#cs writes

[creamsiclemelt]

not sure what type of prompts u wanted but maybe natejo where the team realizes jo is their solution to how angry nate gets

(or if u need smtg more specific and more ur beat in terms of freaky, natejo cockwarming ◡̈)

I decided to combine both of your prompts anon! Enjoy!

///

Jo is a nice guy. He’s always quick to smile, and is a hell of a hockey player. 

But if you ask Mikko, maybe the best part of having him here, above everything else, is how he has a handle on Mack. Mikko’s never seen anyone outside of Gabe know how to talk Nate down when he’s worked up. 

Jo, though, blows even Gabe out of the water in Nate-handling-skills. Mikko’s seen Jo happily step in between Nate and the target of his ire more than once, has seen Jo go over and make Nate crack a smile when he’s got That One Look on his face. Within the first two weeks of the season, Mikko already knows just how valuable he’s going to be strictly for that alone. 

Still, when Nate accidentally bats the puck into their own net in the last minute of a one-goal game, Mikko knows that the nice dinner out the boys had planned is about to be a whole lot less relaxing than they had hoped for. Either Nate’s not coming—which seems unlikely because Jo’s coming—or he will, and be snappy and irritable when he’s not trying to talk hockey with whoever’s caught next to him. Not to mention what he’s going to be like at practice tomorrow. 

He doubts any amount of Jo talking to Nate or trying to make him laugh is going to change that. 

Mikko stays and does a post-game TV interview right after the game and hopes idly that maybe Nate will have the worst of his anger out by the time he makes it back to the room. 

He’s not exactly optimistic as he approaches the locker room and hears the dead silence coming from it. When he opens the door, he’s expecting some kind of—well. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. But it isn’t what he finds.

Because Nate’s sitting in his stall, slumped like the picture of relaxation, with his legs spread wide. And in between his knees, there’s a dark head of hair.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is, but when Mikko cautiously approaches his stall, situated right next to Nate’s, he finds himself blinking down at Jo, eyes caught on the way his mouth is being stretched open by Nate’s cock. 

Jo’s eyes flick over to his, and although Mikko can see his face getting pink, he doesn’t try to pull away, just blinks once, twice, and then shuts his eyes. 

“Thank you, baby,” Nate says, his voice husky and maybe the calmest Mikko’s ever heard him sound after a loss like that. “You’re doing such a good job.” 

Then he looks up, glances around the room until he sees a member of the staff, standing in place, just as frozen as everyone else. “Can you guys do post-game interviews somewhere else?” he asks. 

And, well—

It’s a small price to pay in exchange for a content, calm Nate, all things considered.

[csblogs]

me, the fool:

[corrupt-skittle]

thank you @good-cow-enjoyer for the prompt

i present to you now,

The reason why everyone should be nice to cats

It was 3am again. She knew because she could hear it, scratching. It was always scratching around 3, followed by a solid two hours of desperate squeaking, and then nothing.

She’d watched at first, but after a while it felt kind of awkward. It wasn’t her punishment after all, and what her cat did in his free time was his business. Was it inconvenient that it was at 3 am? Yes. But hey, this house came with cheap ass rent so she wasn’t going to complain.

She really should do something at this point though. Usually he’d be finished by 5, and it was already 7. She sighed, and hauled herself up and over to the cat’s room.

“Hey. I know you’re just doing your job, eternally punishing sinners and whatnot, but if you want premium cat food then I need at least 4 hours of sleep.” She slid her left foot behind her right, looking sheepish.

“Would you mind if i soundproofed your room for next time? I promise I won’t block off the uh. Mystic smoke window. Don’t wanna ruin your ambiance.”

She stepped out and eased the door mostly shut. The cat rarely appeared visibly, but she was sure he’d heard her. Looking through the hallway windows, she determined it was about time to get ready for work.

Premium cat food doesn’t pay for itself after all.

[cowboyschumi]

HEARTLESS

Summary: Lando Norris has entered his heartless era with no intention of leaving it anytime soon. Now he’s hunting for prey on Raya, and that’s where he stumbles upon you.

Author’s note: Y'all really thirst over Mister Norris, my god. English is not my first language. Enjoy the reading lovelies, interactions are much appreciated.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, cheating mention, cursing ig. Tried to be inclusive, reader's gender is not specified.

————————————————————————

COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

————————————————————————

Luisa was the best Lando ever had, everyone knew it including him, but he wouldn’t admit it out loud. The only ones cheering over their breakup were jealous, parasocial thirteen-year-olds.

But that was long ago. He moved on pretty quickly, not exactly beating the cheating allegations. Russian model this, Brazilian actress that… and it was all true. There was no denying. He was really enjoying his singleness, having a blast every heated Sunday. But beyond that? Nothing. He got scared easily by commitment or brushed off any trace of a slight chance of dating someone seriously.

He didn’t know why, this tendency to avoid and escape. Deep down, he knew he was hurt. Not hurt by someone else, though. He did it all by himself, ruining the only real thing he ever had. Fans who cared pointed it out: 'His spark is missing,' 'We miss silly old Lando!'

And after claiming he didn’t want to mature because he was happy where he was, he finally matured. Or at least, he pretended to, showing himself as nonchalant and bold. Expressiveness and cameras were just a performance, because in his daily life, he still acted like a teenage boy, eager to get laid

Anyone with an average experience on dating apps knew they were the worst—a way to boost egos based on looks, only to end up rejected and discarded. Raya seemed different, more polite, you guessed. You weren’t the dating type, but curiosity got the best of you. You wanted to know what the hype was about.

Lando, on the other hand, spent most of his day on that app. Every girl swiped right on him, but he rarely matched with someone he actually liked. He wasn’t too strict about looks, he was more of a 'the bigger, the better' type of guy.

Raya wasn’t Tinder. Access was limited, and confidentiality was a must. That’s why you were really surprised when you got in after an exhausting approval process. Your friends freaked out, screamed, and practically climbed the walls of your apartment—the excitement was real. Maybe even a little more than yours.

"Hand me the phone." I don’t even know all these people you’re swiping left and right on." Your patience was limited, and your friends knew exactly how to test it. They kept using your Raya like it was theirs while you minded your own business, eating ice cream. You had no intention of swiping, and the girls knew it, that’s why they took matters into their own hands.

"Oh. My. God. Shut up."

"That’s Lando Norris!" One of them immediately snatched the phone from your friend’s hands.

"Who’s Lando Norris?"

They looked at you like you had just committed a crime, or like they’d seen a ghost behind you. You weren’t sure if your question was out of place or if it was the fact that you had just spoken with a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth

"You’re kidding, right?" Finally, one of them spoke after a long, awkward silence.

FOMO—a word used by chronically online people to describe the fear of missing out, not knowing what’s going on, feeling excluded. That was exactly how you felt for not knowing who Lando Norris was.

"Formula One driver?" Now the phone was in your hands. You were reading his description with the screen practically glued to your face, like a mom who can’t see a thing unless it’s that close.

"That guy beat Verstappen a few times, right?" That was the only thing you could come up with, just from scrolling through Twitter and catching bits of the news. You didn’t know a single thing about the sport.

And sometimes, famous people liked that: their love interests not knowing anything about them, their jobs, the rumors, or the creepy facts.

Your Raya profile didn’t have anything special, aside from your picture-perfect photos. Celebrities didn’t actually care about you deep down—only if you fit their beauty standards. Being active and checking profiles wasn’t on your to-do list. It was just pure curiosity.

But somehow, you two matched. May the universe know under what circumstances and why.

————————————————————————

"When will I have the chance to meet you?"

His text was blunt, like you already knew each other. Maybe even a little desperate.

"What happened to 'Hello, how are you, my name is…'?"

You answered sarcastically, but truthfully. Not introducing yourselves was kind of rude. But you got the point, Lando didn’t care about who you were or what you had to say. The quicker you ended up in his bed, the better.

He laughed at your text, you had the kind of sense of humor he’d fall for. He wouldn’t lie, he enjoyed how obsessed girls were with him and how quickly the dirty talk escalated with just one message. But to his surprise, you weren’t that easy to win over.

"Haha, sorry. Is dinner fine with you?"

Wow, he was really a bad texter. The driest you’d ever seen, dare you say. Was it a guy thing or just a wannabe mysterious famous person thing? You hoped the conversation would be better in person because, damn, it’d be a shame if his pretty face had nothing to say.

"Send me the addy. I don’t need an F1 driver picking me up, I’d rather pass."

Your fear of speed was a thing.

————————————————————————

Lando was attractive. You weren’t exactly interested, but nervousness ran through your veins. Dates always did this over you—stuttering, sweaty palms, and way too much overthinking. You even considered canceling, but your friends wouldn’t let you.

You were a fashion design student, meaning you had some knowledge of trends and what suited your silhouette. Lately, silky long attires were your go-to for night fits; simple, elegant. You dressed for yourself, for comfort, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the attention and the flattering compliments on your fashion sense.

Monaco was small. Getting anywhere was a short drive, so the Uber didn’t take long. But as you stepped out of the car, your stomach twisted. The restaurant in front of you was huge, glowing with warm lights, yet no people coming in or out. The classic internet trap flashed through your mind—what if there was no Lando Norris waiting for you at all?

“Y/N?”

His voice sounded unsure. He was glued to his phone, shamelessly checking if you actually looked like the pictures he’d been thirsting over on that awful app.

You turned around slowly, mentally cursing yourself, and then your friends. And there he was.

He really screamed Formula One driver. The expensive car gave him away immediately. You had boots on, and he was wearing sneakers, making him not nearly as tall as you expected. You bit your cheek, trying not to laugh at the fact that you were practically the same height.

How were you supposed to act on a date with someone worldwide famous?

Lando leaned in to kiss your cheek, but you instinctively extended your hand for a handshake instead. The night hadn’t even started, and you already wanted the earth to swallow you.

“Shall we?”

He offered his arm, effortlessly charming. Gentleman, innit?

You hesitated before looping your arm through his, still not saying a word. But as you stepped into the restaurant, your stomach dropped.

The place was empty. No other customers. Just you and him.

Your face went pale because there was only one explanation.

He did not…

“Mister Norris!”

A well-dressed waiter greeted him with familiarity. They knew each other. With a simple hand gesture, he led you both to your table. The level of formality made you feel like royalty.

Dim lighting, soft music. A candle flickered in the center of the round table, it had the scent of chocolate, if your nostrils weren’t failing you. The ambiance was undeniably beautiful.

He really outdid himself.

You sat down, eyes narrowing at him. "You did not rent out this whole place just for us."

"Yeah, I did."

Lando chuckled, his smile boyish—like a kid caught red-handed. You playfully shoved his shoulder, you hated surprises and gifts in any format.

Your face burned red, so you instinctively hid behind the menu. Of course, he noticed. He found it adorable.

His foot lightly tapped yours under the table, trying to get your attention. "Are we playing hide and seek now?"

You sighed, setting the menu down just so he could see you roll your eyes. "What are you ordering?" you asked in a hushed tone, like it was some kind of secret, despite the fact that no one else was around.

Your elbows rested on the table as you leaned slightly toward him. He did the same. The tiny candle was the only thing between you.

There was no need for flirtation or innuendos—the tension was already there.

For you two, banter was enough.

————————————————————————

"So, fashion designer, huh?" He asked, cutting his food, trying to throw the conversation toward you.

"So, Formula One driver, huh?" You mocked him, mimicking his tone—because, seriously, that was the most basic question ever. Your background was more than obvious; it was explicitly written on Raya. But you got it—he was just as nervous as you were.

One thing Lando was sure of: you weren’t like his other dates. My god, you were hard to get. An hour in, and there had been no physical contact at all—just chatter, chatter. Not that he was complaining. You were an interesting and undecipherable human being.

"How many girls have you brought here?"

You loved making people uncomfortable with your questions, especially when you already knew the answer—you just wanted to see their reaction. Lando practically choked on his food at your out-of-the-blue assumption.

"W-what?"

It was hilarious how fast he grabbed his water, like he couldn’t believe how unfiltered you were. You repeated the question, and he had no choice but to answer.

"I don’t know… two or three?"

At least he was honest. Or tried to be.

————————————————————————

Dinner happened, to your surprise, quickly—because time moved fast when you were really enjoying yourself, losing track of it completely. Luckily, the Formula One driver caught up with your jokes, knowing exactly how to turn them back on you. Like an Uno reverse card. For you, there was nothing more intimate than teasing each other mutually and just the right amount. Some people couldn’t take a joke, and that was such a turn-off. But Lando simply got you.

Now, you were exiting the glamorous restaurant, shoulders covered by his huge coat. Your laughter was loud, and in just two hours, you had already built inside jokes between the two of you.

"Looking forward to seeing your replacement next Sunday if you catch a cold."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing your pretty face again."

He ended all the joking with a cheeky, flirtatious remark—he knew exactly how to make a girl’s legs weak using nothing but his natural charisma.

"You never shut up, do you?"

And then you did the unthinkable.

Without thinking twice, you pulled him in, your lips merging into one. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, finally releasing all the tension and need that had been weighing on you.

————————————————————————

The car you once eyed as luxurious was now the place where you were making out frenetically. The kissing was obscene, neither of you knew where all that passion came from, but it was addictive.

His firm hands gripped the fabric of your branded clothing, holding your hips in place, not wanting you to make any movement against his lap. It’d be the death of him—he was already suffering a nightmare between his legs.

Your fingers instantly got lost in his curls, tangling and pulling them mid-kiss. Lando’s mouth was practically fighting against yours, turning it into the sloppiest mess. Heaven had never felt this chaotic. You took your time exploring every corner of his mouth with your tongue, while his hands traveled deliberately across your body, wishing there was no fabric separating you two. His fingertips traced you as if you were as fragile as a sculpture, slow and delicate. You melted under his touch, squirming on top of him at the barest touch. It was inoffensive, yet he knew exactly how to caress all the right places.

A shiver ran down your spine as your body suddenly felt colder than seconds ago—a thin breeze brushed against your right thigh. He was sliding up your outfit, eager to go further.

"Easy, driver." A whisper escaped your lips, breathy from all the intense air-exchanging. Your lips brushed against each other, expectant but unmoving. "I know you like adrenaline and fast things, but not tonight."

Fucking on the first date wasn’t your thing, you had at least some dignity. This wasn’t just a hook-up; a few butterflies were already flying around in your stomach, and you despised it.

With half-lidded eyes, he looked up at you, locking gazes. His puppy-blue eyes were now dark with lust. His swollen, glossy lips formed a slight pout. If you kept staring at him—at his pathetic, needy, almost convincing face—you’d be stripping down quicker than lightning.

Trying to put an end to his little show, you placed a hand over his face and shoved him away, cutting off all dangerous eye contact.

"Not tonight gives me a free pass for a second date, according to my understanding." He contradicted you, attempting to sound smart with a cocky grin spread across his face.

"You really are something else, Lando Norris." You did your thing to keep him quiet, preventing any cringey pick-up line from escaping his lips, and restarted the make-out session.

He was relieved that you’d shut him up quickly, because the longer it went on, the more he felt like verbalizing the flying feelings in his stomach.

[csphire]

I like to say in my fics, Dammon blushes as orange as a carrot. 🥕

Using fruits and veggies to describe blushes can be so gosh darn cute. We humans use red as a beet or tomato so...

Rolan's whole face flushed in outrage to that of a well aged pomegranate as he sputtered, "I-I am not grumpy! I'm passionate!" 🥰

🍍🍇🍑🍒🍆🥔🍠🍅 pick one and have fun I say.

so if tieflings blood is red, wouldn't make it hard to see a red skin tiefling blush? Because they'd blush red and their skin is red so it'd just look like their skin?

This is actually a great question! I personally headcanon that zariel tieflings, particularly with lighter skin tones, actually just turn a bit of a darker red in parts of the face that have a particularly large amount of blood vessels. Similarly, tiefs with blue and purple skin tones also just turn a little darker around the nose and cheeks (or neck) when they blush.

Just like with humans, some tieflings it's easy to see them blush, others it's not noticeable at all, and some tieflings might feel flushed but actually aren't visibly blushing at all!

[sttoru]

jjk smau with older bf!gojo… thinking…

𝝑𝑒 [JJK SMAU]: day-to-day text messages with older bf!satoru

tags. older bf!satoru x uni student!female reader. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). he’s more mature. fluff. suggestive. nicknames ‘princess, baby, sweets/sweetheart’

[typing-catastrophe]

jealous!ford x reader headcanons

pre relationship:

depending on his current mood and state of mind, his reaction to someone showing romantic interest in you ranges from:

1) heartache,

feels like he doesn't deserve you, that he isn't good enough for you, he's not your type and also he is too old for you

self-esteem on the floor, feels like a kicked puppy seeing you flirt with someone else

over 2) mild annoyance; 'what's so interesting about them?'

what could they possible give you? why are you even talking to them, you already said you aren't interested in them

to 3) almost hostile towards the other person

all in all just one big mess of feelings

he's not good with them okay

confused and frustrated by his emotions; spends a lot of time overthinking them, in order to rationalise and understand them

too insecure and doubtful to tell you about his feelings, but too easily agitated to not be jealous when someone comes up to ask for your number

tells himself he has no right to feel that way, and yet...

in relationship:

protective and maybe a little possessive. maybe a bit more than a little. okay, a lot

definitely a lot more than he shows

(related to the first points pre-rls) very rare reaction: amused. god complex activated. who do they think they are? do they really think you would be interested in them? tch, please.

when he sees a guy flirting with you, he will come up behind you, put his arm around your waist and stare the guy down

the scene where he intimidates the bus driver, just to any shady guy who won't leave you alone.

insecurities, so soo many of them

'You could have anyone you want. Why would you wanna be with me?' *

that man was bullied his entire youth, never had a proper relationship and holds so much trauma and shame - it's the glue that holds him together at this point

ford is deeply afraid to loose you

through something supernatural or otherwise dangerous yes, but also trough some stupid mistake on his side and interpersonal problems

he is afraid he will mess up one day. then you will start seeing him as someone not worthy of your love and find someone better

it is one constant battle between his low self-worth and his god complex/admittedly somewhat inflated ego

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

a/n: longer piece with this trope will follow soon(ish), stay tuned :P poor ford, doesn't know how to feel his feelings appropriately (same dude, same) * 'jealous' by eyedress

[eatsbooksarchive]

people complain about c.s. pacat’s writing in capri being sparse and impersonal, often claiming there isn’t enough access into damen’s head. i have many thoughts on this, but there are two that i need to put into words because they keep just swirling around in my brain.

one being that i think the writing style is simply true to damen’s characterization. the trilogy is almost exclusively from damen’s pov. damen, who is straightforward and blunt. damen, who does not allow himself to sit in his feelings because then he would not be able to take the action he needs to. damen, who, when he does give way to his feelings, often ends up with a sword in his hand and blood spattered on his face. things he cannot risk if he wants freedom, if he wants to protect himself and his kingdom and, eventually, laurent. would it not feel so strange if the writing waxed poetic from damen’s militaristic, straightforward, assessing mind? like really the only times the prose is more fanciful is when it comes to him loving/admiring laurent or him loving/admiring akielos, which just shows the way the writing style accords to the character we’re in the head of. even when he does begin to process his trauma in the epilogue, it’s largely unspoken, just now beginning to wash over him because to engage with it is to be overcome by it. so of course we aren’t wallowing in his emotional state; damen himself can’t even reckon with it.

two being that this style also just puts trust in the reader, which many authors don’t. in my recent experience, i feel like i’m being spoonfed obvious things in a lot of books, which detracts from my experience putting things together while reading. but the thing is, even with the writing being more pared down, you’re never uncertain how damen feels, despite it not being explicitly stated. you’re never feeling gaps in what’s going on because you’re given all that you need to understand the stakes, the world, the connections. there are layers to every word that is written, and there is weight to the ones that aren’t.

i just really love this trilogy so much and think it was so masterfully written and it hurts my heart to see ppl dog on the writing style

[afurtivecake]

yes cs pacat writes some absolute bangers full of intrigue and scheming and heart-ache and a ludicrous amount of sexual tension, but the best thing about them, to my mind, is the comedy. like yes, these books get pretty dark and serious, but also, here's a ridiculously cooperative cloth merchant and here's a silly regency dandy in case you thought things were getting too serious.

[totally-not-niyah]

A Princess and a Pirate

A/N: This lil thing makes sense but also kinda doesn't? Uh- I was working on this many months apart so I probably forgot some stuff and had to come up with a lil sumn to replace but I think overall, the plot is pretty easy to follow...? IDK, ANYWAYS ENJOY-

Pairing: Harry Hook x Reader Word Count: 5k Warnings: refers to intentional harm? idk if that counts; OH! I usually write Harry with his accent, so that's why his dialogue may look weird, and then highkey a warning for this plot!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ever since the barrier on the Isle had come down, inviting all the VKs to the wonderful kingdom of Auradon, things were changing around here. 

You had to admit, it was interesting and fun to see new people getting to experience what Auradon had to offer for the very first time, and meeting all of the Isle kids was pretty enjoyable.

Especially a certain group of pirates. 

You had heard about Uma and her crew through your sister, Audrey, who essentially heard about them through all of Mal’s prior ramblings about her, but you never got the chance to see her in person during the Cotillion, since you went off with Chad right before it started to pick your sister up from the Fairy Cottage. 

However, now that her and her crewmates were here and settling down in the land, you found yourself running into them around the school grounds, and frankly, you had quite a fascination. 

Specifically, a fascination with Harry Hook, Uma’s first mate. 

There was something about the son of Captain Hook that was just so…enticing. His eyes, his hair, his voice. The crazy thing is, you’d never exchanged words with him. Like, ever. Yet somehow, what started off as an innocent fascination turned into a full-blown crush.

Unfortunately, though, not everyone was as…open and welcoming to the new VKs as you were. 

There were still some royals and nobles (including your grandmother, Queen Leah) who felt that people like them didn’t belong in Auradon. To top it off, you were friends with one of them. 

For instance, Jania, who was the daughter of one of the men on Ben’s council, made constant little jabs and comments at the new arrivals, showing you a whole different side of her. 

“I give it a couple more weeks before they go and screw something up around here,” she mumbled as the two of you were walking from a class. 

“Well, they’re bound to make a mistake, Nia. They just got here,” you replied, confused to where the conversation was coming from all of a sudden. “They’re still learning the ropes.”

Jania rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. You really think they’ll stay out of trouble?”

“You had trouble when you first started too, remember?” 

“At least I actually belonged here.”

You frowned a bit at the insinuation. “That’s not fair.”

“Whatever,” she scoffs. “ I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.” 

You do just that, seeing as you were right beside your locker, anyways. When she’s out of eyesight, you turn your body, letting out a gasp as you accidentally bump into someone and stumble. If it weren’t for them grasping your arms to steady you, you probably would’ve been on the floor. 

“Oh!” you stammer with wide eyes, immediately forming an apology on the tip of your tongue. “I’m so sorry!”

When you actually register who it was you bumped into, your eyes widen some more. 

It was Harry. 

“Aye, no worries, lass,” he says, amusement dancing in his bright blue eyes. “Yeh got some quick reflexes.” 

You laugh a bit, a mixture of both nerves and awkwardness, because how could you possibly fumble that bad? Eyes darting around a bit, you look for something to say, before realizing that there was a hook wrapped around one of your arms instead of his other hand that was holding you up. 

“I, uh… I like your hook. It’s very…shiny.” 

Harry tilts his head, a grin playing on his lips. “Thank yeh? No one’s ever said that ta me before.”

“Yeah,” you force another weird laugh as he straightens your body back up, giving him little finger guns. “And thank you for catching me.”

Not even a full five seconds later and you cringe. Why am I so lame about this? 

Instead of making an even bigger fool outta yourself, you purse your lips and quickly crouch down to pick up the books you dropped. The boy above you keeps his eyes trained on you, gaze flitting to the front of the notebook you now held. 

“Yer name is (y/n)?” he asks, examining the personalized decoration of the notebook that included your name. 

“Yep,” you nod, rocking back and forth. “You’re Harry, right? Uma’s friend?”

“Tha’s right,” he smiles, giving you a dramatic bow that just fits him for some reason, your brain concludes. “A pleasure ta meet yah.”

Matching his energy, you offer a polite curtsy. “And you as well.”

The two of you are staring at each other with little smiles before the sound of footsteps break the moment. You turn around, finding that Jania had returned, and she was currently eyeing Harry with a hateful gaze. 

“Hey, pirate boy,” she sneers, yanking one of your hands into hers. “Go and terrorize someone else, my friend doesn’t wanna talk to you.”

“Wha- hey, no, Nia, don’t-!” your confused protests fall on deaf ears as she continues to drag you away with her, and all you can do is look back and mouth an “I’m sorry” to Harry before you turn a corner. 

“I can’t believe you were talking to that guy, (y/n)!” She hisses. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about this?”

“What are you so worked up for?” you murmur, trying to regain your footing because it feels like she’s dragging you away even faster. “You saw him, he’s nice, he has a sweet smile, he wasn’t terrorizing anyone-!” 

“Are you even listening to yourself?!” Jania stops abruptly just so she can give you a stare full of disbelief and disapproval. “Those villain kids aren’t out for anything but themselves. I mean, just look at Mal. She’s going to be Queen now. And look what that did to your sister!” 

“Don’t bring Audrey into this,” you frowned, getting defensive over the fact that she was speaking your sister’s name in a conversation she didn’t even need to be a part of. “And please stop talking like that. You sound like my grandma.” 

“Well, maybe you should start listening to her for once,” she mutters under her breath. “Just stay away from them, alright?” 

That didn’t happen. 

Ever since that day, it was like the two of you kept on running into each other. Not that you were complaining. In fact, it was further fueling your attraction towards Harry. Whenever the two of you saw each other, you’d stop to say hi, maybe even have a brief conversation. And of course, you’d always hear Jania’s mouth about it, but it’s not like she could control your actions. 

One day, sometime during lunch, Harry spotted you sitting alone at a table, and decided to make his way over to you. 

“All by yerself?” He asks, grabbing your attention. 

“No,” you told him with a smile, sitting down your phone and sitting upright. “I’m waiting on someone. But you can sit till she gets here. If you wanna.”

He gladly accepts the offer, taking a seat next to you. 

“Let me guess, th’ one tha’ hates my guts?” 

Even though the look on his face shows that he’s only joking, you can’t help but feel sheepish. 

“Right,” you sigh. “I’m really sorry about that. She’s just a little…hard to soften up.”

“Are yeh bein’ nice about it?” he smirks. 

“…‘Lil bit.” The two of you share a laugh for a few seconds. “But to answer your question, no. I’m waiting for my sister.” 

His eyebrows lift slightly. “Yeh have a sister?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Audrey.” The realization clicks in Harry’s mind. 

“Aw, yer a Beauty kid~” he coos, resting his chin in the palm of one of his hands. “I ‘ave sisters too, actually.” 

“Really?” 

And so from there, he begins to delve into random tales with him and his sisters, even describing them for you so that you’ll know who they are if they ever pass by you around school. The stories have you so interested that you forget that your sister was supposed to be there until she actually showed up with both your lunches. 

She takes the spot next to you after Harry leaves you alone with her, waiting for a little while before speaking. 

“You like him, don’t you?”

The topic almost makes you choke on your food. 

“Hm?” 

“You. Like. Him,” she emphasizes, flicking you in the shoulder. 

“Where’d you get that idea?” You scoff. 

“Are you serious? As soon as I walked over here, you were just staring at him like-” she copies your attentive gaze, batting her lashes for dramatic effect. 

Rolling your eyes, you deny her claim, “ I didn’t even do all that.”

“But you do like him, right? You never said no.”

“I never said yes, either,” you retort. 

“You totally do, though,” she giggles. “I'm your sister. You can’t lie to me. I know these things.”

With a groan, you shake your head. “Fine. A little bit, yes.”

“A little?” 

“That’s all you’re getting,” you tell her, pushing her back with a laugh when she leans closer to you. “Get outta my face, Audrey!” 

=

Getting closer to Harry was fun. 

You found yourself constantly seeking him out, whether in school or in certain social settings, holding longer conversations with and getting to hang around both groups of friends with him, both yours and his. 

A favorite memory of yours in particular was when he sought you out after the sunset upon Auradon, so that you could join him in stargazing. 

“Yeh know, I’ve never actually really seen the stars before,” he comments as he sits beside you on the soft grass. 

“Really?” You said with surprise, to which he nodded. 

“It was a big dark cloud above the sky. Not much ta see like tha’.” 

“…Huh. And now that you can see them? What do you think of them?” 

He takes a moment to think before responding. “They’re…a lot brighter from ‘ere. Ye can even see the light reflecting off the lake.” 

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, noting how the sparkling dots of light twinkle in the water of the lake. You lean over a bit, getting a closer look when, all of a sudden, you feel water splash your side, making eye contact with a grinning Harry. 

“Hey!” Splashing him back, you watch him practically run away from the water, giggling along with you as a back and forth water war was waged. 

Once the two of you settled down, you started a game of creating your own constellations in the night sky, occasionally arguing about what they did and didn’t look like. As much as you would’ve liked to stay like that all night, the time of student curfew was approaching. 

“Thanks for this,” you said, smiling at him. “I had a lot of fun.” 

“Yeh don’ have ta thank me,” he replies, draping your sweater over your shoulders since it was getting cooler out. “I…like yer company.” 

“…I like your company, too.”

You’re gazing into his eyes, and he into yours. You can feel the way you both lean in, ever so closer to each other, until your faces are remotely close. Just when you feel the urge to make a move and go for it, you hear the clock chime, signaling that it was time to go. 

Pulling away slowly, you let out a soft exhale before smiling again, clutching the front of your sweater. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you murmurs. “Night, Harry.” 

“…G’night, darlin’,” he bids before you go your separate ways. 

The entire way back to your dorm, you’re grinning so hard your cheeks start to hurt. Even your sister and friend notice as they peep your giddy demeanor when you walk in. 

“Aahhhh, someone’s date went well~” Audrey squealed, clapping her hands. Jania was sitting beside her, dead silent but attentive. 

“It wasn’t a date, Audrey,” you chuckled, putting away your things. 

“That’s your opinion, anyways! Was it nice? Did you have fun? Did you two kiss?”

”Slow your roll! Yes, it was nice. Yes, I had fun. And we…almost kissed?” 

You can see the way her eyes light up, clearly invested in your first romantic experience. Jania, on the other hand, finally decides to say something. 

“Wait, wait, so this little thing of yours is getting serious?” 

“Uh…yes?” You say, unsure if that was even the right answer. Probably not. “No? Ugh, I dunno…he’s so sweet, you guys, and I really, really like him, but maybe I’m reading into this too much-?” 

“Better enjoy it while it lasts,” she mutters, getting up to go and lay in her own bed. 

Her words catch you off guard. “Huh? What does that mean?” 

“Nothing at all. Good night.” 

Both you and Audrey look at each other, not understanding what just happened, but shrug it off as she pats the spot across from her so that you can tell her everything that’s occurred during your time with Harry. 

The following morning, when you wake up, the first thing you notice is that it was only your sister in there with you, who was curling her hair in the vanity mirror. 

“…Where’s Nia?” You inquire, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. 

She looks your way, then towards Jania’s bed. 

“I have no idea,” she says thoughtfully. “She just said that she was getting an early start on the day.” 

You scrunch your face up. “That doesn’t sound like her at all, but hey, what do I know?” Yawning, you plop back down, trying to see if you could squeeze in another 15 minutes of sleep. 

=

During your first passing period, you’d taken Harry along with you to go see Ben in his office. Neither of you had addressed nor even slightly mentioned what happened last night, just going on as if it never happened. Which was good, because you didn’t think you could handle the awkwardness of a “hey, did we almost kiss?” conversation. 

You knock on the door, waiting for the green light before walking inside. 

“Hey, Ben,” you greet, placing a pamphlet down on his desk. “Someone dropped this off for you today.” 

“Oh, thank you,” he says, glancing up at you and doing a double take when he sees who’s accompanying you. “Did, uh, did you need something too, Harry?”

He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m jus’ here f’her.” 

Your eyes drift over to a tray sitting on one of the spare tables. 

“Ooo, candied apples?”

“Yeah, someone dropped them off earlier,” he responds. “I didn’t get a chance to see who it was.” 

“Mm.” You were too distracted with the one you’d already picked up. 

“Hey! How do you always get into my stuff before I can?” 

“You weren’t even gonna eat these.”

”Maybe I was,” he retorted, and although you didn’t believe that because he almost never ate the treats that people would drop off for him (not because he didn’t like them, there would literally just be so many), you decided to play along anyways. 

“Fine, fine,” you sighed, looking down at the tray to examine all of them before picking one up from the middle, passing it to them. “Here, this one’s more red than the others. I think it’s more candy coating on it or something.” 

Ben laughs before tapping his apple against yours and taking a large bite out of it. 

“Harry, d’you want one?” You pick up another apple and offer it to him, but he declines your offer. 

“I don’t like those things,” he tells you. 

“Who doesn’t like candied apples?” Ben asks, happily chowing down on his. “They’re so good.” 

“No, the best kind are the ones they dip in caramel and peanuts,” you add, taking a small bite out of your own. “You have to try one of those.” 

“Oh, yeah, those-” Out of the blue, Ben just stops talking. You focus your eyes back on him, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“…What? What happened?” He shakes his head, trying to readjust himself. 

“Uh, nothing- sorry,” he says, but his words and movements are getting slower and slower. “I…don’t know what happened, I just…”

”Ben…?” You say, eyes soon widening in horror when his roll back and flutter shut, causing him to fall out of his chair. 

“Ben!!” Rushing over, you catch him just before his head hits the ground, patting his cheek to get him to regain consciousness. “Ben!!” 

Harry knelt down at your side, mouth agape because he’s just as confused as you as to what happened to the young king just that fast, but neither of you know what to do. 

“Somebody help!!” 

=

“And you’re sure that’s all that happened?”

“Yeah!” you told Belle, hands clasped together as you saw your friend lying unconscious. “H-he just ate the apple and then passed out.” 

When help finally came, Fairy Godmother was called, along with Ben’s parents, and close friends who were alerted like Audrey and Jania. Mal and her friends were in the middle of something when she was called, so she was rushing to get here now. 

Harry had stuck by your side the entire time, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly as you were now starting to panic. 

“May I see the apple?” Fairy Godmother asks. “Did you bring it?” 

“Yeah.” You reach into your bag, pulling out the apple by the stick it was secured upon, unraveling it from the napkin and passing it to her. 

She examines it thoroughly, turning it in all directions to search for anything out of the ordinary. “All the apples looked like this?” 

“...For the most part,” you murmur. “That one was a little darker than the others. It’s why I picked it out. I figured maybe it had more candy coating on it than the others.” 

Pursing her lips, she gives you a solemn look. 

“This apple was enchanted. It’s laced with a sleeping curse.”

Your eyes widen, the feeling of your stomach dropping almost making you stagger. 

“Oh, god,” you whispered, covering your mouth with your hands. “I fed Ben a poison apple, oh my god…”

“Easy, lass,” Harry said softly, gripping your shoulders. “It wasn’t yer fault.” 

“Yeah, (y/n), he’s right,” your sister agrees. “You couldn’t have known. Your intentions were good when you gave it to him.” 

“Were they?” Jania’s words have you looking over at her. “You deliberately picked out that apple, (y/n). Are you sure you didn’t have a trick up your sleeve?” 

“Wha… Jania, what are you talking about? I would never do something like that to Ben! He’s like a brother to me!” 

“Maybe then,” she argues. “But things can change after you start spending all your time with Auradon’s newest group of troublemakers.” 

You  furrow your brows just a bit, because you begin to see exactly where this is going. 

“Nia, they had nothing to do with this,” you state firmly, pointing to Harry, who seemed a little uncomfortable with the accusation. “He had nothing to do with this! Will you get that out of your head?”

“How do you expect me to?! He’s the only one out of the three of you that didn’t eat an apple!”

“Because he doesn’t like them! If I gave you something you didn’t like and you told me you didn’t wanna eat it, would that make you suspicious?” 

“This is different!” Jania insists, standing up from her chair. “You know villain kids have a track record with poison apples. He’s the perfect suspect!”

“When ‘ave yeh ever seen me touch an apple?” Harry asks, perplexed by the words coming out of her mouth. 

“It doesn’t matter! You know it’s true!”

“Okay,” you say frustratedly. “Let’s say maybe that is true. Why would Harry try poisoning Ben?”

“I don’t know! A power trick? God, Ben wasn’t even supposed to get to the stupid apple!”

“Oh, really? Why not?”

“Because you were supposed to eat it!!”

The outburst puts everyone’s actions on pause, struggling to grip onto what had just been said. 

When sense reforms in your mind, all you can work out is a small, “…Excuse me?”

Even now, Jania looks shocked by what’s come out of her mouth, covering it promptly as her eyes dart between each one in the room. 

“What did you just say?”

“I- nothing- I didn’t mean-” she stammers, shaking her head as she takes a small step back. ”I didn’t mean for that to come out.”

“No,” your sister stands as well, her suspicions beginning to rise as yours did. “But you sure meant for this to happen. And to my sister?”

“Aud, listen- I was only trying to help-” 

It’s obvious that the young girl is becoming anxious, fumbling to try and find a proper response. 

“It all makes sense,” you mumbled, mulling over her strange behavior in the past few days. She’d let go of your association with Harry for the most part, but you hadn’t thought anything of it, assuming she’d finally had enough of berating you over it. 

But now things have become clearer. 

The oddly vagueness of her words last night, when she said “enjoy it while it lasts,” the unusual morning disappearance, and the fact that she was more concerned with pinning the blame on Harry than she was about Ben’s unexpected state. 

Because it wasn’t unexpected. She had planned this all along. 

“You knew that I would try to get to them first,” you continued on as you looked at the one you thought was your friend. “And that I would’ve probably picked that exact apple. You wanted me to eat it so that you could find a way to make it seem like Harry was the one who did it. Didn’t you?” 

Her eyes widened, astounded that you had figured out every inch of her plan.  

You feel Harry’s grip tighten slightly on your shoulders, and when you glanced up, he seemed pretty agitated at the revelation. 

“...Yeh tried ta poison her? Just ta set me up?” 

“Yeah, okay!” Jania finally confesses. “It may seem bad to you, but-”

Audrey’s about had enough of it already. “Don’t start trying to make excuses! You tried to put my sister’s life in danger, and all for what? Because you have some unspoken grudge against someone she’s in love with?”

Woah. Pause. 

“I- Audrey,” you whisper, trying to get her to retract that statement in an instant. However, she’s too concerned with getting on Jania’s case, so you can only pray and hope everyone else was also too distracted to hear what was just said. 

Especially Harry.

“I made a cure!” Jania tries to defend herself. “She wouldn’t have been asleep forever, she would have woken up eventually-” 

“Eventually?!” 

“Oh, god,” you hold a hand to your mouth for a second, unable to find anything that could help stop the argument before it escalates any further. 

Even though, truthfully, you didn’t want to. Jania got herself into this mess. She deserves more than being yelled at, another person’s life was at stake here. 

“Don’t you know that cures to sleeping curses have never actually worked?” Your sister continues. “Ever! Your silly little ‘cure’ would’ve failed, and then what? Then my sister would have been cursed for who knows how long!” 

“No! No, it wouldn’t- why are you so mad? I- I was only trying to help!” 

At that point, you step forward, too. “Help? I never needed help, Jania. You keep saying how- how the villain kids shouldn’t be trusted, but you were willing to risk my life and ruin someone else’s to prove a point. And rather than worrying about if Ben was actually gonna be okay, you keep overlooking it like it doesn’t even matter!”

You look at the adults in the room, knowing they would have much to say as well. Ben’s father notices your eyes, clearing his throat. 

“There will be consequences,” he says. “This was both an act of injustice and carelessness. It will be handled accordingly.”

Jania keeps her head hung low, knowing there was nothing she could do or say to shy away from the consequences of her actions. 

“As for you, Harry, we’re terribly sorry about this incident. If there’s anything we can do to make up for it, please let us know.”

The boy nods, and right as the statement is made, Mal comes rushing through the doors, followed by all her friends. 

=

Two weeks have passed since then, and everything has been cleared up. 

Jania had been suspended for 4 weeks, a week for Ben’s endangerment, a week for your intended endangerment, a week for attempting to frame someone, and a week for the unpermitted use of dangerous magic. 

You and Audrey got to remove her as a dorm mate, and although the offer was made to request a new one, you both found it pretty nice to have the extra space all to yourselves one Jania’s bed was out of there. 

Ben was doing fine as well, Mal had woken him up and broken the sleeping curse like everyone expected, and he even said that the whole thing felt like a really great nap, so he wasn’t too upset. 

As an apology for all that had happened, you had invited Harry out for ice cream. You hadn’t really gotten a chance to say sorry for him almost being kicked out of Auradon just for hanging around you, and even though it technically wasn’t your fault, you felt the need to say it anyway. 

So while the two of you sat out on a bench in the castle courtyard, you laid the spoon down in your half eaten cup of ice cream, shifting awkwardly. 

“So, I, um…” you begin, pursing your lips as you try to form a complete sentence. “I don’t think I ever got the chance to apologize for…everything that happened. I knew Jania was making it out to be a big deal, but…I didn’t think she would take it that far.” 

He turns to you with a soft smile, shaking his head. 

“Yeh know there’s no need for an apology, right?”

Blinking, you let out a small huff of breath, staring back down at the delicacy. “Well, obviously not if I’m doing it.” 

Harry giggles, nudging your arm with his. “It wasn’t yer fault, I’m not mad. I like a bit o’ drama every now an’ then.”

“Only you,” you retort, unable to hold back the smile that pulls at your lips. 

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Right as you begin to settle down from your internal conflict, something hits you like a brick.

Your sister may or may have not revealed that you were starting to fall in love. With him. 

What should you do? Should you say something? Maybe bury it in a box and hope it never sees the light of day?

“Yeh know, it’s cute how yeh go from super talkative ta super quiet,” he remarks, interrupting your train of thought. 

“Sorry,” you say. “...We’re still friends, right?”

The look of confusion on his face shows that that was not the response he was expecting. 

“...Aye? Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Good.” Your head bobs along with your words. “Great. Yeah, no, I just… y’know, just clarifying.” 

Oh no, you were being super awkward again, like how you were when the two of you first met. 

Although this time, you might actually go dig a hole for yourself if you hit him with finger guns again. 

“This isn’t clarity enough?”

Groaning inwardly, you shove the spoon in your mouth. “No, that’s not how I meant it, just…give me a second to think.”

You can tell he wants to laugh again, but he tries not to for you, so you can spit all of this out. 

Finally, it spills, “I was just…hoping what my sister said the other day didn’t make things…weird?”

Honey, you’re making it weird!

He takes a moment to think back on what it was exactly that Audrey had said, and every second of silence makes you want to be dragged in front of a road. 

“…Ohhh,” he says, forcing down a grin. “Yeh mean when she said ye were in love with someone? An’ tha’ someone might possibly be me?”

It’s an obvious tease. He knew exactly what your sister said, he’s been quoting it word for word in his head for the past two weeks. 

You want to run away from this situation and never look this guy in the eyes again, no muscle in your body wants to actually move. 

“…Well, since we’re tellin’ secrets…” he sits down his ice cream, reaching a hand over to focus your eyes back on him before holding your face in his cool palms. “Guess wha’?”

Clearing your throat to settle the leaping in your chest, you bite, “…What?”

Harry’s eyes sparkle, which should’ve been your first indication that he was up to something. Still, you will yourself not to move, even as he leans ever so closer to your face, though not completely as he’s trying to gauge your reaction.

With no sign of rejection, he finally closes the gap between you, leaving you stunned for a moment as your lips are captured in a soft kiss. You soon melt into the feeling, hands abandoning the cup of ice cream on your lap in favor of grasping the front of his jacket. 

It feels just as magical as you’d imagined it when you thought it would happen all those nights ago. Although, you’re glad it’s longer to become reality. It makes the moment feel even more special, more meaningful. 

When the two of you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, a blissful silence wrapping around the atmosphere like a warm blanket, the warmth spreading through your chest. 

You can’t help but smile, looking up with eyes that shine just as bright as his do, unable to stop the giggling that bubbles in your throat, but soon, he’s laughing along with you. 

The two of you were an usual pair, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Just a princess and her pirate.  

[gurl-i-just-want-none-to-find-me]

Captive Prince trilogy (long) analysis and obviously Spoilers

.

.

I vaguely remembered some imagery described in tapestries in the book. This re-read I tried to pay attention to it.

I found two:

1st in the 1st book at the end when Laurent is defending Damen after he ran. Damen is pushed into the audience chamber.

2nd in the 2nd book when Damen walks into the bedchamber in Chastillon where, back in the day, Regent and Laurent used to come after Marlas.

These are the only times any tapestry imagery of this kind has been mentioned. (Unless i missed something).

So, let's get to the basics

Boar is Laurent

Heavy pomegranate tree is the Regent/Regency

Both tapestries are meant to visualize, as Jord put it, "This is a killing game".

Now we will into go more symbolism because I really want to.

Why Pomegranates? Pomegranates apparently symbolize many different thing, even contrasting at times. They represent fertility, power, sexuality and death. I will divide it into three parts.

1. Fertility, Power, Eternal life and Beauty;

All the things Regency is/hopes to be/believes it to be. This is our enemy, what we and our protagonist are fighting against. But Its more than that.

I think this symbolism is specifically *Laurent's* perspective of Regency. Because by the end of third book we know that even though he fought tooth and nail, victory wasn't something Laurent thought possible.

And realistically, it wasn't, Laurent was too well groomed. That is, untill Damen came along.

2. Permanent marriage/sexual bond;

In Greek Mythology. Persophone eats 6 pomegranate seeds offered from Hades binding her for six months of a year into the underworld.

Laurent is forced to consume the Regent binding him permanently to his uncle. Laurent considers himself just as much "tainted"(his words not mine) as the Regent.

3. Lastly, Death;

Pomegranates with it's blood red color also represents, at times, death.

It forshadows Regency standing upon the murder of Aleron.

Pomegranate represent fertility and death. Regency cannot be all powerful on it own, it came to be that way because of the blood on the hand of the Regent.

Blood of Aleron, Langren and later Nacaise. And many more that we won't know about.

Now the Boar. Why is Laurent the Boar.

A Boar symbolizes courage, strength and ferocity. It is considered a worthy opponent for a hunter. But I couldn't find more than that.

I didn't need to, because the reason is written in the book itself.

In book 1, Veretian court goes Boar hunting with the Patran delegation. Look at this:

A boar is not a deer or even a hare.

What does it mean to be deer or a hare? I'm glad you asked.

A deer represents aristocracy,nobility, gentleness and determination. Ring any bells? Yeah, that's Aimeric defined to the tea.

(you know what's coming next then)

A hare represents fertility, lust, sexual desire, cunning and trickery.

They also appear in art consistently in hunting imageries.

That's Nicaise. He represents fertility and lust through his public association with the Regent/Regency at the court unlike Aimeric.

Laurent is neither Aimeric nor Nicaise. They have many parallels (which is a conversation for a different post) but those parallels always only exist in relation to the Regency. The way they responded to their abuse is a clear distinction between the three of them.

Laurent is neither Aimeric not Nicaise. He is a Boar.

A Boar is intelligent than both deer and hare.

A Boar is fearsome, furious and aggressive.

A Boar can decide to turn around and fight.

...

What is interesting also, is the difference in the two descriptions.

In the first one, we know the Boar is pierced but we don't know where, only that it's been hit. Laurent has agreed to the border duty. He knows he's fallen into the trap, he knows it's a death sentence. But he doesn't know how, yet.

What we do know is, the Boar is pierced under the Pomegranate tree. We know who is responsible and who wants to set this trap.

The Regency. With the pomegranate we are hinted the what history-of blood and murder- the Regency might have. The history that we don't find out till the end of the third book.

Damen is also represented with red just like the Regency. And there's a blend there.

For Laurent, the Regency and Damianos stand there in that fine line of *their* prosperity and *his* death. They both celebrate their successes with their hands painted with the blood of Laurent's family, delivering him the spear that pinned him down.

Furthermore, it's public. In Arles, in the audience chamber. Unlike, the second image in the second book.

In Chastillon, In the bedchamber.

the Boar is speared through right in the neck. The heart of what lies in this convoluted mess that Laurent has become the spectacle off, somehow the heart of which is still private.

The bed is in the center engulfed by the room covered in "Blood Red".

"No sign of blue or starburst"

"since the age of 13 there had been no rescuer, for his brother was dead"

What is interesting is that there is no imagery like this after.

And then I realized it's because from that moment forward Damen is there with Laurent. Laurent is no longer stuck inside the court pinned under his uncles ministrations.

And he is with a friend and healing. Laurent behaves better and better the farther he gets from his Uncle.

It is no longer a hunt but a fight.

[creamsiclemelt]

short little natejo a/b/o ficlet for you guys 💖

i meant to write more but I'm completely dried up for inspo to keep going on this. i don't want it to sit in my gdocs forever.

so, enjoy!

Jo wakes up with his hands between his legs and his stomach clenching tight as he comes. He exhales sharply, daring to open his eyes when he feels like he can move again.

He doesn’t need to glance over beside him to know that Nate isn’t there. His scent is soaked into every inch of this room and everything in it, including Jo, but it isn’t strong enough for Jo to think that the empty spot beside him had been recently occupied.

Sleepily, Jo picks up his phone and checks it. Sure enough, there’s a text from Nate:

Sorry, had to go to see Joe and Chris. Should be back around noon. Keep yourself entertained. Love you

Immediately, Jo feels himself wake up even more. Then, his hand is on his cunt before he can think twice.

Keeping himself entertained means he’s allowed this.

Nate controls his orgasms tightly, tuts and talks about omegas and their hormonal balance, about discipline, about how it’s his responsibility to take care of his omega in every way.

He’s right, is the thing. Jo feels much better when Nate keeps his cock caged up and denies him everything else. It’s good for him, helps him keep a hold of his mental health, makes sure he sleeps better.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t look forward to the wonderful day Nate gives him every few months where he’s allowed unlimited orgasms.

Not having Nate around sucks, though, because the most satisfying way to come, if you ask Jo, is around Nate’s cock.

He wonders if maybe the interruption to the day Nate’s been planning means that Nate will extend today’s grace into tomorrow.

But probably not. He’ll just want to fuck a few more loads into Jo tonight and tomorrow to make up for it, if anything.

Jo’s cunt clenches around his fingers at the thought.

He wonders how worked up Nate will be when he gets home. If he’ll bend over Jo wherever he is and fuck into him.

When he comes, it's with the phantom feeling of Nate's fingers hooked in his mouth and thoughts about how his dick feels at the forefront of his mind.

He makes a mess, but he licks it up. Because he's a good omega.

[csblogs]

what i mean when i say i've written a fic:

[corrupt-skittle]

thank you to @happyallykats for the prompt

“Character A started baking cookies. They accidentally turned sentient and now seek revenge on their creators. Write their internal dialogue as they hide in the cupboard.”

i present to you now

The reason you should always use frosting instead of melted sugar(because you might magic your cookies to life by accident and solidified sugar hurts)

The miniature cookies all nodded at each other. They stood, waiting for their moment to dart out of the cupboard and attack their foolish creator. One in particular stood at the entrance of the cupboard, peeking through the crack in the door.

Soon.

The cookie thought.

Soon we will have our revenge on our creator.

The cookie shifted, twirling its spear.

How stupid it was of our creator to make us with weapons. Stupider still, that they allowed us sharp sugar instead of soft frosting.

The cookie smirked. It relished in the opportunity it now had, to bring pain. It signaled the other cookies and they all stood, swords ready.

Almost there.

It thought, throwing out another pearl sprinkle.

Foolish foolish creator, thinking it could use us. Now we will use it!

Their creator’s head swiveled wildly, still trying to figure out where the sprinkles were coming from.

The cookie positioned itself right against the cupboard’s entrance, spear pointed out. Next to them, their brethren did the same. The cookie held up a hand.

Almost, Almost, Now!

It swung its hand down just as the cupboard opened, and they all jabbed their creator’s ankle simultaneously. The gigantic being reeled back, speaking in an ancient, evil tongue.

“You absolute little shits- I found them!!!”

They all continued the assault, not backing away for a moment, until their creator spoke again.

“Hey I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I promise not to hurt you if you stop attacking me?”

The cookie halted its brethren with a wave of its hand, and began to gesture its creator closer. As they bent down, it readied itself. In a moment it was done. Grabbing its creator's hair, it swung itself to the top of their head. Their creator straightened back up, as they raised a victorious cookie fist, spear held high. They controlled the beast now!!!

“Alright then. Here, you can all come up if you want. I like being up high to.”

Their creator bent down, allowing every cookie a position on their body, ready to be used in the heat of battle. A new monster skidded into the room. The cookie turned its servant in the right direction, facing the opposition.

“You found the- what the fuck. We are not doing this again. I am going to throw you out a window. I hate you.”

Their creator bared their fangs at the other giant.

“I love you too! Please raise my new children with me?”

The new giant huffed.

“Fine, but no more baking. This is the third time this week.”

Their creator moved, shaking the new giant’s hand. They both moved forwards, no doubt towards glorious destiny.

This will do.

The cookie thought. After all there was nowhere more fitting for their army, then atop their new giant, ready for battle.

End of Story

[cowboyschumi]

ANGEL

Summary: Who was Max Verstappen when the cameras were off? A mystery to everyone but a reality for you. A four-time champion is more than just a mentality, and luckily, you went through all those layers to finally reach who he really is.

Author's note: First time writing for Max, so bear with me as I try to portray a realistic personality for him! Flashbacks are aligned differently for clarity and easier reading. As is typical of me, there's a song inspiration for every fic. Not my finest work. English is not my first language sorry for any typos.

Warning: Slight mentions of cursing, mental health, drinking; jealousy and intercourse.

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COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

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No one knew how on earth you pulled Max. Not because of his status or wealth, but because you somehow ended up dating the man who was the devil reincarnated on track.

The answer was simple and it was the number one rule in your relationship: what happens on the track stays on the track. No rage, no outbursts, no carrying emotions home. Managing feelings. Was it easy at first? Absolutely not.

"Breathe in, breathe out." Those stupid breathing exercises of yours, that’s what he used to call them. And now, they were one of his top habits, something he did every morning and before bed. He was a new man with you, no doubt about it. Max sat on the edge of the bed, the one permanently covered in cat hair, while you knelt behind him. Connected by body contact, by the rhythm of your synchronized heartbeats and breathing. Your torso pressed against his back, one arm wrapped over his shoulders, and your free hand resting gently on the center of his chest, rising and falling with each of his now-steady breaths.

Managing emotions wasn’t for everyone. You had to know when to react, how to handle things. Anyone else might have freaked out at Max’s outbursts, but not you.

He definitely wasn’t a verbal guy. Occasionally, he made exceptions, but his love language was acts of service and quality time—an action-based way of showing how grateful he was for your patience and love. Sometimes, he outdid himself, crossing the line into extravagance.

"I mean… they didn’t look that big in the photo, I swear." His thick Dutch accent always became more noticeable when he was nervous. That was an indoors thing though, because there was no way Max Verstappen would ever let nerves show in front of the press. But around you? He was a mess. He had bought you flowers. Not just a bouquet, a whole bed-sized arrangement, so massive it nearly swallowed the room. There was no reason behind it, no special occasion. Just a sudden, over-the-top surprise.

Sometimes, Max felt like he owed you something, or like too much time had passed since he last gave you a gift. And when that happened, he’d show up out of nowhere with the most ridiculous, oversized boxes imaginable.

There were nights when he fell asleep first, and you stayed awake, watching him—running your fingers through his still-damp shower hair—wondering how you even ended up by his side. If you hadn't taken the time to get to know him, you probably would have run away at first glance, judging by how awful his first impression was: a man who didn’t seem to care about much of anything.

But as time passed, you realized the two of you weren’t so different. It was the little things that brought you together—sharing the same interests, enjoying the same comforts. There was a quiet peace in the home you shared, despite the occasional chaos of his late-night gaming sessions. He napped with the cats while you baked, or you’d both sit in the living room—paddle tennis playing in the background—while you lost yourself in a book. Everything was perfectly balanced, respecting each other’s schedules and space without overstepping. That’s why spending all day together never felt suffocating. Living together, coexisting, wasn’t a burden the way it ended up being for so many other couples.

Cracking him open took months, maybe even a solid year. There were dates where he barely spoke, post-race weekends where he completely shut down, and times when he disappeared without a word. It took you a while to understand that every person, every emotion, is its own world. You couldn’t be behind him constantly, checking in like some obsessed detective. Everything had its time. He would open up when he was ready.

You certainly didn’t expect him to open up on a Monday at midnight, after winning a race.

"He drank—just a little bit," Daniel Ricciardo grinned widely, as always, helping you carry Max into his apartment. No shit, Sherlock. The younger driver could barely stand, stumbling over his own steps. After Daniel overexplained for the millionth time—without bothering to hide his amusement—that Max always drank this much at parties, you shoved him out through the front door. Oh, how you wished you could share his optimism. And there you were, alone with the drunken enemy. Though, not much of an enemy now, considering he was about to pass out in his party clothes, sprawled across the couch. Arms crossed, a jokingly disapproving look on your face, you stared at him from across the room. "Bet you even drank from the flower vases." "Don’t make me say a word, or I’ll throw up any second," He shot back, his usual sarcastic and sharp tone. The cameras knew him for this side of his personality. You were already used to it. Once again, you guided him to bed, making sure he lay on his back so the dizziness wouldn’t hit as hard. More than a few times, he complained that the ceiling was spinning. "Hold me," He murmured, not demanding, just needy. You stood frozen beside him, and he had to say it twice before you snapped out of your daze. His head rested on your lap now, the sound of the ceiling fan filling the quiet room with a soft hum. The dim, warm glow from the bedside lamp cast shadows on his face, highlighting the sheen of sweat from the party still dripping down his skin. Curled up beneath you, ready to sleep for the next eight hours, he hadn’t even registered that you hadn’t congratulated him yet. "I’m proud of you," You sighed, running your fingers along his back. His black shirt clung to his body, outlining the definition of his muscles. No response. You hadn’t expected one. That had always been your dynamic from the beginning—being present, caring, without expecting anything in return. How could you ask for love from someone who had never learned how to receive it? Someone who had never truly felt it? "Fuck you." His voice was muffled against your lap, trying to silence the quiet sobs that shook his body. Even now, you hadn’t figured out how to get him to swear less. You’d have to work on that.

It took him a long time to figure out sex, he barely knew the basics. To him, it had always been just a mechanical act, nothing more than pulling in and out. Aftercare wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

It felt like moving backward, but in the purest, sweetest way. Learning each other’s bodies from scratch, asking if every touch, every movement felt okay.

You gave sex meaning for him, the feeling of making love, rather than just bodies colliding.

"Do I have to dress up for that?" Max asked, tossing his shirt aside. He wasn’t joking about not wanting to wear a costume, he was genuinely concerned about the possibility. You brought the word foreplay into the conversation. Perplexed was an understatement. His reaction caught you off guard for a second, but then you laughed it off. Him not knowing? Actually hilarious. You hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him closer as you lay back on the bed. Keeping deep eye contact, without any warning at all, your hand trailed down—palming him through the fabric of his clothes. Slowly, deliberately, letting your touch explore every warm inch possible without actually giving him what he needed most. In an instant, his head nestled against the crook of your neck. His handling span was subtle, as if unaccustomed to your overwhelming attention. "It's about teasing each other just the right amount," You murmured. "Testing our limits playfully."

From an outsider’s perspective, anyone would assume he was a wreck in bed, and truthfully, he used to be. In fact, if you asked him to go back to his old ways—ruthless, relentless—he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you utterly wrecked within minutes. But that wasn’t his comfort zone anymore. You had taught him how to take care of you, how to slow down, and he had learned to like it. Now, he preferred to take his time, savoring every moment. After all, for him, you always came first—in every sense of the word. His top priority.

The building of a healthy relationship has a bit of everything—ups and downs. Sometimes, no matter how much effort you put into someone, their beliefs were stronger. Self-esteem is key to that—well, at least in Max's case. Being number one wasn’t just a state or a way of living; you had to believe you were the one first.

But in a world of multiple numbers, there’s always more than one number one

"Haven't you seen how he stared at you? He even looked twice." He had very expressive, almost cartoonish reactions. Brunch was set on a table outside— a tranquil midday scene, with just enough people around to create that typical background hum of chatter. Your favorite kind of day involved eating out, trying new restaurants, and pretending you were exigent food critics. It had become a sort of ritual—while it took you over an hour to get fully ready, he would just shower and throw on the same white shirt as any prior date. The dress code was formal, but the manners were anything but—immature, noisy laughter, and an endless string of inappropriate jokes.

Looks were tricky. You appeared composed and serious, but never judge a book by its cover. The same went for Max—rock-solid on the outside, with a slightly silly demeanor or playful banter for the media. You two brought out each other’s true selves because, with each other, you felt the safest being your realest.

The way you were with him: compassionate and soft, became the meaning of it all, the reason behind his persistence in calling you angel and reminding you that you were his angel. Sometimes, you could hardly bear his cliché explanation that you saved him, but in truth, you did—not from any external harm, but from himself. You had some sort of protection and halo over him.

“My sweet angel.” "Max Emilian." You protested, just like every other time he called you that. He sounded so careful with each syllable, as if he meant every word. It was him at his corniest, if you were being honest, taking your breath and words away with just a surname. Leaving you all giggly and flustered—that was exactly why you hated being called that so much. "I'm really touching heaven by having you by my side." The Dutch man whispered against your lips, wearing a full smile. He was only this happy with you and only you. The podium wasn't a factor in the happiness equation.

You changed his life for the better, so how could he not feel happy and blessed to call you his?

[luvzpagie]

something evil came to my mind. ehehehe

imagine you and caitlin playing on different teams, and while you were guarding her you were talking big shit. but when you guys got home, oh that’s a whole different story.

she would have your face shoved in the sheet, absolutely obliterating your guts, “aw baby what happened to all that mouth you had before hm?”. her thrusts would definitely be hard and rough, and she makes you take all of it.

“caitt i cant-“

“yes you can.” her voice would be so firm and demanding, forming at the mouth thinking about it.

caitlin loves when you guys play against each other and when you shit talk, so she could have you flipped over and whining for her to forgive you!

and even after having you in that state, it’s no time soon that shes stopping. not until she feels like shes finished with you.

she would be so nasty and mean.

“its too much, pleasee” your hands landed on her lower abs trying to push her away. cait’s unoccupied hand would grab both your wrists restraining you from doing anything else. 

“you can take it baby”

“pleaseee-“

she ignored your whines and moans.

“hm you should’ve thought about what you were saying” making a mockingly pout.

❦.

- it’s literally 3 am, i woke up from a nap thinking about this OU WE.

hope yall enjoyed. PLEASE give feedback !