbage and then posting this like nothing happened

flavybarla This is giving First Lady of Red Bull 🫡

madformax33 you were SO sweet to the little girl in the paddock 😭😭😭

victoriaverstappen Bests💙

→ alana.miller 💙

verstappenlion still convinced this is a PR thing...

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alanamiller off track & in the moment 🍁

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maxverstappen1 Why do I agree to roam around everywhere. I HATE IT.

→ landonorris You love my company. Admit it ☺️

→ alana.miller Delulando. We allowed you to hang around so we could get pictures 😂

→ landonorris 🖕🏻

→ maxverstappen1 LANDO NORRIS!

lilymhe she said “casually thriving”

landonorris No PC? You're such a hater 😒

→ alana.miller Cry me a river 😂

verstappensgirl she’s trying SO hard to stay relevant

username1 i miss when wags stayed in the background 😴

maxlanacontent He made it to the first pic of the dump 🥺

danielricciardo jimmy and sassy wants to know your location 😾🔫

→ alana.miller Nooo. Love my babies unconditional!!

→ mamamax She's a keeper verstappen!!!

alanafansforever Yes Max. Keep her protected like that. Good boy.

maxlovergirl87 this is literally staged lol

username2 Girl got Max to touch grass after he started Maxplaining the race to her 😭 ♥︎ by author

→ maxlanaupdates 😂 Alana Liked

→ username2 She's so unhinged. I love her !

simp4alana Red Bull Sales 📈

lanmaxdo Alana bullying Lando was not on my 2025 bingo...

maxverstappen1

🎵 Welcome to New York. Taylor Swift

alana.miller

📍New York City, NY

MAX AND ALANA'S HOTEL ROOM, NEW YORK - JUNE 2025

Alana Miller Gets Ready for the F1 Movie Premiere | Vogue USA

Alana sat on a velvet stool by the window, sipping cold-brew out of a takeout cup. Her skin glowed from the spa she and max went to in the morning. Max was fresh out of shower in a white robe choosing from the three suits brought in for him.

“I’ll be camera ready in… probably 45 minutes,” she smiled, looking into the lens before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Or two hours if Max has anything to say about it.”

The shot shifted, her vanity scattered with Dior products, pins, palettes, and sticky notes scribbled with touch-up reminders. Her hairstylist, Allen, was sectioning her hair while her makeup artist prepped her skin with moisturiser. On the couch nearby, her stylist was steaming a black gown.

“I’ve been a fan of F1 since I was a kid,” Alana said as the camera slowly pushed in, capturing her reflection in the mirror, back straight, brows being brushed. “My mom was the one who introduced it to me when I was young, and since she worked in automative engineering, she used to tell me all the technical stuff.”

The crew asked which team was her favourite. She laughed lightly, eyes flicking to the stylist’s rack of shoes. “I had a Ferrari poster in my room. Now switched to Red Bull because… well.” She pointed back at her boyfriend.

The crew chuckled off-camera. Max, sitting on the bed behind her in the black suit muttered dryly while wearing his shoes.

"You've been to so many red carpet events and movie premieres. What excites you about this one?"

Alana didn’t even look back, just smirked, “Well, My boyfriend was an extra in tonight’s film. I don't know if they kept his scenes because of his acting skills but if he is, Blink and you’ll miss him.”

A subtle camera zoom on Max. He flicked a Red Bull cap at her and mouthed “rude” with a grin.

“This one’s different,” Alana continued, voice softer. “This one’s… home turf. I know these drivers. I know the stress behind the screens. I’ve seen the grit in the garages. So It'll be great to see the representation.”

They took a break so she could go and get changed in her dress. As she came out. Max came up to her to get his shirt fixed. He mumbled "You look really beautiful and really hot." She punched him before fixing his collar.

"How have you two worked with your busy schedule and still find time for each other?"

Her voice continued as she went back to pick her jewellery. “Max and I keep very different schedules but we try to keep some shared routine like get lunch together if we’re in the same city, talk about our day before sleep even if it’s just on the phone. I didn't have much on my plate since the fashion week season ended a while ago so I went to a few races. He'll try to come to a few shows or events when he can.”

Alana moved to sit on the edge of a chair, holding her heels as her team bustled around her.

“Okay,” she said, gesturing toward the room. “This is Allen, she was in my team since I joined my first agency. Malik’s my makeup artist, Sheiba isn't here today but usually it's the two of them. Daisy is my stylist with Dior.” She gave a tiny wave to her stylist steaming the dress.

“And” she glanced to the side, where Max was quietly chatting with his manager by the minibar. “That’s Max. My boyfriend. And over there is Raymond, his manager.”

The camera zoomed to Max raising his hand imitating her as he approached her. “Bye, Vogue.” Alana laughed as she put on her shoes.

vogueusa

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alanamiller Lights on and away we glam 🖤

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maxverstappen1 If it was upto me we wouldn't even be attending the event 😉

→ alana.miller I'm right next to you. you didn't have to be so public🫠

→ landonorris For the love of god there are children on this app. YOU PERVERT!!

→ maxverstappen1 🤷🏼‍♂️

babickovaeli very into this femme fatale era 🖤

→ alana.miller 🫶🏽

alanastylecloset I would personally like to thank her makeup artist and the gown designer for this global gift.

yukitsunoda0511 Max wearing things other than redbull kit is weird.

→ alana.miller I can be quite persuasive 😁

→ maxverstappen1 Yeah you threatened to burned my kit if I didn't comply 🙇🏻‍♂️

kikagomes Gorgeous 🖤

f1tracktrash funny how she’s suddenly SO into F1 now that she’s dating the champ 🤡

landonorris Show Stealers!!!

lestappen4ever They’re making her the main character when it’s literally a movie premiere not about her 😭

victoriaverstappen danger couple 🔥

maxlanaupdates THE KISS 😭🥺🥵

maxverstappenwifey Girl cover up this is a movie premiere not a whore house show!!

damsonidris Damn girl, I could never serve so hard 😭

→ alana.miller You were literally the main character. STOPPP

lilymhe @/maxverstappen Can you fight 😁🥊

→ maxverstappen1 You bet 😡

→ alana.miller OK OK OK... No need to start a war here...

→ maxverstappen1 I'd start ww3 for you.

→ alana.miller Max. Don't.

→ maxverstappen1 I. Would.

alonamiller the most personality she’s shown is her back 🙃

maxmaxsupermax She gave max a major glow up 😭

alanaxangles The fact that she made the caption about F1. My creative goddess

paddockdevilwags One kiss doesn’t make this a love story, let’s chill.

kellymaxperfect You have a boyfriend but still wears such clothes to attest attention. Kelly would've never dressed like this🙄

modelsdailytea Dior does her so right!!!!!

maxverstappen1 If my girl being so hot bother you. You can get off her page 😒

→ alana.miller What happened to you 😭. Max you need to stop. pleaseeee

→ maxverstappen1 Never 👎

lanabananasupremacy max better thank the universe every night. every. single. night.

MAX AND ALANA'S HOTEL ROOM, NEW YORK - JUNE 2025

The hotel room was quiet except for the sound of traffic from the street below. Max and Alana was sitting back against the headboard, scrolling through his phone with a clenched jaw, eyes scanning comment after comment on Alana's page either calling them out as a PR or blatantly hating on her for no reason.

Alana watched him from the other side of the bed, eyes narrowing as he typed back on her comment section. She tried to end his comments with a funny reply but he didn't stop. Without warning, she reached over and snatched the phone out of his hands.

“Hey—” Max reached out to take it back, but she dodged him effortlessly, tossing it somewhere behind her.

“Nope,” she said, swinging one leg over and straddling him before he could shift. “Now you’re stuck.”

Max looked up at her, breath hitching just slightly, like he hadn’t expected her to sit that close. She tucked her legs around his so he couldn’t move.

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes. You’ve been grumpy since I posted on Instagram. Why are you being so… passive aggressive?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “This is supposed to be a fun night.”

His jaw tightened again, but the frustration had a different tint to it now. “People don’t get to say that kind of shit about you, Alana. Especially when they know nothing about you.”

Alana scoffed, her voice rising. “Okay, but maybe I don’t need you to go full knight in shining armour every time someone online has a bad opinion—!”

“You think it doesn’t get to me?” he interrupted, quieter than her but sharper. “You think I’m just supposed to let people talk about you like that?”

“It wouldn't look good on our end, Max,” she snapped, her voice trembling as she leaned in, “I need you to trust that I can handle it—”

A strand of hair fell out of the clip at the back of her head. She was mid-rant when he reached up and gently pushed it behind her ear, fingers brushing her cheek.

She stopped mid-sentence, her breath hitched. “What are you doing?” she asked, voice suddenly small.

He didn’t answer. Instead, Max pulled her to his chest, arm wrapped firm around her waist as his lips met hers, full of passion.

When he pulled back, his hands came to cradle her face, and he kissed her forehead soft and slow.

It broke something in her. “What the hell was that?”, she snapped. Alana pushed off his lap, her voice breaking just slightly as she stood, stumbling back like the air had shifted too suddenly.

“Alana—” Max stood, his voice low.

“You can’t do that, Max!” she shouted, not caring if the entire floor heard her.

“I wasn’t thinking—” he started, stepping toward her.

“No, you weren’t!” she cut in, swatting his hand away when he tried to reach for hers.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and stormed toward the door. Max didn’t stop her. He just stood there, chest rising and falling a little too fast, fists clenched at his sides.

She left. And for a long minute, the room stayed very, very quiet.

HOTEL'S BAR, NEW YORK - JUNE 2025

The bar was mostly empty. Dim lighting pooled in soft gold over scattered high tables and the long marble counter. Low jazz played through old speakers.

The only other people were a cluster of businessmen laughing too loudly in a booth and a woman sitting on a barstool, hunched slightly over a glass of red.

Alana slid onto another, deliberately leaving a seat between them. She needed space and so did the lady, by looking at her sad demeanour.

Max’s name lit up her phone again. Call after call. Text after text. She stared at the screen, lips tightening, then flipped it on silent and tossed it into her purse.

Running both hands through her hair, she exhaled and flagged down the bartender. “One spicy martini. Heavy on the jalapeños.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Just nodded and turned.

Her pulse was still racing. Her chest felt too tight. She didn’t know if she was angry at Max or angry at herself for caring so much.

She heard the ice shake in the shaker. The click of glasses being set on the counter.

“Man?” a voice said beside her.

Alana glanced over, surprised the other woman had spoken. The stranger didn’t look at her, just kept her eyes on her wine glass, twirling the stem between her fingers. Her accent was faintly Indian.

Alana gave a dry laugh. “That obvious?”

The woman turned then and Alana’s eyes widened slightly. She recognized her. “Wait... You’re Gia Kapoor, right? One of the producers of the F1 Movie?”

Gia smiled faintly, her expression tired but not unfriendly. “Guilty. And you're Alana Miller. I attended a few fashion week where you modelled. And tonight, girlfriend of the fastest driver.”

Alana scoffed, taking a sip of her martini. “Apparently.”

Gia raised a brow. “Apparently?”

There was a pause. Then Gia shifted slightly on her stool, angling toward her. “I didn’t mean to pry,” she said. “But... if it makes you feel better, I came down here because I’m confused about a guy, too.”

Alana blinked. “Seriously?”

Gia nodded. “Our parents got us arranged. We’ve been ‘engaged’ for a while. We didn’t even meet until a month ago.” She laughed lightly. “And it turns out… Ive had a crush on him since a long time. He’s funny and very mature.”

Alana listened quietly, sipping her martini.

“But,” Gia continued, fingers tapping her glass, “he told me after our engagement that he doesn’t think he can give me what I want. That he’s too tied up in his career. Too unsure of what love even looks like in this world.”

Alana’s expression softened. “Asshole. But what can I say I'm stuck in the same spiral.”

Gia looked at her. “But aren’t you and Max together?”

Alana hesitated. “No,” she said finally. “Well yes, but it’s… complicated. We started off as PR.”

“But?” Gia asked.

“But tonight, upstairs, he kissed me like it wasn’t fake. And then he acted like it meant something. And I’m not sure if it did.” Alana’s voice cracked slightly at the end. She laughed bitterly. “And I hated how much I wanted it to mean something.”

Gia was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled, slow and knowing “Alana, I was at the premiere. I saw you two together. I’ve seen people in love.” She looked straight at her. “What you and Max have? That wasn’t for show.”

Alana opened her mouth, but Gia held up a hand. “I’m quite a romantic. How can I complain, I grew up around the film industry and it comes like inherited trait. I could tell, he looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Alana stared down at her drink. “Talk to him,” Gia said gently. “ If there’s a real shot at something… you shouldn’t run from it just because it started out written in fine print.”

Alana didn’t answer. She just sat there, eyes blurry and still, then gave a slow nod.

They continued talking for a while before she put the bill of her three martinis on Max's tab. He deserves this after what he did.

Gia stood, dropping a few bills on the bar with a casual flick of her hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you up. You’re on twelve, right?”

Alana blinked. “Yeah. How’d you—?”

Gia grinned. “My fiancé is on the same floor, so I saw max when I went to his room before.”

Alana slid off the stool, smoothing down the folded hem of her pyjama shirt.

As they reached the elevator, Gia pulled out her phone. “Give me your number.”

Alana arched a brow. Gia smirked. “Support group for women entangled with emotionally repressed, work-obsessed men. We should be friends.”

" Of course" Alana laughed again and gave it. The elevator opened, and they stepped in. Once on twelve, Gia stepped out with her. “Which one’s yours?”

“1216,” Alana said, pointing to the right. "We have to share the room tonight."

Gia made a face. “You poor thing."

They walked together in silence until they reached her door. Gia stopped. “You good?”

Alana nodded. “Actually, can I come over to yours, if its alright either way you”

Gia shrugged, then pulled her into a brief hug "— the kind that didn’t feel forced, just warm and real. "Come on. I have some takeouts leftovers. We can watch a movie too."

taglist: @livelaughleclerc, @ale-522, @zulema222, @angelluv16, @kazansky-slxt, @formulaal, @esw1012, @ohwhoisyou-rubyjane, @freyathehuntress, @sltwins, gabrielaperez11

[message/comment/ask to be added]

[kxsagi]

Can I request BLLK characters with a flirty and friendly reader? It’s like they are approachable and very playful with friends (both genders) and have a way with words, but they’re all platonic and they do draw boundaries when needed.

Thank you very much!

“𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬”

a/n: yw!! though i'm guessing reader views the boys in a platonic way? either way, i'm sure they find your duality very attractive!

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae

isagi yoichi

isagi was so confused at first. 

like you casually told a barista “thanks, handsome” and he stood there blinking like “what does this mean. are we in competition.” 

but you just… talk like that to everyone? 

once he realized you’re not trying to make anyone fall in love, he relaxed. 

but that didn’t stop him from getting jealous silently. 

like you’d jokingly say “oh my gosh marry me” to reo because he paid for your drink and isagi would just lean in like, “you want to talk about that?” “talk about what?” “you proposing to other people.” 

please. you call him “lover boy” and ruffle his hair like you’re a boy band manager. 

and he acts like he doesn’t love it but that man eats it up. 

secretly loves when you say flirty things but then go “ew no, not you” to everyone else that tries to talk the same way. 

itoshi rin

the walking semi-green flag with rage issues. 

he did not get your vibe at first. 

your friendliness? your compliments?? the way you giggled with shidou over a dumb joke??? 

he absolutely thought you were the type who led people on and dipped. 

until you cut someone off with the most polite “hey, i’m just friendly, not interested, okay?” 

rin just stood there, stunned. 

you flirt like a well-read poet, and you mean none of it. 

and now? oh he’s obsessed. 

you tell him “damn, you look good enough to ruin my life today” and he doesn’t even blink. “then do it.” “oh please. i have taste.” 

he smirks. not because you rejected him, but because you still chose him. 

watches you charm a whole room and then lean on his shoulder. yeah. this is peak romance for him. 

mikage reo

lives for the drama. 

you’re his bestie and his fake girlfriend depending on the context. 

he encourages your flirtiness. 

“yeah, yeah, call him sweetheart, make him trip over his words.” 

he loves that you’re so charismatic, but what really got him was how you keep boundaries like a pro. 

like the moment someone takes it too far, you give them that smile like: “i’m here for fun, not for you, sit down.” 

and reo claps like a proud stage mom. “your honor, that’s my platonic soulmate.” 

you guys flirt with each other all the time but there’s zero tension. “damn, reo, if you weren’t rich and hot, i’d still use you for your credit card.” “and i’d let you, sugarplum.” 

sometimes people ask if you’re dating and you’re both like “ew.” 

kaiser michael

“so you flirt with everyone?” “no. just people who won’t fall in love with me.” “... you sure about that?” 

at first, he thought you were fake. that your friendliness was a mask or manipulation. 

but the longer he watched, the more he realized: you’re just like that. 

the type who can compliment someone’s cologne and follow it up with a “now scoot, i got better things to do.” 

and he finds it hilarious. 

sometimes tries to bait you. “so you think i’m charming?” “in a used car salesman kind of way.” 

he definitely tries to flirt harder just to see if he can make you fold. 

but jokes on him – you flirted with a security guard to skip a line last week, you fear no man. 

still, you never cross lines, and he respects that more than he lets on. 

shidou ryusei

ah. yes. his first words to you were probably: “you got a mouth on you, huh?” and you were like “don’t talk about my mouth unless you can handle it.” 

instant friendship. 

you both flirt for fun. he’s unhinged. you’re smooth. it works. 

the only difference is you know when to stop. 

he once said something wildly inappropriate to you in public and you hit him with that “shidou. line. crossed.” 

he was lowkey stunned. “what? but i thought–” “i flirt. not entertain.” 

he’s weirdly respectful of that boundary now. “yo this is my bestie, she’ll call you ‘lover’ then ignore your texts for a week.” 

if anyone tries to hit on you too seriously, shidou will bark. like actually. 

you two are menace duo certified. 

karasu tabito

you two bounce off each other like comedians. 

your banter is immaculate. 

he flirts, you flirt back, but it’s like a roast battle with sexual tension that doesn’t exist. 

“damn, you always dress like you have a date with bad decisions.” “i was hoping you'd be one of them.” 

everyone thinks y’all are dating. you're not. you just have mental illness chemistry. 

but karasu sees how smooth you are with other people too, and he’s always impressed with how you de-escalate situations. 

like someone tries to flirt for real and you handle it like a seasoned bartender. 

and karasu’s in the background going “get ‘em, tiger.” 

sometimes he lies and tells people he’s your ex just to see their reactions. 

you lie back and say he cried when you broke up. 

best duo. 

nagi seishiro

doesn’t get it at all. 

you called him “baby” once and he choked on his chips. “are you flirting?” “nah.” “so why say that?” “because you looked cute eating.” “... oh.” 

but he likes it?? he thinks it’s funny?? 

people try to warn him like “dude she flirts with everyone” and he’s like “yeah it’s nice.” 

you’re the first person who talks a lot that he’s not annoyed by. 

and you always defend him in public. 

someone calls him lazy? you’re like “don’t talk about my man like that. platonically.” 

you once said “he’s my son, my sugar baby, and my unpaid intern.” 

he calls you “girl boss” now. 

he’s proud of you for shutting people down politely, but firmly. 

if anyone ever got too bold with you, he’d just walk up and nap on your shoulder. possessively. 

itoshi sae

you thought he hated you. 

he thought you were exhausting. 

but then he saw how strategic you are about your friendliness. 

like, you’ll flirt with someone just to get better customer service, but the moment they think they can touch your waist, you’re ice cold. 

and sae was like oh. she’s not a flirt. she’s a tactician. 

now? he calls you “con artist.” 

you would say “you’re just mad i’m prettier than you.” sae would respond with “delusional. and manipulative. i like it.” 

he’s not the jealous type, but he is observant. 

watches your every move when you’re out. 

not because he doesn’t trust you, he just wants to see how many people fall for you when you’re not even trying. 

occasionally throws in a dry “you done seducing the world?” you grin. “not yet. wanna help?” he rolls his eyes but follows you anyway. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[alienssstufff]

INTRODUCING SIDE A OF THE GENESIS SERIES A list of fanganronpa original characters while fated to meet in person, are doomed to play the same game.

Included are introductions, full reference sheets, and some of my designer's commentary when designing each oc from the writing to the looks.

You can find them also on artfight!

[ NOTES UNDERCUT ]

Meta-wise these are ocs I RP as, and for possibly the first ever set of ocs I've got the pleasure in developing in such detail I find them all very dear to me as an artist and writer... It just felt right to introduce them in the most formal way possible.

This project was an attempt at making a proper reference sheet, complete with general information, turnarounds, and a focus on detail and patterns that would be difficult to see on the person alone (whether it's because of the angle or clothing folds etc). It's more of a streamlined (?) approach than my usual design sheets with a set format to better communicate to the viewer. It's also more whwhwwh denser than normal to talk about the journey, and intentionality that led to my final design choices.

In reflection... TBH I could have yapped for even more pages going into greater depth into the early design process. Inclusions of the rejected designs and colour tests, explanations to what was changed and justify on a more objective level what makes the final design successful to me... But whatever dude - maybe in a post of it's own.

Would you expect this to be the new format for all my reference sheets going forward? lmaooo probably not. Maybe occasionally.

[corrodedheartsclub]

I’m Dumb She’s a Lesbian

Steddie. Modern au. Getting together. Platonic Stobin. 1685 words.

Steve’s used to people mistaking him and Robin as a couple. Unfortunately, he’s not used to Eddie’s form of problem solving.

After trying to explain to Eddie, without success, that him and Robin are purely platonic, he mistakenly admits that he did have a crush on her briefly, but once he knew it was never going to happen, they’ve become best friend. Platonic soulmates even.

“It’s honestly so for the best, Eddie. We weren’t meant to be a couple. We’re like cosmically linked on a whole other level.” Ok, Steve might be a little high, but he really believe him and Robin are meant to be in the most platonic way possible. He’s laying on Eddie’s bed, the joint their sharing nearly gone, and he can’t help the goofy smile that splits across his face. “Eddie, you know… I actually-”

“You guys are perfect together though! You’re always together, laughing and leaning on each other. How could there be no chance?” Eddie laments.

Steve shakes his head and groans, turning his face into the sheet. Eddie was hopeless.

“You’ve just gotta find the right timing.” Eddie doesn’t understand a world where anyone would shoot down this newly evolved Harrington. He’s perfect, and if Eddie can’t have him, he’ll make it his personal mission to get Steve and Robin together.

Steve’s watching him, wondering what the heck is going on in that head of his. Eddie was a mystery to him.

-

Kicking off his plan, Eddie starts by asking them to go to the movies, only to bail at the last minute. “I completely forgot I promised Wayne I’d help him work on the truck. I’m the worst, but no you guys should still go! Enjoy the movie!” He urges them on.

They sit through a cheesy romcom, and by five minutes in, they’re both questioning Eddie’s choice in movies. Never mind that Steve did end up really like it.

“That was weird, right?” Robin questions as they leave the theater.

“Which part?” Steve was finishing the last of his candy by turning over the box. He looks over at her, a mouthful of sour gummy worms.

Robin laughs, “You look like a creature.”

Steve crosses his eyes and laughs.

She’s shaking her head. “Eddie. He’s being weird. Did you notice anything last night when you guys were hanging out?”

“Mostly that he’s gorgeous and still completely oblivious every time I try to tell him how I feel,” Steve grumbles. “Plus, he’s so convinced we should be dating.”

“We? Like, you and I?” Robin mock gags, but then she jumps and smacks Steve’s arm. “That’s it!”

“Ow what the fuck, Buckley? What’s it?”

“He’s trying to parent trap us!”

Steve looks skeptical, but he starts connecting the dots in his head. He gaps. “Oh fuck.”

“Ok, we’ve just gotta sit him down and tell him we’re not together.”

“You could just tell him you’re gay and have a girlfriend. That would probably kill this idea that we belong together. I mean, he’s gay, so you shouldn’t have to worry about him?” Steve suggests.

“I’m just not ready to scream it from the rooftops. Plus, Vickie’s in the closet too, and I don’t want our time together being put under a microscope and risk outing her before she’s ready. I know I can trust Eddie to be supportive, but he’s so loud and proud and though I love that about him, I worry he’d let it slip on accident.”

Steve understands. Eddie is bold and outgoing, and it’s all wonderful. It’s just not what Robin needs right now. He agrees they just need to sit him down and set the record straight.

-

Steve leans against the counter at Family Video. The day’s been painfully slow so far, and he finds himself slow-blinking at the door, dozing off against his better judgment.

The door chimes and shocks him awake. He’s greeted by Dustin dumping a pile of returns in front of him. “Good morning,” he teases.

He rolls his eyes and groans at him. “You watch too many movies.” He yawns through Dustin’s offended scoff.

“Did you just go to the movies last night? Hypocrite!” Dustin defends.

Steve shoots him a look. “How do you know that? Stalking me, kid?”

“I was picking up character sheets from Eddie. He had some extras and I’m prepping for our next campaign. He said you and Robin were out watching a romcom. Are you guys finally dating?”

Steve lets out a small chuckle. “Ah, the man of the hour. No, we’re not dating, and we’ll never be dating. Eddie’s just trying to make something happen. Nosy little shits, the lot of you.”

Dustin looks skeptical. “Why would Eddie want you and Robin together? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re the one that just asked if we’re finally dating, and now you’re flipping the script. Who’s the hypocrite now?” Steve is scanning in the movies and shaking his head.

“I just mean that Eddie wouldn’t want you guys together because he’s totally into you,” Dustin says it like an obvious fact. “He’s always so whiny about it.”

Steve freezes. “What?”

The kid’s eyes widen as he realizes his overstep. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Steve’s already reaching for the phone. He punches in Robin’s number and points at Dustin while it rings. “You shouldn’t have. We’re going to talk later about not blabbing other people’s secrets. For now- scram.”

Dustin has the hindsight to look remorseful.

Robin answers with a theatric sigh. “Are you so hopeless without me that you must call on my day off?”

“Change of plans. I’m going to catch Eddie in his own trap, and you’re going to help.”

-

It’s all going according to plan. Steve and Robin find that it’s pretty easy to give Eddie the slip on his attempts.

Eddie tries to get Robin and Steve on a romantic date? Oh no, Robin’s got a family emergency. Eddie, you should stay so Steve isn’t all alone.

Lined up for Robin and Steve have to ride the ferris wheel together? Whoops, Robin remembers she’s afraid of heights at the front of the line, quick Eddie switch with her so Steve didn’t wait in this line for nothing.

Eddie sent flowers to Robin at family video with a card that says from Steve. Shame that the order got mixed up, and they went to Steve instead. Oh, but look how Steve blushes at the delivery.

The duo is feeling pretty good about their plan, but Eddie is losing his mind. Instead of fixing his crush, he’s fallen harder than ever. Every time he thinks he’s set the perfect trap, it twists around, and he finds himself spending more time with Steve. He’s not complaining necessarily. Any time alone with Steve makes his heart pound in his chest, but if he can’t have this perfect guy, he’s set on getting him the girl of his dreams.

Alternatively, Robin is starting to find it more and more difficult to explain to Vickie why she’s playing a game of set-up chicken with her friends.

Robin decides it’s time to end Eddie’s misery.

Her and Steve plan an elaborate picnic out at skull rock. There’s a big blanket, tons of pillows, and the most classic picnic basket you’ve ever seen.

Steve is pacing at the tree line. He needs this to go well. His crush had settled deep in his chest, and Steve was sure it was love. He didn’t want to play games with Eddie. It was time for everyone to clear the air and be direct with their feelings, but he couldn’t help the nerves that made him question everything. What if Eddie didn’t like him? Maybe he really did think Steve and Robin belonged together.

He tries to clear his mind. Robin was telling Eddie to come meet him here right about now. He should be here soon. Steve fiddles with his hair, trying to quell the anxiety.

When Eddie finally makes his way through the woods, Steve isn’t sure how to greet him.

Eddie’s surprised at the setup, and he immediately tries to rationalize it before Steve can get a word out. “Did you mean for me to come here? Buckley said you were looking for me, but I can go get her? Or do you need help setting up… I’m not sure you can do much else. It looks perfect.”

Steve is dumbfounded at Eddie’s ability to completely misread his intent, once again.

“No, Eddie, I meant for you to be here. This is for you.” He tries to speak clearly, leaving no room for confusion.

Eddie looks utterly confused. “For me?”

Steve can’t help his fond smile. “Yes, dummy. You. If you can stop trying to set me up with my best friend for a minute, I’ve been trying to ask you out for a while now.”

The man is gaping at him. “No. You’re not serious.”

He groans and tosses his hands up. “Eddie, what do I have to do to convince you?” Steve stares at him for a moment before he gets a bright idea. He stands up straight, walks up to Eddie in two long strides, grabs his face, and kisses him.

Eddie lets out a surprised noise before grabbing at Steve’s arms, waist, hair, anything for purchase to pull him closer.

Steve parts, pressing their foreheads together and keeping Eddie close. Eddie whines softly before looking back at Steve, trying to understand it all.

“I just wanted you to be happy. I didn’t think- I had no idea this was an option. Even if it couldn’t be with me, I just knew you deserved all the happiness,” the words spill out as Eddie reaches up to touch Steve’s face gently, tracing along his jaw reverently.

“I’m in love with you. I tried to get the words out so many times, but I was so nervous for how you’d react.” Steve leans into the touch.

Eddie’s breath hitches. “I love you too.”

-

Later, Robin introduces Eddie to her girlfriend, and he spends the rest of the afternoon apologizing for his schemes.

[mattsundaes]

matsukawa issei x f!reader x semi eita — 18+, band au, fooling around in a hot tub, dry humping, handjob, fingering, (continued from)

“what do you think of the new song?”

matsukawa’s voice is low and smooth, and you have to lean in just a bit to hear him over the steady gurgling of the hot tub jets. his dark waves are damp from the rising steam, and the golden glow of the string lights that dot semi’s backyard reflects in his eyes as he looks at you. 

before you can fumble for an answer, semi leans his chin on your shoulder and smirks, “oh, she’s a big fan.”

you elbow him underwater, which doesn’t do you much good, considering you’re sitting in his lap. 

mattsun catches the movement, watching the two of you with open curiosity. “are you dating?” he asks curiously. 

a huff of amusement leaves semi’s lips, because he’s your best friend. and the two of you have fooled around plenty. you’ll probably sleep in his bed tonight, after all.

but semi wants you to fuck matsukawa.

he likes when he’s hanging out with seijoh and texts you some covert picture of matsukawa leaning against a wall wearing sunglasses and all black from head to toe, a cigarette hanging between his lips. and all you can reply back with is a string of unintelligible letters.

semi likes when he’s fucking you, when he asks if you touched yourself looking at the picture that he sent you, when he tells you that you’re definitely matsukawa’s type and feels you gasp and clench down on him.

“no,” semi tells him plainly, nose brushing against your cheek. “but the answer to your next question would still be yes, even if we were.”

the corner of matsukawa’s mouth twitches, and he meets your gaze. because it’s your answer he needs. “would it?”

you smile at him then. “depends on what your next question was.”

matsukawa laughs.

you’re thankful the party’s long-since died down when you find yourself in matsukawa’s lap, his mouth on yours. semi’s pressed up against your back, fingers stroking your sensitive, pebbled nipples through your swimsuit top.

you gasp against mattsun’s lips when semi pinches down, hot water splashing out over the side of the hot tub as you arch your back at the sharp sensation. matsukawa hushes you with his mouth, tongue sliding along the seam of your lips to deepen the kiss. your whine reverberates in his throat when semi undoes the knot from your top and exposes your bare, wet tits to the cool night air, fingers quick to take the place of the dripping material. 

arousal and need pulse between your thighs as you feel the outline of matsukawa’s dick pressed up against you, already growing dizzy at the promise of its length.

semi’s hand comes up to caress your jaw, his mouth ghosting matsukawa’s as he leans in to kiss you. 

“she likes it like this,” semi tells him, his hands wrapping around your waist and guiding you back and forth in the cradle of mattsun’s lap.

part of you wants to make a joke about dry humping.

about how like is a mild way to put it. about how you and semi have come in your pants more times than you can count like this on the couch. when a lazy makeout session turns into needy grinding and taking off your clothes comes secondary to the sensation of your soaking wet underwear sliding against your puffy folds while you rock over the outline of his cock—

about how there’s absolutely nothing dry about this at all right now.

but you don’t get a chance to, not when every last word dies in your throat as matsukawa splays a large palm flat against the dip of your lower back and pulls you in just as he rocks his hips upward.

“oh,” you moan, pleasure dancing white-hot over your nerves as you feel every last inch of matsukawa’s dick while he drags your cunt along the length of it.

“i like this, too,” matsukawa tells you, thumb stroking your chin as his other hand slips down into your bathing suit bottoms, long fingers cupping your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. “but i have a better idea.”

water sloshes as he turns you around, hooking your legs around the outside of his thighs so you’re spread open wide and facing semi. 

semi wastes no time in leaning in, mouth closing over your tits before he begins to suck. his tongue is hot as it laves over your sensitive nipple, and you keen, fingers tangling in his hair. he moans when you tug on it, sucking harder, free hand grasping the erection tented heavily at the front of his swim shorts. matsukawa’s dick is thick and hard where it rests between your ass cheeks.

long digits slide over your hip and tug aside your swimsuit bottoms, just enough for a middle finger to sink into your tight hole knuckle-deep. matsukawa groans when he feels how wet you are, slick and dripping with sticky arousal even in the hot tub, cunt fluttering around his touch and not to subtly begging for more as you buck your hips into it.

a sound of amusement rumbles in his throat, and his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “how about this then?”

your fingers wrap around semi’s cock, and his forehead falls against yours as he pants into your mouth. matsukawa’s other hand strokes your sensitive nipples, thumb rolling around each of the peaked buds like he's stroking a pick over the strings of his guitar.

semi takes your bottom lip between his teeth as matsukawa’s tongue presses hotly into the tender spot behind your earlobe, as he adds a second finger and stuffs both into your aching hole to the last knuckle. 

“yes,” you tell him, voice breaking on a whine. 

a third finger slides in, this one belonging to semi, their hands joining as one while they pump in and out of your cunt. and there's something wholly filthy about this that leaves you drunk on the feeling, that has drool pooling in the back of your mouth and a heady, untamed feeling unravelling in your gut.

(that has you on the verge of begging for more.)

(and isn't that funny, how greedy you can be, even with the long, dexterous fingers of two handsome guitarists stuffed inside of you at once.)

“so pretty like this, baby,” semi murmurs against your mouth, rutting his cock into your tight fist. “so fucking pretty.”

matsukawa hums in agreement, nose brushing against your cheek. “he’s right.”

something in your chest dips and swoops, licking its way down each notch of your spine before settling hot and sticky in your belly. 

you’re wholly bucking into semi and mattsun’s thrusts now as they fuck their fingers into you, ass dragging repeatedly over mattsun’s cock while you continue to pump semi’s with just as much fervor. 

and when your orgasm hits you, it’s enough to punch the air out of your lungs, pleasure cresting over your limbs in dripping, hot waves between murmurs of “that’s it” and “so goddamn pretty” and “good girl" while you moan and shake and choke out a sob.

semi follows right after, sinking somewhere between your lap and mattsun’s once his spent dick goes limp.

and for all that you’re prepared to indulge yourself in the mouth-watering urge to suck matsukawa’s cock, he doesn’t seem the least bit sorry to have come from rutting against the globes of your ass.

"the song sounds great, by the way," you eventually say while you're catching your breath. "both of you together is like a dream."

semi snorts.

mattsun raises his eyebrows. "oh?"

you drag a hand over your face, somehow embarassed even now while matsukawa's gently massaging your slick, oversensitive folds with one finger and semi's kissing your shoulder.

"singing together."

"uh huh," semi replies.

"just singing?" mattsun asks, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Can you do more of reader x rafe that involve Sofia.

Calm down || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @tetragonia

Summary: basically based off this scene in s4 ep 2 but ofc including reader

Warnings: none rlly!!

Word count: 1,986

MASTERLIST

The music was too loud, the air was too thick, and the vodka in your cup wasn’t nearly strong enough to make any of this bearable. “So… how have you and him been?” Ruthie asked, her tone loaded despite the way she lazily twirled the straw in her drink.

You rolled your eyes, already annoyed at the direction this conversation was heading. “Rafe and I?” you echoed, lifting your glass and swirling the half-melted ice like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Haven’t talked to him since that bonfire a month ago.”

Your voice was clipped, tone dismissive, but Ruthie was looking at you too closely. The kind of look only a friend who’s seen you at your worst would know how to give. You hated it. “I’m just so over it,” you added quickly, hoping it sounded convincing.

“Can’t believe he stooped that low,” she muttered, snorting into her drink. “A pogue, seriously?” You didn’t answer, but your jaw tensed slightly. You gave a loose shrug, feigning indifference. Like it didn’t burn every time you heard his name. Like you didn’t still dream about that night—his hands, his mouth, the way he said your name like it meant something.

The sound of laughter and shouting swelled around you, and you looked up just in time to see Topper sink a perfect shot into the last cup on the beer pong table. His friends exploded in cheers. “Let’s go, baby!” Topper bellowed, arms thrown up in drunken victory.

Ruthie squealed and immediately threw her arms around her boyfriend in exaggerated celebration “Oh man,” Topper slurred as he staggered over to the two of you, a goofy grin plastered on his flushed face. “It’s just a little harmless celebration, right?” You couldn’t help but laugh at how absolutely wrecked he already was.

“Oh, absolutely. You need another beer.” Topper laughed, leaning heavily against you. He slung an arm around your shoulder, the scent of cologne and whatever he spilled on himself earlier clinging to his shirt. “You know me so well, Y/n. Fuck, I love you.”

You rolled your eyes but let him kiss your head anyway, playing along like always. Ruthie giggled beside you, probably just as tipsy but much better at hiding it. Then—“Hey!” The loud voice cut through the buzz of conversation, music, and drunken laughter. You turned instinctively, and your entire body went stiff.

Rafe. Making his way toward the group with that same confident swagger like he owned the place. Your stomach dropped. “Yeah, my brother!” Topper hollered, practically leaping forward as the two of them pulled each other into a half-hug, half-clap-on-the-back. “There he is! How are you, baby?”

Rafe actually lifted Topper slightly off the ground before setting him down again, both of them laughing like this was any other night. Like everything was normal. You fought the eye-roll threatening to escape and instead focused on sipping your drink. Then Ruthie nudged you sharply.

You glanced at her and followed her gaze. Sofia. Standing just a few feet behind Rafe. Hair perfectly curled, but her posture stiff—like she knew she didn’t belong but was pretending otherwise. Her eyes darted around the crowd before finally landing on you. She gave you a small, awkward smile.

You stared for a second too long before mustering the fakest smile you could manage and looking away. Arms crossing tightly over your chest. “Of course she’s here,” you muttered under your breath, venom lacing every word. Ruthie raised her brows and leaned in. “I swear she follows him around like a lost puppy.”

You didn’t respond, because when you glanced back at Rafe—he was already looking at you. The smirk was gone now. No bravado, no cockiness. Just that unreadable look he’d perfected. The one that made you wonder if he regretted everything… or nothing at all. “Hey,” he said quietly.

And that was enough to make you snap out of it. Without acknowledging him, you picked up your drink, turned on your heel, and walked away. “Wait,” Ruthie called, rushing to follow you. You didn’t stop. You didn’t want to deal with him. Not tonight. Not with Sofia hovering awkwardly in the background like some replacement you never agreed to.

He knew it pissed you off—seeing them together, acting like what the two of you had wasn’t even worth protecting. And the worst part? He brought her anyway. You made it to the bar, needing something stronger than the half-warm cocktail melting in your cup. You pushed your way through the cluster of sweaty Kooks and grabbed a beer from the tub of ice, popping it open with a sigh. Ruthie stood next to you, her eyes scanning the crowd with laser focus.

“God,” she muttered, leaning against the bar as she sipped her drink, “she stands out like a sore fucking thumb.” You followed her gaze. Sofia. She was lingering near Rafe, too close for comfort but still visibly uncomfortable. Her posture was tense, her smile unsure. She looked like she was trying to blend in, but everything about her screamed not from here.

You took a sip of your beer, eyes narrowing. “Yeah,” you muttered. “Wait—wait. Do you think he pays her to hang around?” Ruthie whispered, mischief dancing in her voice. But before you could even laugh, a sharp voice sliced through the bass-heavy music. “What did you say?” You both stopped. Looked up. The tone was unmistakable.

Rafe. He was standing near the entrance, voice raised, jaw locked, shoulders squared. Your chest tightened. “You got something to say?” He was talking to someone now—a girl who looked vaguely familiar. Local. Not a regular. Maybe a plus-one of a plus-one. Whatever he was, he clearly hadn’t learned one of the unspoken rules of Figure Eight: Don’t talk shit where Rafe Cameron can hear you.

“Hey, listen, if you want to say—” “Back off, Rafe!” The guy close by shoved him. Ruthie slapped her hand to her mouth. Your beer paused mid-sip. “Holy shit,” she gasped. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just shook your head slowly. “Typical. Always picking a fight.” You took another swig as Rafe’s voice rose, chest heaving as he advanced.

“If you wanna whisper some bullshit behind my back, why don’t you say it to my face? I’m standing right here.” He stepped forward again, pointing aggressively. Topper lunged in, grabbing him by the shoulder with a grunt. “Rafe, chill, dude—” “You got something to say? Say it to my fucking face!” Rafe barked again, leaning in, slapping his own cheek like some unhinged invitation.

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Here come the theatrics.” Topper finally got a better grip, dragging him back slightly. Sofia hovered awkwardly nearby. Her face was blank, expression unreadable. When Rafe stumbled back, she stepped in and helped Topper steady him.

She said something to him—probably trying to calm him down—but you couldn’t hear over the shouting. Then, as if the chaos couldn’t escalate further, Rafe’s voice boomed again. “He was a great man!” You blinked. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “He’s spiralling,” Ruthie said, half in awe.

Before you could agree, the clatter of bottles jolted you. You turned just in time to see Rafe storming toward the bar—your bar. “Hey,” Sofia said behind him, her hand catching his arm, gentle. “Don’t listen to them,” she murmured. You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Not really. He wasn’t exactly being discreet.

“Don’t listen to them? Don’t listen to them?” he echoed bitterly. “Kind of hard when they do it in front of me. I mean, I expect that shit from the Cut—but not here.” You exchanged a quick look with Ruthie. There it was. The line.You could practically see it hit Sofia in real time—the flicker of something breaking in her face.

She recovered quickly, but not before you caught the sting in her eyes. “Shit,” Ruthie whispered. “He doesn’t even realise he just insulted her.” Topper reappeared like a storm-drenched lifeguard. “What is this bullshit, man?” Rafe asked, exasperated. “Who do you have at your party?” Rafe shook his head like a wet dog, pacing, seething.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m just—getting a drink.” And that’s when it happened. As he turned, his eyes found you. Locked. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t look smug. Just stared. Something unreadable flickering beneath all the anger—something dangerous. You raised your brows but didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile.

Just took a slow sip of your beer, eyes never leaving his. Almost daring him to say something. He walked right past, close enough for your shoulders to nearly brush. Then Sofia stepped forward. Still lingering behind like she didn’t know where else to go. Her movements were stiff.

And when she looked up, her gaze met yours. It wasn’t awkward this time. It was deliberate. You stood there, holding her stare, bottle in hand. And then—Sofia started walking toward you. Ruthie leaned in, voice low. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me she’s about to start something.”

She stood beside you, just barely within arm’s reach, her presence cutting into the thick air around the bar like a cold gust through summer heat. You didn’t look at her at first—not until she said something. Not until she spoke. “How did you do it?” You paused mid-sip, the neck of the beer bottle still against your lips.

Slowly, you lowered it and turned your head, brows furrowing as your eyes met hers. “Do what?” you asked, voice even but laced with confusion. Sofia’s eyes didn’t move from Rafe—still visible a few feet away, his shoulders tense as he paced near the cooler, Topper doing damage control.

“Calm him down,” she replied, quiet but clear, the weight of the question hanging between you like smoke. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh through your nose. A snort, really. You and Ruthie turned to each other instinctively—your best friend’s eyes wide, eyebrows raised, lips twitching in amused disbelief like is she for real?

Was she seriously asking that? You blinked, looked back at Sofia. She was still watching Rafe like he was a ticking bomb she hadn’t figured out how to disarm. Like you were the only one who ever knew where the wires connected. “You think I knew how to calm him down?” you said, the edge creeping into your voice now.

“He’s Rafe, Sofia. No one calms him down. He decides when he wants to stop.” Her brows pulled together, and for a second, you saw something real flash across her face—something like defeat. Or maybe just realisation. Maybe she thought there was some secret you had. A trick. A formula. But there wasn’t. There never had been.

“It didn’t look like that when you were with him,” she said quietly, eyes dropping to her drink. You exhaled sharply, leaning one arm on the bar, facing her now. “Yeah, well,” you said, “that’s because he and I are alike.” Sofia blinked. Hard. And in that second, you almost felt bad for her.

Almost. But then Ruthie spoke, cutting through the tension with her usual bluntness. “He’s not a project you get to fix, babe. Trust me, she tried.” You didn’t correct her. Sofia stared at the condensation sliding down her glass. “He said he was different with you,” she murmured.

“He was,” you answered simply. “But he fucked it up so there’s that.” And for a moment, the silence between the three of you felt heavier than the party around you. The laughter, the music, the clinking bottles—all of it felt far away. Sofia nodded once, almost like a thank you—but more like a quiet resignation.

Then she turned, walking back toward where Rafe stood—his jaw still clenched, eyes wild, not looking at her. Not looking at anyone. Ruthie sighed beside you. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.”You took another swig of your beer, finally letting yourself breathe again.“Nope,” you muttered. “Just another night in paradise.”

[nobodyfamousposts]

It all started with a smoothie that went wrong. And not even in the normal ways a smoothie could go wrong.

It had been a good smoothie. Honestly one of the better ones she’d had. A nice mix of flavors with the added satisfaction of the fortune that brought everything together to create it.

Someone had left a pomegranate in her locker. No idea why. She checked around to see if it belonged to anyone. Maybe someone put it in her locker by mistake? Or if it was a gift, she at least wanted to know so she could thank them.

Sadly, no one knew. And no one else wanted it. Regardless, it felt a little sad to just leave it there. Not to mention wasteful. And Marinette hated wasting food. She was sure she could make something out of the fruit! Macarons? Tarts? Molasses? 

She was still debating the options when she happened upon an outdoor fruit stand. Which was rather unusual but not completely uncommon. And the nice man seemed to have some good stock to choose from, even if they weren’t in season yet. So she walked away with a fresh pear.

How lucky to get a pomegranate AND a pear? She was a little surprised to get them. Weren’t they supposed to be fall fruits? How were they even this fresh and ripe? It was still summer, after all.

Regardless, she took them home planning to make something out of them…only to forget about them for a couple of days until an all-nighter and a particularly rushed morning left her needing to make something quick for the go and she figured a smoothie would be good enough. Especially since she needed to eat them before they went bad. So chopped up and into the blender they went.

Which in retrospect, probably wasn’t the best idea.

In her defense, Marinette was very busy. Very busy and on an increasingly tight schedule. She had exams coming up, a report to right, and a commission she needed to complete, and a mock up she needed to start for her project—which was going to be evaluated by an outside panel of judges in an official setting, which she was completely unprepared for as it was. And if she thought she was unprepared for that, there was no way she was prepared for…this!

This being two unnatural but still very handsome men in her living room arguing with each other over which of them got to take her home. Which would sound very flattering and maybe enticing under most normal circumstances if the “Home“ in this case didn’t refer to places that weren’t even on earth. And that she had only vaguely heard of in stories that she was pretty sure weren’t real.

Or at least she HAD been sure before today. Will wonders ever cease?

Or maybe she was hallucinating?

“She ate the fruit of the Land of the Dead.” The blond one insisted, his voice rich and sending shivers down her spine in a rather intense and interesting way she hadn’t known could be a thing before. “That puts her under my jurisdiction.”

“I would disagree. She ate the fruit of the Wilds and thus is bound to my claim.” The blue—yes, blue haired man countered with a smile that would make her melt if not for the teeth. The unusual and sharp teeth.

Both of these men were otherworldly beings summoned apparently by her smoothie.

Both were also ridiculously hot.

And she absolutely did NOT have time for this!

“Look,” she interrupted their stare-off, bringing both gazes to her. “I’m late enough as it is. If you two could break and enter some other time, that would be wonderful.”

They both stared at her. And yes, she should be more concerned about these two (incredibly handsome) strangers in her apartment, but she was going to be late if she didn’t leave now and run—literally run to her first class as fast as possible.

She slipped on her shoes and grabbed her bags.

“Thanks! Don’t steal my stuff—you probably can’t use it anyway. Bye!” She called as she left.

The door shut behind her, leaving the two men behind in silence and a now empty apartment.

“Did she just leave us?” Asked His Majesty Thanatos, God of Death, Judge of Souls, and the current Ruler of the Underworld.

“So it would seem.” Replied The Erlking, Lord of the Wilds, King of Fae, and current Ruler of Underhill.

The two sized each other up while considering their position and options. It would be difficult to continue the argument without the subject present. Though it was quite off-putting that she would simply leave when they were in the midst of such an important battle to determine her future.

At this point, it appeared there was little more to do but wait. That was fine.

They were nothing if not patient after all…

Somehow, some way, a human managed to acquire both a pomegranate from the underworld and fruit from the realm of the Fae, then made a smoothie out of them. Now, Hades and the Fae are in a fierce argument regarding who the human belongs to.

[vshiftsss]

AN INTERVIEW WITH YASMIN MONET - (KATSEYE DR)

questions from this post by @heartavenue!!

𝖭𝗈𝗐 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖦𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖸𝖺𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝖬𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖪𝖠𝖳𝖲𝖤𝖸𝖤 | 𝖳𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖵𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾

INTERVIEWER: Before we start, can you just introduce yourself for anyone who may not know you?

YASMIN: Of course! Hello everyone, my name is Yasmin Monét, and I am a singer, dancer, and actress. Though my most notable role is my position in KATSEYE as the leader, one of two main dancers, and a vocalist.

INTERVIEWER: What is your favorite memory of the Dream Academy?

YASMIN: My favorite memory by far is when we all went to Korea for a mission. It was such an eye-opening experience, to absorb an entirely new culture, an entirely new environment...plus, we got to see HYBE headquarters? We got to meet LE SSERAFIM? Literally one of the best moments of my life. In that moment, I knew I had to secure my spot in KATSEYE.

INTERVIEWER: What is your least favorite memory from the show?

YASMIN: Every time someone got eliminated. It would always leave such a gloomy effect on the rest of the girls, including myself. We didn't want to see our friends leave. We wanted to enjoy this experience together. And that's the fucked up thing about these survival shows, like...not all of us can make it, no matter how badly we want it to happen.

INTERVIEWER: What did you enjoy the most about being on the Dream Academy?

YASMIN: The friendships you build in settings like that are stronger than ever. 'Cause, like, you're competing, but at the end of the day, we all got to a point where we were just as happy for our friends as we were for ourselves. I still talk to everyone I met during Dream Academy, too. So yeah, the friendships.

INTERVIEWER: What did you enjoy the least?

YASMIN: I think I enjoyed the mental battle the least. While it did prepare me for what I do now, it's just too much stress to put on one person. Especially when you're at the risk of being eliminated and ripped from your dream forever. Sounds dramatic, I know, but it's how I felt during Dream Academy. I am very lucky to be where I am now.

INTERVIEWER: If you could pick one person who did not make the final lineup to join KATSEYE, who would you choose and why?

YASMIN: Oh...that's a hard one. Everyone was so talented! Literally, if we could've made like, a twenty member group, I would be down. But if I had to pick one person, I would probably pick...Marquise or Nayoung. Both of them are insanely talented and I can definitely seeing them pulling off KATSEYE's concept. Their take on Gnarly would be interesting to see, too!

INTERVIEWER: What were your first impressions of your members?

YASMIN: Hmm...let's see.

Sophia: Nice, sociable girl, but she knew what she came for. I admired her drive.

Megan: Literally clicked automatically. I think it was because we had such similar personalities and senses of humor.

Lara: Intimidated, but in a way. She just has that undeniable it girl vibe about her.

Manon: Same thing, but we bonded easily. She showed appreciation for my sister's music, too, and we got closer through our similar interests.

Yoonchae: She was so quiet, yet she was on top of it from the get go. I could tell she also had the end goal in mind, but I did want to get to know her better.

Daniela: So funny. Loved her from the first moment I met her. I also remember literally asking her for guidance during dance practice cause I loved her dancing so much.

INTERVIEWER: Who did you meet first?

YASMIN: I met Megan first.

INTERVIEWER: Who are you the closest to?

YASMIN: Megan, Manon, and Dani.

INTERVIEWER: How long have you been training for?

YASMIN: I have been through vocal training since I was 5. I started acting around the same time. I started dancing when I was around 10 years old, but everything else began when I first auditioned. Songwriting and producing are just hobbies of mine, so I wouldn't call that training.

INTERVIEWER: How did you join the Dream Academy? Did you audition, get scouted, or something else?

YASMIN: I auditioned.

INTERVIEWER: What is your position in the group?

YASMIN: I am the leader, a main dancer alongside Daniela, and a vocalist. I also try to involve myself in the songwriting and production aspect.

INTERVIEWER: If you could change your position, which position would you choose and why?

YASMIN: Honestly, we don't really have rappers in our group, but I would be open to going down that path. Rapping has always intrigued me, and I think it would be cool to see what I can do with it. We'll see what the future brings.

INTERVIEWER: If you could trade lives with a member who would you and why?

YASMIN: Mmm...probably Daniela. I mean, she was on America's Got Talent. The girl was already a superstar.

INTERVIEWER: What song do you listen to get you hyped before a performance?

YASMIN: I don't have a specific song, but the girl group FLO is constantly in my rotation. Same with Kendrick Lamar, Beyonce, and Doechii. Whatever feels right in the moment.

INTERVIEWER: What is your favorite song in your discography?

YASMIN: Debut has such a special place in my heart, so I have to go with that one. Though, Gnarly is a close second for me. I love the more confident and showy songs we put out, if that makes sense.

INTERVIEWER: What is your favorite choreography?

YASMIN: Once again, Debut. The different formations and the unique moves - like the main leg swing, and that kind of stuff - it was hard to learn, but it was very exciting.

INTERVIEWER: Which choreography was the hardest to learn? The easiest?

YASMIN: Hardest one was Debut, mainly because it was our first choreography meant for the group. You know what I mean? We had to make an impression and show everyone that this is what we can do. Especially with a completely new song, too. There was a lot of pressure for that one to be perfect, but it was also incredibly exciting.

For the easiest one, I would say My Way. The song isn't that complicated musically, so the choreography is very gentle and simple for us.

INTERVIEWER: What was your initial reaction to joining the final lineup?

YASMIN: I'm sure we all saw the clip of me crying my eyes out on livestream. It genuinely felt like I was dreaming. My name being called first? Out of everyone? It changed my whole mindset. That moment told me that all my hard work paid off, that all the doubts I had were pointless. It was surreal. Afterwards we went backstage, I called my sister Victoria as soon as I got access to my phone. I had never heard her cry so hard in her life. She was all like, "That's my sister right there! You made it! We're all so proud of you, girl!"

Yeah, it was...it was crazy. Absolutely insane.

INTERVIEWER: What was your initial reaction to Gnarly?

YASMIN: Shock. Pure shock. I could already tell it was a risky move, but I loved it. They had pitched the concepts for the upcoming EP a bit before we heard the demo, so from the jump I knew I was gonna like it. But hearing the lyrics and that beat? Yeah...I saw the vision.

INTERVIEWER: How do you feel about the Eyekons reaction to Gnarly?

YASMIN: They all honestly had the same reaction I expected. The first few days, the girls and I were kinda anxious. Like what if they really don't get it like we did? But the minute our first performance video dropped, it was like something switched, and suddenly a lot of people got it. I'm glad for that.

INTERVIEWER: Who is the loudest member?

YASMIN: Definitely Dani or Manon. The amount of times I hear them screaming while I'm on live...I love it, but I can't replicate it. I respect it.

INTERVIEWER: Who is the most talkative?

YASMIN: Sophia in general, me when I'm talking about an interest of mine. I'm mostly a listener when it truly comes to it, but when it's a realm I'm well-versed in, I can't help myself.

INTERVIEWER: Who is the best cook?

YASMIN: Sophia. And Lara. Both of them make the best food, dude, it's hard to compete.

INTERVIEWER: Who is the mom of the group?

YASMIN: Me, and...Sophia, again. She's just like an all rounder. She does everything, it's amazing.

INTERVIEWER: And that's all we have for our interview today! Is there anything else you want to shout out or say?

YASMIN: Please check out KATSEYE's newest song, Gnarly! Out on all music platforms. You can find us on TikTok, Instagram, and Weverse, as well. As for myself, my handle is @/yasminmonet on all platforms! Thank you for having me.

𝖭𝖤𝖷𝖳: 𝖪𝖠𝖳𝖲𝖤𝖸𝖤 (캣츠아이) "𝖦𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒" 𝖮𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝖬𝖵

note... wow! this literally took two months! i've been so burnt out recently in terms of posting, but my motivation has been renewed...and i have a few new (and revamped) drs i want to talk about! so hopefully i can stay on it this time. also, i know gabriela just came out, but i'm just going with it. my fault for being late 😟

tags... @avelineshifts @julianasversee @miaojune @visualcve

END OF POST - HAPPY SHIFTING!

[chrisfawns]

the girlfriend effect. . .all the ways matt and chris change after getting a girlfriend

꒰ ੭ ꒱ ᐣ matt. . .starts sleeping more 💌🍵🎀

it's a well-known fact that matt doesn't sleep at night. he sleeps the next day. it's not unusual for nick or chris to get up at 5 am to get water, only to see a sliver of light still coming from under matt's door. he's either on the computer, watching tv, or simply pacing, waiting until his body is so exhausted that he has no choice but to sleep.

after you, though? matt's in bed at a solid eleven pm. you're tucked safely into his side, head against his chest. he'll nuzzle his stubbly chin into your hair as you yap about your day until you fall asleep mid-sentence, following you into dreamland shortly after.

now, matt's up before the clock hits noon. his shoulders don't slump with exhaustion anymore; instead, he's awake, dressed, and looks more alive than he ever has. his eyes aren't plagued with dark bags anymore and he has energy now.

ଘ꒰ ꒱ chris. . .drinks more water 🏹🐇🪞

shocked was an understatement. the internet practically exploded the first time they saw it. chris' usual car video soda had been replaced by a bottle of water. in fact, it became such a regular occurrence that even nick and matt were shocked.

"what?" chris asks, looking up to see matt staring at him like he's got two heads.

"you're drinking water?" matt asks, staring at the new, blue stainless steel water bottle that's on the counter next to his brother.

"yeah?"

"since when?"

"since my girl said i had to." chris shrugs, going back to his phone.

before long, chris' water bottle is covered in stickers from places you and him have visited together, cartoon characters, and just about any other sticker you had. the bottle becomes such a regular part of car videos that even you can't resist cracking a joke or two in the comments about the "girlfriend effect".

᧔ ᧓ matt. . .takes an ego sick day 🍰🤍🍓

if you didn't know matt sturniolo, you'd think he was simply a shy, quiet guy. which he is, until you get to know him. then the retorts and self compliments spill out of him faster than a waterfall.

"what song would you want to be edited to?"

"hmm... p power, probably."

"who's the best looking?"

"me. though nick is a close second."

"kid, if you're gonna talk out of your fuckin' ass at least turn around so i can hear you better."

when you come into the picture, all that goes away. matt's flustered when you caress his jaw and tell him how handsome he is instead of spouting some nonsense like "thanks for telling me what i already knew."

his ears turn pink at the tips and a soft, slow giggle makes its way from his lips. when nick and chris tease him about it, the only thing he says is "god forbid a man gets a little shy around his girlfriend" rather than some reply about being sex on legs.

you like him this way. you softened him. it's nice to know that underneath the mattitude as his brothers call it, matt really is a big softie.

૮ ོ ོ𑁬 chris. . .changes his mindset 🪩🩰🕰️

chris sturniolo has never considered himself "famous", but there's a specific clip of him that circles the internet every few months that one could argue he's famous for.

"what's your biggest fear?"

"having a girlfriend."

you had to admit that when the video had first come across your tiktok during your early days of dating, you were a bit hesitant. would he really commit to you?

that video is specifically is why matt and nick are shocked when chris hands you a plate of food as you grin up at him, eyes crinkling. "thank you, baby." you hum, seemingly unaware of the eyes on you.

even just the pet name has his brothers staring between the two of you, waiting for chris to mumble some shit like "it's not a big deal. it's just food."

instead, chris kisses your forehead, before sitting down beside you. "you're welcome, my love."

nick practically chokes on a piece of pasta. in his entire almost-twenty two-years of life, he's never heard chris call anyone my love and mean it. you and chris seem oblivious to the obvious shock radiating around the deck outside of the boy's boston home.

you reach over and tuck a curl behind chris' ear, a soft, shy smile appearing on your boyfriend's face. again, there's no "stop" or "not now". this time, matt decides that he has to see if you've just changed chris or if an alien has replaced his younger brother.

"you've got sauce on your face, baby." he croons, using his thumb to wipe the side of his brother's face.

chris bats matt's hand away, glaring. "fuck off."

you giggle, watching the chaos before you. chris is glaring at matt like he wants to kill him and matt's just laughing.

"what happened to 'i'm scared of having a girlfriend'?" matt asks.

"times change," chris grumbles. "besides, my girl isn't a dickhead like you."

"you've done something to him." matt says, pointing his fork at you, but you see the smile on his face.

© chrisfawns

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡: i love it when men change their whole personality after they've met their girl 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ interactions are appreciated but not expected!!

tags ⋆. 𐙚 ̊: @mattslilies @backwardshatnick @bernardsbendystraws @h3arts4nat @mattyblover07 @mattsstarlet

if you'd like to be added to my taglist, inbox me/dm me/comment!!

[salem-s]

can you please write a rafe fic based on the song “back to friends”?

like they were exes turned to strangers but there’s sooo much tension and they’re obviously still sooo in love with each other. just angst vibes with maybe some suggestive fluff? idk

just a suggestion though totally understand if it’s too specific for you!

yes! when you sent this in i had no idea what song you were talking about LOL but now ive heard it and it’s so good. love this prompt!

BACK TO FRIENDS — RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT (18+)

SYNOPSIS you and rafe have been broken up for months, and despite not seeing him since, you haven't stopped thinking about him. then, out of the blue, he's suddenly there at one of your parties: coy yet shy, a presence yet a ghost, looking at you as if he's never seen anything prettier. and all you can think is: what the fuck?

WARNINGS aaaannnngst (miscommunication tendencies is very high here, they’re both idiots), fluff, suggestive content and descriptions of smut. post-grad au, living in a city of your choice. ex!rafe is fun to write, but apologies because this isn't super edited.

WORD COUNT 8.1k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER back to friends by sombr

You've been single for six months.

Has it been easy? Absolutely not. Was it necessary? That's a bit subjective depending on who answers on the matter, but - of course - most of the time you'd argue no. Your ex would argue yes in a self-depricating sort of way. Part of you knew it was coming to a close in those final weeks, taking into account the way you drifted apart as one of life's natural tendencies.

You were heading in one direction. He was heading in another. There are so many things that he probably thought that he never spoke, especially with the way he hinted towards not being good enough for you, not being good enough to follow you into the next stages of your life. You, of course, knew that wasn't true, that it was his mind sending him into a spiral, not his heart. It ruptured your soul when the last image of him was his back towards you, not even having the gall to face you as he said goodbye. You never thought you'd see him after that.

So why the fuck is Rafe Cameron standing in your living room right now?

He looks good. Too good. The long locks that you used to toy with between your nimble fingers are gone, replaced with a slightly grown out buzz that suits him, makes him look more mature and grounded. A simple t-shirt adorns his torso, snug tight at the seams around his biceps, looking a little bigger than you last saw. He's clean cut, sleek in a way that makes your heart pound, and a head taller than everyone around him, commanding the room without even meaning to.

But his eyes tell a different story.

When those pretty blues meet yours, you see what he really feels: an emptiness and search for something to fulfill his soul, radiating a sadness to them that emulates the look of despair he had the last time you were with him. No one notices. He hides it well. But you were always able to read him like a book, to be able to pin point his emotion like it was your day job, to know how to approach him through various emotions to get him to feel better.

You, apparently, still can.

It's absolutely debilitating when you lock eyes across the room, and you can't even describe the weird feeling that settles in your gut. Is it anxiety? Dread? Excitement? It's a kettlebell in your stomach that only weighs more and more the longer you look at him, the more you register that Rafe Cameron, your ex and probably the only person you'll ever love, is standing in your living room in a state you never thought he'd be in with people you never associated him with.

First you feel shock. Then confusion.

How the fuck is he here? Who does he know? Did he - somehow - stumble upon this party in a stroke of pure luck and humiliation (on your part) or is this intentional? Does he know this is your apartment? Did he recognize the same decor that you had in your old place? Smell your favorite candle? See the furniture and overall mood of the house and think of you? Did he even know? How could he have?

It isn't until (some) of your questions are being answered when you spot another friend of yours, Wyatt, clap Rafe on the shoulder and whisper something in his ear, nodding in your direction and tugging him towards—

Fuck.

Tugging him towards you.

You wish you could move. Or do anything. Pretend to be caught up in a conversation with a friend or sneak out onto the fire escape that you can only access through your room. Anything would be better than this: simply standing in place and waiting for the inevitable. You're angry. Yet sad. Confused. You're mad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're sad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're confused that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you.

Before your brain can turn on and make a move, Wyatt's suddenly there with an audacious hand clapped on Rafe's shoulder and gently shaking it to emphasize the presence.

"Honey!” Wyatt chirps brightly (curse his ability to literally befriend a brick wall, and curse the fact that you can't hate him for doing this to you right now if you tried). "This is Rafe, the friend from Coastal that I was telling you about."

"Honey?" Rafe murmurs in surprise, and you nearly stop breathing at the fact that you're hearing his voice again. "This is Honey?"

Before your friend can explain the horrifically embarrassing story as to how you got that nickname that your friends use more than your actual name, you miraculously find your voice.

"And this is the friend from Coastal you were telling me about?" Your tone matches your ex's of surprise.

If Wyatt notices the clear apprehension between you two, he either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care enough to address it. With some sort of magic, he manages to smile wider.

"Yeah! Figured since you both went there, you might know the same people?" He offers innocently, darting his gaze cheerfully between you as if he's waiting for something magical to happen.

But it...doesn't.

Because you fucking laugh.

Right in Rafe's face. And it's out of disbelief (and slight drunkenness) that this is actually happening right now. Your good friend is introducing you to your ex, the same ex that you haven't spoken to (or much less heard from) in six fucking months. The same ex that you've been absolutely devastated over losing. The same ex that you've been attempting to find fragments of in different people, yet coming up short every single time and thus ruining the progression of your love life.

It's comical, really, it is. Because what are the odds of this happening? Of Rafe Cameron standing in your apartment, in a place you thought hidden well enough to shield you from the ghosts of your past? Of the mere concept that this is how you're seeing him again: flushed and drunk and having a great time at a party you organized. It's out of left field, completely throwing you off your game (if you even have one).

"Yeah," you manage to get out, "we know of each other."

Wyatt beams, and Rafe frowns, portraying the happy-sad theatrical masks to a fucking T.

Yet your friend takes that as a cue to pat Rafe's back, sending another knowing glance your way as if to say you're welcome! before disappearing into the party, chatting up another group of friends as if he didn't just cause a rapture in your brain. You let your gaze settling on your friend morphing into the crowd before glancing back at your ex.

Who's staring right at you.

The seriousness in his expression makes you falter slightly, not because of the intensity of it but because you just...miss him. You haven't seen him in so long, haven't been this close to him. If you wanted to, you could reach out and grab him, tether yourself to him, cling onto a bicep like you used to love doing, or sit snug under his arm and relish in the warmth he always unintentionally provided. But you can’t. Not anymore. He made that clear when he ended things with you: he wants nothing to do with you anymore, and that includes your touch.

"Why did you say that?" He asks gently, as if it's plaguing him. "Why didn't you tell him?"

Your expression must look whack, because you manage a confused smile and an arched brow, as if it's obvious. "Because I'm not about to re-hash the semantics of our break up in the middle of the function right now?"

The tone isn't nice, but it isn't mean either. It is indifferent. Tired. As if you've just picked up the pieces of your heart that shattered with him leaving you, only to have the cracks form again and threaten to burst through the seams of the fragile tape you used to stitch your heart back up. It's a bit crazy for him to ask that, you think. Because why would you bring it up? Wyatt doesn't know any better, as the faux introduction was done out of pure innocence, so why damper the mood with the truth?

Rafe pauses at your words, and the longer he's silent the more you feel stupid. You feel stupid that you're essentially backed into a corner, drawing shapes in the wooden floors with the tops of your toes to keep from slipping, swishing around a drink that has one small sip left in it. It's almost worse that he's silent. You want him to scream. To get mad, for whatever reason. Because then it'll be easier for you to pull away, to detach, to fucking move on.

But he doesn't. He's gentle with you. He always was. Never raised his voice or acted out. He was just...Rafe.

He still is, apparently.

"How have you been?" He manages to ask after a moment's silence, opting for the safe choice of not going on a tangent based on your snotty response.

What do you think? You want to snap.

But you don't. You simply shrug. "Fine. You?"

Rafe furrows his brows, as if his answer is obvious yet prolonging the response to see if you really know, or are asking out of courtesy. You're asking because it's the script you normally follow, when someone asks how you are you typically ask them back. It's not rocket science. It doesn't need to be complicated. God, why is he making it complicated?

Why is he looking at you like that?

"Are you going to answer, or..?" You trail off, searching his eyes for any sort of answer but coming up short.

Your tone is detached, as if you're talking to an old friend who you can joke and kid around with. Not the guy you've loved for years. The wince on his face reminds you of that, that you’re not joking around with just anyone. You’re with him. You’re acting like nothing is wrong, like these past few months have been a walk in the park. It’s funny that you’re going at him as if you haven’t shared your deepest vulnerabilities with him beneath soft sheets that smell of him.

Although Rafe has absolutely no room to guilt trip you right now. He orchestrated this. He wanted this. Not you.

You speak before tears can start brimming your waterline. “Whatever. See you around.”

You’re quick to duck around his audaciously broad figure, beelining towards…anywhere that isn’t here and anywhere that doesn’t have him infiltrating your senses, dulling you down. A flicker of anger crosses across your heart, because how dare he? How dare he show up here (even if he didn’t actually know this is your place, the meaning still applies) and send you all these weird signals? How dare he look at you as if he’s in pain?

Because this is his fucking fault. He broke it off, he separated himself when he didn’t need to, he lost faith in himself as a partner. You loved him through his faults, and you still do, yet that still wasn’t enough to make him change his mind. All him. Not you.

Rafe says your name quietly.

Like an idiot, you turn. Despite the thumping bass and the high pitched laughter wafted through each room, you hear him loud and clear. His blue eyes are too pretty, too intently focused on you, too…everything. It’s almost painful to look at, to see the reminder that you lost him, you lost the privilege of staring shamelessly at those pretty, pretty blues.

“You look beautiful,” he says ardently, low in a tone just reserved for you.

But it only upsets you further, makes your heart split in quarters after he split it in half six months ago. You hate how sincere he sounds, as if he’s been itching to say it all this time. Instead of a compliment, it comes across as a reminder that he left.

All you can do is shake your head. “Fuck you, Rafe.”

And you’re disappearing into the party before he can object.

You’re grateful that your room is somewhat secluded from the communal spaces.

It’s especially forgiving in this instant, when you’re cozied up alone on the fire escape that someone can only access from your bedroom, hugging your knees and staring out onto the cityscape with a scowl so deep one may think the horizon wronged you. A joint that was supposed to calm your racing heart lays untouched next to your lighter, and you don’t even have the gall to light it and try and forget about the events of tonight. Knowing yourself and knowing your brain, the weed will only tenfold the nagging emotion.

You fucking miss him. And you fucking hate him. And you fucking love him.

It caught you immensely off guard to see him again, much less standing in your living room and talking with your new friends without them even knowing who he is, without knowing what he did. The result in your brain is immediate: you miss him. You didn’t realize how much you did until you saw him.

You miss the way he’d always wake up before you, either getting up to brew your favorite coffee blend or simply waiting for you to wake in his arms, tracing idle fingertips along your smooth skin or kissing your hairline. You miss how he always made you laugh, no matter how grumpy or irritated you were at him or at the world. You miss his charm, the way he’d always flirt with you regardless of how long you’d been together, pretending to not know you in public just to ask you out all over again. You miss how he knew you, how he knew your favorite things and brought you your favorite foods and candies, how he’d buy you silly trinkets he saw in a store window simply because it reminded him of you, how he’d know how to approach you when you’ve had a bad day. You miss how he loved you, like there was nothing else around him worth his time.

The tears don’t come. They almost do, but when the time comes for them to fall, they just…don’t.

Perhaps it’s because you’ve already used all of them on him. Or because you’re tired. Or because you’re simply sitting with a pit in your stomach about the fact that he’s here, he’s actually here, probably making friends and slowly integrating himself in the life you wanted him to be in from the start.

God, feelings fucking suck.

“Hey.”

The voice (the all too familiar voice) startles you, snapping you out of your thousand yard stare to whip your head around to face the culprit. You blink dumbfounded when your eyes meet his pretty blues, yours definitely blown wide simply at the mere thought of someone disturbing your fire escape time, a fire escape hidden from the party.

Of course, it’s him. How did he even find you?

You didn’t even hear the window crack open. Nor your bedroom door. You didn’t think someone would have the audacity to enter someone else’s bedroom without knocking, or perhaps he did and you simply didn’t hear it. Regardless of the way in which the events played out, he’s still leaning through your window frame and still too fucking close to be considered apprehensive.

At your silence, Rafe clears his throat with a cautious glance. “Can I sit?”

I don’t know, can you? You almost snap childishly, disastrously still wanting to put on the front you had on earlier to attempt to show him your indifference, but it proves unlikely that you’ll have an ounce of that spark you had from before.

Because now you’re just tired. Worn out mentally. Re-hashing the details of your breakup over and over and over in your head to torture yourself. You have little fight left in you, and the mere thought of trying to stay strong only settles more of a kettlebell in your gut.

Wordlessly, you nod.

It’s a bit awkward when he actually realizes you’ve said yes (gestured it, actually), registering that you’ve given him the green light instead of the red that he had been expecting, especially since your venomous words about an hour ago. His limbs are long and lanky, and it takes him a bit of time to actually situate himself next to you and find a position comfortable enough to accommodate his stature. It’s not the most forgiving fire escape, but you’ve gotten used to the harsh ridges and crates that are now a source of comfort.

Rafe notices the unlit joint. “Were you gonna smoke?”

You shrug, because you don’t even know. You brought it out here just to have some sort of outlet in the beginning, but realized it actually might make your spiraling worse, so you left it untouched. Perhaps for later. You didn’t even bring your phone out here.

The stubborn silence coming from you makes him antsy, you can tell. Because there’s one thing that always made him nervous, and that was when you shut down. When you closed yourself off and drifted into the confinements of your mind that aren’t forgiving. When you are silent, because he’s said before that he loves your words, and life without them always hurt no matter what. He dealt with your quiet as best as he could, and for the most part he always handled it well.

Obviously, his method of coddling you back into speaking isn’t going to work now. So instead he sits, picking at his nail beds that confirms he picked up his bad habit again. You almost instinctively reach out to get him to stop, but catch yourself before you can further embarrass yourself.

“You can have it, if you want,” you offer tiredly, voice quieter than you intended.

But despite the volume, his shoulders visibly relax at the sound of your voice.

“No, I’m…” Rafe clears his throat. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

Then, more silence.

He’s so close yet so far, just barely brushing shoulders and you almost don’t want the connection because it’ll simply remind you of how good it feels to touch him. You don’t want to know it again only to have the rug swept out from beneath you once more. So instead you keep your distance, and don’t lean into him as your heart achingly wants you to do so.

You speak before you make a stupid decision. “How’d you find me?”

In your peripheral, you see Rafe’s head tilt quizzically towards you as if he wasn’t expecting you to speak, to initiate the conversation after the drought. He’s quiet for one, two beats, finally registering that, no, he didn’t imagine it, you asked him a question.

“Wyatt,” he responds simply. His eyes feel like lasers boring into your profile, but you don’t give in, keeping your gaze solely on the city. “Gave me directions.”

You hum. Of course.

“This is nice,” Rafe adds after a few moments. “The place and the…view.”

Again, you hum, ignoring how he’s only looking at you.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask gently.

His brows raise at you bringing out the one million dollar question earlier than you both anticipated, but of course it’s the only one that’s been on your mind for the better part of an hour. He’s here, in the place you initially planned for you two to be in, the place he said he couldn’t follow you to because he didn’t want to bring you down. It feels like one big joke, as if your breakup meant nothing because, despite it all, he’s here.

“Wyatt’s helping me get on my feet,” he answers quietly. “Dad cut me off.”

That piques your curiosity, facing him briefly. “He did? Why?”

Rafe almost looks relieved you’re meeting his gaze. “Backed out of the family business.”

“What?”

He nods. “Put myself in it for a few months and it…” He sucks in a harsh breath. “Fuckin’ blowed. I freaked out, got in a huge fight with him and he just…kicked me out. Cut me off. Told me to go do whatever it is I wanted to do without him.”

Your face must be puzzled as all hell.

He…stepped away from his father’s company? The business he’s been groomed to rule his entire life? Every single major step of Rafe’s life was done to accommodate his eventual take over once his father passes or retires. He majored in business and commercial real estate. He picked up ungodly hours during the holidays or whenever he went home or even logged in from miles and miles away from home to help his dad out with a deal. It’s the only path he’s ever known, only thing he’s ever planned for, only subject he’s been focused on since the responsibility of being a predecessor was high.

And now he’s not doing it anymore?

You want to pry, of course you do, and ask if he’s alright after suddenly dropping the one thing his life seemingly amounted to for the entirety of college. You’ve seen how stressed it made him, how business deals tampered with his mental health and the fear of fucking up weighed on his conscious. More so the fear of disappointing his father.

But Rafe looks content…relaxed, even. It’s as if a massive weight has clobbered to the ground off his shoulders, giving him a newfound lightness to him that you haven’t seen before. Sure, his eyes still brim with a hurt that yours surely reflect, but there’s an easiness to his posture and overall demeanor. It’s almost foreign to see on him.

“And what are you doing now?” You ask incredulously, still wrapping your head around the fact that his life has completely flipped.

Rafe looks down briefly, at the ring you still wear that he gave to you on your birthday one year.

“Working at Wyatt’s dad’s construction site.”

Your brows skyrocket.

He laughs boyishly. “I know. Totally rogue, right?”

Despite it all and despite your aching heart, you manage to laugh with him.

“Rafe Cameron in construction?” You joke. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

He hums low and amused, eyes trained on you. “Me neither. But it’s been good. Steady. Keeping me busy enough so I can save up for school.”

You furrow your brows at him for the umpteenth time. “You’re going back?”

Rafe confirms your suspicions when he nods slowly, earnestly. “Hopefully next fall.”

The words ring through silence for a few moments as you study him, really study his face. It’s soft, still laced with the etches of hurt that isn’t seeming to go away anytime soon, but there’s a firmness to his expression that encapsulates his goals for his future. He looks certain of himself, unsure of himself emotionally, but focused with the way he’s talking about his future.

Because he never really had to deal with that uncertainty. Rafe was always going to move back home after graduation and work with his dad. That was always the plan, nothing more or less to it. He never gave second options a chance and always chased the noble pursuits that would aide him in his future with the company.

But now he’s… free? If that’s the right term for it?

You remember how he used to talk about it sometimes as if it was a prison, as a wheel he’s caught on and never not spinning away from his actual dreams and desires. It was always his path, so Rafe never wanted to think about the possibility of doing something different, because it felt like a lost cause. He’d never be able to leave, so why day dream about doing so? It would only hurt his soul.

Now he’s freed from the burden. And he’s never looked more content.

“That’s…” You try and find the right words. “Good for you.”

You say it as genuinely as you mean it, one hundred percent earnestly. Because he does deserve it, the chance to find himself outside the confinements of what he was bred to be.

But it still doesn’t answer the grand scheme of questions, the big kahuna that’s been plaguing your conscious. Not the question of how he found your room, or your private rooftop, but more so you. Your apartment. Your city. You.

“Why here?” You ask gently. “Out of all the places to start over, you…”

You came to me, you almost say.

But refrain. Because that’s fucking stupid to assume.

It must be a coincidence, no? He has friends here, people to fall back on and places that someone else can introduce him to. He’s not completely alone in his endeavors, like he’s said that Wyatt is helping him get back on his feet. That’s no reason for you to assume that his presence, his uproot, is all because of you. You can’t. Because you’ll spiral more than you already are.

And his answer is worse.

“Because you’re here,” he says simply as if it’s law.

Wh—?

You can barely respond. “Bec—because I’m—?“

Rafe laughs quietly at your befuddlement. “I didn’t know you’d be here literally. Wyatt never told me your name when he told me about the party, only called you Honey. So that was…unintentional.” He hums. “What does Honey mean anyway?”

Your panic spikes. “Uh, nothing. It’s not— There’s no reason to— Semantics.” You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s here for you. “You’re here— You— For me?”

When he nods, it literally sucks the air from your lungs.

“It’s strange,” he says quietly after a moment of relishing in your panicked demeanor. “Seeing you with people who are calling you a different name. Seeing pieces of you around the apartment. I knew as soon as I walked in, it just…fucking killed me.” His fingers twitch in your direction, as if his body is involuntarily drawing himself to touch you. “I didn’t realize it would hurt so fucking bad.”

You can’t help but frown. “You’re the one who did it.”

Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, almost pained. “I know. I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know, baby,” he says, the name slipping out like a second nature that stabs your gut. “None of what I'm doing is fair, I- it's selfish. I know that. But I..."

Rafe trails off, scoffing at his own inability to form the words he wishes to speak. You can recognize that, understanding the frustration is not with you but rather the internal turmoil in his own mind. He's constantly fighting with himself, teetering between what feels wrong and what feels right and almost always self destructing in the end.

Words never came easy to him. It's something you learned early on with him, realizing that his actions spoke a lot louder than he ever could. At first, you thought he was odd for shutting down after arguments with his father or after the two of you would disagree on something. But once you saw the laundry neatly folded after one of your classes or the fridge restocked without you asking, you realized that this, the wordless acts, were his versions of mending broken amenities.

You also know that Rafe was probably never taught to properly emote. Orchestrated by the faults of his father.

So you wait patiently. You let him take time to find his words. You allow him to make up for the blunder of his break up.

Playing with the ends of your hoodie (you changed into comfort clothes an hour ago once you promptly decided you will not be returning to the party), you watch as Rafe studies the ring on your finger, brows knit as his eyes narrow in an attempt to ground himself, to focus his thoughts carefully and calculate what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. Trying really, really hard to articulate his bubbling feelings.

"There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I don't think about you," he starts slowly, tone low to articulate his seriousness. "Every fucking day, all I can see is how I hurt you."

The instinct to say something, to say anything, is stronger than you've ever felt. But you hold back, you bite your tongue, instead sucking in a deep breath with the anticipation that whatever he's about to say is going to fucking hurt. Not because you've already been through this before, but because he's probably about to break your heart without even knowing.

He continues. "It wasn't— When you told Wyatt we knew of each other, I... To look at you and pretend you were someone I've never met as if you aren't the only thing keeping my life together at this point.”

Rafe trails off, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily to avoid going on a tangent, to focus on what's important to him in this moment, to not get hung up on semantics from earlier when you were being an asshole.

With another deep breath, he continues.

"I thought I was doing what was right by distancing myself from you, because I knew I'd be suck at home working a job that would've made me miserable, and I..." He sucks in a harsh breath, shaking his head.

But you're yearning for an answer. For anything. "You what?"

Rafe briefly meets your gaze, almost shyly, because you're still here hanging onto every single one of his words. And the look on your face is fucking killing him, because you only look more hurt than before yet prettier than ever.

He swallows harshly. "I know what I'm like. Especially around my old man, and I didn't want to subject you to that."

"Rafe."

It's said as a plea, so earnest and heartbroken that he didn't think you would stand by him, through his wide range of emotions. Because you love him. You know the mental struggle he deals with whenever his father is involved in anything, and you knew that going into your post grad lives. Still, you were going to stick by him, no matter what.

Rafe says your name quietly. "I don't like who I am when I'm around him. I'm mean, and self destructive and...and a total fucking head case."

You whisper his name once more.

But he only shakes his head. "Please, I—I know it sounds stupid, alright? I just didn't want you to see that, to see that part of me. The thought of being long distance with you already fucking killed me, and I didn't need my temper adding onto it."

Rafe's eyes leave yours and settle downwards on the metal crate you're practically both sitting on. His fingers immediately fly to his hand, incessantly picking at his nail beds as a tell that he's on edge, close to panicking. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, but his eyes dart back on forth as he shakes his head, almost to himself, as the gears in his mind turn and turn and turn to desperately search for something more to say.

The act is muscle memory when your hand goes to cover his, stopping his bad habit immediately.

His head whips up to meet your gaze, jolted by the contact he surely was not expecting.

But you hold your own, gazing at him gently to stop the horrific insecurities you know he's spewing to himself in his head. For once, you need him to stop listening to himself and listen to his heart, listen to you, to stop trusting the devil on his shoulder and self sabotage in fear of others doing it first. You'd never. Not with him. He must know that.

"I know you," you say quietly. "And I know you would never hurt me without meaning to."

He winces.

Yet you continue. "I know you push people away before they can do it to you. But you need to understand something, Rafe, that I wasn't going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere now. When will you let yourself believe that?"

Rafe frowns impossibly deep, brows furrowing at the notion that you're still here. Despite everything he's done to you, said to you, made you think, you're still here. Wanting him. Caring for him. Being too damn sweet for your own good as you always were. And still are. You're still you, through fragments and a smile that doesn't reach your eyes quite yet, but you're still you. Looking at him like you still love him.

When your hand leaves his to cup his jaw gently, it feels like he can breathe again.

Holy fuck. You've almost forgotten what it's like to touch him. To feel him. To run your fingers along the smoothness of his skin and ground him to a moment so emotional that it nearly sends you flying away. Your palm is practically molded to the sculpture of his bone structure, as if it's been without a puzzle piece for so long, spending so much time incomplete and half of a whole.

Subconsciously, he leans into your touch.

"It feels wrong," he murmurs, eyes boring into yours so deeply that you're getting whiplash. "Having someone care about me like you do. It's not... No one has ever... I don't know how to deal with it."

"By talking," you hum low. "By telling me how you feel. Telling me what you need." Your thumb rubs an absentminded circle over his cheekbone.

He nearly sighs at the sensation. "I don't want to be a burden."

If possible, you frown even more than before. "You're not— Why would you say that? You're not a burden. At all."

Rafe doesn't answer you immediately. His brows pinch at the concept, as if it's foreign, as if what you've said is two plus two is five. His cheek is hot under your palm, hot with nerves and vulnerability that makes him temporarily speechless, and all you do is watch him. You wait for him to come to you. You've said (partially) your piece. His mouth opens and closes once, twice, as if the words are on the tip of his tongue but he refrains last minute, recalibrating his thoughts into something more cohesive.

"My worst fear is disappointing you," he says after a moment of considering your words. "Bringing you down with me. I can't... I won't let that happen."

"You're not," you say almost immediately.

"But I—“

"Do you remember the first week we met?" You blurt out suddenly, rudely interrupting him.

Confusedly, Rafe's head tilts slightly at the anecdote. Nonetheless, he nods slowly, almost egging you to continue.

And you do. "When I cancelled the dinner date at that fancy restaurant you set up? Because I had the flu?"

It was only one of the worst days of your life. Bedridden. Immobile. Practically death without the actual dying part. Too frail to even pick up a water bottle and too stubborn to ask for help. Teetering between being buried under six blankets to cranking the AC on full blast. It was grueling. Debilitating. You missed a plethora of assignments and social gatherings (despite it only being a few days).

He says your name gently. "What's this got to do wit—"

Again, you interrupt him. "You dropped everything, and I mean everything, to take care of me. And then you spent so much time with me that you fucking got sick too," you reminisce, adding a soft chuckle at the end when you think back on the don't be mad text that came from him just days after he was with you.

But he's still not getting it, blinking wordlessly at you in hopes you'll tell him what you mean, why this story has something to do with anything that's going on right now. What he doesn't realize, though, is that it is exactly the kind of thing he sees past. He probably doesn't know how much that meant to you, despite it probably being mindless for him.

How could he even think of himself as a burden? As wasted air? When all he's done is loved you in every way he knows how? How could he even think he's disappointed you when his love has been unlike anything you've ever experienced before? How could he think that low of himself?

"You could never disappoint me," you continue to further add your point. "Never. When all you've done was love me."

“I still do,” he answers almost immediately. “I haven’t stopped.”

You’re moving forward before you both can process it.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your body is instantly taut to his, chest to chest and cheek to cheek as you find your mold against his body. It’s familiar yet agonizing, almost mind blowing that you’ve gone so long without him, without his touch, without his embrace that you quickly grew to love the first time he held you. You feel like you can finally breathe, finally remember the beautiful feeling after losing it.

Rafe’s nearly — if not more — relieved than you are, wrapping his arms around you immediately with one hand butterfly splaying on your back and the other on the back of your head, keeping you close. The deep exhale that emits from his mouth tickles your ear, and you let yourself close your eyes at the warmth of him, of how he smells the same.

“Fuck,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”

Tears brim your waterline. You’ve been without him for so long, loving a shadow of a man without ever seeing or hearing from him. You wanted to be angry, to hate him, to say fuck it and move on with your life. But you couldn’t. Not when he’s the only one who has ever made you feel alive. Not when he’s been hurting in his own quiet way and self sabotaging at the fear of hurting you.

Rafe sucks in a large breath and, with that, his chest bumps impossibly taut to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake.”

“Don’t leave,” you plead, your voice ghosting the shell of his ear that makes the hair on his arm stand up. “Please. Not again.”

“I won’t,” he answers immediately, sounding absolutely wrecked. “I won’t, baby. I promise. I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, readjusting your grip around him to pull tighter — if possible — and practically seating yourself in his lap. It’s not comfortable at all, and you can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him against the grate-like fire escape. But it’s when you need, it’s what he needs, and neither of you can fathom how long you spent away from each other, almost like a sick joke.

And you just stay like this for a bit, holding onto each other as if you’re gripping onto a balloon threatening to float away. Despite his shorter, new hair, his cologne is the same as you first met him. The ring adorning his finger, the family ring, is missing from his hand, instead replaced with a similar looking one. The shirt is sleek and thin and you can feel the ridges and hills of his muscles underneath it. He may look a little different, more mature and in different clothes, but he feels the same as he’s always been, he’s still the person you know through and through.

“Inside,” you say after a while. “Please?”

“Yes,” he whispers immediately, certain. “No need to beg, baby. I’ll do whatever you want.”

When you untangle limbs, it’s slow, calculated, appreciative. His hands linger on your body longer than they should, mapping regions he hasn’t touched in months, re-familiarizing himself with the dips and crevices of your body. You do the same, pressing the pads of your fingertips along his shoulder blades and on the columns of his neck, skimming gently over the single earring adorning his left ear that definitely wasn’t there before. His skin is hot, almost burning for you, yet inviting in a way that makes you never want to let go.

It takes a little while to mobilize. You’re so caught up in feeling each other that you don’t realize how much time has passed. Not that it matters anyway. Because all you can focus on is the man in front of you, putting his heart on a silver platter and serving it to you hot. It’s all limbs and incoordination when climbing back through your window, soft laughter echoing off the alley walls and reverberating into your bedroom. His hands attempt to help you, drifting down to your waist as you climb through and you assume it’s a gesture just for him to cop a feel. But you don’t mind. You’ve missed it. You never want his hands away from you again.

When you change into pajamas and you slither into bed, your eyes brazenly watch him. The way he peels his t-shirt off his body, or unbuckles his pants to leave him solely in his boxers, in his preferred sleep wear. Yet he does it because he knows you: he knows you don’t like “outside clothes” in your sheets, wordlessly respecting your wishes without even being told so.

Rafe climbs under the sheets like he owns it, and you’ve already designated that side of the bed to him long ago, so seeing him here doesn’t feel so foreign. It’s muscle memory when his hand seeks refuge on your waist, shamelessly settling under your sleep shirt to let the pads of his fingertips dig into your flesh to almost stake a claim, but also to tether himself.

Your hand, on instinct, ghosts the skin of his chest, palm skimming over his heart. Despite not pressing fully, you can practically feel how fast it’s beating, how hard it’s thrumming against his ribcage. Though his content expression is a contrary to the feeling, looking more relaxed than ever.

The sensation makes your lips twitch. “Your heart is racing.” You let your palm press gently onto the rhythm.

His smile is impossibly bright.

“Remember when I kissed you for the first time?”

“I remember you being so nervous that you missed.”

“Alright.” Rafe laughs. “Not what I was referring to, but I guess.”

It’s devastatingly refreshing to see his smile, almost forgetting how pretty he looks like this: happy, unguarded, mind quiet of its vulnerabilities and allowing him to enjoy the moment, to slow down and indulge in the simplicities yet complexities of love.

“Then what?” You hum teasingly, his blue eyes piercing despite the dim lighting. “If not that?”

The laughter dies down. His gaze softens. His thumb traces shapes on your skin.

“Thought my heart was gonna burst out of my fuckin’ chest,” he murmurs casually as if that doesn’t make yours skip a beat, even more so when his hand comes up to caress your face, thumb skimming over your bottom lip. “Every single time.”

“You should probably see a cardiologist.”

“Don’t need a diagnosis, baby. ‘S just you.”

You try not to smile. You really try. But it’s really fucking difficult when he looks so pretty, staring at you like you’ve hung the stars yourself and holding you here in place so firmly yet gently at the same time that you couldn’t move if you tried. And he knows it. He knows you’re trying not to give into his charm, the same charm that you’ve been falling for for as long as you’ve known him.

“And now?” You dare, pressing your hand into his beating heart. “How’s it feel?”

“Like it’s gonna burst outta my chest,” he says before kissing you.

Instantly, you’re arching into his body, palms pressed firmly on his chest as a feeble attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that this is happening and, no, you’re not dreaming. Rafe’s here, in your bed, kissing you like his life depends on it (and it probably does). Your brows pinch even though he can’t see your face, furrowed in focus to narrow in on the passion.

Rafe makes a noise. A sigh? You think. Regardless, you reciprocate and deepen the kiss by slightly parting your lips, allowing him the access he’s been craving. And he takes advantage in less than a second, a large hand splayed on the column of your neck to keep you here against him, feeling the way your jaw slightly opens to accommodate him.

“I love you,” he praises between breaths as if it’ll kill him if he doesn’t. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You say it back. He says it again. You tennis-match the phrase over and over and over until the phonetics are burned into your tongues. He murmurs it against your skin against your lips, you beck, your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. You whisper it into the air as if it’s prayer, an incantation that, strung together, produces a spell unlike any other.

And he’s hypnotized. It isn’t until you finish twice on his tongue that he’s even thinking about himself, and it’s only when you, in a daze, paw at his chest as ask for him, for all of him. He nearly double takes, caught up in the moment of simply pleasuring you, and if you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t asked so sweetly, he would’ve went down on you ‘til sunrise.

The whole ordeal is slow. Unhurried. Deep and sensual that rattles your bones to shake. When he slips inside, it’s fucking euphoric, with an overwhelming sense of longing, nostalgia that causes a pleasure tear to slip from your eye, a tear that falls without you knowing. Not until he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb, anyway.

You’re sure you’re a babbling mess, spewing out incoherent sentences and mumbles of an I love you that probably don’t make sense. But he hears you all the same, going as far as repeating the phrase over and over against your skin like a mantra, telling you how nice you feel, that you’re made for him, how beautiful you are despite probably looking like a hot mess.

When all is said and done, Rafe is right there to tend to your needs. He’s kissing your stomach as he cleans the mess from your inner thighs. His thumb is smoothing over the hickies he peppered over multiple regions of your body, praising how beautiful you look, how good you were for him. He patiently waits for you to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed before he’s welcoming you back with open arms, and you’re not hesitating to fall into them. His embrace is warm and familiar, and you find it easy to breathe, to feel like you can relax. Rafe must feel the same, because his breathing is deeper, more evened out. Calmer and more sure of himself. Content.

“Stay the night,” you plea gently as you’re halfway to falling asleep.

You know it’s pathetic to ask, that he probably was going to anyway. But there’s that small sliver of doubt, the tiny voice in the back of your brain that’s haunted from the first time he left, driven to separation by his insecurities. You say it to be sure he knows, that he could stay for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t mind.

“I’m not leaving,” Rafe reassures against your hairline. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”

And you fall asleep like that: entangled limbs and sharing the same pillow despite a whole arm’s length of space. Your even breaths are what lure him to sleep, waiting for the crazy thumping of his heartbeat to die down before you can wake up to it. He relishes in the sensation of your breathing, how your chest rises and falls against his, and how you practically nuzzle into his embrace that confirms that you missed him just as much as he missed you.

Rafe pulls you a fraction tighter, refusing to let you go again. It’s a wordless promise that he’s going to try to be better for you, to stop listening to the vulgarities of his mind and listen to his heart. He’s going to allow himself to be loved by you and he’s going to let himself believe he deserves it.

Because if you say it? It’s as good as law.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission.

notes hope this request is what you envisioned???? hope you enjoyed!!

[elfwreck]

This stems from, in addition to the constant problem of "everyone wants to get out of work they don't need to do," the major problem with most modern education systems:

They grade on correct answers, not on learning.

Students are rewarded for handing in correct answers. Some answers are more subjective than others - there is no "correct" analysis of a movie they watched in class, but there are certainly wrong ones.

Students are not rewarded for learning the subject matter unless that also produces "correct answers" on homework and/or tests.

Every student knows other students who know fuck-all about the topic but have managed to produce Correct Answers via some trick - whether that's copying answers or stealing the test questions in advance or some neat algorithmic trick learned online ("tests by X company follow one of these three patterns of multiple choice...") or advanced bullshit talents for writing essays that sound coherent but say nothing. Or wheedling their way into extra chances, or just cramming hard the night before the test and holding all those facts in their head for 15 hours and not a moment longer.

And that's without getting into "his father's on the Board of Trustees so the school absolutely will not fail him." Not talking about corruption - just tricks to produce Correct Answers without knowing the material.

Every student probably knows someone who knows the material well - but cannot produce Correct Answers on demand, and is failing or close to it. From students whose disabilities aren't being addressed (can't read or write fast enough to fill out the tests on time; can't study in a noisy crowded room), to those whose home life doesn't allow them to finish homework, to those who are sick often enough that it affects their grades, to those who are brilliant and so bored they can't (or just won't) focus on the tests far below their level.

Most students figure out by high school that "get good grades" and "know the material" are two entirely separate skills.

And if they don't get a break from school before they jump into college... they carry that awareness to college.

Which also... utterly fails to focus on "learn the material" instead of "produce correct answers."

They know damn well it's cheating. But the penalty for cheating is not any higher than the penalty for not producing correct answers. It might even be less; getting caught cheating often comes with a do-over, do-better option.

And most of the people going into Nursing or Architecture or Psychology or Engineering, aren't doing it because they have an extreme passion for the topic and they really really want to improve other people's lives.

They have an interest in the topic - which doesn't lead to good grades on its own, regardless of how much understanding they have - and they want a career that makes solid money.

You get the career with good grades, not with understanding of the topic. The school's hope is that "good grades" are because of "understanding the topic" - but there's no direct connection.

ChatGPT just makes that gap wider.

The fix is not "ban ChatGPT for schoolwork" (Not because "we shouldn't ban it" but because it's a bad idea to pick impossible goals. Schools do not have the ability to remove access to ChatGPT. Action to restrict or end ChatGPT & similar apps has to be outside of the lens of "good for students.")

The fix is, "overhaul the education system so that grades are based on learning the material."

That's big, and it's an ugly fight. Among other things, it would mean disconnecting age from grade level. It means refocusing grade schools and middle schools on academics and removing some of their babysitter functions - in an era where those functions are essential to keep the economy running, because capitalism needs all the parents to be employees.

As long as grades are based on putting Correct Answers On The Paper, answer-generators that are 75-ish percent correct are going to be widely used.

The college fix is easy enough: More labs. More in-person, hands-on activities that can't be skipped. Make some of them essential for graduation - and make it so straight-A's in paper classes and D's in labwork raises a huge red flag and kicks off an investigation.

Of course, for that... colleges need to allocate space, time, and teachers to lab classes small enough for the teacher to understand what each student is doing.

And again, actual learning does not align with the goals of capitalism.

Right now, there's a few odd professionals here & there who cheated their way through college with ChatGPT or something like it. Watch for warning flags and be ready to switch if you catch them.

If the AI industry doesn't collapse in the next three years or so, in the next 5-10 we'll have a LOT of people with professional degrees or certificates that have a terrifying lack of comprehension of what they're doing.

Some of them will figure out pretty damn quick that they can't build bridges/assist at surgery/calculate a flight path etc. But of course they won't want to give up the career they've "worked hard for."

...They'll apply for inspector jobs. That's much safer for everyone, right?

ur future nurse is using chapgpt to glide thru school u better take care of urself