loverangels

[loverangels]

under the surface

pairings: tasm!peter x fem!reader

warnings: angst and I'm pretty sure that's it

you were still avoiding him.

It had been almost a week since the blow-up, and neither of you had given in. You weren’t going to be the one to fold. Not after everything he said.

Not after he made you feel small over something that wasn’t small to you.

You ignored him at every chance — moving around the apartment like he didn’t exist. But today, you couldn’t ignore May.

You owed her more than that.

You were standing at the kitchen counter, rolling dough between your fingers while May chatted about some recipe she wanted to try. You smiled politely, even managed to laugh at her stories — even though your chest was tight, your stomach twisted.

You didn’t let your eyes drift to the door when it creaked open. You didn’t turn when you felt him step into the room.

But you felt him.

“Hey, May,” Peter’s voice was rough, like he hadn’t quite decided how casual to sound. Then he added, quieter, “Hey.” It was directed at you.

You didn’t turn. You kept your fingers busy with the dough, nodding at May’s instructions. Pretending he didn’t exist.

“Oh! Peter, you’re just in time,” May said cheerfully, oblivious — or pretending to be. “Come help us with these cookies.”

Peter hesitated. You could feel his eyes burning into your side.

Then he muttered, “Sure.”

He dumped his bag by the door and joined you both at the counter, his presence suffocatingly close.

The first few minutes were civil. painfully so.

But it didn’t take long for the jabs to start.

“So,” Peter said, scooping flour into a bowl, “you finally decided you had time for May. That’s nice.”

You stiffened, teeth clenching.

“Unlike some people,” you said sweetly, shaping the dough too aggressively, “I actually keep my promises.”

May was humming to herself at the stove, giving you both space — but you knew she was listening with one ear.

Neither of you could blow your cover.

Peter gave a short, humorless laugh. “Right. Because getting mad over one canceled dinner is totally normal.”

You slammed the cookie cutter into the dough a little too hard. “It’s not about the dinner. But I wouldn’t expect you to get that.”

Peter leaned closer, voice low so May wouldn’t hear.

“You’re mad because you want everything your way. That’s it. Always has been.”

The words were venomous, and they landed hard.

You didn’t respond, your chest tightening painfully. You just focused harder on the dough, ignoring the way your throat burned.

“Oh, careful,” Peter said mockingly, watching you press the dough too hard. “Wouldn’t want to mess up the only thing you’re good at.”

That was it.

The final snap.

Without thinking, you grabbed a handful of flour and whipped it at him — hard, smacking right into his chest.

Peter flinched — and then his expression turned mean.

Before you could react, he scooped an entire handful of flour and dumped it over your hair, powdering you from head to toe.

You gasped, stepping back, hands shaking.

Peter stood there, breathing hard, chest heaving slightly like he didn’t know whether he regretted it or wanted to go further.

It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t playful.

Both of you standing in the wreckage of the kitchen and your own pride.

The door creaked.

May came back in carrying a carton of eggs, freezing in the doorway when she saw the disaster.

“What the...?” she said, looking around at the flour-dusted kitchen, the wreckage, the sharpness in the air.

She blinked once, twice.

You both stood there — guilty, silent, burning.

“I leave for five minutes,” May said slowly, “and you two — what, started World War Three over cookies?”

Peter cleared his throat, voice hoarse.

“We’ll clean it,” he mumbled, wiping flour off his shirt half-heartedly.

May sighed heavily. “Yeah. You will. And after that? Both of you — bathroom. Get cleaned up. Now.”

Her voice was stern — motherly — but there was a small glint in her eye you didn’t quite catch.

You stormed off toward the bathroom first, shoulders stiff, fists clenched.

Peter followed a few steps behind, silent.

The tension was thick enough to choke on.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click.

You turned the faucet on, aggressively scrubbing your hands.

Flour clung to your skin, stubborn — just like the anger clinging to your chest.

Peter stood awkwardly by the door, arms crossed. Watching you.

Finally — quietly — he said, “That was... too far.”

You didn’t respond, still scrubbing at your hands.

Your reflection in the mirror was all flushed cheeks and tight lips.

Peter stepped closer, picking up a towel.

He hesitated, then reached out gently, brushing flour from your hair.

You stiffened but didn’t pull away.

The touch was soft. Careful.

Like he was trying to make up for everything without words.

“I'm sorry,” he said, voice low.

Really low.

Real.

You swallowed hard, heart squeezing painfully.

“That was mean,” you said, your voice cracking a little. “You know that, right?”

Peter’s hand stilled against your hair.

“I know, baby.”

The nickname slipped out instinctively, raw and aching.

He set the towel down, turning you by the shoulders so you faced him.

“I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I was just...” he trailed off, eyes searching yours.

“Angry. And scared. And stupid. Mostly stupid.”

You blinked up at him, your heart cracking wide open again.

All the anger, all the walls you built around yourself, crumbling at once.

Peter stepped closer, hesitating like he was giving you the chance to shove him away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed the front of his flour-dusted shirt, yanking him into you.

The kiss was hard, desperate, teeth clashing, breathless.

Peter kissed you back immediately, hungrily, his hands gripping your waist like he couldn’t get enough.

The frustration, the anger, the heartbreak — all of it melted into the kiss.

You gasped when he bit your lower lip, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He groaned softly, pressing you back against the sink, hands roaming, desperate and needy.

It was messy. Heated. Like you were making up for every second you spent apart.

Suddenly, the door creaked open —

“Looking for a towel!” May’s voice sang out — followed by a very obvious cough when she spotted you both tangled up.

You sprang apart, faces flushed, breathing hard.

Peter turned bright red.

May gave a smirk so wicked you wanted to sink into the floor.

“Don’t forget protection!” she called teasingly, grabbing a towel and disappearing again.

Peter groaned, burying his face in your shoulder.

You buried your laugh into his hair, cheeks burning.

“She so planned this,” you mumbled.

Peter nodded against you. “Yeah. And she’s never letting us live it down.”

You smiled, tugging him back for another kiss anyway.

Maybe you’d clean the kitchen later.

[loverangels]

an icon.

[loverangels]

girl when are your exams done I'm bubbling with so many fic requests but I don't want to overwhelm you 😭😭

Three weeks including this one!! But genuinely don't stress and feel free to send them in now so I can get them all done once I'm finished!! 💗

[loverangels]

lunch

percy jackson x fem!reader

oral sex (fem receiving)

the door closes with a quiet click and percys on you—mouth pressed hot and open against your throat, hands already tracing the shape of your waist like he’s memorizing you. your breath stutters and your head tilts back, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

“you’re killing me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. you can feel the smile there, the way his teeth scrape lightly against your skin. it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“good,” you breathe, because you want him to feel as undone as you do. percy laughs, low and breathless, and his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, skin on skin—warm and so right it makes your knees weak.

he pulls your shirt over your head, tosses it somewhere behind you without looking, and then he’s kissing you again—slow and deep and so fucking good you almost forget to breathe. your hands are on his shoulders, nails digging in, and he just smirks against your mouth, like he loves that you can’t keep it together.

“let me see you,” he says, voice rough, and you shiver as he pulls back enough to really look at you. His eyes are dark, hungry, and when he finally slides his hands down to the waistband of your jeans, you swear you can feel your heart trip over itself.

he takes his time with the button, the zipper, like he’s savoring it. like he’s savoring you. and when he finally pushes them down your hips, he doesn’t look away, just follows them with his mouth, lips and teeth and tongue making you squirm.

“fuck,” you gasp, fingers fisting in his hair, and he just grins—wicked and sweet all at once.

“you like that, don’t you?” percy says, voice teasing, and you nod because you can’t find the words. his mouth finds the inside of your thigh, and you’re already shaking, already so close to falling apart.

he hums against your skin, low and dirty, and his hands grip your thighs, thumbs pressing circles into the sensitive flesh as he coaxes your legs open even wider. the heat of his mouth, the teasing flick of his tongue—it’s too much and not enough all at once.

he drags his lips higher, slow and deliberate, pressing kisses like he’s worshipping you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. when he finally finds the spot he’s been aiming for, he doesn’t hold back. his mouth is hot and insistent, tongue working in slow, deliberate strokes that make you arch up, your breath catching on a broken moan.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice muffled but clear, and the way he says it—so sure, so full of want—sends a flush of heat racing through you. he flicks his tongue in just the right way, over and over, until your hips are rolling up against his mouth, desperate for more.

his fingers dig into your skin, holding you in place as he works you open, relentless and patient. he teases you with slow licks, then dives back in, every movement of his mouth sending sparks of pleasure through you. you can’t stop the way your hands clutch at the sheets, or the soft whimper that escapes you when he moans against you.

percy doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even pause. it’s like he’s determined to draw every last noise out of you, every last bit of control. your thighs are shaking and you’re gasping for air, but he just keeps going—like he’s addicted to the way you taste, the way you say his name when you’re right there on the edge.

“please,” you manage, breathless, and percy looks up at you, eyes dark and lips glistening, and just smirks—that wicked, knowing look that says he’s not even close to done.

“not yet,” he says, voice low and rough, and then he’s back on you, tongue and lips working in perfect rhythm, and you’re gone. you’re gone in a haze of heat and want and the way he says your name like it’s the only word he knows.

when you finally come apart, it’s with his hands on your hips, his mouth still moving, drawing out every last tremor until you’re spent and shaking, completely his.

[loverangels]

today 28 years ago was the day the music died 💔😞

[loverangels]

He's executing such 90s aura 🤭

Timothée Chalamet receiving the David for Cinematic Excellence award during the 70th annual David di Donatello Award ceremony on May 7, 2025. ✨✨✨

[loverangels]

oh my god, i've been looking for your fic "the red means i love you" for the longest time so i could read it again, but i guess it's gone 😭 i really loved the way you wrote that fic, it was probably my favorite lee fic tbh 🥹 <3

Oh my god thank you so much love!! I had no idea the link stopped working and so I dug and found it here. The link should also now work on the masterlist!! 💗💞

[loverangels]

hiii! could i please request paul atredies x fem!reader where they are arguing and he uses the voice on her?

PAUL USING THE VOICE ON YOU...

a/n: got a bit carried away with this ask and planned a whole series. I genuinely love this ask sooo much!! I also want to warn that I have yet to watch dune 2...i know I know! So it might be inaccurate in according to the movies but we'll just ignore that...

warnings: dark!paul, possessive, not proofread

You hear it before he even says your name.

Not in the words themselves — but in the way the air shifts.

In the hush that settles over the war tent like a storm holding its breath.

The way his eyes won’t meet yours.

You’re standing just inside the threshold, robes still creased from sleep, dust on your sleeves from the wind outside.

You had come looking for him — for a quiet moment, maybe, or just the comfort of his voice. But instead you walk into a ring of cold-faced commanders, a daughter of an empire gleaming like forged metal at his side, and Paul, standing at the center of it all like a man carved from stone.

Your heart folds before he even speaks.

The room feels too warm. Or maybe it’s you — heat rising up your neck like shame, like fear, like grief not yet formed.

You stand perfectly still, because you know if you move, something will shatter.

And then you hear it.

“I’ll marry Irulan.”

His voice is calm. Detached.

Like he’s stating strategy.

Like he’s not carving a hole into your chest with every syllable.

You don’t wait to hear the rest.

You don’t want to see if he glances at you when he says it.

You don’t want to know if he meant for you to hear.

You turn. You leave.

You slip out beneath the heavy flap of the tent and into the open night like a breath escaping a dying body.

And then—

You run.

The wind hits you first — sharp and angry, dragging sand across your skin like claws.

The air is dry and violent, howling against the rocks like it’s furious on your behalf.

You trip slightly on the edge of a dune, catching yourself on your hands, the sand biting into your palms. But you don’t stop. You don’t even wipe the tears from your cheeks. They’re mixing with dust now — hot and salt-heavy and blinding.

Your robe whips around your legs as you move, the fabric catching in the wind like it wants to drag you backward, like even the desert is trying to stop you from leaving him.

Your feet sink into the loose sand, stumbling over ridges and stones. The land here is endless. Barren. Beautiful in its cruelty.

And still — you run.

Behind you, there’s a sound.

The tent flap slaps against the wind.

Then — boots pounding the sand.

And his voice, cutting through the storm:

“Wait—please.”

But you don’t.

Not when your lungs are burning. Not when your whole body is screaming don’t you dare look back.

Still, he chases you. Of course he does.

He always comes when it’s too late.

He reaches you just as your knees threaten to give out —

just as the wind reaches a new pitch, shrieking across the dunes like it’s trying to tear the world apart.

“Stop,” he says, breathless.

You spin to face him, eyes wild and rimmed with sand-smeared tears.

“You’re marrying her.”

It doesn’t come out soft. It tears itself out of your mouth like it doesn’t want to be held in anymore.

He blinks, caught. His mouth parts like he wants to lie — to reframe it — but he doesn’t.

“I have to,” he says instead. Quiet. Measured.

Like that makes it better.

Your laugh is sharp and broken. “No. You want to.”

He flinches. And you don’t let him look away.

“You already have power, Paul. You already won. You have the empire, the prophecy, the people. You didn’t need to do this.”

he takes a step towards you, carefull, like you're something fragile.

“I did it for the future.”

“No.” Your voice rises, the wind rushing in behind it. “You did it for control. You did it because the throne wasn’t enough. You want her bloodline, her name, her legacy. You want to own everything.”

Something dark flickers in his eyes — not anger, not quite. Something worse. Justification.

That horrible, steady confidence that only comes from believing your own myth.

“I didn’t understand what this path would take from me,” he says.

You take a step back, your foot slipping in the sand.

“Oh,” you breathe. “So you were naive. You were foolish when you said you loved me.”

His jaw tightens. “No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, finally. “What was I?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The wind gusts, hard enough to make you stagger.

Then—his voice again.

Not loud. Not cruel.

Just certain.

"stay."

And this time it isn’t just a plea.

It’s the Voice.

It sinks into your bones, stilling you.

Your breath catches. Your legs freeze. You hate how easily it happens — how quickly your body obeys.

He steps closer, looking ruined. “Please. Don’t go.”

But you don’t look at him. You’re staring out at the horizon, at the endless expanse of sand that could take you anywhere but here.

And still — you stay. Because he told you to.

Because he made you.

And that’s worse than anything else.

.

Time passes.

Not in days or months. Not in anything you can count.

It passes in moments you don’t remember choosing.

You live in the royal wing now — carved in white stone, where the ceilings echo with silence and the floors are too polished to feel real beneath your feet.

They dress you in silk now. Gold bracelets that you don’t remember asking for. Perfume that clings to your skin like a name you forgot how to say.

You never ask questions.

You don’t need to.

He tells you when to speak. When to smile. When to follow.

And you do.

Because when he uses the Voice — that impossible, low timbre threaded with command — your body obeys before your heart can catch up.

Because that’s what you are now: a creature of response, not desire.

He’s never cruel to you. Not really.

He still touches your cheek sometimes like you’re precious. Still looks at you like there’s some version of you he remembers.

But it’s a hollow thing now. A memory of love pretending it’s still alive.

You sit beside him at court, quiet and lovely and always one word away from motion.

The princess sits on his other side — radiant and cold, untouched.

The world sees a golden throne, a perfect empire.

No one sees the ghost sitting just beneath it.

At night, you lie in silk sheets, facing away from him.

Sometimes he speaks your name softly, as if it might still mean something.

Sometimes he doesn’t speak at all.

And on the worst nights — the ones where you almost remember how to want something — he uses the Voice again.

“Stay.”

“Come here.”

“Don’t cry.”

And you don’t.

Because he tells you not to.

And in the morning, you forget that you ever did.

[loverangels]

trying to cook up some works before my exams so feel free to flood my ask box!!

[loverangels]

I'm sorry but my childhood intense crush on Justin Bieber has been sparked out of nowhere so enjoy this prime JB pfp whilst it lasts 😭

[loverangels]

thinking about soft aftercare with percy after rough smut… only if you’re comfortable though <33

SOFT AFTERCARE WITH PERCY!...

percy jackson x gf!reader

you’re staring at the ceiling like it personally offended you. stars behind your eyes. jaw slack. your thigh’s twitching and your arm’s still flopped over his chest because you tried to push him off and failed because your bones don’t exist anymore

percy’s grinning like he just won a gold medal in sex. he did. smug little bastard. one arm behind his head like this is a beach and not the bed he just ruined. he keeps glancing at you like he’s waiting for a review. five stars. would get demolished again

he turns his head. “you alive?”

you breathe out. your voice sounds like it was left in the dryer too long. “barely”

he laughs. the audacity. “that’s not a no,” he says, eyes glittering. sea-glass and sin.

you smack his chest. weakly. like a wet noodle. it makes him laugh harder and now he’s rolling onto his side, pulling you with him like he doesn’t care that your legs don’t work anymore.

“you were,” he says, trailing a hand down your spine, “very vocal. you know that, right?”

“shut up,” you mumble into his shoulder, already grinning like an idiot. he’s warm and smug and smells like salt and skin and you want to crawl inside his hoodie and never leave

he kisses your shoulder. slow. lazy. still smiling like a menace. “don’t act shy now. you were singing five minutes ago”

you make a noise like a dying animal and bury your face in his neck. “you’re obsessed with me”

“obviously,” he says, immediately. like it’s the weather. like it’s gravity. “didn’t exactly rearrange your entire molecular structure for fun. well. maybe a little bit for fun.”

he squeezes your thigh under the blanket like punctuation and you groan. “i literally can’t move"

“tragic,” he says, dramatically, and kisses your forehead. “guess i’ll carry you to the bath then. like the gentleman i am”

“i’m serious,” you whine, “my soul left my body. i think you killed me. congratulations”

he hums, smug, already untangling himself. “you’re being a little dramatic”

“i saw god”

“and?”

“he said ‘damn, percy’”

he laughs again, breathless this time, and kisses you once more before slipping out of bed. you whimper at the cold and he shushes you like you’re a baby bird

“relax,” he says, already walking toward the bathroom, “i’m running you a bath. lavender bubbles. full princess treatment. do not move, or i’ll tuck you back in with seaweed.”

you mumble something heartfelt and incomprehensible into the pillow. he turns the faucet on. the scent of something warm and floral starts creeping into the room. you hear the soft clink of a candle being lit. him opening the cabinet, moving things around like he’s done it a hundred times. he probably has. he’s built for this. you’re in hell and he’s playing house.

you hear the bath fill. and then — soft footsteps back to you. the bed dips. his hand finds your waist.

“okay, mermaid. c’mon.”

you blink at him, hazy, still boneless. “can’t.”

he laughs, all teeth and sunshine. “good thing you don’t have to.”

and then he lifts you. actually lifts you. like you weigh nothing. like this is normal. like you’re not very naked and very overstimulated and clinging to his shoulders with the grip of a Victorian woman seeing ankles for the first time.

“you’re enjoying this,” you mutter, cheek pressed to his neck.

“maybe a little,” he says, smug as hell.

he carries you into the bathroom like a rom-com lead with a trident. the lights are low. there’s actual steam curling up from the bath. it smells like eucalyptus and something sweet. the candle flickers against the tile. you blink slowly. you’re in love. you might cry.

he sets you down gently, kneeling in front of the tub, arms around your waist as he helps you step in like you’re made of glass. the water’s perfect. warm, not too hot. bubbles everywhere. of course.

you sink in with a sigh that could raise the dead.

percy kneels beside the tub, sleeves pushed up, curls damp from steam. he grabs a washcloth and dips it, then runs it gently over your shoulder like he’s memorizing you. like this is holy. like every inch of you deserves worship.

“you’re so pretty when you’re ruined,” he says, casual. devastating.

you try to glare at him. it turns into a smile. “you’re the worst.”

“and yet you keep letting me ruin you,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your collarbone like punctuation.

you lean back. you let him wash you. arms, neck, the back of your hand. he kisses your fingers one by one. this is disgusting. this is the best night of your life.

he scoops up a handful of bubbles and dabs them on your nose. “don’t fall asleep in here or i’m getting in and dragging you out”

“you’d get in just to—”

“absolutely,” he says. “not even a little ashamed.”

you close your eyes. you smile into the steam. you feel him press another kiss to your cheek.

if this is death, you’re not asking to come back.

[loverangels]

Literally anything Paul Atreides 😭

If you need more ideas for it then maybe something like he’s upset because reader has been ignoring him since he married/started courting or whatever the princess and he like corners reader to ask what’s wrong and there’s a big fight between them with some angst. maybe he decides they’ll like run away together or idk maybe he kills the princess 😭 whatever you decide!!

Thank youu!!!

Completely forgot to answer this with the link so here it is!

[loverangels]

yours still,

request: anything paul atreides If you need more ideas for it then maybe something like he’s upset because reader has been ignoring him since he married/started courting or whatever the princess and he like corners reader to ask what’s wrong and there’s a big fight between them with some angst. maybe he decides they’ll like run away together or idk maybe he kills the princess 😭 whatever you decide!!

pairings: Paul atreides x fem!reader

warnings: kinda dark, possessive, toxic if you squint

It shouldn't have suprised you that this had become the reality of your situation.

You had been avoiding him for weeks.

At first, it wasn’t something intentional. It wasn’t even something you noticed happening. You thought it was just a phase, that maybe you just needed some space to think. But the days dragged on, and somehow, it had become an entire routine. You passed him in hallways, your eyes glancing anywhere but at him. You made sure your path never crossed his. And when you did end up in the same room, you were always busy — lost in the crowd, lost in your own thoughts, making sure there was no chance for him to approach you.

You couldn’t stand the way he’d look at you now. The way his gaze flickered to the princess ,his wife , whenever he saw her, like you didn’t exist. Like you had never been more than a fleeting moment in his life.

It hurt. God, it hurt more than anything you had ever experienced. You had been everything to him. Or, at least, you thought you had been.

And now? Now he was someone else. Someone she could call hers. Someone she could touch and hold and kiss, someone who would stand beside her as she ruled a kingdom. A future king.

But none of that was supposed to matter, was it? You had been his once — his confidant, his lover, his friend. The bond you shared had been something real, something that made you believe in things like destiny, in love, in all the things he promised.

But he had chosen her.

So now, you hid. You ran from the space he now occupied, running from the memories that bled with every glance, with every passing moment when he wasn’t looking at you the same way.

The garden was quiet tonight, the stars overhead quiet witnesses to your loneliness. You stood by a fountain, staring at your own reflection in the rippling water, wondering how you’d ever let things get this far. You shouldn’t have given him everything — your trust, your heart, your loyalty. Because in the end, none of it mattered. He had walked away. He had chosen her.

Your thoughts were heavy, suffocating. You didn’t hear the footsteps approaching behind you, not until they stopped a few feet away. Your breath caught, and you knew immediately who it was.

Paul.

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around, couldn’t look at him — not now. Not when the pain was too raw.

"You're avoiding me," he said, his voice low, careful. It almost sounded like a question, but you could hear the hurt beneath it. The same hurt you felt every time you passed him without acknowledging his existence.

You didn’t answer, just stared at the rippling water.

"Why?" His tone shifted, frustration creeping in. "I don’t understand. Why are you acting like this?"

You finally forced yourself to face him, though your eyes stayed firmly on the ground, avoiding his gaze like it was a flame you couldn’t touch. "Because I’m not blind, Paul." Your voice was trembling, your heart pounding. "I know what you’ve done. I know where your heart lies now. You’ve made your choice."

Paul stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the stone as he reached out, just inches from you, but you took a step back, putting space between you.

"I didn’t choose her," he said, his voice rough, the tension in his words so palpable it felt like it could snap. "You’re wrong. You know I didn’t choose her. I—"

"You married her," you interrupted, the bitterness in your tone sharper than you intended. "You pledged yourself to her. You chose her, Paul. You chose her over everything we had."

His expression faltered, his jaw tightening, and you saw the pain flicker in his eyes for a brief moment before it was hidden again. "I didn’t want this," he said, his voice almost breaking. "I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want her. But... things don’t work the way we want them to. I have responsibilities now. I have a kingdom to protect, a throne to take."

You shook your head, more tears than you could hide building in your eyes. "You don’t get it," you whispered. "You say you didn’t want this, but you’ve already made your decision. You’ve already... already left me behind." The tears spilled out despite your best efforts to stop them.

"No, I haven’t," he snapped, stepping toward you again. He was so close now, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him. His hand reached out, but you backed away, your heart hammering, the distance between you both widening.

"Stop it, Paul," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of sorrow and anger. "Stop trying to fix everything with words. You don’t get to choose me anymore. You don’t get to come back after all this."

"I do get to choose you," he snapped, his voice lowering, darker now, the frustration rising with each breath. "I never stopped choosing you, and I’ll make sure you see it. I’ll make you see it."

You backed up another step, almost turning to leave, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You didn’t fight it, didn’t try to pull away, because part of you wanted him to pull you in again. Part of you needed him to pull you in.

"Paul," you whispered, your voice barely audible, heart shattering with the weight of everything you felt. "You can’t do this. You’ve already made your choice."

"No," he said, his voice dark and determined. "I’m not losing you. Not like this. I don’t care what I have to do. If it means burning this entire kingdom down... I’ll do it."

Your breath caught in your throat. You wanted to say something — to stop him, to stop this madness before it spiraled any further. But you couldn’t. The look in his eyes, the sheer intensity of his words... you knew he meant it.

"You’re out of your mind," you whispered, heart in your throat.

But Paul’s gaze darkened. "No. I’m just in love with you. And I’ll do anything to make sure you’re mine again."

The words felt like a promise, but a dangerous one. And for the first time, you realized just how far Paul was willing to go to get you back.

And you... part of you was afraid of that. But another part of you wanted it.

[loverangels]

hey, could you do jason grace relationship hcs? like maybe domestic lazy mornings…

DATING JASON GRACE....!

a/n:guys guess who's back 🤭 real exam season is right by the corner so in between revision breaks of whenever I can I'm grinding my ass off to cook up something for you!! Requests as always are open so don't be shy and tell me all your silly fantasies!!! Hope this is to your liking lovie 💗

-jason 1000% has no plans on letting you get out of bed. His arms wrapped around your waist and for extra measures he'll try to convince you by peppering sleepy kisses on your neck nuzzling into your shoulder like a horse.

-if he gets up early he's definitely getting in the kitchen and cooking something up, he will pull up cookbooks making a whole grand breakfast and claim it's nothing

-you cannot tell me this man doesnt have a little keychain or anything whether it be a bracelet you made or one of your own strung on his phone case. He has no problem letting it hang off pink heart beads and girly keychains jingling- he doesn't mind it one bit

-SOOOO polite. you could be years into the relationship and I'm telling you he'd be asking if it's okay to hold your hand or touch you in the most normal places ever...he's just our consensual king

-dont get me wrong he loves any kisses but forehead kisses has him melting and falling harder that he already was. Or kisses on his jaw? Oh he's a goner

-hes such a hand on your back man like leading you around??? He can do that you don't have to think twice about where you're going with this man as long as he's leading you

[loverangels]

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

if percy asked you to describe him in one word he would assume you to say ‘incredibly sexy.’ you, on the other hand, would not be as kind as to say that. though he is, you would much rather use the term ‘always up to something mischievous unless he’s sleeping.’

this hour, he was up to something.

he’s generous, however, not to dump the whole packet into his mouth— that’d be too much for even percy to handle. instead, duping at the very least half of it before poking at your shoulder.

you avert your gaze from your book to your fiancé. he wears no readable expression so you assume he’s only bored. like a puppy. or a toddler.

naturally, you give him what he wants so you’re swiftly able to return to your fantasy world.

you create a makeshift bookmark by putting your hand between the pages as you reach downwards and press an open-mouthed, near devouring kiss to his lips. unfortunately, they were not the only thing you devoured.

you rip apart from percy with a yelp. “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

he laughs and begins to swallow each blue pop rock in his mouth. your poor tongue had grazed those gods awful candies.

“blue raspberry flavored. aren’t they good, sweet girl?”

“no! they’re not— stop! it feels weird when you do that.” with a glare, your eyes return to your book.

“it’s not weird, it’s magical. do you feel like you’re kissing a god?”

you huff. “I would have without them.”

gods, don’t you know it.

“noted! thanks for your feedback, sweet girl.”

“fuck you.”

“or you can do it yourself.” percy’s arm opposite encircles your waist as he rolls over onto his tummy.

“did you swallow all of your pop rocks?”

“not technically.” he reaches over for a second and grabs the rest of the package. he dumps the remainder in his mouth before letting them crackle.

you can hear it now if you listen close enough. percy smiles like a kid on christmas with the sensation. “love these things.”

in secret you’d already cleared out two years worth of them for his birthday in august. you had to hide them in your own cabin, though, so he wouldn’t find them.

“I know.”

you close your book with a sigh, letting it rest on your bedside table. you turn on your side to face a very happy percy.

you give him a knowing look and he swallows the rest of the pop rocks, grin remaining. “kiss?”

you pretend contemplate it for a moment before shrugging in a why not??? movement before leaning in again, this time kissing him minus the candies.

and he were very right about the god part.

[loverangels]

Kitt azer they could never make me hate you

[loverangels]

Your account theme IS SO CUTE OMG

Stop of course I see this after I've changed it but TYSM LOVELIE YOURS IS SO ADORBS TOO I change my theme so much it's not funny anymore 😭