#he made me feel...that much less alone...

[pamelaiscrying]

KENAN YILDIZ FANFIC

Summary: kenan had agreed to score a goal but you would have to give him one night to spend alone.

Warning: phone sex, cursing, actual sex scenes, plot with porn.

——

With kenan nothing was ever certain.

Not what you were. Not what you were becoming.

The whole thing felt like a twisted little game—equal parts desire and defiance—and both of you were absolutely complicit.

“So…” his voice dropped, lazy and laced with heat. “If I score… you’ll let me fuck you, right?”

Your eyes rolled, but a smirk tugged at your lips. Thank god the camera was off—he didn’t need to see how much you were enjoying this.

It had been a while since you two last sexted, and this teasing rhythm, this obscene distance flirting, was your shared addiction.

You’d only met once, barely brushed lips against lips, it was a type of kiss that 10 year olds give to each other, yet somehow spent countless nights detailing everything you’d do to each other.

“Yes, baby…”

The word made you cringe as it slid off your tongue—not because you weren’t capable of being soft, but because with Kenan?

Romance didn’t belong here. You weren’t sweet. You were sharp.

With him, it was raw, charged, territorial. Every exchange a power play.

Your cousin’s voice echoed in your head: “Men, no matter how cold or cocky, love being coddled. Call them baby or love, and watch them melt—watch them beg.”

She wasn’t wrong. You’d seen Kenan crack under less.

“But only if you score,” you purred, then twisted the knife. “Because lately… you’ve been disappointing me. Slacking. And I hope it’s not because you’re busy fucking some random bitch in Milan.”

That shift in tone—saccharine to venomous—hit him right in the groin.

He could feel his cock stiffen under the sheets. God, you knew exactly how to work him.

It was that unpredictability, the thrill of not knowing whether you’d call him your prince or curse him out like he was nothing.

His breath hitched on the line.

“You jealous?” he asked, voice low.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, tone ice and honey. “But I like my toys loyal.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sound of his sheets rustling. You could picture it: Kenan lying in bed, one hand already wrapped around his cock, the other clutching the phone like it might shatter from the tension.

“You wanna hear what you do to me?” he asked, breath warm with a threat.

“I’m listening.”

“Right now?” he growled. “I’m so fucking hard. I’ve had this tension since the last time we called… thinking about how you’d sound when I fuck your throat. I’ve been replaying it in my head. Over and over. You gagging around my cock like a good girl, tears on your cheeks, nails on my thighs.”

Your breath caught. Your hand slipped down, lazy at first.

“You miss my voice that bad?” you asked, voice thicker now, throat dry.

“You’ve got no fucking idea. I can’t even jerk off properly anymore. I tried the other night, I swear—palm tight, eyes closed—and it didn’t work. I needed you to say it. Tell me how you’d take me.”

Your fingers slid under your waistband, heat blooming as you teased your own skin. “What do you want me to say, Kenan?”

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You smirked, breath catching.

“Nothing.”

A low, guttural sound escaped him. “Fuck.”

“Go on then,” you said, sweet and smug. “Stroke it. I wanna hear how wet I make you.”

You heard it clearly: the slick movement of his fist working his cock. Slow. Steady. Then faster.

“You’d be on your knees if you were here. Mouth open, tongue out. You’d let me fuck your throat until you couldn’t speak.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t let you come,” you teased, fingers now moving in tight circles. “Maybe I’d edge you until you cried for it. Like a good little boy.”

He moaned. Raw. Helpless.

“I’d grab your hair,” he groaned. “Force my cock so deep in your mouth you’d feel it in your stomach. You’d drool all over me, choking on it, and I wouldn’t stop. Not until you came. Not until I see that look in your eyes—fucked-out and ruined.”

You let out a broken sigh, back arching. Your fingers slick now, hips moving without thought.

“Fuck, Kenan—talk dirtier.”

“I wanna bend you over a hotel sink. Rip your panties. No teasing. Just slide my cock into you and pound you hard enough that you can’t walk straight the next day.”

“You’d break me.”

“Good.”

There was panting now. The line blurred between his ragged breathing and yours. Two animals. Obsessed. Distant. Desperate.

“I’m gonna come,” you whispered.

“Do it,” he growled. “Come for me. Fucking moan for me. Let me hear how ruined you are.”

Your body snapped. Heat flooded you. Your hand froze and pressed hard against the wave crashing through your stomach.

“Kenan—fuck—”

He moaned at the sound of your orgasm, the broken whimpers, the way you gasped his name like it was a prayer and a curse. And then you heard it—his own sharp groan, followed by the messy silence of satisfaction.

For a moment, nothing but breath and static.

Then his voice again. Soft. Dangerous.

“You're coming to the game.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve already booked it,” he said. “Ticket. Hotel. You’ll be front row. After I score, I’ll fuck you just like I promised. No more games.”

Your heart thudded.

He chuckled, dark and victorious.

“I’m done imagining. I want you under me for real this time. Milan’s waiting, baby.”

//

“I am never promising anything again.” you murmured as low as you could to your best friend Leah who barely could make any of what you were saying.

“I jokingly said it once- just messing with him-teasing while he was outside- that i would fuck him if he scored as Juventus has been shit lately and he actually made it true, not only that but my fucking dad has to attend the fucking game because Tudor fucking invites him too”

“Awww that’s so sweet father-daughter duo attending the game of the guy she talks often to get her horny off”

You gritt your teeth together with your friend who was joking with your pain, humor was her way of coping with anything.

“Fuck you.” you sighed running your hand through your hair “What am i gonna do?”

“Well, if he wins—you fuck him at night. You’ve got that separate room booked, and your dad won’t be anywhere near. If he doesn’t… don’t fucking him—wait, no, actually do it again. He’ll be heartbroken, and men fuck like animals when they’re pissed. Plus, he’s hot as hell.”

Before you could even answer, your dad knocked on the door, asking if you were ready to leave for the front-row VIP seats that they couldn’t wait. You felt your heart beat and sighed/

“Fuck me i have to leave- gonna keep u updated.”

“hope you get laid!”.

“Shut up- YES DAD IM COMING!”.

//

The match had barely started when Kenan broke through the defense like a predator, driving the ball hard and fast into the net. Goal.

As the stadium exploded in cheers, the camera caught him—eyes locking onto you in the VIP section, unwavering, intense. His hand rose slowly, fingers curling into that unmistakable flick of the wrist—his private signal meant only for you.

His gaze didn’t waver; he was staring straight at you, daring you to meet it.

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your cheeks, your heart pounding like a drum.

Behind you, your dad’s brow furrowed. He followed Kenan’s eyes on the screen, then glanced sharply at you.

“Why’s he looking at you like that?” His voice was low but sharp, suspicion creeping in.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze, words stuck in your throat. You couldn’t lie, and you couldn’t explain. The room tightened with tension, the roar of the stadium a distant echo to the fire between you and Kenan.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, trying to keep your voice steady as you force a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your fingers fidget nervously with the edge of your sleeve, but you don’t dare look away from the screen. “Guess all men like a pretty girl, don’t they?”

Your dad lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving the pitch. “Not my baby, though,” he says with a knowing tone. “You know my rules about footballers—I was one. I’ve seen the way they think, how they move. You don’t just let any of them get close.”

You nod, but inside, the knot in your stomach tightens. He’s right—you shouldn’t be tangled up in this game with Kenan. You shouldn’t be caught between the thrill and the risk. But the way Kenan looked at you—the intensity burning in his eyes, the secret message in his gesture—had already pulled you deeper.

Your dad claps his hands once, ready to focus back on the game. “Now let’s see if this one can keep his head.”

The stadium explodes again with cheers and whistles. The game surges forward with raw energy—fast passes, slick footwork, the tension of every play like a live wire under your skin. You glance back to Kenan on the screen, his expression still sharp, still fierce. Your heartbeat picks up.

You sink deeper into your seat, trying to steady your breathing, but your chest feels tight—like it’s too small for all the nerves swirling inside. The roar of the crowd barely reaches you anymore; all you can hear is the relentless pounding of your own heart.

This can’t be real. I’m actually going to do this.

The thought loops in your mind, disbelief washing over you like a cold wave. You’ve talked about it for months—half-joking, half-daring—but now, with every second ticking by, it’s becoming realer, heavier, impossible to ignore.

Your fingers twitch against your jeans, restless. You glance at your phone, tempted to text Leah, needing to hear a voice or get a lifeline to sanity—but you swallow the urge. This was your mess to own, your choice, no matter how much your mind screamed otherwise.

Every time the camera cuts back to Kenan, locking eyes with you, that silent challenge—the promise—makes your stomach flip in a way that’s part fear, part something far darker.

What am I really getting myself into?

The VIP section feels suddenly too small, too exposed. Not that you didn’t like Kenan, you weren’t a virgin either but you had only said so much over phone, texts and late night facetime calls never something face to face.

//

You slipped into your hotel room, the buzz from the game still thrumming in your veins. Closing the door behind you, you leaned back against it for a moment, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. You’d promised yourself one thing tonight: if you were going to do this, you were going to own it. No hesitation.

With deliberate slow movements, you started freshening up—running cool water over your wrists, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat from the excitement and nerves. Then you opened your suitcase and pulled out the outfit you’d been saving for a moment like this.

Something tight, something that indicated you weren’t a naive little girl- that you would do everything you exact said. A black slip dress, soft silk hugging every curve, cut high to tease just enough of your legs. You slid into it, feeling the fabric cling and caress your skin like a promise.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, biting your lip. If you were going to do this, you’d do it right—bold, unapologetic, and dripping with confidence.

Your phone buzzed.

Kenan.

Room 712. Waiting.

Your breath caught. The deal was on, and there was no turning back.

You stepped into your heels, grabbed your clutch, and headed out, the sound of your heels clicking on the marble floor echoing in the quiet hallway.

When you reached the door and pushed it open, Kenan was already there, waiting. The pool lights framed him, tall and solid, every inch the predator. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and for the first time you really noticed how much taller he was—how easily he could take you in one step.

He smirked, voice low and rough. “Been waiting for this for a while.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, heat flaring in your belly.

He stepped closer, his eyes dark and daring. “Are you scared?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

Without a word, you closed the distance, your lips crashing against his in a hungry kiss. The heat between you exploded as your hands slid to the waistband of his pants, fingers working swiftly to undo the button and zipper.

His shirt was already off, muscles flexing under the soft hotel light, skin warm beneath your touch. You pressed your body against his, feeling the hard line of his hips as you pushed his pants down just enough to free him.

He groaned against your mouth, hands tangling in your hair as the tension finally snapped.

He pulled you even closer, the heat from his bare chest against your skin sending shivers down your spine. His hands roamed possessively over your curves as your lips moved together, desperate and demanding. You tugged at the hem of his pants, pushing them down just enough to free the hardness straining beneath.

Without breaking the kiss, you slid to your knees, your fingers tracing the length of him, feeling the smooth, slick heat as you wrapped your hand around him. He hissed softly, his breath catching in his throat, eyes darkening with hunger and need.

You took him into your mouth, slow and deliberate at first, savoring the taste of him, the slick warmth filling you. His hands gripped your hair gently but firmly, guiding your movements as you deepened the rhythm, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head.

He groaned low and rough, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Fuck, you’re going to drive me insane,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes locking, flames of want burning between you. “I’ve been waiting for this too,” you whispered, crawling back up to press your body against his, your hands exploring his taut muscles.

He lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the bed. Your dress slipped up your thighs as he pressed against you, his length teasing your entrance. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed inside, the warmth and fullness overwhelming in the best way.

You gasped, arching into him as he began a steady, powerful rhythm. The room filled with the sounds of your breathing, soft moans, and the slick, wet intimacy of skin against skin.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer with each thrust, his voice a low growl. “You’re mine tonight.”

You wrapped your legs around him, matching his pace, the tension building until your bodies moved as one, the pleasure cresting in a shared, shuddering release.

His movements slowed, but the hunger in his eyes only deepened. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips — not soft, not sweet, but claiming, filled with the weight of something promised long ago.

“You remember what we said,” he murmured, his breath hot against your mouth. “That when the time came… I’d have you like this. Completely. No holding back.”

You nodded, dazed with pleasure, your heart thudding against his chest. He kissed you again, then shifted — hands beneath your knees as he pushed them up, folding you beneath him, opening you wide. His body pressed down, chest brushing yours, his hips angled to drive even deeper. The change in position made your breath catch — there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You were his, just as you’d promised.

His thrusts began again, deeper now, more deliberate — every stroke drawing gasps from your lips as he filled you to the hilt, grinding his hips against yours with primal intent. His hands held your thighs tightly, spreading you open so he could watch everything — your expression, the way your body clung to him, the slick heat between you.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice rough with need. “You said I could have all of you. So I’m taking it.”

Your hands gripped his arms, nails digging into skin, the pressure and pleasure coiling tight in your belly. His pace never faltered, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, each one a silent vow, a reminder of the bond between you — physical, emotional, unbreakable.

And when you shattered again beneath him, his name on your lips like a prayer, he followed with a deep groan, burying himself to the base as he spilled inside you.

You sighed, a soft, breathless sound of gratitude escaping your lips as the aftershocks rippled through you. Your body felt boneless, limp beneath him, a sheen of sweat cooling on your skin. Thank god you were on the pill — you weren’t sure you’d have had the strength to stop him, not when he moved like that, not when he looked at you like you were everything.

Your eyes fluttered closed, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your ears. Every breath felt thick, weighted with the intensity of what you’d just shared. It was overwhelming — in the best, most devastating way. For a moment, you thought you might pass out from the sheer force of it.

Then, gently, his weight shifted just enough to keep from crushing you, and you felt his lips press softly to your damp forehead. The contrast between how hard he’d taken you and how tender he was now made your chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse, filled with concern.

You opened your eyes, meeting his. They weren’t lust-filled now — not entirely. There was something else there too: softness, guilt, maybe even love.

You gave a tired smile, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, then he leaned down to kiss you again — slower this time, more gentle.

“I am waiting for round two later..” he whispers to your ear and your eyes widened.

Boy was he about to drain the promise out of you.

[lacedaffection]

cw: mentions of alcohol.

YOU HATED RAFE CAMERON, that was well-known fact around outer banks.

he was just as spoiled as a fratboy can be with that smug, self-distructive rich boy you sworn to stay away since you moved to outer banks. he teased, he pushed your buttons everytime he saw you and that famous smirk was plastered on his face like he just won the damn olympics. from the moment you two met, he would turn every small conversation into a fight or to be more specific, a power game. the kind where you didn’t even realize you were playing until he was walking away, a victorious smirk on his annoyingly handsome face.

but that specific night, that stupid night? you made your biggest mistake by letting your guards down in front of him. like a rabbit finally giving up against the wolf.

the music was loud, the drinks were cheap as hell, and of course all your friends vanished, even though they promised that they will take care of you if you drink too much. but instead, they left you alone, dancing on some makeshift outdoor bar like a stripper. your laugh was wild while your limbs were loose and your head was dizzy but in a funny way.

you didn’t even notice rafe watching you from the corner of the party, almost like hiding in the shadows. not until your ankle twisted mid-step and the whole world tilted beneath you. fuck.

then suddenly, there were hands — more specifically rafe cameron’s hands — steadying you, holding you like he was almost worried you’ll faceplant the concrete beneath you.

you blinked up at him, disoriented, head still dizzy from the cheap bear and tequila you drunk one hour ago.

“you’re goint to fall, dumbass.” he said, but suprisingly his voice wasn’t teasing or cruel. instead, it was … tired. maybe tired of watching you dancing and falling like it didn’t care if you hit the ground.

you wanted to snap back, like maybe that he could go to hell, or that you don’t need help, especially not his. but the world tilted again and you could feel your stomach rolling.

“shit.” he muttered, catching you properly this time. “you’re wasted.”

you tried to deny it, maybe he’ll let you back to dance. you wanted to do a lot of things before the party would end, but suddenly your feet gave up, head throbbing with every small heartbeat.

he didn’t ask anything, didn’t say anything. he just lifted you up without any care in the world, as if you weighed nothing at all.

“put me down.” you slurred, but your words didn’t make any sense as you spoke up.

“no.” he just said simply.

“you don’t even like me, rafe.” you mumbled into his neck. his skin felt warm, he smelled like cigarettes and something really unique but expensive. “this isn’t your thing. you’re not a nice guy.”

“no.” he agreed softly. “i’m not.”

you weren’t sure when did he started the car. you only remembered the sound of his car’s engine rumbling and trough your blurry vision you could see the lights outside from the window as your head was resting against the seat.

somewhere in your haze, your fingers found something soft, like a safety blanket. his hoodie.

you woke up to the smell of something — something familiar, and the faint noise that an old fan made as you stared at the ceiling. rafe’s room.

you recognized it from some long-forgotten high school party. nothing’s changed ever since that party. still dark wood and dark colors, cold in a way that money made things.

you sat up immediately — maybe even too fast. pain slammed into your skull like a wawe.

“easy.”

you turned around. rafe was casually standing in the doorway, wearing a grey swearpants and a random streched out t-shirt. he held a glass of water with painkillers in his hand. he looked more normal than you’ve ever seen him. less like the smug rich boy you were used to. still unfairly handsome, but real.

you slowly took the water from him, mostly because your throat felt like the sahara.

“you undressed me?” you asked sharply, looking down at the almost same-looking t-shirt he was currently wearing. you were basically swimming in the t-shirt.

he raised an eyebrow. “relax. that’s mine and i gave you it because you threw up on your own clothes. and don’t worry, i turned around while you changed.”

that made your stomach twist than the whole hangover itself.

“thanks.” you said, not sounding too strong at that moment. it tasted weird on your tongue. gratitude and rafe cameron didn’t mix, it didn’t march well.

he shrugged and leaned against the door as he crossed his muscular arms.

“so.” you started. “what? you’re my guardian angel now?”

he laughed once. “hardly. but even i’m not that asshole to leave you passed out on a bar table, waiting for someone creppy to drag you off.”

you felt your face heating up. “i didn’t ask you to babysit me. to be more specific, i didn’t even ask you for anything at all.”

“no.” he said. “you didn’t. but i did it anyway.”

silence filled the air and it sat between you like a damn challenge, daring either of you to admit what neither of you would say out loud.

a/n: hi guys! this is my first ever work here. i hope you guys liked it as much as i did with the writing process. have a good day. smooch (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .

[gremlin-girly]

Date Your Dad

Characters: Alexei Shostakov, f!reader, Yelena Belova, Bucky Barnes, John Walker, Ava , Bob Reynolds. (Alexei x Reader is hinted at!)

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, copied or put through an AI machine. All of my work is 18+ Read at your own risk.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ for language and suggestive themes, fluff

Summary: When Yelena pranks you relentlessly, you threaten to date her dad. She doesn't expect you to follow through with it.

Word count: on mobile sorry

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

A/N: Not my usual thing ik but this was an unhinged drabble idea that's been sat in the drafts lol. I did actually finish my 10 fics I just have to edit them now 😈 Enjoy!

"YELENA!" You screech as icy water trickles down your spine. Yelena had been on a pranking kick after re-watching Home Alone and you seemed to be the most common victim after John.

You can hear Yelena's laughter from three doors up and march yourself to then before pounding the door furiously. Your hair, your outfit, your pride were soaked from the bucket of cold water she had left above an ajar door.

"If you keep this up I'll date your dad Yelena." You warn her through her bedroom door.

"No. You wouldn't." She laughs.

"I would." You argue back. "Try me, Lena. Try me."

The next morning, not heeding your warning, Yelena swaps out your sugar for salt in your coffee and you plot the demise of her sanity.

As soon as Alexei enters the kitchen, you beam at him and offer him a spritely good morning, which he returns in kind.

"What do you have planned for today?" You ask him, playing obviously nonchalant.

"Not much. Only training and making dinner for everyone." He replies, cracking eggs into a mug

"Could I... join you?" You ask shyly, batting your eyelashes. "I need to work on getting stronger and I'd love to help you cook."

Alexei blinks at you, stunned for a moment before drinking his eggs in one gulp and nodding. You can feel Yelena's eyes searing into the back of your skull and once Alexei awkwardly leaves to change for training Yelena addresses you.

"I know what you're doing." She says. "You won't win in making me uncomfortable."

"I've watched him chug six raw eggs this morning - without throwing up." You whisper smugly as you pass her. "And I'm just soooo impressed. Besides, it's not fair that your dad cooks for everyone. I just want to help."

Yelena frowns into her cereal and shakes her head. You're trying to rile her up. She can't let you win.

And then, it got worse.

Any time you were in the kitchen it was;"Alexei, could you help me open this jar please?" Or "Alexei, could you be a peach and reach hand me the cumin hidden on the topshelf please?"

Anytime you were in the gym together, you wore less baggy clothes and made a point to stand closer to Alexei and feel up his muscles ("Woah, look at those tree trunks! You must be stronger than the Hulk!") to which Alexei would flex them for you and show off his tattoos.

Yelena began to notice the way her dad would stand closer to you, or show you cat videos, or pictures of her when she was little. The way he would light up like New Year's when you'd enter a room and smile dopily when you would look over at him.

By the end of the week, Yelena was at the end of her tether but seeing you come home with milkshakes, laughing at something Alexei had said, she almost begged you to stop. However, when she'd slyly spoken to her dad about where you had both been, he'd happily informed her that it was a date. And that was what made her snap.

As she sat with her head in her hands, explaining to the rest of the team what had been going on, Bob rubbed her shoulder reassuringly whilst John and Ava laughed.

"You pressed her." John shrugs. "She did warn you."

Ava shakes her head. "I'm surprised she's managed to keep it up for so long."

"Guys, this my dad." Yelena sighs. "He will probably be in love with her by Sunday and she will break his heart!"

"Oh." The three younger members say in unison. Bucky doesn't look up from his report.

"Then do we break them up?" John asks, vaguely against at the the thought of Alexei sobbing uncontrollably over him like when they watched The Iron Giant on Team Movie Night.

Bob hums thoughtfully. "Maybe you should just stop annoying her and apologise?"

Yelena shoots him a glare and he raises his hands apologetically. "Forget I suggested it."

"You know you have to do it." Ava huffs and Yelena sighs in defeat and begins getting to her feet.

"I know." She hangs her head. You had won. "I'll be right back."

As she heads to your room, Yelena can hear the faintest of whispers and giggles emanating from behind your door. Then she hears something no child ever wants to hear; a breathy sigh of her father's name.

Her cheeks go red with anger and embarassment. How dare you! That's her dad! He may not be the smartest hero all the time but playing with his feelings was not okay. Steeling herself and scrunching her eyes she barges in.

"Lena?" Alexei's voice is soft and surprised and then your voice follows.

"You okay?"

She peeks one eye open and you stand next to Alexei, holding a small fluffy ginger guinea pig that wheeks in annoyance that you've stopped lavishing it with attention.

"You have ruined your surprise." Alexei huffs dramatically but he grins over at his daughter who is utterly flabbergasted. "Meet Natalia."

"It's a boy, Alexei-"

"Nathaniel." Alexei says without skipping a beat. "I did some research on guinea pigs and apparently they get lonely so you have to keep them in pairs."

Alexei beams as he takes the hairy creature from your delicate grasp and offers him to Yelena. "Y/N was helping me pick him out."

"He's got a big personality." You chuckle. "And such nice hair. I think Bucky has some competition."

Yelena thinks of her guinea pig, also named Bob, as she holds the distinguished Nathaniel in her hands. She had been meaning to get Bob a companion but between missions, it must have slipped her mind. Her lip quivers a little but she beams almost as brightly as her dad as she thanks you both profusely, silently vowing to never prank you again.

"Whew. That was close." Alexei sighs when Yelena finally leaves ten minutes later after two rounds of bone crushing hugs, shooting you a big, goofy smile.

You smile back. "Maybe next time we can tell her about us."

END

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[feeeeeeeeeesh]

An analysis of Corvus Corax and Konrad Curze’s Relationship

There is so much potential between those two that isn’t explored in canon, with them being designed as narrative foils. However, much of what the fandom understands of their relationship comes from their primarch novels, as that is where most of their canon interactions lie, besides the scene at Isstvan V. However, the characterisation of Corax in these two novels is very inconsistent with his backstory, other novels and codexes, so it is not an adequate source to understand Corax’s character, or his relationships. I would recommend anyone that wants to learn about Corax to read Deliverance Lost instead of his primarch novel.

Here I will first break down the issue with Corax’s characterisation in his primarch novel, and then analyse the relationship between Corax and Curze with this mind.

I will put the conclusion here, and the detailed explanation with quotes below the cut:

Before the Heresy, Corax did not hate Curze, and overall had positive views of him. Curze has complicated feelings about Corax, stemmed from jealousy, and views him as a better version of himself which he projects his feelings onto.

Whats wrong with Corax’s primarch novel

Note: This section is long, and exists because most of the fandom’s perception of Corax and his relationship between Curze comes entirely from this novel alone. However, his characterisation in this book largely contradicts other canon material about him. This section will aim to explain why that is the case, and why this novel is a terrible source for character analysis. OP has very strong opinions about this. You can skip it if you want. I have also translated another lore post regarding Corax which can be found here.

Corax’s primarch novel and Curze’s primarch novel are written by the same author, Guy Haley, while most of Corax’s other novels and short stories are written by Gav Thorpe. In his own primarch novel, and in his appearances in Curze’s, Corax is characterised as sheltered, arrogant, naive, obsessed with the idea of “justice” and ignorant of the grim nature of their world. This is intended to juxtapose with Curze, who is presented as more mature in his outlook of the world, and less hypocritical in his actions. While this characterisation of Curze is compliant with the rest of canon and accepted by the fan base, the way Corax is characterised here is a direct contradiction to his other appearances in novels and codexes, and is only here to serve as a foil to Curze, who is presented in a more positive light in these two novels. Hence, I would argue this novel should be excluded when analysing Corax’s character, and especially when concerning his relationship with Konrad Curze.

Once again, anyone interested in learning more about Corax should go read Deliverance Lost first. Do not start on his primarch novel. In fact, I would not recommend reading it until you have finished all other HH novels and short stories about him, and only if you want to experience psychic damage.

The battle of the Carinaean Sodality, the major focus of his primarch novel, is also covered in the HH Black Books, albeit in less detail. There are two major differences in the turn of events: the first being how the Raven Guards made the incorrect strategic decision to chase down Arch-Comptroller Agarth, the second being there is no mention of Konrad Curze or the Night Lords whatsoever. Clearly, these elements were added by the author for his own agenda. While it is common for there to be contradicting knowledge about the events in the WH universe, in this case, one version is clearly more compliant with the rest of canon.

It is revealed in Curze’s novel that the disastrous campaign at Carinaean Sodality in Corax’s primarch novel occurred as a result of Curze’s doing, intending to teach his naive younger brother a lesson through practice:

'Corax affronted me, ordering me about like that. When the call came for the Eighth Legion to terrorise the Carinaen Sodality into submission, I arranged to be elsewhere,’ he told the flesh sculpture. 'I foresaw the event, and what would occur there when I was too far away to assist, and how poorly Corax's failure while acting in my stead would reflect on him. I assume he learned his lesson.’

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, Chapter 6 - Guy Haley

The author’s intention is very clear here: the entirety of Corax’s novel is to compare him to Curze, portraying Curze in a more positive light in that he is not a hypocrite in his wrongdoings, and up-playing the relationship between them for this effect. Corax’s characterisation is changed specific for this reason.

The second major difference is how the Raven Guards made the mistake that caused great losses in the campaign. his primarch novel, he was insistent in deploying his entire Legion to hunt down one person in the name of justice, despite vehement objections from all his closest commanders.

Corvus Corax faced the crew upon the command deck of the Saviour in Shadow. ‘Arch-Comptroller Agarth is to be hunted down. Fleet to adopt wide search patterns. Find him. Bring him to me.’ There were mutters of agreement. But not all were convinced of this course of action. ‘What about the rest of the system?’ asked Agapito. ‘The Twenty-Seventh Expeditionary Fleet will make an immediate assault upon the Thousand Moons, as per Fenc’s plan.’ Agapito hesitated before speaking. ‘What is it, brother?’ asked Branne. ‘If we are not there to support them, they will struggle. With us at their side, we can end this quickly before the cities reach optimal firing situation. Without us–’ Corax’s pale white face leaned towards his old comrade in arms, interrupting him. ‘Agapito, Agarth has denied us the opportunity to show convincing force. He has escaped. If we allow Agarth to go free, we will undermine the Carinae Sodality’s understanding of Imperial justice. The elite will see themselves free of consequence, the populace will despair that we cannot save them. We cast ourselves as saviours from tyranny and the bringers of civilisation to all men. We lie if Agarth does not face justice. Those who commit outrage cannot be allowed to escape. We will hunt him down and destroy him.‘

Corax: Lord of Shadows, Chapter 15 - Guy Haley

There are several things wrong with this. Firstly, if anything, the one obsessed with justice has always being Curze, not Corax, so it’s quite strange how this is cited as his motive. Secondly, Corax has always valued independent thoughts in his subordinates, and he had always found it important to listen to and heed their counsel. Even if there are disagreements, he would choose to explain his thoughts rather than yelling at them from the start. His behaviour here does not correspond to how he is characterised literally everywhere else.

‘We can’t let them attack again,’ argued Reqaui. ‘They got thousands more troops to send and don’t care none about their losses. It don’t matter that we have an army of men willing to lay down their lives, we just can’t match them. They’ll come again and again and again until we’re dead or back in the cells.’ ‘I wish I had never considered it,’ said Corvus, staring at the orb of Kiavahr through the wide window of the guard officers’ mess. The couches were ripped and bloodstained, the ornately carved and lacquered tables and cabinets riddled with bullet holes and scarred by las-fire. ‘It is too extreme. There are millions on that world who labour under the yoke of the guilds as much as we did, and who have committed no offence against us.’

‘Break the power of the guilds,’ urged Reqaui. Corvus nodded reluctantly. There was no other way. ‘Great,’ said Nathian. ‘Let’s get a move on, no time to waste.’ ‘It has already been arranged,’ admitted Corvus. He sank down into the couch vacated by Nathian, long legs stretching out across the burnt carpet. ‘Turman and Wing One have loaded five atomic charges into drop-shuttles. Their guidance systems have been locked on to Nairhub, Toldrian Magna and Chaes. All I have to do is send them the order.’ Ephrenia pulled herself up with a grunt of pain and hobbled across the room. She lowered herself to the floor beside Corvus and rested her arm on his knee. ‘Time won’t make it any easier to give that command,’ she said, looking up at him with soft eyes. With a sigh, Corvus gestured to Agapito, who pulled the radio from his jacket pocket and tossed it across the room. Catching it easily, Corvus flicked the switch to transmit. ‘Turman, this is Corvus,’ he said slowly. ‘Launch the shuttles.’

Deliverance Lost, Chapter 17 - Gav Thorpe

Corax had always been good at listening to counsel from his subordinates, even from the days of the uprising in Lycaeus. In this passage, he asked the opinion of every single one of his commanders, and changed his mind after their counselling. While all primarchs are, at heart, ill-tempered and prone to violence, Corax is comparatively mild-mannered, and usually only his enemies face his anger.

The event here is also an important note on Corax’s view on war. Here, he chose to drop the atomic charges despite the civilian casualties, a “path of least resistance” approach characteristic of the Imperium. He is not so innocent like he is portrayed in his primarch novel that he does not understand the sacrifices in war, and he certainly does not need Konrad Curze to teach him this.

Curze has a much stronger moral compass than Corax. If he was faced with the same decision, he would find it much more difficult to choose to drop the atomic charges, because it involves the death of innocents, something against his values. Meanwhile, Corax would explain this as a necessary sacrifice, a view more consistent with the rest of the Imperium.

If anything, the Nev brothers are even more hot-headed than Corax. It makes no sense they’re the ones holding him back.

Sealed within their sable battle plate the Raven Guard suffered little ill-effect, but the ordinary citizens of Zenith-312 and the soldiers of the Imperial Army were reduced to a frothing, mindless horde that numbered in the tens of thousands. Immediately, the Raven Guard found themselves under assault from all sides by the clawing mass of stricken humanity. Within minutes many had exhausted their supplies of ammunition and had to hack a path onwards with combat blades and gore-slick chainswords. In the hours that followed, the Raven Guard were forced to slaughter the maddened population of Zenith-312 and the men who had stood as their allies for so long, granting them the mercy of death as the Legion swept the voidcity clean. In the aftermath of the fighting, it was discovered that the Arch-Comptroller Agarth had used the massacre of his own people to shroud the escape of his personal shuttle, carrying a cadre of loyal servants and Zenith Guard. This news is said to have incensed Lord Corax and many of the usually stoic Raven Guard, recalling the brutal methods of the Kiavahran overlords who had once held Deliverance in their thrall, and the Raven Lord swore to bring the Arch-Comptroller to account for his actions. The Raven Guard abandoned the prosecution of Carinae’s conquest, and focussed all of its efforts into locating the escaped Arch-Comptroller.

The Horus Heresy Book III Extermination, p. 153

In the HH Black Book, which would’ve served as a template for the plot of the primarch novel, it’s stated that many Raven Guard commanders, as well as the primarch himself all chose to impulsively go hunt for the Arch-Comptroller, because they had to kill their own allies and because they were reminded of their oppressors on Kiavahr. This action is stemmed from a collective personal vendetta rather than Corax’s own abstract desire for justice. That seems more of a Curze thing. This change was introduced entirely so Corax can be compared to Curze. While Corax normally does peak of justice as well, to him it’s less of a priority than to Curze, and the way it’s addressed in this novel is entirely Curze’s opinion copy-pasted.

While Corax has always being presented as an idealist, he is certainly not hopelessly naive as characterised in his primarch novel. Even if Corax had very good parent figures growing up, he still grew up in a prison world, and not all prisoners there were kind like the political prisoner that found and raised him.

The primarch was no stranger to moral compromise. During the uprisings in Lycaeus he had needed every able man and woman for his freedom fighters and not all of the prisoners on the moon had been political internees. Some had been justly convicted murderers, rapists, thieves and wretches of the worst order. The overthrow of the corrupt regime had meant compromising the punishment – and justice for the victims – of these miscreants, but such was the necessity. In turn, once the techno-cults had been overthrown those that survived had been granted pardon for their deeds during the war, as Corax had been forced to promise them.

Soulforge, Chapter 2 - Gav Thorpe

Some of those criminals were included in his Legion after, because he recognised the need for cruel people, and the rest he freed as promised, even if it goes against his ideals. This is very characteristic of the in-universe values, and demonstrates that while he is an idealist at heart, he recognise the need for compromise in politics.

As well as this, the Emperor had felt fit to reveal the secrets of the Warp to Corax, pretty early on. The details of when and what the Emperor told him differs between versions, but the point stands. The Emperor felt that he could be trusted with this knowledge, and it is a secret he kept well, even from his sons. This would make no sense if he was the way he was characterised in his primarch novel.

While it is known that the Master of Mankind and the XIX th Primarch spoke for long hours, what passed between them remains a matter of conjecture. With the benefit of hindsight, some have claimed that the Emperor spoke to Corax of things men, even some other Primarchs, were not yet ready to hear; of the truth of those powers that seethe within the Warp and the darkness soon to come. Certainly, it appears that when the full horror of the Warmaster’s treachery unfolded there were elements Corax seemed to have been forewarned of, though he only ever passed such knowledge on to his forces as and when they needed and were ready to assimilate it.

Horus Heresy Book III Extermination, p. 133

When considering other sources and Corax’s characterisation from other novel, it seems that the result at Carinaean Sodality is due to a collective impulsive act from the entire Legion, which reveals the unique character of the Raven Guard. However, in the primarch novel, this event is presented as the primarch’s own strategic blunder caused by his own naïveté, exacerbated by his refusal to accept counsel from his commanders. This was done to reveal Corax’s character flaws, in order to contrast him with Curze. However, none of the traits raised in this correspond with other canon material, therefore, this book is not a good source for any character analysis involving Corax.

This also brings me to the next point. His primarch novel had the highest mentions of “Curze” and “Night Haunter” in any novel or short story about Corax. Curze gets mentioned more in this book than the ones taking place straight after their fateful encounter on Isstvan V. While Corax does think about Curze sometimes after the Dropsite Massacre, other traitor primarchs, notably Angron, also gets mentioned together. This makes sense because the entirety of Corax’s primarch novel was intended to act as a foil for Curze, so he kept comparing himself to Curze in story. However, he rarely does that in any of the other novels. And as mentioned above, due to the rampant discrepancies, this novel is not a fit source for character analysis, so this point will largely not be considered.

[End of why Corax primarch novel is toilet paper section, you may skip to here]

However, it is true that despite the vast potential, there is very little actual canon interaction between them. Here are the sections I will be looking at:

Curze’s primarch novel While I have established that the characterisation of Corax by Guy Haley is bad, it seems that the consensus regarding the characterisation of Curze in his primarch novel is accepted by the fan base. Corax’s appearance in this book is short enough that his characterisation is mostly alright, and his response to Curze here is supported by other sources, so it will be considered.

A Raven Guard artefact, intended as a gift for Curze

Their fight at Isstvan V

Two Lords of the Night

The meeting between Corax and Curze that occurred in the flashback of Chapter 6 of Curze’s primarch novel is one of the two canon interactions between them, and this passage revealed a lot of information about how they feel about each other.

'We followed similar paths. We should have had so much in common, and yet Corax always hated me. He thought I was barbaric, cruel. Him! The noble freedom fighter who incinerated untold thousands in atomic fire to secure his great moral victory. He understood the value of atrocity well enough, even if he pretended not to.’

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, Chapter 6 - Guy Haley

This is the passage commonly quoted as proof for how Corax hated Curze. However, as this is taken from Curze’s monologue, it can only prove that Curze thinks Corax hates him, and Curze thinks everyone hates him. In fact, if you look at how Corax treats him in the flashback, the opposite conclusion can be drawn.

One important thing to note about this section is that the flashback section written from Sevatar’s perspective, and he is very biased towards Curze. His comments about either primarch should not be taken as face value. It should also be noted that while it is canon that the Raven Guards and the Night Lords do not like each other, and do not like collaborating on campaigns, it does not mean their primarchs must hate each other extra.

'Brother,' said Corax. 'I come to you without violent intent, but please, explain to me what is going on in this city.’ His voice was soft like the Night Haunter's, though not as sibilant, and with a more measured tone. Sevatar refused to let it beguile him. The threat Corax made was clear enough.

Corax broke the silence first. 'What is the meaning of this, my brother?' he said, gesturing metre-long claws at the mess of the slain. 'What happened to your warriors?' Unable to help himself, the Night Haunter snarled. He caught it and turned it into a mocking smile, but not before all present had seen his anger. He was a predator challenged by something just as dangerous. For a moment, Konrad Curze exhibited weakness. 'I happened to them,’ said Curze evenly. Corax looked over the ruined flesh in the room in disbelief. 'What have you done?' Curze smiled blackly. 'An internal dispute, Lord Corax,’ he said airily. 'A Legion matter, that I have resolved. You must understand, there are many criminals in your Legion also. You have your ways of dealing with those who stray too far from the bounds of good conduct.’ He poked a blade of Mercy through the shattered eye lens of a helm and held it up for Corax to see. ‘This is mine.’ Corax's eyes lingered on the blood staining Curze's chin. ’Then perhaps you could tell me why you are bombarding this already compliant sector?'

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, Chapter 6 - Guy Haley

Throughout this entire exchange, Corax’s demeanour was calm when he asked Curze for answers. Despite the fact that he arrived with his Shadow Wardens fully armed, he left without any violent exchange, meaning he accepted Curze’s explanations.

Curze described this exchange as Corax “affronting“ him, but there is actually nothing aggressive or judgemental about Corax‘s demeanour the entire time. Curze thinks Corax is attacking him, because he thinks everyone hates him, and lashed out briefly in anger, as he felt challenged by Corax’s questioning. This is quite characteristic of their interactions. Curze feels challenged by everything Corax does, and in the following moments of vulnerability, he retaliates through the use of sarcasm and intimidation. He is trying to rile Corax up, for if Corax reacts in anger it shows they’re more similar.

Corax registered that Curze probably ate parts of the Legionaries he killed, but did not comment on the fact, and he is not disgusted by it as Curze expect, as he doesn’t register the moral problem with that. His lack of response is not silent judgement. He genuinely do not think there’s a problem with it, or he would’ve commented. One important point to note is that Corax appears devoid of emotions because he actually does not have opinions on most things, nor does he have a clearly defined moral compass the way Curze does. He also does not process sarcasm, which is partly why he is not offended at all.

Curze's narrowed eyes crinkled with a smile. A little tension bled from the room. 'We are the weapon of fear no other Legion dared to be. We are the glorious Eighth. You think I am a monster. I am a simple tool, like you. We have different uses, though identical edges.’ 'I do not think anything about you,' said Corax. 'Other than the disgust I feel for your methods.’ Curze shrugged. 'You may join the line of all the others who feel the same. I don't care. I am exactly as the Emperor intended me to be. Are you really any better than I, Corax shadow-skulker? The Eighth are open in our murders. The Nineteenth are assassins. We are all killers. We are brothers in method as well as in blood.’

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, Chapter 6 - Guy Haley

This is the entire conversation in a nutshell:

Konrad: You hate me

Corvus: No I don’t

Konrad: It’s OK if you hate me. Everyone hates me

Corvus: But I don’t?

Corax did not, at any point, say he hates Curze. He has no personal opinion on Curze; his main issue here is with Curze bombarding a compliant sector and wasting the Imperium’s resources. Curze’s insistence that everyone, especially Corax, must hate him stems from his self-hatred, and this is especially elevated because Corax is the one out of his brothers most similar to him, a point he also emphasise to Corax. He is the one that likes comparing himself to Corax, not the other way around.

Curze’s insistence that Corax must hate him is stemmed from his own self-hatred and jealousy. He feels better about his hatred for Corax if it’s reciprocated, and believes Corax should hate him, because he hates himself. Everything Curze accuses Corax of calling him is his perception of himself. He thinks he is a monster, he thinks everyone hates him and he thinks Corax is better than him, so he attempts to put those words into Corax’s mouth. It doesn’t matter that Corax denies it, because this is Curze’s perception of himself.

Because of their similarities in physical appearance and designation, Curze is constantly comparing himself to Corax, and considers him to be the better one out of them. Curze is jealous of him, and tries to provoke him and belittle him by insisting they are on the same level. Everything he attack Corax with is something he feels about himself. He does not like that he is a tool of the Emperor, so he provoke Corax with this. Corax is actually aware of this and accepts this role, unlike Curze. He does respond to Curze’s provoking and may not even be aware of it.

He sneered, gnawing at his skin until blood ran. 'I'll tell you why. Envy of his mastery lay behind my hatred. I haunted the night, but Corax owned it.’ Breath hissed through dagger teeth. 'He owned it. My stupid, short-sighted sons thought the Ravens' abilities came from technology given only to the Nineteenth. I saw it was innate. Imagine what I could have done had you given the same gifts to me? How much more perfect a monster I would have been had the shadows loved me as much as they loved Corax!'

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, Chapter 6 - Guy Haley

To Curze, Corax represents a better version of himself, a better possibility. His existence reminds Curze of his own faults, and it pains him, which is why being in Corax’s presence makes me feel challenged. It doesn’t actually matter too much to him what Corax thinks of him, as Corax to him is more like a reflection in a mirror that he projects his feelings onto. He thinks Corax hates him because the better version of himself should hate him.

Corax's black, unreadable eyes rested on Curze for several seconds. 'I will return to my ship. Stop this bombardment. The conquest is falling behind schedule. We risk turning the population further from the Emperor's light.’

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, Chapter 6 - Guy Haley

Corax’s main issue with what Curze was doing here was that bombarding a compliant sector is a waste of the Imperium’s resources and delays the progress of the Great Crusade. He had no issues with Curze personally, nor with the methods he used to dispose of miscreants in his Legion.

'First Captain,' that silky, miserable voice said. 'Does he believe it to be true, that your Legion is a weapon of fear?' 'He does.’ 'Do you believe it?' Sevatar did not reply. ‘I say many of the other Legions see you as a coterie of sadists and murderers,' said Corax. His voice was totally isolated from outside noise, and spoke eerily into Sevatar's helm. 'So I ask you again, do you believe it?' 'My Lord Curze, Sevatar said stiffly, and severed the vox.

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, Chapter 6 - Guy Haley

Ignoring all of Sevatar’s pointed commentary, we can come to the conclusion that Corax is reaching out to him out of concern for his brother. He’s asking for a second opinion because Curze is difficult to communicate with. He reiterated these opinions about the Night Lords neutrally. However, Sevatar is also unwilling to communicate with him.

This is what happens when Corax actually hates someone:

In answer, Perturabo accused Corax of seeking to avoid battle, a crime verging on dereliction for a Primarch of the Legiones Astartes. The two very nearly came to blows, with only the intervention of Leman Russ staying bloodshed.

Horus Heresy Book III Extermination, p. 135

‘I struck Horus once for usurping the victories of the Raven Guard for his own glory, a moment that no doubt festers in the Warmaster’s thoughts. I aim to repeat the insult, whenever I can.‘

Ravenlord, Chapter 7 - Gav Thorpe

No Night Lord was harmed in this exchange, despite the fact that Corax came fully armed with his elites, who clearly wanted a fight as much as the Night Lords. If he hated Curze as much as Curze believes, he would not had left peacefully.

For some unfathomable reason, that made Curze cringe, and he nodded like a rebuked child. His sons wavered in their adoration, then Curze gathered his dignity and his wits. Standing from the pile of the dead, he clothed himself in a primarch's majesty, obliterating memories of the pitiful, cannibal thing he had been a few moments before.

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, Chapter 6 - Guy Haley

As soon as Corax left, so does his influence, and Curze recovers his composure. Being in Corax’s presence makes him go really defensive.

From this exchange, it can be seen that Corax does not hate Curze, and shows concern for him. Curze has complicated feelings for Corax, stemming from jealousy. He sees Corax as a better version of himself, and projects his own self hatred onto Corax. He constantly tries to rile him out, with limited effect.

A Gift

EX TENEBRIS Ex Tenebris is a masterwork bolter fitted with an incredibly sophisticated telescopic scope system. Chapter legend has it that the weapon was forged by Corax himself, as a gift for his wayward brother, the Night Haunter. But the Horus Heresy turned the two Primarchs’ Legions against one another, and Ex Tenebris was instead borne into battle by heroes of the Raven Guard.

Raven Guard Codex 8th edition, p. 58

This is highly unusual because while Corax does create weapons and artefacts, most of these were made for his sons or himself, and there is no record of him crafting such gifts for other primarchs, not even for the ones he is known to be friends with such as Leman Russ and Roboute Guilliman.

The weapon is also designed to fit Curze’s fighting style, a gift with much thought put into it. Clearly, Corax must have like Curze a lot to make such a gift for him.

There are also a lot of implications as to what may have happened. What exactly caused Corax to not give out the gift? The most likely explanation would be that the Heresy happened, but that would mean that the gift was completed quite late, and by that point the Night Lords have already accumulated a reputations among the Legions, and Curze’s mental state has been steadily deteriorating. That means Corax must have cared for him despite all that. If the gift was completed earlier, then another event would’ve been the reason that Corax didn’t give it out. Or perhaps Curze rejected the gift? There is a lot of room for speculation regarding the details, but one thing is clear: There was a point in their relationship where Corax liked Curze enough to craft him a weapon, a treatment normally reserved for his sons.

Battle at Isstvan V

The fateful battle at Isstvan V is also an important point in the relationship. Very little detail was included in the original codex, so the author of the novel had free reign, and his choices here are very interesting, and most likely setting up for future interactions, which unfortunately never happened because Curze went ahead and died.

The most interesting thing about this section is the differential treatment of Corax and Curze of each other, compared to how they treated Lorgar.

And there he stood at the heart of the killing fields, winged and haloed by amorphous contrails of psychic fire, shouting his brother’s name into the storm. Corax answered with a shriek of his own – the call of the betrayer, the cry of the betrayed – and the raven met the heretic in a clash of crozius and claw.

The First Heretic, Chapter 26 - Aaron Dembski-Bowden

This is the start of the fight between Corax and Lorgar. They do not acknowledge each other and get straight into the fighting.

‘What are you doing?’ Corax cried into his brother’s face as their weapons locked. ‘What madness has taken you all?’

‘Answer me, traitor,’ the Raven Lord grunted. His dark eyes were narrowed at the sickening light that haloed Lorgar. ‘You… are a poor reflection of our father… with that psychic gold.’ Lorgar felt himself slipping back in the mud, his boots grinding across the earth as his brother’s strength leaned heavier against him. He couldn’t break the weapon lock this time. Both Corax’s claws clutched at Illuminarum’s haft, burning the handle and the Word Bearer’s hands. ‘I am bringing the truth to humanity,’ Lorgar breathed. ‘You are destroying the Imperium! You are betraying your own blood!’ The wildness in the Raven Lord’s black eyes was something Lorgar had never even imagined before. Corax had always seemed so taciturn, so devoid of passion. That this warrior lay beneath the albino facade was a horrendous revelation.

‘But he lied to us,’ Lorgar spoke through lips that produced more blood than language. ‘Father lied.’ The claws jerked, snagged against Lorgar’s enhanced bones. Corax tore them free, inflicting more damage than the first impaling had done. Blood hissed and popped as it evaporated on the force-fielded blades. ‘Father lied,’ Lorgar said again. He was on his knees, hands clutched over the ruination of his stomach. Corax’s black eyes gave nothing away. He stepped closer, his one functioning claw raised to execute his brother.

The First Heretic, Chapter 27 - Aaron Dembski-Bowden

Corax is questioning Lorgar here, but he is not actually interested in the answer. His words here are more just him venting his anger at betrayal, and by the end of the exchange he is no longer responding to Lorgar at all except with his lightning claws.

Corax looked to meet eyes as black as his, in a face as pale as his own. His claw strained against a mirroring weapon, both sets of blades scraping as they ground against each other. One claw seeking to fall and kill, the other unyielding in its rising defence. Where the Raven Guard primarch’s features were fierce with effort, the other face wore a grin. It was a smile both taut and mirthless – a dead man’s smile, once his lips surrendered to rigor mortis. ‘Corax,’ said the other primarch. ‘Curze,’ Corax said the name as the curse it was. ‘Look into my eyes,’ said the progenitor of the Night Lords Legion, ‘and see your death.’ Corax sought to wrench his claw free, but Curze’s second gauntlet closed on his brother’s wrist. ‘No,’ Curze’s laughter as was joyless as his smile. ‘Do not fly away, little raven. Stay. We are not finished, you and I.‘ ‘Konrad,’ Corax tried. ‘Why have you done this?’ Curze ignored the plea. He turned his void-like eyes on the prone Lorgar, with disgust written plain across his carcass face. ‘Rise from your knees, you accursed coward.’ Lorgar sought to do just that, using his brother’s midnight-blue armour as a crutch to haul himself to his feet. Curze bared his sharpened teeth. ‘You are the foulest weakling I have ever seen, Lorgar.’

The First Heretic, Chapter 27 - Aaron Dembski-Bowden

Contrast this with Corax’s reaction to Curze joining the battle. They address each other by name and look into each other’s eyes. The scene is presented as intimate, and highlights their similarities to each other. If you compare the way Corax asked Curze this question to how he questioned Lorgar before, there is a very obvious difference. In using his personal name and taking on a softer tone, Corax is actually looking for an answer here, and the betrayal he felt here is clearly more personal compared to Lorgar’s.

Curze’s response is very interesting too, the level of insult he is throwing at Lorgar is so much more offensive than what he is saying to Corax, and Lorgar is supposed to be his ally. He is calling his hated enemy pet names while calling his ally ‘coward’ and ‘weakling’.

We have already established that Curze feels challenged in Corax’s presence and shows vulnerability, which he compensates for by sarcasm and intimidation. This is really obvious in this passage as well, Curze uses flowery language which Corax probably does not comprehend. However, comparing to what he is saying to Lorgar, which is his usual level of art of language, what he says to Corax is so tame. He ignores Corax‘s question because he does not know how to answer him, and instead makes a dig at Lorgar, because that’s something he can do easily without losing his composure further.

At this point, Corax only has one functioning lightning claw, and is already spent from his fight with Lorgar. But all Curze did was hold him in place by locking his functioning claw and grabbing his wrist. He has the chance to do a lot more damage if he wish, but he does not. He sees Corax as a better version of himself, and despite how much he claims to hate him, he cannot truly bring himself to actually hurt Corax, because that would destroy the “better future” that Curze could not have. However, he does take sadistic pleasure in seeing some of Corax’s composure break, in dragging the “better one” down with him.

There is very little information about this fight in the codex, however, the author made one very deliberate change: Corax’s lightning claw was broken by Lorgar in the novel, while it was broken by Curze in the codex.

He had lost one lightning claw in battle against his twisted kin, the Night Haunter, but where the other lashed out, his every blow cut an enemy Legionary to ragged shreds and cast steaming viscera on to the thirsting black sands, and when he took to the sky upon his blackpinioned flight pack, it was to descend once more to scythe down scores of Traitors and to rescue pockets of Loyalists who had been cut off and surrounded, falling like lightning on their attackers and allowing them to break out of the killing ground.

Horus Heresy Book III Extermination, p. 33

The Word Bearer smashed the first claw aside, striking the fist with enough force to shatter the gauntlet completely, but even as scythe-long claw blades span off into the surrounding melee, the second claw struck home.

The First Heretic, Chapter 27 - Aaron Dembski-Bowden

This had to have been a deliberate choice on the author’s part, and comparing their battle prowess it would've been more likely that Curze broke it rather than Lorgar. This further emphasises the point that Curze couldn’t physically harm Corax as he symbolise a better possibility.

As well as this, from what Curze has been saying, he does want them to meet again. He wants to continue their state of entanglement, and he does not actually want to kill Corax.

‘Thank you, Konrad.’ Curze spat at Lorgar’s feet. ‘I will let you die next time. And if you…’ The Night Lord trailed off, his black eyes narrowing as he watched the figures appearing at Lorgar’s side. Their armour was crimson ceramite and ridged bone. Great claws, both metallic weapons and fleshy, jointed talons, extended from bestial arms. Every helm was horned. Every faceplate was split by a daemon’s skullish leer. ‘You are so much more than merely foul,’ Curze turned his back. ‘You are rancid in your corruption.’

The First Heretic, Chapter 27 - Aaron Dembski-Bowden

Curze actually hates Lorgar because he perceives him as weak, and this is the level of insults that is thrown. There is no ambiguity and no pet names. Curze makes his distaste known. The mention of a ‘next time’ might be relating to Corax rather than Lorgar. This implies he came here to gloat at Corax rather than to save Lorgar, so if there is a next time, which presumably wouldn’t involve Corax, he would not come save him.

ADB also really like the relationship between Curze and Corax, and contributed the most famous “little raven” line. It is quite unfortunate that there was no further interaction between those two, and unlikely for there to be any more interactions in the future, as Curze went and died, and, for the sake of the integrity of the story, personally I do not think he should be brought back.

This entire passage gave the impression that Curze came here just for Corax, but at the same time could not actually hurt him outright. Corax felt personal betrayal at the appearance of Curze on the traitor’s side. Lorgar existed to serve as a mark for how special their treatment for each other was, since neither of them had a close relationship with him.

After the Heresy

After the Heresy, Corax does indeed hate Curze, because he hated all of the traitor primarchs. He hated them for betraying the Imperium, and for the losses suffered by his Legion on Isstvan V. It is, however, not a personal feud towards Curze, unlike Curze’s feelings about him, which was very much personal.

Konrad Curze and Corvus Corax’s complicated feelings about each other is very interesting, and it’s not as simple as mutual hatred, which is how most of the fandom presents it. Due to their similarities, Curze views Corax as a “better possibility” for himself, and projects his self hatred onto him. Seeing Corax reminds him of his own flaws, which is why it makes him uncomfortable and lash out, claiming to hate him, but he also cannot bring himself to actually destroy this vision of a “better” him. What Corax thinks about him doesn’t actually matter that much to Curze; he believes Corax hates him because by his own values he should.

Corax doesn’t have opinions on most things, and he does not actively seek out relationships with people. However, from his actions, it can be deduced that he does care for Curze before the Heresy. Unlike Curze, he does not have a strong moral compass, so he does not really have a problem with Curze’s methods, not even as much as Curze hates himself, as they all serve the Emperor. It’s also quite likely that he doesn’t register Curze’s sarcasm at all. He is not a man of many words, and his silence can usually be interpreted as acceptance rather than judgement. After the Heresy, Corax hated all traitor primarchs.

Another interesting point about their dynamic is their complete inability to communicate with each other. Curze immediately goes into defensive mode, and start talking exclusively in sarcasm, with the intention of riling Corax up. Corax on the other hand cannot not process this at all, but Curze will treat everything he does as a personal attack. On the other hand, if Corax actually reacts to his provocation, I think their relationship would only be worse. In the end, Curze did succeed, in a way, to make Corax hate him, after the Heresy, just not the way he wanted.

[kilojulietsierra]

Jack & Sam Uni.

Robby is Jacks outward Best Friend but Emory, that’s his Sister/Secret BFF. He values Sam’s opinion above all else, but Emory is a close second.

Emory spends time on the roof too, not to jump or contemplate life, just to sit and decompress before going home.

On the roof is where Emory tells Jack she’s scared she’ll die alone and this job took so much of her life. Jack jokingly says ‘we can buy some land and all live on a compound together’. But Jack is Emory’s emergency contact, has medical power of attorney. She love her girls but Jack is her bff too.

- “It’s starting to get crowded up here”

- Walsh looks over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Thought I would come see what all the fuss is about?”

- Jack nods hands in his pockets as he closes the distance in slow steady strides “I need to be worried?”

- She shakes her head. “I’m on this side of the rail aren’t I?”

- “That’s how it starts” he chuckled

- “I like the view though. Kind of soothing”

- Jack nods but doesn’t say anything. Just leans on the railing beside her.

- It’s quiet for a long time.

- “He’s getting remarried”

- Jack nods deeply. That explains it.

- “Talk to him?”

- She shook her head “his sister messaged me on Facebook. Asked if I had heard.”

- Jack didn’t really have a response so he just waited.

- “First time in years it hurts again. Fucking sucks”

- “Bet it does. You made the right choice. You know that right?”

- “Oh yeah of course. It’s not really that. I think it’s just… that he beat me too it I guess. Feels wrong, he was… how did he find someone before I did?”

- “You want a real answer or my answer?”

- “Yours”

- “He’s a douche, an abusive, manipulative piece of shit and he just put the mask on long enough to fool someone else”

- Walsh laughed “where was that attitude when I married him?”

- “If we were friends when you had met him I’d have said the same thing”

- “Oh my God! We are friends!?” Emery laughs a little less bitter this time

- Jack snorts and shoves her sideways with his shoulder. “Don’t get too excited about it”

- “You know, it sucks to be single and be friends with you two?” When jack looks sideways at her confused she continues “you and Sam are so fucking good at it and I didn’t even really realize it, maybe until Sophie came around, that it makes the rest of us… I don’t even know” she stops to laugh and watches an ambulance approaching from a few blocks away. “Just good enough isn’t good enough anymore”

- Jack is quiet. Watches the ambulance too. “Idk that we’re a model to build on”

- “You are though” she looks him in they eye “the shit you two have been through together, the way you love each other. Robby and his new girl, Yolanda and Sophie, they all look at you guys that way.”

- They’re both quiet when the phone rings in his pocket “Abbot. Have Ellis start on it. I’ll be down in a minute” he looks back to Walsh, “I guess I’m sorry we fucked up your expectations for marriage” it’s only half a joke

- “Am I too much?”

- “Some days yeah. Ow fuck. And mean”

- “Feels like all I’ve got is this job. This fucking hospital”

- “You got us” he meets her eyes. The phone rings in his pocket again and he grumbles “yeah. On my way” he shoves it back in his pocket. “For what it’s worth, I’m not worried about you. If you’re brave I can tell Sam you want her to set you up with someone.”

- “Oh Jesus please don’t”

- “Chicken. Worked for Robby”

- “Theoretically. I’ll believe it when I see it

- Jack laughed “ I have to go set an ulna fracture. You good?”

- Walsh nodded and stood up straight. “If I ask for a hug are you going to give me shit?”

- He smiled “not tonight” Jack wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her tight. “Want yo come consult on this and kill some time downstairs?”

- “Kinda”

- They walked back to the access door and Jack laughed “worst case scenario Sam an I can buy some land and we can all do the family compound thing. Just live with us forever”

- “Feels like that would turn into the wrong kind of compound real fast. Honestly knowing you I’m a little concerned you even brought it up”

- “Sam went down this TikTok rabbit hole the other night and planned a whole thing. So don’t blame me”

- “Jesus you two really are perfect for each other”

- “See there’s someone out there for everyone. You’ll be fine”

[serenadeonacanoe]

Untitled, 2025 (GD x OFC) Chapter 7: March 25th

Pairing: G-Dragon/Kwon Jiyong x OFC Genre/Warnings: Slow Burn, Tour Life, fluffyfluff, yearning, eventual smut, 2014 ==> 2020 ==> 2025.

It’s 2025 and the King of K-Pop is back. He and his music are everywhere. On the charts, all over social media and smack in the middle of Maddie’s work schedule. Sometimes she still can’t believe this is her actual job now - documenting the chaos behind the scenes and trying to make sure no one on his team gets lost, bruised or accidentally starts a viral scandal.

What’s even harder to believe? That she and Jiyong met five years ago. Actually… scratch that. They met ten years ago too. Time has a weird sense of humor like that and things get blurry when you’re busy, nostalgic, and maybe just a little bit smitten. Also, life throws more daisies your way than you’d expect.

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

More on AO3 —————————————–

Summer 2014

The sky looks too cheerful for how I feel. Blue, sunny, a few lazy clouds. Birds are chirping. It’s offensively peaceful for a day full of hangovers. I’m standing by the gravel driveway, sunglasses on, hoodie up, suitcase beside me like I can’t wait to leave and… well yeah, I really can’t wait to leave. Everyone’s pretending to be fine after last night’s party. Maybe they are, but it smells like old beer and regret here.

I’m not mad. Just ready to go. “Hey, Daisy.” I turn. It’s Jiyong. Of course. He's holding a coffee cup like a prize. Sweater hood pulled low, hair underneath a mess, tired. Still looks too good for someone who should probably be hiding from the world. “You leaving without saying goodbye?” he asks, voice all smooth like this is charming, like it’s a joke. I blink. He smirks. I hate that it still does things to me.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” “Oh wow. You really just said that?” He shrugs. “You’re not mad?” he asks, stepping a little closer. “No” I say honestly. “Just not impressed.”

He tips his head like that’s new information. Like I’m supposed to be flattered he’s even here talking to me. I can tell he’s still drunk. Or maybe that’s just who he is. His smile falters. Just for a second. But he catches himself and goes back to grinning like this is still salvageable.

That’s when Daesung walks past us with a huge plastic bottle of water. “You two flirt way less sexy in daylight” he says without stopping. “We’re not flirting.” I call out after him. Jiyong raises an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself.”

And that is when I walk away. Not fast. Not dramatically. Just done. I’ve got a train to catch and enough dignity left to not waste another breath on him. Still… in the car, on the ride to the station, head resting against the window, I find myself replaying the look on his face. That tiny crack in his confidence. That moment where maybe - just maybe - he didn’t have it all together. Not that it changes anything. But it lingers a little.

March 2025

It’s the 25th. The album is out. Übermensch is here. A couple of days have passed since that snowy walk but it feels like a lifetime ago.

We’ve seen each other nearly every day since - at work. Surrounded by people. Surrounded by deadlines. Surrounded by too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Everyone is exhausted in that giddy, running-on-adrenaline kind of way. No one has time to breathe. Let alone flirt.

We’ve texted. Brief little things. Updates. Memes. One photo of one of his cats. Nothing romantic. Nothing that said hey, remember how we kissed like our lives depended on it?

It’s fine. We’re fine. I’m not spiraling. Okay. I might be spiraling just a bit.

I didn’t want to be of course and at first I didn’t even want to admit it, but fuck. It’s always in the back of my head.

The worst part is he seems normal. Not cold. Just… busy. Charming to everyone, polite to me. A couple of long glances across meeting rooms, but nothing that lands. I start to wonder if I made it bigger in my head than it was. Maybe it was the snow. Maybe he felt something for five minutes and then went back to being whoever he is now. A pop star with a schedule that has its own gravitational pull. I tell myself not to take it personally.

The day comes and goes. Some of it - a lot of it actually - feels like a dream. Hard to grasp, in a way, because we worked so long and hard on this album. It’s hard to believe it’s finally here, people are listening.

Tonight is the album release party at a swanky venue downtown and I was hoping to enjoy the night but I still feel so much pressure when I get ready. This is still work after all. Maybe come tomorrow it will get better? Or will we forever run after the next thing and then the next thing… Or am I just being anxious because of everything?

When I arrive it feels good… but at the same time I disappear into the background. There are so many people I know and so many I know of. Pictures are being taken and flashes illuminate the otherwise dark red-tinted room. Is this a party? Or just the photo op of a party?

I sigh at myself. What did I expect.

Well… at least a pretty tight hug.

Instead I try to at least have a good time.

It’s after midnight and I am standing in a hallway toward the back entrance of the venue. I needed a quieter moment, a strong coffee and a moment to lean against this table after dancing for quite a while. My feet hurt. My voice is hoarse. A part of me wishes I was drunker. Another just wants to go to bed. And a third one wishes I wasn’t thinking about Ji.

Of course it’s hard not to. I’ve seen him all night. Deep down I know I’m being hard on myself but what can you do.

Daesung walks past me toward the exit, probably to sneak a smoke outside and grins wide at me. I know that grin. He’s trying to make me smile as well because he can tell I am not a hundred percent, he is good at that. The sound of his footsteps gets me out of my thoughts. I check my phone once he’s gone and wonder whether I should just go home. My duties for today are done done done.

That’s when a second pair of footsteps comes up, much quieter and not quite as startling anymore.

When I look up, Jiyong has already walked up next to me. He’s now also leaning against the table and just props his chin onto my shoulder, pretending to look at my phone with me. A hesitant smile from him. Then me smiling as well.

My heart is about to explode. I feel… shy and somewhat relieved. Confused but happy. It’s a lot. “Hi,” he says, looking up. He doesn’t move away. Still leans over at me, but now we’re on eye level. “Hi.”

For a second we just… look at each other.

It’s strange how familiar he feels and also how much space we’ve let grow between us the last few days.

“I’ve been hoping to catch you alone all day. Several days actually.”

Mad, almost concerning, how these two sentences from him make all that spiraling disappear for a moment. Thank fucking god. I wasn’t alone in this. Well, I was. But we were on the same page. Just not together, unfortunately.

“Busy. I get it,” I answer, trying to be casual for some reason, pretty sure that my face gives me away anyway. To be honest, I have no idea why I say that. It’s stupid.

He nods. Then adds, almost shyly “I couldn’t stop thinking about you though.”

I swallow, look down at the steam from my coffee cup. Then I sigh all my relief away and now I’m the one who lets her head fall to his shoulder.

Ji moves an arm around my back and puts his cheek to my head and we just stand there for a second.

There are so many things I want to say but now that I have the chance my head is so empty. I just want to be here with him… quiet for a moment. And so we are.

Until I finally break away to look into his eyes again.

“I hope… I really hope this album does as well as it deserves. Like… you deserve. I hope people appreciate it because…”

Why am I getting teary-eyed. I haven’t even expressed what I mean. That I’m proud of him. That he doesn’t need the praise but I still hope he gets it because the music is so great and every stupid little detail and… I’m tired but happy now and… too many words. Too little at the same time, so I stop and stand there with slightly open mouth.

He just looks at me and presses his lips together. Raises one hand to gently let the side of his thumb glide across my temple. Nods slowly a couple of times, as if to say It’s okay, I get it. And I think he really does.

I take another deep breath and then I just hug him. That might be reckless but I don’t care, because finally, the pressure is gone. All of it. Work and the stupid questions in my head. Nothing is clear yet, but I think there is nothing I can do.

Of course that is when Daesung appears again, muttering curse words and something about “nobody has lighters anymore these days.”

But he stops right away, mid-sentence, mid-step and starts grinning when he sees us. Makes another four steps until he is right next to us. Throws his arms around both of us at once like we’re in a sitcom.

“OH… my gawd” he practically shouts. “You guys are totally fucking.”

I almost choke. Jiyong makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “We’re not,” I manage. “Yet” Jiyong adds under his breath.

Daesung gasps like he just won a prize. Gossip Gold, basically. “I KNEW IT” he announces to absolutely no one. “Oh this is crazy, I can’t believe you finally… oh wow.” Then he bounds off again, still laughing. I panic for a second before I realize that whatever this is is safe with him. He loves gossip but he’s been doing this for long enough.

We’re left blinking. Jiyong looks at me with wide, amused eyes. “Well… that’s one way to get found out.” I nod, laughing into my cup before I take another sip.

And just like that, everything that was heavy lifts. Not everything is fixed. Not everything is said. But we’re back in orbit.

Jiyong shifts just a little closer. Not obvious. But close enough that I can feel the warmth of his hand brushing against mine. And then, gently, deliberately, his fingers slip into the space between mine. I glance down like my hand suddenly belongs to someone else. His thumb grazes mine once. Just once. And I swear to god it short-circuits something in my chest. I look up at him. He’s still smiling, but softer now. Like we’re in a bubble and he knows it. His hand tightens just slightly around mine.

Then I start smirking because I just remembered that... “So… yet? We aren’t fucking yet?” He audibly sucks in some air, rolls his eyes and is actually a tiny bit embarrassed, I can tell. But there is also a hint of a mischievous smile on his lips and the combination of all that is so intoxicating.

Instead of saying anything he moves both arms back around my waist and rests his face back against my collarbone. His currently very green hair is tickling me a little and I move one arm around his back, the other to the back of his head. Let my fingers glide into his (well, a little crispy) hair. For a second I close my eyes while there is the biggest smile on my face. I am so goddamn happy.

It’s a short moment that could have ended quite badly. We got luckier than we probabyl deserved there. So in the end that is all it is. A few minutes of hugging and shared silence. We return to the party hesitantly but both know it’s better that way.

By the time I get home, my cheeks are still warm. It’s the alcohol and the fact that it’s still really cold outside. 

But it’s the hand-holding. It’s the yet. It’s how much lighter I feel compared to a couple of hours ago.

I kick off my shoes, toss my coat on the back of the chair and lean against the wall for a second, just breathing. The city is quiet outside my window. My phone is still in my hand. I stare at the screen, thumb hovering, considering. Maybe I’ll just send a goodnight. Something chill. Something casual and completely non-deranged like hey hope you made it home safe and also I’m still thinking about your hand in mine and my brain’s made of fireworks now ok cool sleep tight.

Before I can type anything, my phone buzzes.

Jiyong: made it home, you there yet? Jiyong: you looked really pretty tonight btw

I smile so hard it hurts.

Me: same Me: home I mean Me: but also… thanks Me: you didn’t look too bad either Me: for someone emotionally attacked by daesung

Jiyong: tragic

Me: he might have printed shirts already Me: there might be a shipping name

Jiyong: might take me years to recover Jiyong: unless you and I can hang out again sometime soon Jiyong: that might help Jiyong: just us this time

I bite my lip. Consider typing something witty, but then don’t. What he wrote didn’t make much sense, but I am so glad he asked.

Me: I’d like that

I beam. Alone in my apartment. At my phone. Like an idiot. But not really an idiot. I am not an idiot. I am just fucking smitten. Why be unkind to myself about that. It feels amazing.

Me: Soon?

Jiyong: Yes please Jiyong: Sleep tight, Dais.

[spencersmopbucket]

Beach | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Summary: A hot evening on the beach with your husband, Finnick. Themes & Warnings: fluff, sweet husband!Finnick, gets kind of spicy at some point, smut implications

If you could say one word about your day today, you'd say hot.

District Four's heat wave had come upon you, drawing sweat, sunburns, and exposed skin. You worked as a medicine woman -- your little shack got extra hot on days like this, trapping heat in the corners and the upstairs, making you sticky with sweat and eager to relieve yourself in the crashing waves. On these days, you always wore a bathing suit under your clothes. You knew where you'd be when you were done.

Finnick worked down on the dock -- a fisherman. No boats were being sent out today. Today was maintenance day. The men worked to make sure the docks and ships remained in good shape, brandishing wrenches and nets. He got out earlier than you, shockingly.

You worked until 5 o'clock. Finnick finished at three on maintenance days.

You were grinding up herbs at the counter, pushing your sticky hair from your eyes and grumbling at the mixture. It stuck to the sides, making your job that much harder. You hadn't even noticed the time on the clock -- 5:03. You also hadn't noticed the door to your hut open, pushing more hot air inside.

You didn't notice until you felt familiar hands on you, grabbing your waist from behind and turning you towards him. You, though irritated, immediately had a curve to your lip. A little smile. You couldn't resist joy when Finnick appeared.

“It's past five, silly,” he hummed, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “It's too hot to even consider staying after.”

Your smile grew as his fingers brushed your cheek, his skin warm from the sun and smelling faintly of saltwater and citrus soap.

“I was almost done,” you mumbled, but even you didn’t believe it. Not with the way the heat clung to your back and the sweat dripped down your spine. You leaned into his touch without thinking.

Finnick grinned, that boyish tilt of his mouth that always, always made your knees a little weak. “Almost done? That’s what you said last time. Then I came back an hour later and found you passed out on the floor with rosemary stuck to your forehead.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That happened once.”

“Once is enough, sweetheart,” he leaned in and kissed your temple, the gesture so soft it made your stomach flip. “Come on.” He murmured. “Let’s go cool off. I’ve been waiting for hours.”

You sighed dramatically, setting the mortar and pestle down. “Fine. But if I sunburn again, I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll rub aloe on you personally.” He winked, already tugging you toward the door.

“You'd like to!” You giggled, rolling your eyes. “That's not even a fair punishment.”

Finnick’s grin widened as he pulled you out into the golden, sweltering air. “Sweetheart,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist as you walked down the sandy path toward the shore, “you say punishment like it’s not my favorite word.”

You bumped your hip into his, your laughter light and effortless. “Don’t tempt me, sailor.”

“Oh, I live to tempt you,” he shot back, tugging you closer. “It’s literally my full-time job when I’m not hauling nets or fixing boats.”

The sun blazed above, and the salt-kissed breeze was a poor match for the rising temperature -- but his presence alone made it easier to breathe. Somehow, he always did. Even when things were too loud, too heavy, or too hot, Finnick made it feel like less of a burden.

You reached your beach spot, tucked away behind dunes and wild grasses, a cove hidden from view. The kind of place you’d found together, years ago, and had quietly claimed as your own. Here, there were no Capitol whispers, no ghosts, no responsibilities. Just wind and waves.

Finnick dropped your hand just long enough to peel his shirt off and you swore the sun lingered on his skin longer than it did on anything else. He was a god. Tan skin, rippling muscles, messy hair and bright sea glass eyes. The most gorgeous thing you'd seen in your life.

“I hate how attractive you are,” you muttered, shielding your eyes as he pulled you into the surf. The water provided immediate relief, though the sun still beat down on your skin.

“You’ve said that before,” he replied, wading deeper into the water with a playful glint in his eye. “Usually right before you kiss me.”

“Oh, is that what you’re after?” You raised a brow, splashing him as you approached. “I thought you brought me here to cool off.”

“I brought you here to undress you with less guilt,” he quipped, winking.

You rolled your eyes, then lunged -- arms wrapping around his neck as you half-jumped into the water and half-onto him. He caught you easily, laughing, leaning his forehead down to yours as he traced your curves -- sunlight and water making them that much more tempting. His lips found yours before you could tease him again, warm, confident, familiar. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl in the sand and your body forget the heat entirely.

His lips tasted like salt and the pina colada chapstick he was so fond of. You were kind of fond of it too when he was kissing you. You ran your fingers through the hair just above his neck, tugging slightly.

He groaned, pulling your body closer to him. It still wasn't enough for Finnick -- it never was. So, he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and forcing your torsos together. The movement sent a rush of heat through your spine, the good kind, the kind that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the man holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Your breath hitched, your forehead pressing to his again as his arms wrapped snugly around you beneath the water, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs. He was solid beneath you, warm despite the ocean, every inch of him flush against your slick, sun-kissed skin.

“This what you meant by cooling off?” you murmured against his lips, a teasing lilt in your voice even as your pulse thundered in your ears. Finnick grinned -- that slow, crooked grin that always came before he said something completely inappropriate.

“I meant cooling off, but I didn’t say I’d behave while we did it.”

You giggled, nose brushing his. “You never behave.”

“Never claimed to,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours again, feather-soft and patient. “Not with you.”

Another string of kisses -- more urgent. It was almost as if he aimed to devour you, to permanently have the taste of you in his mouth. His tongue traced your lips, looking for entry, and you opened up. He tasted how he usually did. Minty, because Finnick always chewed gum at work. One broad hand held you at his hip -- the other came to your waist, toying with the tied-up string of your bikini bottoms. His hands were warm, but you could feel the nature of them change.

His lips lifted from yours, a string of spit tying you together. Then, he ducked his head again. You gasped as he started a sloppy line of kisses -- neck to collarbone, collarbone to shoulder.

Your gasp turned into a breathless moan, swallowed by the sound of waves breaking gently behind you. Finnick’s lips were everywhere, messy and hot against your sun-warmed skin, his teeth grazing lightly as he found the sensitive spot just beneath your collarbone. You shivered -- not from the breeze, not from the water, but from him.

“Finnick…” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the lap of the tide and the pulse in your ears.

“Mmm?” he hummed against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight through your spine.

His hand dipped lower, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip beneath the knot of your bikini, slow and teasing. He was still holding you up in the water, your legs locked tight around him, your back arching just slightly as he pressed you closer.

“Anyone could see us,” you breathed, though your voice lacked any true protest.

“Then let them,” he murmured back, biting softly at your shoulder. “Let them see how much I love my wife.”

Your fingers twisted in his damp hair, tugging again, a silent, needy response, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound dark and full of want.

But he slowed, just slightly, pulling back to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, but his expression softened with something deeper, something that made your heart ache a little in the best way.

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” he said quietly, earnestly. “Just say it.”

You didn’t say a word.

You leaned in, brushing your lips over his, slow, sure, reverent.

“Let me take you home,” he murmured. “Put you in bed. Make you forget how hot the sun was.”

You smiled, cheeks flushed, heart full. “Home first. Then aloe. Then maybe…”

“Then definitely,” he promised, voice dark with affection. “I’m not letting you out of my arms tonight. Not for anything.”

And true to his word, when he carried you from the water, fingers laced with yours, sun setting at your backs, you knew you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

[nijigasakilove]

BAAAAANG THEY STUCK THE ENDING. Greatest modern Gundam. A love letter to OG fans. I still wanted more episodes, but the hype moments were just too much for me to deny this greatness. This was perfect. I was really nervous how they’d wrap everything up in such a short period of time, but the mad lads went above and beyond. Now do more in this timeline/multiversal era plesse.

There’s a lot to unpack here, but I’ll start with the Shuji stuff. I’m still a little confused on who or what exactly he’s supposed to be. We all thought Amuro would be the one piloting the RX 78-2. Is Shuji’s Amuro’s spirit or what? But we hear Amuro in the Gquuuuuux later on.. Either way, the fact he’s basically been chasing Lalah from timeline to timeline erasing these worlds she’s made is crazy. He’s basically the Gundam version of the TVA. Poor thing never stopped and asked himself if there were another way.

Lmaooo at Char packing up Kycilia very similar to how he did in the original timeline “from this point forward, you can keep Gihren company” 😭 it’s even crazier when you remember she was just praising he and Sayla as ideal kids that made her want to become a mother. Somethings never change I guess.

Some of the best 3DCGI animation you’ll ever see in this episode. Char vs Chalia, the GFreD and Gquuuuuux vs Gramps, it was incredible. Studio Khara brought their A game to this and you’d expect nothing less really. I loved the animation in the EVA rebuilds, think it fits Gundam very well. That Machu and Nyaan tag team fight felt like past meets present which is fitting because that’s basically what Gquuuuuux as a series is. I fucking lost it when we got a giant force ghost gramps tho 😂

“I’m not alone because the gquuuuuux was always by my side” OH SHIT THEY WENT FULL EVANGELION!! EVEN DOWN TO THE SUIT ROAR. The OST even feels like an EOE remix lmao. The last 8 minutes is where I started jumping up and down because BITCH DID SHUJI JUST CONFESS TO MACHU AND A KISS?!!! WHAT!!

So the power of love saves the day after all, that Kira-Kira explosion at the end was absolutely beautiful. Really this was the best possible ending, I wanted more Kycilia, but you could never rest peacefully knowing she was in charge of Zeon. Sayla being the leader in this timeline is like Minerva in Unicorn era, she’ll lead with kindness. CHAR AND LALAH REUNION!!! This means everything to me, they finally get to be happy together. And Nyaan and Machu finally reach earth. Nyaan has a place where she belongs now. WE EVEN GOT MF ANQQI BACK IN THE SHOW HELLO?!!

Gquuuuuux isn’t without its flaws, but idc man I loved this shit. The nostalgia bait was too strong for me to resist and I love evangelion so this was basically two of my fave franchises mashed together and it just worked. I just want them to do more with this and start giving us more mainline UC stuff past unicorn as well. Gundam is too damn good not to milk better than sunrise are doing!!

[review](https://myanimelist.net/reviews.php?id=566539)

[littlepinkbirdie]

Between Every Breath

The drive to the hospital felt both too fast and far too long.

Every bump in the road rattled through you like thunder. You gripped Lewis’s hand with one and the car door handle with the other, eyes shut tight as another contraction rolled through.

“We’re okay, babe,” he kept saying, voice soft but certain. “You’re doing amazing. Just keep breathing. You’ve got this.”

You didn’t speak until it passed. “If they make me fill out paperwork first, I will riot.”

He laughed, relieved to hear your voice. “Duly noted.”

The second your foot crossed the hospital threshold, the nurses were there. One brought a wheelchair, but you waved her off.

“I need to walk. I need to move.”

Your mom nodded knowingly. “That’s good. That’s your body working with you.”

You were checked in and led to a birthing suite — warm lights, soft colors, and the faint scent of lavender from a diffuser someone had thoughtfully set up.

The nurse took your vitals, confirmed your dilation, and smiled gently.

“You’re progressing beautifully. He’s on his way.”

You breathed through another wave, leaning on Lewis, forehead to his chest as he whispered, “Just like that, love. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

For the next hour, you walked the hallways.

Your mom and sister flanked you while Lewis stayed glued to your side, his hand under your elbow when you stumbled or froze through a contraction. You stopped every few minutes to breathe, to sway, to cry quietly into his shoulder when the pain hit hard.

Other people passed by — doctors, nurses, patients — but they faded into a blur. It was just you and him.

“You're doing it,” he said each time, forehead pressed to yours. “He's coming to us. One breath at a time.”

Back in the room, a nurse brought in a birthing ball. You eased onto it slowly, arms resting on the edge of the bed, rocking gently back and forth while Lewis kneeled in front of you, rubbing slow circles into your lower back.

Your sister offered you ice chips, your mom squeezed your hand.

His mom sat nearby, eyes shining, hands clasped. She didn’t speak much — just kept offering a steady, quiet presence that somehow made everything feel less overwhelming.

Your dad paced a little. Your brother peeked in once, panicked, said, “I don’t know what to do with my hands,” and was immediately handed a coffee run assignment.

After a while, the nurse came in and gently encouraged you to lie down for a while — not to stop the movement, but to help your body rest for what was ahead.

Lewis helped you settle into the bed, elevating your knees with pillows and brushing your damp hair off your forehead with trembling fingers.

“You’re so strong,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “You’re doing the hardest thing in the world, and I swear you’ve never looked more beautiful.”

You didn’t have the energy to reply — you just wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding him close as another contraction tightened deep through your spine.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.

He stayed.

Counting your breaths. Rubbing your arm. Letting you grip his hand hard enough to leave nail marks. Wiping your tears and reminding you that you weren’t alone. That your son was almost here. That you were doing it.

The room quieted again. Monitors beeped steadily. A nurse dimmed the lights. And your family — your sister on one side, your mom on the other, Lewis in front of you — became your anchor.

It hurt.

It was hard.

But you’d never felt so held in your life.

[yanfluffery]

Platonic Yan!Old man!Eijirou with Neighbor!Reader

Order placed by : 🪽 anon :]

Reader is written to be 18-20 years old

Thank you for this wonderful request! This was such a fun concept to write!! I do think something possessed me when writing this…

Only a couple of months ago a moving truck had entered the neighborhood. Parking in front of the house next to Eijirou, who had been watching curiously from his mailbox. It’s been a long while since he’s seen anyone new move into the area, his interest immediately piqued. His hand rested on the mailbox's handle as if forgetting why he was even there. Just watching as moving guys unloaded the truck, waiting to say hi to the new neighbor.

Then you came out from around the corner, carrying boxes that looked far too heavy with ease. His eyes focused on you as you walked towards the door. You were young, that much could be seen. He didn’t realize he was staring until you turned to wave at him. Flashing a bright, friendly smile as you quickly greeted him before walking inside. He couldn’t explain why it affected him so much. But he didn’t hesitate to return the gesture.

Even after he went back inside he was still watching you from the front window. Standing idly in his kitchen, just watching you haul your stuff inside. It didn’t take long until you were done and telling the moving crew thank you and goodbye. You were strong and polite, something he noted mentally about you, and something he admired as well. Now he was wondering how to formally introduce himself to you soon.

***

The day came sooner than he anticipated. Even in his retirement Eijirou still enjoyed working out. Though his body couldn’t manage his old routines anymore as he aged. He made the effort to get up in the morning for a quick run. As he was jogging past your house one morning you were walking out front at the exact time. Catching his eye once again, the temporary distraction caused him to stumble over his own feet.

Even though you watched him steady himself you still panicked. Having almost watched this old guy fall flat on the concrete. Quickly hopping down your steps you walked towards him and spoke. Concern etched on your face and voice. “You okay, sir?”

Eijirou turned to look down at you with a nod, a low laugh followed after. You were much shorter than he had expected. The genuine worry in your gaze made him hold back another laugh. Strong, polite, and caring, could you get any sweeter? Honestly it might just kill him. He turned to properly face you and answered your question.

“I’m alright, kid, don’t worry. And no need to call me sir, makes me feel old.” He vaguely mumbled that last part but you still caught it. Earning a giggle out of you, the sound of which made his heart flutter. Maybe you could get sweeter.

***

The months passed, and you two only grew closer. Forming a friendship as you saw it. Whenever you needed help with anything he’d be there. And in return you would come over and check up on him. It made him feel less alone, he didn’t realize how much he missed having someone around. Someone to look after and care for. And every time you left it made his chest ache. There’s definitely more to this than a neighborly bond.

That’s what he believed, that every time you came over it was more than you being kind. You just wanted an excuse to see him. But you didn’t need an excuse, he’s more than happy to have you over whenever. Maybe even full time. You’d even joke about how you basically live with him and to say he was opposed would be a lie.

Dragging the trash bag behind him into the night, Eijirou gave pause as he heard the muffled sounds of crying nearby. Turning his head to the source he immediately made out your figure in the dark. Sitting on your porch steps with your head in your hands. He almost dropped the bag when he saw your current state. Instead he set it down on the ground before walking towards you. His hand finding its way to your shoulder.

“Hey, kid, what’s the matter?” He tried to keep his usual playful tone yet the genuine worry seeped through. You looked like a wreck, you’re quiet muttering into your hands didn’t help much. But he stayed patient and waited for you to speak up. What you said next made his brows furrow and lips pursed.

“I… I got fired, and I just… don’t know what to do” You sobbed as you finally lifted your head up. You couldn’t believe it, moved out of your parents’ place not long ago and you were already having troubles. So much for being a responsible, young adult. “Cause, who knows how long until I find a job again—”

The warm embrace of Eijirou’s arms wrapping around you cuts off your overthinking ramblings. Burying your face in his chest as your tears continued and bled into the fabric of his shirt. The wheels turned in his head as the both of you sat silently for a moment. You were tired, the way you could barely keep your eyes open from, from all the crying. He breathed in before opening his mouth to speak.

“Oh, honey, why don’t you come over and I'll get you something to drink? We can talk more once you’ve calmed down.” The quiet hum of agreement was all he needed before he helped you to your feet. Leading you towards his house and letting you inside. Missing the faint click of the lock as he shut the door behind you both, closing you both in.

Maybe you could stay here with him.

[tyunningism]

3- “He’s not a stripper that’s Taehyun”

nav ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥before ₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ next

warning !! sexual jokes n' innuendos

Written & Soc med sections, remember not to skip !!

Finally finishing your last lecture of the day you swivel on your chair to face Jungwon, who albeit voluntarily works as a dance instructor for little bratty kids who have no desire to become any good, looks like he’s decaying on the spot.

“How did you go from a 3 to a 1. Those dark circles are insane..”

“Actually fuck off and see how tiring 7/11 is for you.” Tucking in his seat he slings a bag over his shoulder and waits for you to finish packing up your countless scraps of paper you’ve ripped in to pieces, stuffing your unit of a laptop in your already squeezed bag and clutching on to the half water half iced americano you paid ten times what you should’ve for.

“First shift today?” You hum at his question, not because you didn’t want to talk to him, but because you quite frankly have no clue what you’re feeling or doing right now; constantly overshadowed by the thoughts of making a good impression on the colleague you’re working with today.

“Excited to see the girl I’m working with though, found her on twt.”

Seriously, the moment you get there you’re asking for a blow out tutorial because it’s perfect in her profile pic.

“If she’s hot tell her to ring me.” Jungwon jokes whoch only lands him a slap to his back launching him forward a couple more steps.

“Eww! You’re so gross !!” Your hands push open the double doors leading to the campus exit,

“Your timeline is more worrying than anything I said today.” Your eyes pierce through his as you huff.

“You don’t get it, it’s satire wonnie, no I don’t actually like buff men with whipped cream topped on their nips.”

“You sure?”

“Well maybe just a little bit..”

The bus you were supposed to be on to go to work fades out of your vision by the second- not even bothering to wait an extra minute before leaving for the next stop.

“Jungwon I’m gonna cry double u tee eff.” The last thing you want is to make the impression on Yeonjun that you can’t time yourself for shit as you groan obscenely.

“Maybe if you took less time packing up in that lecture hall you would’ve made it.”

“Oh don’t make it about that agai- Kai !!! Kai !! Wait up!-“ waving ecstatically you rush over to the familiar brunette and sit yourself down on to the cramped back seat space of his bike.

“Can you drop me off at Tubatu street or someone near? Pleasee, it’s really urgent!” Instinctively you clasp your hands together and look up to him desperately hoping that the time you spent together as chemistry project partners in high school was enough to land you a free ride.

And it’s not like he has the heart to turn you down anyway, not when he’s so timid he could-

“Sorry, can’t.” He shrugs and scratches the back of his neck but attempts to put on a sweet-ish smile.

Your jaw drops to the floor because the Kai from high school was such a kiss-ass you felt sorry for him everytime. “Kai who taught you that!!??”

“Yeonjun hyung, I was just joking I can still take you-” At the sound of his name you quickly protest back-

“Wait! Yeonjun’s my boss and I really need to be there at the 7/11 right now so can you pleasee drop me off?”

He only responds by chuckling at your flushed face before he starts pedalling off of the campus grounds, ready to poke fun at you for seeming so desperate.

“You’ve gotten meaner Kai, do you know that? If you really did leave me there to fend for myself I’d resent you for life!” You gently slap at his back which only erupts a couple more hearty giggles out of him, “Even if you weren’t my chem partner in high school I wouldn’t be able to turn you, let alone anyone, down. Andd it’s the second turn on the right.”

“Know that already Kai, I live ‘round here but thank you!” You dramatically hug him like he’s your life saviour before you hop off his bike and pat down your jeans. It’s nice to see that he hasn’t changed much since you last saw him, still as easygoing and nice as ever.

Though..you forgot to tell Kai that you really don’t know how to get to the back door of the 7/11 yet, so you pull out your phone-which is barely hanging on from forgetting to charge it when you were binge watching the rookie- only to see that your fellow coworker’s already quick on her feet to send you a message first.

Getting a bit sidetracked by her texts you swivel around the sketchiest back alley ever- spotting three exact doors at the end of it, unsure of which one was supposed to lead you in to the 7/11 you can only gently push to see which was one open, because surely they’d leave the back door accessible for a new employee to enter through.

So you opt for the only door which opens on your left, swinging at full force and a radiant “Hello!” to absolute crickets, your eyes scan what was supposed to be the ‘staff room of a 7/11’ instead filled with a batch of pool tables and a..a stripping pole? You quickly whip out your phone to message Soobin who you’re entirely sure is not a stripper-

“Wrong place.”

“Oh I’m sorry I thought this was the 7/11, oh wow.” A man, well built, (and winning in looks for sure) laid back on to the back rest of a velvet pink couch lazily slotted in the centre which complimented the buzz of pink in his hair, earning you a quick glare like you’ve intruded something. Not entirely dressed in the stripper attire you’d expect, but it’s still broad daylight so you assume he’s not going to be popping out any moves in some sort of lingerie right now, shame.

“Good luck tonight! I hope you get some extra tips on the pole!” You exclaim, hoping to ease the tension in the room, “what no-!?” slamming the door shut you don’t get to hear his next words, not that you’re interested because he’s probably trying to promote himself anyways, you pull out your phone to ask your soon to be coworker again because now you’re really lost.

Though you do have to make a quick twt post to boast about the absolute hottie you found near your apartment quarters too, maybe you’ll take Haewon with you some time who knows !!

Not a stripper huh..maybe a VIP customer ?? The thoughts eventually drain out of you as you push through the green door on your right this time, which seems to have unlocked since the last time you tried, probably with the aid of Soobin.

Sauntering in to the staff lounge you pick up on an (impressively)tall guy who’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and glasses hung low on his noses. He catches your attention briefly, striking in looks but he couldn’t be any less important now, your insistence on finding Soobin is key !!

“Oh hey,” a shy hand waves at him before you ask the big question, “Is Soobin around?”

The man only responds my standing up straight promptly, his index finger pointing right back at him as he tilts his head.

“Yeah is there any other Soobin around except me?”

That’s it. Your jaw drops and any hopes and daydreams of asking for a blowout tutorial, asking to go on cute little girl dates and becoming bffs along side Haewon completely flies past your head.

“What?” He starts to sound annoyed at your extreme expression, checking to see if there was something on his face or perhaps a loose fly on his jeans.

“You’re a man?” You gasp again, slightly too dramatically for Soobin’s liking.

“You thought I was a woman??” He gasps even more dramatically than he intended, the whole scene becoming a soap opera.

“Wait wait wait..so the hottie on your twitter profile isn’t you?”

Soobin , the six foot man and not the baddest bitch you were ever gonna meet in your life, scoffs.

“Well I wouldn’t talk down on my looks that plainly..but I thought it was common sense that I’m not Gyuri? You literally messaged me today and saw my profile- how did you not clock that?”

You blink once at his round eyes then twice at your glowing phone screen and there you notice it, a small circle of him taking a mirror pic- how did you not realise?

“Pfft- haha! Sorry Soobin don’t hold a grudge against me for this yeah?” you gently slap on his arm hoping to ease up the awkward misunderstanding but his automatic pout only exaggerates.

“Day one with you and you’ve already hurt my ego geez.”

You laugh at his childishness, cocking your head to the right as you pick up your uniform, “so, how should I make it up to you then?”

“Buy me ice cream and I’ll forgive you for your mortal sin.” He smirks a bit odd, but you take it as a first step in maintaining a good relationship with your co worker; feeling more at ease to tease and joke with him now that you’ve settled it.

Soobin works like he’s got 3 children to look after and bills to pay, glued to his spot behind the till as he checks out customer after customer like some he’s part of some sort of dystopian propaganda for capitalism with how much he grinds at his job.

Plus, you can see why he’s so highly appraised by Yeonjun, a whole line of women wait outside the store just to interact with him, and he doesn’t reject it either; he chooses to ask them about their day and how their kids are doing, how they’re catching up on school work and wow- Soobin’s insanely good at his job because by the end of it he’s got a jar full of tips and you’re exhausted just from watching him.

“You’re insane you know, how’d you talk to customers like that without getting..I don’t know-nervous?”

The male replies by dropping his head down and slumping beneath the counter, choosing to stay silent for a bit.

“I don’t even know myself really. Usually I’d be pissed terrified but I guess I’ve just been here so long that it’s a habit now.” You hum in approval at his answer, swinging your legs off the small stool beside him as you checked on your phone, “10:57” you yawn. “We’ve tidied everything right Soob?”

“Yeah, it’s been a busy day. You’ve learnt everything right? How is it?”

You look back up from your phone and in to his expecting eyes, probably for some more praise which he gets plentiful from the aunties that come in just to see him, but there’s nothing really to it except you like how laid back it is while Soobin works 24/7 in your stead.

“Better than I thought! You’re better than I thought too even if I did think you were a girl at first, I think you’re really hardworking- I can see why Yeonjun sparks you as his best employee so much.”

And you’re right because he gets all giddy and tries to play it off as simply nothing when you can see straight through his flushed ears that he’s bouncing up and down now. It’s cute, you think, but then again you find everyone and everything cute in some sort of way.

The comfortable silence is interrupted when the same buzz of pink hair enters through the doors.

“Oh look stripper guy!-“ Ohh you’ve hit a nerve. Soobin’s hand smacks right against your mouth to stop you from digging your grave even further, whispering in to your ear “he’s not a stripper I told you that !!!”

“And who might this be?” The pink ‘tooty frootie’ as you’d like to refer to him strides up to the counter and leans over it, moving the piece of gum he was chewing between his gums and mouth before staring directly at you.

“I’m Y/N, Yeonjun hired me a couple days ago!”

“Ahh so you’re the only one without a criminal record, got it.” He snaps a finger gun at you before asking Soobin to ring him up some beer,

“Oh and it’s Taehyun. And I’m not a stripper, I have access to the staff room there because I work as a bouncer from time to time. Mainly work here on Tuesdays though so don’t start spreading nonsense in that head of yours.”

“Okay..so, do you still do private shows?”

@/tyunningism's work do not copy, steal, or repost.

Taglist !!!: @soobinieswife , @kagtobis , @soobinz-wife , @jellyyjn

[starset21]

Close Contact |GB5|

Pairing: Gabriel Bortoleto x reader

Trope: Unexpected Romance

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

The rain came out of nowhere.

Typical Switzerland in the summer—sunshine one minute, sideways wind and expensive chaos the next. You stood under the edge of the overhang, watching as the slick marble terrace quickly transformed into a reflective pool. Crew members scrambled with gear, umbrella poles went flying, and someone was already yelling about delays over the coms.

You were still in full gear, a branded Stake windbreaker over your NASCAR fire suit, drenched up to the calves. You’d flown in for this joint shoot. “A showcase of young motorsport talent,” they said. In reality, you were the token American. Again. And probably the only one here who’d had to fight to get on the invitation list.

“You okay?”

The voice was soft, Brazilian-accented. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Gabriel Bortoleto stood beside you, curls flattened by rain, holding out a black puffer jacket you hadn’t seen before. It was a size too big for either of you and already a little damp around the collar.

You raised a brow. “Do you always carry spare jackets for dramatic weather changes?”

He gave a small, crooked grin. “No. I just thought you looked cold.”

You hesitated. And then you took it.

It smelled like clean laundry, rain, and something underneath—like the inside of a helmet after a hard race. The kind of scent you weren’t supposed to notice, much less like.

“You're not freezing too?” you asked, slipping your arms through the sleeves.

He shrugged. “I grew up in São Paulo. This is just a warm shower with bad timing.”

You scoffed. “Right. Because everyone enjoys rain delays and ruined promo shoots.”

“I didn’t say I enjoyed it.” He glanced at you sidelong, eyes dark and unreadable. “Just means more time to talk.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Same.”

You both leaned on the railing, staring out at the flooded set. His shoulder brushed yours—accidentally or not, you didn’t ask. He wasn’t all over the place like most young drivers, like the ones who tried too hard to charm or overcompensate. Gabriel had a quiet kind of confidence. The kind that made you feel seen.

"Do they overlook you too?" he asked, after a pause. “Like they do me?”

You didn’t answer immediately. You weren’t used to anyone asking the question, let alone someone waiting for the honest answer.

“Every day,” you said. “But I drive like hell, so they can't ignore me for long.”

His smile was soft. “I’ve watched your races. You’re relentless.”

You turned your head. “Stalker.”

“Fan,” he corrected.

Your lips twitched, betraying a smile you tried to hide. The rain blurred everything around you. The cameras were still tucked away, the crew huddled far from earshot. You shifted your weight just slightly, enough that your arm pressed against his. He didn’t pull away.

“You’re different than I thought you’d be,” you said.

Gabriel tilted his head. “How’d you think I’d be?”

“Cocky. Fast-talking. Too polished to be real.”

He smiled at that, slow and deliberate. “And now?”

You looked at him—really looked. The rain had darkened his curls, his lashes spiked with water. His skin still held warmth, like the weather hadn’t touched him the same way it had everyone else. Or maybe it was just the way he carried himself. Solid. Centered.

“Now I think you see more than you let on,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond right away. Just let the moment stretch.

Then: “I see you.”

The words were quiet, but they hit like an impact—clean and precise and right under your ribs.

Your heart jumped. You tried to laugh it off. “That’s dramatic.”

“Doesn’t make it less true.”

Your breath caught. There was no one else on the terrace now. No eyes, no crew, just the endless sound of rain hammering down around you like a curtain. Like the world had pressed pause.

Gabriel reached over—not sudden, not forced—and gently tugged the hood of his puffer jacket up over your head, shielding you better from the wind. His knuckles brushed your cheek in the process. Warm, careful, reverent.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

“I didn’t think today would go like this,” you whispered.

He leaned just a little closer, voice just as low. “Maybe it’s not a bad thing.”

You were so close now you could see the way his jaw flexed when he swallowed, the slight pink of his lips, the smallest nick on his cheek—probably from a visor clip or seatbelt.

Your fingers curled into the edge of the jacket he’d given you. His eyes dipped to your mouth. Then back up. Then back again.

You didn’t know who leaned in first.

Maybe it was you.

Maybe it was both.

But before your lips could meet—before the pull could finish what it had started—

Click.

The unmistakable sound of a shutter.

You froze. Gabriel’s hand hovered by your waist, your breath mingling in the damp space between you.

A photographer.

One of the crew must’ve circled back without either of you noticing. Too wrapped up in whatever this was. You both stepped apart, quick but not rushed. Just enough to kill the moment, not the feeling underneath. Your pulse was hammering. Gabriel ran a hand through his curls, blinking slowly.

“I guess someone was watching,” he said, almost amused. But there was something else in his tone too. Frustration. Maybe disappointment.

You exhaled. “Great. Can’t wait for that headline.”

Gabriel looked at you, more serious now. “I meant it, you know.”

You blinked. “What?”

“What I said. About seeing you.”

You swallowed.

He looked down, then back up. “They’re going to make it into something it’s not. Unless we tell them what it is.”

Your chest tightened.

“And what is it?” you asked, heart in your throat.

Gabriel smiled again. Not playful. Real. Gentle.

“Something I’d like to keep finding out.”

You didn’t respond right away. You just looked at him.

He’d said it so simply. Like he wasn’t asking for anything from you—just letting you know that he wanted more. Not attention. Not a headline. You.

So you said the only thing you could say, voice soft but steady:

“Come find out, then.”

His eyes darkened—not with surprise, but with something quieter. Like relief. Like permission.

And for a moment, neither of you moved. The sound of the rain softened into background static. The wind rattled a loose umbrella somewhere down the terrace. Somewhere in the distance, a shutter clicked again. But it didn’t matter anymore.

You took a slow step back. Then another.

Gabriel followed.

He didn’t ask where you were going.

He didn’t need to.

HOTEL ROOM – LATER THAT NIGHT

The balcony door was cracked open to let the rain-cooled air drift in. You stood in the center of your hotel room, barefoot, hoodie zipped halfway, his jacket now hanging off the back of the chair like it belonged there.

Gabriel leaned against the doorframe, shirt damp from the walk over, curls a little more wild than they’d been hours ago.

“You sure?” he asked, voice soft.

“I’m not doing this for the press,” you said, matching his tone.

“Good,” he replied. “Because I want the version of you they never get.”

He crossed the room slowly, deliberately. One step at a time, like he was giving you the option to stop him—but silently hoping you wouldn’t.

You didn’t.

You met him halfway.

There was no dramatic music cue. No perfectly timed lightning flash. Just his hands on your hips, your breath catching as he dipped his head close and kissed you like he’d been waiting all damn day.

And the truth?

He had.

Gabriel’s hands moved slowly along your waist, his touch warm and sure, grounding you in the quiet space between the storm outside and the storm building inside. His eyes searched yours, full of a soft question — no pressure, just wanting to know you were with him.

You nodded, breath catching in your throat.

He leaned in gently, lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tentative at first, like a whisper. Then, as you responded, it deepened — soft and slow, savoring every second. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch.

His hands slipped beneath your jacket, tracing the curves of your sides with a careful reverence, memorizing the way you felt under his fingertips. You trembled slightly but leaned into him, comforted by his tenderness.

The cool air in the room mixed with the warmth of your bodies pressed together, the world outside fading into silence.

He lowered his lips to your jaw and along your collarbone, each kiss slow and deliberate, awakening a delicious shiver that ran down your spine. Your hands moved over the planes of his back, fingers exploring with quiet awe.

Garments slipped away piece by piece, never rushed, every touch and glance full of meaning — an unspoken promise in every caress.

When skin met skin, it was like coming home — safe, real, and deeply intimate.

Gabriel’s hands cupped your face as he kissed you again, slow and sure, conveying everything words couldn’t. You melted into him, every worry, every barrier dissolving in the quiet intimacy you shared.

There was no urgency, only the steady rhythm of your breaths and heartbeats syncing, the tender exploration of something real and lasting.

And in that moment, beneath the soft patter of rain on the windows, you knew this was more than just desire — it was a connection.

[miniagula]

movie sonadow would be so l umity-coded…and i say this bc their dynamic is similar to the games but with a different and tender perspective: they both empathize deeply with each other now, and this shadow is not as reticent or closed off bc of that. that being said: movie!sonic would ABSOLUTELY 'YOU'RE the sweet potato!' the hell out of shadow

[cacw]

do you know the movie manchester by the sea? im watching it right now and it reminded me of someone i know. here is a drawing i made for you 💖💞💖💕

1) i dont even have words for the things im feeling right now. youre so good to me. youre too good to me sam i will be going to staples soon to get this printed so i can tape it to my wall. ive spent so much time looking at it already... its the only thing i could think about last night. i fell asleep thinking about it. a few sparse tears may have been shed because 2) i stopped everything i was doing to watch this movie and it bummed me out so bad. all the more because i was thinking about this frostpod picture the entire time... very on point. thank you so much for thinking of my horrible little family IM RUNNING AWAY.... IM RUNNING AWAY TO STAPLES!!!!!!!!!

[just-rainbow-thoughts]

Something something similar yet different idk I’ve never been good at comics or captions

[headslikekites]

I keep making rambleposts & then just putting them in my drafts forever