#GRACIOUS ... INFATUATION

[bizarrelovetriangel]

company.

they're busy with something so you decided to give them some company, along with a little motivation to finish faster.

mdni. 18+ only. cockwarming. that's it that's the plot.

- sylus -

He has a new fancy toy that he'd won from an auction, and now you have a rival that you must fight for his attention. At the moment, you're absolutely not winning.

Sylus is polishing a gun while admiring every aspect of it, his eyes practically twinkling with excitement.

You're starting to get impatient and maybe just a little jealous. After all, he promised you that you'd watch a movie together once he's done.

It wouldn't hurt to give him some... encouragement to hurry up, right?

and so, you sat on his lap.

"What are you doing?"

Sylus questions you despite doing absolutely nothing to stop you from taking a seat on his thighs. In fact, he welcomed you by opening his arms wider just so you could have more space to be more comfortable.

"Nothing, just wanna watch you assemble~"

He took note of your tone and immediately grew suspicious. "What are you scheming, kitten?"

"Nothing, I said." you grabbed his chin and gently nudged his face so that his gaze returns to the disassembled gun on the desk in front of him. "Don't let me distract you. Just pretend I'm not here."

He narrowed his eyes at you for a second before continuing his work, humming a song and bopping his head while doing so.

You smiled as you listened to him, beaming his reflection on the shiny silver gun.

You leaned forward closer to the surface of the desk so that you could get a better look at the details of the weapon that he's so infatuated with.

You shifted your weight a little to the left so you could study the complex engravings at a better angle.

After moving around to observe the other angles, you realized that it's most likely part of a vintage collection. Its charm is indeed worth all the money that Sylus casually spent it on.

"...Enjoying yourself, sweetie?"

For a moment, you'd forgotten why you were there in the first place. It wasn't until you heard a grunt from behind you that you were reminded of your little evil plan.

"I am, actually."

As you replied, you subtly pressed down your ass against his crotch, earning a sharp breath out of him.

Sylus paused on polishing his weapon.

"What's wrong?" you asked, feigning innocence. "You still have a lot of parts to polish. Hurry up already."

"If you need something from me, don't hesitate to ask." he tells you in a low voice, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I'd gladly give you want you want."

"No no, it's fine. You should finish what you started. You said you want to use it tomorrow, right?" you waved a hand dismissively. "I want to watch you polish and assemble this. Like I said, just pretend I'm not here."

Sylus shook his head, already catching on to your grand plan.

But he's absolutely not complaining.

You sitting on his lap while he fiddles with his new weapon? It's certainly not the worst thing in the world. He doesn't mind multitasking.

Taking advantage of your gracious offer, Sylus proceeds with his work.

You continued to grind against him, doing your best to be subtle.

It wasn't long until your seat becomes uncomfortable due to a stiffened bulge in his pants.

His warm, ragged breath hits your neck as he takes a moment to collect himself, hands slightly wavering as he puts down his tools before reaching for you.

One hand settled on your stomach while the other caressed your right thigh. As you leaned back against his chest, you were surpised as he captured your lips with his.

Your right hand went up to his jaw to keep him in place as you kissed him back with twice the force, inviting him to meet your tongue.

He groans inside your mouth as your ass once again brushed against his clothed cock, twitching and demanding for your attention — so you give him what he wants.

You unzip his pants and stroke him through his boxers, emitting a moan out of his parted lips. Sylus pulled away from you and rested his forehead against your own, briefly brushing his nose against yours.

"Should we take this somewhere else?"

His eyes caught the grin that appeared on your face and he just knew no good would come out of your pretty mouth.

"But you still have to finish fixing your gun. Just....keep going..." you pressed a soft kiss underneath his jaw. "I'll...keep you company."

Sylus knew exactly what you meant when your hand tightly wrapped around his cock, now leaking with desire for you.

As if in a trance, he watched you pull down your shorts up to your knees and moved your panty aside before brushing his cock against your folds.

His hold on your thigh had become tighter as soon as you fully took him inside you once you sat back down on his lap. Sylus closed his eyes and lightly nipped your shoulder to suppress a groan out of pleasure.

Even though this feels like some sort of punishment, he'll be lying if he says he's not enjoying it. As long as it's you, he'll gladly do anything you want and take anything that you offer.

Returning your grin, Sylus redirected his focus on his weapon. If he wants to move in the bedroom and properly take you, he has to work faster.

But it was a lot more difficult than he realized.

Sylus can't help but thrust into you as he became desperate for friction.

You're squeezing him so tightly.

He needed to move so badly.

"Sweetie...." beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and neck. "Are you sure you're comfortable here? Wouldn't you want to move somewhere else?"

"I'm fine."

Of course you aren't fine.

You're just as impatient as him, and it's taking all of your energy to appear nonchalant just like he is. You've become so wet that you're oozing out even with his cock in you.

But you really did want him to finish polishing his gun now so that you can have the rest of his time.

"Just hurry up already."

Sylus almost laughed at how whiny yet demanding you sounded just now. He would've teased you if only he wasn't just as needy.

All he could do was nod and rush his work, while simultaneously making sure the quality of his weapon is sufficient.

After polishing every piece, Sylus expertly put everything together. He might've slowed down once or twice as you'd clench his cock and his vision would blur as he'd lose his focus, but he managed to power through until the end.

And once you finally made it to his bedroom, Sylus' patience ran out as soon as the door was shut and locked.

He gently nudges you against the door and kisses you deeply while his hands caresses your body. He unbuttons and unzips his pants before pulling it down along with his boxers to reveal his reddened cock that's even bigger and harder now than before.

You eagerly got rid of your shorts and underwear. Before you could remove your shirt, Sylus latched back into you, spreading your legs and wrapping your thighs around his hips before thrusting back and forth.

Noticing the loud noises that the door would make as he pounds into you, he took a few steps back from it before bouncing you up and down his cock.

You cry out with pleasure, throwing your head back as he hits the deepest part of you, over and over again, making your insides clench and pulsate.

He lightly sinks his teeth into the nape of your neck as he reaches his climax, with heavy cum spilling out of you and staining the floor.

Your own release followed a few seconds later, soaking his thighs as he brings you over to his bed. He positions himself between your legs, aligning his mouth in the middle of your thighs.

"Since you were so thoughtful in giving me company while I worked...." he pauses to playfully flick your forehead. "I'm yours for the rest of the night."

- zayne -

Poor Docctor Zayne is stuck in his home office, finishing up a report for his latest research project.

You also have a report to do for the Association, so you decided to join him just so he could have company. After all, you haven't seen each other for two days now.

"Zayne, I got you some snacks."

As you arrived, you set some food and drink on a separate table specifically used for snack breaks.

Zayne's eyes lights up as soon as you walked in. He grabbed your hand and pulled you down so that he could give you a kiss on the lips.

"Is it okay if I join you here? I also have work to do." Being around Zayne might motivate you to finish faster, or at least procrastinate less than you usually do.

"Of course."

It's not the first time you worked with him in his office, so there's an extra chair just for you to use; however, Zayne realized just now how far away it is from him.

It's placed behind his other desk that he rarely uses, perpendicular from the one he's currently using.

Not even five minutes after you started typing, Zayne called out your name.

"Why are you sitting so far away? Scared I'll look at your screen? I promise I won't copy from you."

You laughed and scooted your chair next to his. "I don't mind letting you copy from me, Doctor Zayne."

Soon, the two of you fell in a comfortable silence except for the sounds of your fingers clicking against the keyboard, as well as the pages of Zayne's books being turned occasionally.

Sometimes, you'd mumble something as you're typing, and Zayne would smile in amusement, fond of the way you're fully immersed in your work.

After a decent amount of time has passed, you cheer as you concluded your report. "All I have to do is edit it for the final draft!" you got up to stretch and stopped in front of Zayne. "What about you? Still have a lot to do?"

"I'm almost done as well. Just reviewing a reference before I get to my last page."

Zayne pauses from his work as he noticed how close you are.

He rested his hands on your waist, urging you to face him. "Why don't you move a little closer?"

"Huh? But my chair's already right next to yours—"

He then gently nudged you forward and adjusted your legs so that you're sitting on his lap and facing the computer.

"Let's just stay like this for a while."

You softened as Zayne embraced you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. He took your laptop and placed it right next to his so that you two can continue your work.

You suppressed a smile, realizing that he wants cuddles.

You'll never deny cuddles from him.

"Okay!"

About halfway through editing your report, you realizes that there was something hard growing behind you.

"Zayne..."

You look over your shoulder and spotted his flushed expression, with his red ears being the biggest giveaway.

"...sorry, I was just — "

He couldn't help himself.

Having you so close...

His mind started to wander not long after you sat on him. Images of the last time you were on his thighs flashed through his head, and his body reacted immediately.

"No need to apologize."

You run a hand down from his chest and down to his crotch. Zayne closed his eyes and sighs softly as you palm him through his pants.

Then, your hands come to a halt and he gives you a concerned, questioning look.

"You still need to finish your work."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "You're right. Can't get distracted..."

You grinned at the disappointment that briefly flashed through his eyes. "I'll just... make you feel good while you work, so stay focused, okay?"

"Wha — nggnnh!" Zayne's reply gets cut off by his own moan as you grind your ass against his cock. His chest pressed against your back and his hands darted to your thighs, encouraging you to keep going.

His fingers made their way to the zipper of your pants, silently asking for your permission. In return, you held his hand and assisted him in pulling your zipper down and undoing the button right above it.

You lifted your hips so that he could pull your pants down before unzipping his own pants to free his cock from his boxers.

Kissing his lips, you moved his hands back on the desk before slowly sinking down on him, his cock nestled deep inside you.

Zayne groans at the tightness that enveloped him. His forehead rests on your back while he takes a second to steady his breath.

"Zayne..." you moved his hands towards his keyboard. "Keep working, you're almost done~"

He narrowed his eyes at your sly grin. "You..."

You only patted his cheeks in response before putting your attention to your own laptop to continue editing your work.

You heard a defeated sigh before Zayne continued with his research paper.

You made sure to move your hips every once in a while, drawing out moans and sharp breaths out of him. You enjoyed the way his hands would freeze every time you grind yourself against his cock, which would then twitch in response.

Only after a few minutes, Zayne's typing increased speed. You're impressed with the way he never mispelled a single word.

His focus intensified by a tenfold.

Not once did his hips move.

Not until he was fully done with the report.

Only after he closed his laptop did he touch you.

He stood up and put you down on he desk after moving everything aside.

"Now that I've finished my work early, don't you think I deserve a reward?" he asked, running a hand from your knee to your thigh.

You smiled and pulled him closer, clutching the collars of his shirt. "Of course. Anything you want."

"In that case..."

His mouth devours yours and he parted your legs wider before standing between them. He stroke his cock a few times, spreading his pre-cum on the rest of his length before aligning his tip with your core.

Before pushing himself in you, Zayne rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit, causing you to mewl against his tongue.

Zayne didn't waste much time after gently easing into you. His hips began to move back and forth while his hands grips your waist, making sure your body doesn't get pushed back from how hard he was thrusting.

Your hands are pressing down on his shoulders, eyes on his chest that you exposed after partly unbuttoning his shirt.

You fixed his the glasses that threatened to fall from his face before his lips dove to your neck to leave a trail of hot, wet kisses on your skin.

His pace picks up by the minute as he grows desperate for release. Sweat drips from his forehead and neck as his movement loses control. You were gasping for air as he thrusted harder, knocking down a few trinkets on his desk.

Zayne suddenly pulls out right before ropes of cum splashes you in the chest. His hand rubs his sensitive cock as he continues to empty himself out, hips stuttering while he grunts loudly, unable to hold himself back, especially when your own climax came not too long after.

As the two of you took a moment to catch your breath, Zayne took your hands and gave your knuckles a soft kiss.

"That was... quite a special way to encourage me to finish my work faster, although I can't say it wasn't effective. I'll make sure to remember your technique so I can do the same to you next time."

"...what did you say?!"

Zayne smiled and pecked your forehead. "Shall we go take a shower before dinner?"

- caleb -

Usually, he'd drop whatever he's doing and give you his undivided attention — but not today. In his living room, Caleb is assembling a complex model for a newly designed plane.

It's not like you had any plans in particular, so you didn't mind. You're quite intrigued with the way he's so focused on putting the figure together.

The tiny pieces give satisfying clicks as Caleb attaches them together, all while his eyes are narrowed and brows are furrowed. You always love at his concentration face.

Though, you've broken his concentration for a second as he briefly paused to face you. "Bored, Pip-squeak?"

"Not really. I like watching you build your little plane."

Caleb laughs as he's reminded of the past. You always did have a habit of observing him whenever he's building something, whether it be legos or school projects.

"Why don't you come over here and help me with it? Once we're finished, we can go to the park and have that basketball shooting challenge that you insist we have. Then, we can go eat after. Deal?"

You grinned and sat next to him, kneeling down on the floor and facing the center table. "Deal."

"Not there."

Caleb wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you right on his lap.

"Here is better."

The way his lips brushed against your ear as he whispered caused your face to heat up but you kept your gaze on the figure.

"Wait, you've been doing this with no instructions?!" you looked around the table and saw that there's a folded paper still inside the box that the pieces of this figure came from.

"Oh, I forgot about the instructions." Caleb uses his evol to summon the paper and place it in front of you. "That would make this waaay easier. Good idea, Pip-squeak."

"Hmph. Assembling this thing without instructions.... what a show-off."

Caleb chuckles. "I'm used to building plane models, that's all. Even though this one has a different design, the base is still pretty much the same."

"Show-off."

You moved your hips a little so that you could be more comfortable as you start to lock in for the project.

You're not a genius like Caleb, but at the very least, you can assemble pieces of a spaceship. It's just like playing with legos, but for adults. How hard could it be?

Three minutes later...

"This looks just like that other piece!"

"That one goes to the left wing. It's three millimeters smaller than the other one, which goes on here instead."

Caleb leans forward, chest pressing against your back so that he could help you with the pieces that you were getting confused with.

"Tch. Show-off."

Five minutes later, you're getting the hang of it. Of course, you're following every step of the instructions, while Caleb continued to assemble without it.

Although, just now, his hands suddenly froze just as he picked up a piece for the plane's tail.

At last, you caught him struggling.

"Heh. Does the genius need instructions now?"

You smirked as you looked over your shoulder, only to see his face flush and forehead slightly sweating. His lips are parted apart, taking quiet deep breaths, and his eyes have darkened as his pupils dilate.

"Caleb? Are you — "

"Ngggnnhh... don't... move..."

"What? Why?"

Twitch.

You got a respond not from his mouth, but from another part of his body down below, right where you're sitting.

"Oh."

Caleb embraces you and buries his face against your neck while he slowly moves his hip upwards, desperate for friction.

You grind back to him and reached a hand back to feel his hardened cock through his sweatpants. He lets out a quiet whine and slides his fingers to your thighs, sneaking up your soft skirt.

As he whispers your name, Caleb's finger toys with the fabric of your panty that's covering your core, making your insides clench with arousal.

You kissed him softly while he pulls down your underwear, hiding it in his pocket rather than letting it fall to the carpet.

You then take a moment to tug on the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers. Caleb lifts up his hips so you could remove them, though he gave you a questioning glance when he noticed that you didn't fully get rid of them.

"Caleb..."

You slowly caressed his face and gave him another kiss before taking his cock and sinking down on him.

Moaning against your lips, he didn't waste a second before thrusting up, sliding in and out of you while holding onto your hips.

"Wa — ah, wait, Caleb..."

He stops immediately. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No, no not at all". you gave him a reassuring smile, which soon turned into a grin that had him gulping nervously. "I was just gonna say... we should finish assembling your plane first."

"What...?" he looks at you with disbelief. "But..." his cock twitched once again, reminding you of his current state. "You..... are doing this on purpose...." he spoke slowly, breath hitching as he tries to restrain himself from rutting into you. "Teasing me like this...."

"I don't know what you mean. I just want you to finish your super cool model."

He detected the playfulness in your tone. "Just wait till I'm done..." he warns in a deep tone before his hand goes back to the separate pieces of the model.

He grunts under his breath as he feels you clenching on his cock, which was growing while buried in you.

"You're not... making this easy... at all..."

He's using up all his strength to not move, meanwhile you're torturing him by shifting ever so slightly once every few minutes.

You bite the inside of your cheek to suppress a grin as you watch Caleb mess up a few times, mind clearly frazzled.

"You can do it~" you cheered with encouragement, wrapping one arm around his neck.

Caleb lets out a shaky exhale as you once again rock against his thighs. "I thought you were supposed to be helping me so we could finish faster, Pip-squeak?"

"I'll let you take over and do the easier stuff. I'm... busy."

He lets out a noise that was a mixture of a chuckle and a scoff, something that you hear often whenever you're teasing him.

Caleb continues to mess up a few more times as he hurriedly puts the pieces of the plane model together.

But once he puts the final piece, he lets out a sigh of relief. "Done."

You patted his head. "Good boy."

Not a second later after your praise, you felt his cock twitch again.

Caleb re-adjusted your figure and urged you to turn around and face him, all while remaining on his lap.

"So, do I get my reward now?"

"And what does my genius pilot want as a reward?"

He wrapped his arms around your back and held you close. The bridge of his nose brush against yours as his lips hovered on your own. "Just you."

You closed the distance between your mouths and let your tongue collide with his while your hips began to move in circles.

"Ah — slow down.... I'm gonna — "

Caleb ended up coming quicker than usual, shooting all of his cum inside you.

He was already close to exploding just having you sit on his cock, so as soon as you started to move, his body couldn't take it.

But he's not done with you yet.

Caleb carried you over to the couch and got on top of you before getting rid of the rest of his clothes. He stroke himself while gazing at you, cock stiffening again.

Without giving himself much time to recover, he entered you and pounded hard. His hands slipped inside your shirt to pull it up and remove it off you, then he unclasped your bra and slid it to the floor before putting your left breast in hie mouth.

His tongue flicks against your nipple before giving the same attention to your right breast, groaning against your mounds as a wave of ecstasy struck him, causing him to pick up his pace in going in and out of you.

Your body arches as the tip of his cock hits the deepest part of you. Hissing with pleasure, your hips stutter and your legs tightened around his hips right before reaching your climax.

Caleb didn't dare to slow down.

He's close.

So close.

Just a little more...

You shut your eyes and gasped for air, feeling as if you're drowning as he hammers into you. As your cunt tightened even more, Caleb pulls out and his orgasm splatters all over your stomach, crying out with pleasure.

Caleb's face drops down to your chest and listens to your fast beating heart as the two of you catch your breaths. His body relaxes on top of yours, and you enjoy the feeling of his weight pressing down on you.

Your left hand brushes through his hair on the back of his head.

"Wait, are we still gonna play basketball?"

Caleb laughs at your sudden question. "As long as you don't use any.....unfair techniques again.... then yes, I still plan to beat you in basketball. Need to remind you that I'm still the best Forward."

"Heh. Show-off."

- rafayel -

Rafayel pouts as he's forced to finish a painting that he promised Thomas would be done over the weekend.

It's not that he dislikes the painting, it's more so that Rafayel prefers to take his time, as he loves taking breaks in between work. This time, however, he realized that there's not much room for breaks if he wants to finish by the deadline.

Luckily, he has his beloved to keep him company and make the work more tolerable.

It doesn't matter what you're doing. Rafayel is just happy that you're there with him.

Whenever you ramble about random things, he listens and asks for more details.

Every time you sing a song while cleaning around his space, he enthusiastically sings along with you while tapping his toes.

When you watch him work, he tells you all about what he's doing; why he chose those specific colors, and why his brush moved in a certain way.

Just now, you're arriving from work with snacks to share, knowing that he most likely hasn't eaten lunch yet. You managed to convince him to take just a few minutes off so he could eat properly — or else, he'll pass out and his painting would absolutely not be done on time, you told him.

Once he's finished eating, you walked him back to his working station before announcing that you'll be gone for a bit to wash the dishes.

You took no further than a single step before arms wrapped around your waist and you're embraced from behind, with Rafayel nuzzling his face on your lower back.

"The dishes will be fine on their own for now. Me, on the other hand... I might need to be supervised. Or else...."

"Or else what?"

"Or else..... I'll be kidnapped by seagulls."

You laughed at his excuse, failing to resist cupping his face. "That's true, they would want to steal a lonely delicious fishie in distress. I better stick around and keep them away."

Rafayel beams and pulls you onto the stool chair with him.

"Wha — Rafayel! This chair's not big enough for both of us!"

"I know, cutie."

Rafayel sat you right on his lap.

"Much better."

"You won't be able to paint properly like this!"

"Oh yeah?" Rafayel grins and twirls the paintbrush he held between the fingers of his right hand. "Challenge accepted! I'll give you a masterpiece! Just you wait!"

You were getting ready to let out the most dramatic and obnoxious laugh as soon as you see him looking silly and struggling to move, but you never got your chance.

Somehow, he still managed to look elegant while painting with you in his way. One hand working, and the other is resting on your left knee.

He truly is a man of many talents.

Since you're there, you might as well enjoy the show. You always find it satisfying and relaxing to watch Rafayel work.

Every graceful stroke of his brush and the way colors smoothly blend together on his canvas is something that you could watch for hours.

You were so entranced that you ended up in a daze not a few minutes later.

You only snapped out of it when you heard a moan from behind you.

Before you could turn your head, Rafayel's hand on your knee moved up to your thigh and his grip on his paintbrush tightened.

"You're not....distracting me on purpose, are you?" his warm breath tickled your neck as his lips brushed against your ear.

You were confused for a second, then he stirred his hips and that's when you felt how hard he is.

"Rafayel..."

You raised a hand to caress his red, warm face and traced his soft lips before giving him a lingering kiss.

He sighs with content against your mouth as he leaned in for more, eyes closed as he cherishes the taste of your lips.

Then, you suddenly pulled back and he looks at you with a pout.

"I wasn't trying to distract you before but now I really am distracting you. You have to keep working if you want to finish on time, Raf."

He groans and rests his forehead on your shoulder. "I knew it. You hate me."

You laughed and squished his cheeks. "Not at all. It's the opposite." one of your hands went to his chest and slid down to his stomach, then to the button of his pants. "I'll stay here and keep you company while you work, okay?"

His breath hitches as you start to unbutton and unzip his pants. "Okay."

You pulled your pants down and moved your panty aside before sliding his cock into you. You let out a gasp as it slipped in so easy, due to his already soaked tip.

Rafayel grunts as his cock settles into your pussy. His body burned with the need to move. His left hand was enveloped with yours, resting on the side of the stool. You then took his right hand, which was still gripping the paintbrush, and held it up to his unfinished painting.

"Keep working."

Rafayel gulps before moving the brush.

Just after a handful of strokes, his cock stirs inside you and a low groan escapes from his mouth.

"I need you. Can I — "

"You have to finish this first. Then, you can move as much as you want, how fast you want."

He throbs at your words.

With his body ignited, Rafayel finds the energy to continue working at a faster rate.

Despite being on the verge of losing control, his hand movements remained steady. Although, he can't help but pause once every while, as you'd clench around his cock and send him farther on edge.

You lost track of time for how long you two were in that position, but Rafayel didn't finish the painting until the sun had gone down and it's dark outside.

The waves outside of his house crashed loudly, and the cold breeze has breached the room, though you could barely notice it as your body is being warmed by Rafayel's.

"It's beautiful!" you exclaimed, admiring his mostly finished artwork.

He said it still needs some final touches, which has to be done tomorrow once everything dries up, but for today, his work is finished.

"Now that you're done, do you wanna eat din— "

Rafayel suddenly stands up but kept an arm around you so that you two don't separate.

Your feet touched the floor and Rafayel slightly bends you over, with one hand on the small of your back and the other on your hips.

"I was promised something once I was done working. Don't you remember, my beloved?" he whispers against your ear before pressing his lips on your cheek. "You offered me yourself."

Your insides tingled at his tone, your core burning up with excitement.

"I can move how much I want, and how fast I want." he repeated your own words back to you. "I'll be taking my gift now."

Rafayel pulls out of you, only to come back in slowly, inch by inch until all of his length is in you. He repeats a few more times before gradually picking up his pace and strength, while his hands hold your hips to keep you steady.

He echoes your erratic gasps of pleasure, sweat glistening on his skin as his body rocks against yours. The sound of his hips snapping against your flesh gets lost in the waves that grew stronger and louder as they reach the shoreline.

You cry out his name as you feel yourself nearing your climax. His chest touches your back and his left arm supports your stomach before going even harder.

Soon, your knees buckle and your hips stutter before coming as he was still fucking you. Rafayel groans as he continues to push himself into you over and over, finding it difficult to slow down.

Then, he explodes inside of you.

And still, he continues to pound you.

The two of you hiss as your sensitive bodies reaches their limits, yet neither are pulling away.

Rafayel didn't stop until the two of you came for the second time. Only then, did he pull out of you.

But still, he wasn't finished.

Rafayel sat you down on the stool chair, then he got on his knees and parted your legs.

"How kind of you to bring me my dinner, my beloved~"

- xavier -

Xavier was in the middle of playing a videogame when you entered his apartment, though his eyes are halfway from closing and the controller on his hands are on the verge of slipping to the floor.

You snuck up towards him so you could give him a jumpscare.

"Boo — whaaa!!"

Without even glancing your way, he suddenly raised his arms and captured you in between them, without even letting go of the controller.

"Hi, doll."

"I wasn't even making any noise and you were half-awake. How did you know?" you sigh, falling limp with your stomach onto his lap.

"You can call it an extra sense."

"Pfft. Okay, Spider Man — oops, I mean Lumiere — "

You were forced to stop talking as Xavier bends down to cover your mouth with his while playfully nipping your bottom lip.

"No Spider Man or Lumiere, just your Xavier."

You were left dazed and speechless from the kiss, so you only stared at his pretty face that wore a half-smile that was proud of the reaction he got out of you.

Xavier casually resumes on playing his videogame, acting as if he didn't die at least seven times just now while he was distracted.

You shifted slightly as you remained lying down on his lap, finding him just as comfortable as his bean-bag chair, where your propped elbows are resting as you lean on your right hand to watch the screen.

Using you like a pillow, he rested his wrists on your ass while his fingers continue to fiddle with the controller.

You didn't mind it at all and shifted even more so that you could be even more comfortable.

As Xavier advances to upper, more difficult levels of the game, he becomes more focused and you become fully immersed in watching him fight enemies.

You didn't even realize until after a while that Xavier is moving an awful lot while just playing a game.

He seems to be squirming under you.

"Xavier... are you good?"

"Mhmm... 'm fine..."

That sounded like a moan just now.

You narrowed your eyes as you turned your head to face him. Sure enough, his face is flushed. You're more than familiar with that look.

Before you could ask any further questions, you felt a stir beneath your hips.

"Heh."

You pushed yourself up and sat on his lap properly with your thighs on the sides of his hips while facing him. Then, you put your hands on his shoulders and leaned forward.

"You could've just asked me to move for you." you grinded your hips against his crotch, making sure to brush against his hard-on.

Xavier lets out a shaky breath before dropping the controller on the floor and putting his hands on your hips, urging you to keep moving.

You swayed your hips until his cock was straining against his pajama pants, until his tip was leaking from desire.

And then, you stopped.

"What — what's wrong?" Xavier looks at you worriedly, eyes still half-lided with lust.

You tugged on the waist band of his pants and pulled it down along with his boxers. Xavier moves to help you get rid of it, then he sighs with pleasure as your hand touches his aching cock.

You stroke him a few times before easing him into you. Xavier grips your hips and nudges you to move, but you stay still despite your insides clenching with need for him.

You slightly bent down backwards to pick up the controller he dropped and put it back in his hand.

"You gotta keep playing, Xavier~"

"What?"

"You wanted to finish this level, right?"

His brows furrowed with confusion. "You...want me to keep playing? Right now...?" His cock twitches, reminding you of your current positions. "But..."

"It'll be fine! I'll cheer you on!"

Xavier then realized what you're planning and lets out a low chuckle before tightening his grip on the controller.

"Fine, but... don't move until I'm done. This won't take long."

Now you wished that you'd faced the other way so you could keep watching him play. Looking over your shoulder to see the screen is uncomfortable, so you just rested your face on his shoulder.

You had no idea what was happening in his game but the fast clicking sounds of the buttons of his controllers made you want to laugh with amusement, knowing he's probably speed-running the level.

But then, you heard a sound that told you that his character just died, and it was followed by Xavier cursing under his breath.

To say that it didn't turn you on would be a lie.

And Xavier picked up on that too when he felt you clench around his cock.

Suddenly, everything darkened around you.

"What?!"

All the lights in the room just went out.

"Looks like the power went out." Xavier murmurs before letting go of the controller. "I can't play now. Too bad."

Xavier's hands made their way back to your hips.

"Gotta find something else to do."

He starts to gently push your hips back and forth, emitting a soft gasp out of your lips, which was muffled as he kisses you deeply.

You nudged him back so that his back could rest on the spatious bean-bag chair, then you put a hand on his chest and bounced on him harder, drawing out erratic groans out of him.

Sweat drips down your bodies as you grind against each other, and yet you couldn't slow down as you feel your insides tingling.

Unable to stay still, Xavier started to thrust his hips upwards to meet you half-way, going even faster than you are, all while his hands are tightly clinging onto yours.

Along with your cries of pleasure, the pitch black room is filled with the sounds of your bodies crashing as you chase your high together.

While Xavier pounds into you uncontrollably, your legs shook as you reach your orgasm, which dripped down to your thighs and onto his skin.

Xavier doesn't stop nor slow down as he feels his climax coming. He sat back up and continued to push his pulsating cock into you until he finally bursts and fills you up with ropes of cum.

He then wrapped his arms around you to hold you against him, with you still on his lap and his cock still nestled nside you.

He buries his face between your breasts, enjoying the way your hand softly combs his hair while you catch your breath.

"Hey, what's that?"

You squinted your eyes to observe the speck of light from his gaming console.

"It's...still on...."

You blinked as you realized what Xavier had done.

"The power never went out... you used your evol to get rid of all the lights?!"

Xavier yawns. "I'm sleepy. We should take a nap."

"Hey!"

[hoshigray]

Pretty Please with a cherry and spinkles ontop😩🙏 I need a Pussymatized Toji. Absolutely infatuated with his FWB. He was the one that said no attachments until he got addicted to her.

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: lmao, "pussymatized" is new, but i see the vision!!

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: fwb! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - kissing/making out - implied prior sex - backshots + missionary positions mentioned - oral (f! receiving) - feedbag position - multiple orgasms - Daddy kink - overstimulation - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, sweetie) - clitoral play (licking and sucking) - pussy-whipped! Toji - mention of spit and tears.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

Toji knew better. He’s done the whole friends with benefits gig plenty of times, and he knows the big rule that comes with the package:

Absolutely no feelings involved, or else the arrangement is off.

“Hoooh…! Ahhhn, T-Toji, stop…Not too fast!”

That is until he met you.

For about a year, you and Toji have been friends with benefits. It started as something Toji told you about, how he’d sleep around and get in those kinds of relationships. You were the one to ask if he’d be down to do it with you.

The onyx-headed one thought about it for a minute until he gave in and said sure. However, he stressed the “no feelings attached” policy intensely. He considered you a dear friend – a rarity in his life – and he didn’t want what you two were doing to damage this close relationship. It was just casual sex with a friend, nothing more. And you nodded to his regulation with a smile, moving your friendship to the next level.

Off the bat, the sex between you two was great! It had been a while since Toji had done stuff like this, and doing it with someone he could trust like you made the interaction smooth and entertaining. Problems between the two of you were rare, and it’s thanks to you two being mature adults that made handling this non-serious relationship easy!

Nevertheless, one thing made this cooperation difficult — at least on Toji’s part. The older man was becoming more and more infatuated with you.

He doesn’t know when it started getting this bad; Toji was never one to be the one catching feelings during these kinds of kinships. So, this was a bit new for him, and it made the poor man go crazy as the days went on. Him? Catching feelings?? Breaking his own rule??? Get real!

But he couldn’t lie to himself, it was all different since he was doing it with you. You were the closest person he could call a friend outside of Shiu, and that never changed once you two became fuck buddies. If anything, things have gotten a lot closer between you two. You cared for his kids while he was away, cooked meals for him because you feared he didn’t eat enough during the day, or invited him on grocery sprees. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t do stuff like that before. Yet now that you and Toji were doing things beyond a regular friendship, the man was seeing you in a new light that he hadn’t seen before, and God, it was suffocating him. He doesn’t know how many of your gorgeous smiles or sweet strings of laughter he can take before he snaps. 

But it wasn’t just your personality and gracious aura that lured him on. As mentioned before, the sex was amazing — No, scratch that; you were amazing. It had been a very long while since Toji had done sexual shit with someone who could reciprocate pleasure. Fuck, you felt so good, whether it was jerking or sucking him off while massaging his balls in your pretty hands, or bouncing on his cock with that tight cunt of yours that had him on the edge, holding on to your waist as he’d piston his cock deep inside. Merely thinking about churning your walls that snug on his cock had him gulp thickly, thinking a heavy sigh would get these thoughts out of his mind.

But they don’t, of course. Because he’d be damned if he’d try to forget the image of your beautiful body all hot and sweaty with his. Your moans and squeaks were all prompted by his thrusts, and – fucking Jesus – he could never get over the way you said his name, so desperate for him with watery, doe eyes that pull him in. Looking all disheveled and alluring for him and only him, peering over your shoulder when he’d hit it from behind like you wanted to see him feel good. Toji would’ve been a fool if he hadn’t fallen for you!

There was a time when Toji’d slip up and hold your hand as he chased release, noticing you catch the sight of his palm and integers gripping yours. Thinking you were uncomfortable, he removed his hand from yours, only for you to wrap your legs around his waist and bring him to you for a kiss. It was just a kiss, is what he’d say to justify it. But hearing you mewl under his lips and whisper to his ears was the last straw for him, hammering his dick and spilling his load into you as you two made out passionately.

Yeah, there was no doubt about it; the guy was falling for you hard.

So hard that he couldn’t stop thinking about you. It scared him a bit – the thought of you being his made his heart beat at a pace he hadn’t experienced in a long time. You corrupted his senses; he wanted to hear you, kiss you, feel you, smell you, taste you — fuck, did he want to taste you; it was so bad.

But it wasn’t as bad until you hadn’t stopped by for two weeks. You’d text him your apologies, saying that work caught you up and that you couldn’t see him and the kids. And even then, you’d still manage to throw a phone call before sleep, and Toji doesn’t know if that was better or worse. Your voice made his skin crawl, loving how you spoke to him all soft and fatigued yet affectionately. You were too good for him, having him feel guilty for fisting his cock unbeknownst to you.

He couldn’t take it anymore, being away from you. He could barely go through the first week, and the second had him itching to see you. That’s precisely what he did, calling you to let you know he’d come to see you. And once you opened the door to greet him with a warm smile, that last bit of thread in him had finally snapped.

“Nnmmah! Hic…shtooopp licking…! I’ll cum again, I’m gonna—!!”

After pulling you in for a hungry kiss, the man brought himself inside your apartment with you glued to him. Feverish pecks kept your lips on him, squeaking at how smoothly he picked you up and brought you to the living room couch. He’d suck on your neck while removing your bottoms, already stifling him with your fragrance to the point he shudders. 

He’d trail his kisses downwards, nibbling on certain areas that made you gasp for him, sucking on the skin of your inner thigh as his fingers rubbed on your folds covered by damp underwear. You had him on his knees, uncaring about the angle. His thoughts only thinking about the wet chasm he sees after discarding your panties. Nothing holds him back from plunging his face into your wetness and showing no signs of stopping when you’re wailing for him. He’d lick, lap, and suck on you with no remorse, face utterly stuck on your slit until you came for the first time. 

“—Ahhaa, I’m cummin’, Tojiii! OhJesusChrist—Nnnmoo!”

“Mmmph…! Fuck, c’mere, sweetie, lemme take care of you…”

And now, he’s chased you down for another climax, your legs tremble and your figure shakes as Toji’s tongue relentlessly pets around your labia, frantically licking your clit to expel more fluids to seep out your vagina.

And Toji drinks it all, stuffing his face into your inner thighs like breathing is not an issue. You cry and involuntarily try to close your legs as your nerves are at an all-time high, grabbing tuffs of raven hair. But the man doesn’t allow you to shy away, his strong hands keeping you grounded on the couch as he eats you out. They never leave your frame unless it’s to unzip his jeans to let his erection breathe. Your cute howls of pleasure, your delightful fluids painting his tongue and lips, and your intoxicating smell; all have his hard-on twitch painfully, precum staining his boxer briefs. 

He’s so far gone, his scarred lips kissing on your folds to gently juxtapose the tongue he uses to fuck you. You jerk and jolt, sobbing from the fervent mouth making sure every crevice of your cunt goes explored. Your orgasm still isn’t away, everything feels so sensitive that you feel like you could break.

“Tahhh, Toji, nooo,” you wail, trying to push his head from burrowing deeper between your thighs. Yet he shows no cooperation. “I just came, yer doing t’oo muuch…!”

Now, he finally removes his face from you, his chin wet with your essence which he licks from his lips. “Sorry, mama,” his rich emerald eyes lock with yours, they have you freeze under his gaze. “But I’m not done yet.” You shake your head, inching your hips away from his proximity. But he captures your waist and slides you back down. “Don’t,” he pleads, placing your legs on his shoulders. “One more time fr’ me, ‘kay, baby? Let Daddy have ya one more time.”

An excruciatingly slow lick from down your slit to your clitoris has you quiver, sloppy kisses further the mess of saliva and come between your legs, and you can’t control the throbbing sensation that returns to ache your inner walls. He chuckles, “Look at ya winkin’ at me, guess ya want more of me too, huh, sweetie?” He makes your ears ring and hot, throwing your head back when he spits and sucks on your clit harshly.

This time, Toji straightens his back a bit to lift your legs with him, hands securing you close to him on your hips. It was a view you hadn’t mentally prepared for, seeing your weight be supported easily. 

He continues to lap around your labia, taking in all the excess slick to suck on, not leaving any drop go undiscovered. His precision has you roll your eyes to the ceiling, a hand griping on his wrist as he rubs on your clit.

“Ohhhfuuuck,” your words were slurring together, brain too mushy to cooperate and form eligible sentences. The man between your legs makes that hard enough. You don’t even attempt to squirm out because Toji’s lips will latch right back onto you. “Daddyyy, right there…More, pleasee.”

“Good girl,” he praises, rewarding you with swirls circling your clitoris before a suck, and your legs cross around to push him further. “That’s my girl…Mmmm, fuckin’ Christ, taste too good…” His deep voice sends vibrations up your spine, chewing on your lip when his tongue nestles in between your soaked folds again.

He pushes the wet muscle back inside, groaning at the sensation of you clamping onto him and bucking your hips in his direction. Your cries fill the quiet space, his name coming out in rushed prayers was the only thing that occupies his eardrums. Fuck, he missed this so fucking bad, arms wrapping around your waist as he pushes his face deep, his nose bumping to the hoop of your pearl while he ravishes your insides.

The squelches of his tongue and lips are so raunchy and nasty, you feel like filth being used like this. You’ve long given up the control to conceal your moans, and Toji listens to every single one with intent. 

“—Ohhh! Ffsshiiit…!” Oh, no. You can feel it, the next wave climbing up. “Daddy, again! Gonna cum again, I cann’t...!”

“Yes, you can, mama,” he coos, blowing on your slick-covered lips. “Just a lil’ more fr’ me, ‘kay? Just let it out.” His mouth returns to erratically fuck you with his tongue, and his gruff moans are felt on your body. The pressure of your thighs squeezing him makes it better, hitting your delicate clit with gentle jabs that rock you into your third orgasm.

You scream, unleashing yourself as your climax rocks your being. Toji has a good hold on you, softly using the flat of his tongue to lazily lick your cunt, massaging your waist as your hips ride on his face. And it doesn’t help that the older man’s cock is oozing on his briefs, his thighs twitching with his erection wanting to be freed.

With a dangerous last kiss to your sensitive folds, Toji places your legs back onto the couch, wiping your come off his chin to lick his fingers clean before bringing his jeans and briefs.

“Wh..What’s gotten into you,” you ask with furrowed brows and hooded eyes like his, both misty with wanton thirst. “I see you’ve been more pent up than me.” He chortles at your jest, and you happily accept the tip of his cock into your mouth with a blissful hum.

“You have no idea, baby…”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ✩ dividers by @/benkeibear.

[dxrlingluv]

Bound for Eternity

A/N : Imagine if someone draws my writings to life. Imagine……… Anyway! I had to redo this like 7 times because it keeps on saying error whenever I put it to drafts. Hermes art belongs to Zieru from YT! Heart divider credits to @cafekitsune. Thank you for requesting this, Nisha!

WARNING : Fem!Princess!Reader, angst with happy ending(?), friends to ???, bad father.

Word count : 2.5k

Princess Y/N was a vision, a beacon of strength and grace that shone even brighter under the weight of her royal duties. Hermes had seen many beautiful beings in his travels across realms, goddesses and nymphs whose allure was undeniable. But Y/N was different.

She possessed a fire that captivated him, a fierce determination that resonated with his own restless spirit. He was drawn to her not just by her beauty, but by the quiet power she held, the way she carried the weight of her kingdom with such dignity.

He pursued her, in his own chaotic yet charming way. He'd appear in her court with gifts – a shimmering scarf woven from captured starlight, a melody plucked from the lyre of Apollo himself – each offering a testament to his growing infatuation. He'd try to make her laugh with his witty banter, to steal a moment of her time amidst her endless responsibilities.

But Y/N was a princess, bound by duty. Her kingdom was a prize, and suitors came from afar, their intentions as polished as their armor. Powerful dukes with vast lands, charming princes with promises of alliances, and wealthy merchants with coffers overflowing with gold – they all sought her hand, their eyes fixed on the power she represented.

The pressure mounted, culminating in a grand ball where Y/N was expected to choose a husband. It was a gilded cage, a beautiful spectacle masking a heartbreaking decision. Hermes watched from the periphery, his usual confidence replaced by a gnawing anxiety. He saw the strain in Y/N's eyes, the forced smiles, the way her spirit seemed to dim under the weight of expectation.

He tried to express his feelings, weaving them into songs he performed at court, hoping she would hear the truth in the lyrics, a truth veiled in metaphor and melody. But Y/N, ever gracious, ever composed, would simply offer a polite smile, her gaze filled with a distant sadness that mirrored his own.

The night of the ball was a cruel spectacle. Y/N, adorned in a gown that shimmered like captured moonlight, moved through the throng of suitors like a marionette, her every step dictated by duty. Hermes, disguised as a humble bard, watched her from the shadows, his heart ached with a love that felt both boundless and utterly hopeless.

He saw the way the suitors looked at her, not with love, but with calculation, their eyes gleaming with ambition, and hearts filled with desire that makes his skin crawl from anger. He heard their empty promises, their boasts of power and wealth, and a wave of despair washed over him. He was a god, capable of moving between worlds, of bending time to his will, yet he was powerless to change her fate.

As the night wore on, the gilded cage tightened around Y/N. The King, her father, beamed with pride as powerful alliances were offered, vast dowries discussed. Y/N felt like a prize, a commodity to be traded, her own desires and dreams irrelevant.

In a stolen moment, she found herself in a quiet corner of the ballroom, the music and laughter a distant hum. Hermes, abandoning his disguise, appeared before her, his face etched with a pain that mirrored her own.

"Y/N," he said, his voice raw with emotion, "I can't bear to watch this. To see you forced into a loveless marriage, your spirit crushed under the weight of duty..."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes filled with a sadness that pierced him to the core. "What choice do I have, Hermes?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the music. "My kingdom needs this alliance. My people need the security these marriages offer."

"But what about you, Y/N?" Hermes pleaded, his voice cracking with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. "What about your happiness? Your heart?"

He stepped closer, his gaze searching hers, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. "Every time I see you smile at those suitors, a smile that doesn't reach your eyes, it tears me apart. Every time I hear them speak of you as if you were a possession, a prize to be won, it feels like a knife twisting in my gut. I know I'm a god, and you're a princess, and there are worlds between us, but Y/N, I love you. More than words can say."

The music of the grand ball swirled around them, a cruel counterpoint to the turmoil in their hearts. Y/N, trapped between the gilded cage of her duty and the wild freedom offered by Hermes's love, felt as though she were being torn in two. His words, filled with such raw emotion, such desperate longing, resonated with a part of her soul she had long since buried beneath layers of royal expectation.

He had spoken of love, of a life beyond the confines of her kingdom, a life where she could choose her own destiny. And a part of her, the deepest, most secret part, yearned for that life with an intensity that frightened her. To be free, to be with Hermes... it was a dream more intoxicating than any ambrosia.

But the weight of her crown, the fate of her people, pressed down on her with an unyielding force. She was not just a princess; she was the linchpin of her kingdom's stability, the key to alliances that would ensure its prosperity and safety. To abandon her duty, to choose her own happiness over the well-being of her people... it was unthinkable.

Tears streamed down her face, a torrent of grief and despair. She reached out to touch Hermes, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of his jaw. It was a touch of longing, a silent farewell.

"No, Hermes," she whispered, her voice choked with sobs. "I can't. You ask the impossible of me. I cannot simply abandon my people, my kingdom. I am bound by oaths, by responsibilities that I cannot break."

Her words were like shards of ice, each one piercing Hermes's heart. He stared at her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and agony. "But Y/N..." he pleaded, his voice hoarse with pain. "There has to be another way. We can find a solution, a compromise..."

Y/N shook her head, her tears falling faster now. "There is no other way," she said, her voice firm, though her heart was shattering with every word. "My duty is clear. My path is set. And you... you must leave, Hermes. You must go away. Forever."

The words hung in the air between them, a death sentence to their love. Y/N felt as though she had just ripped her own heart out of her chest and offered it to him, bleeding and broken. The pain of saying those words, of condemning herself to a loveless future, was a physical ache, a wound that felt deeper and more irreparable than any mortal injury.

Hermes recoiled as if struck. His face, moments before filled with such desperate hope, now crumpled with a grief that mirrored her own. His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were now dark pools of despair. He stared at her, searching for any flicker of hope, any sign that she didn't mean what she said. But all he saw was the unwavering resolve in her gaze, the heartbreaking certainty of her decision.

"Forever?" he whispered, the word a broken plea. "You want me to... to forget you? To erase you from my heart?"

Y/N turned away, unable to bear the pain in his eyes. "It's for the best," she said, her voice muffled by her tears. "For both of us. You are a god, Hermes. Your life stretches out before you, an eternity of possibilities. I am a mortal, bound to this kingdom, to this duty. We cannot be together. It was a beautiful dream, but it was just that... a dream."

She felt as though she were dying inside, withering away with every syllable. To tell Hermes, the god who had shown her such tenderness and passion, to leave her life forever, was an act of self-inflicted cruelty. But she believed, with a chilling certainty, that it was the only way. The only way to protect her kingdom, the only way to fulfill her duty, the only way to prevent a love that could never be from tearing both their worlds apart.

Hermes stood there for a long moment, the silence between them heavy with unspoken grief. He looked at Y/N, at the princess he loved more than words could say, and saw not the radiant beauty that had first captivated him, but a woman trapped, a prisoner of her own responsibilities. And he knew, with a heart-wrenching certainty, that he had lost her.

Without a word, he turned and vanished. Not with his usual flash of speed and light, but slowly, painfully, as if each step tore a piece of his soul away. He left Y/N alone in the shadows, the echoes of her cruel words ringing in her ears, the weight of her decision crushing her spirit.

Y/N stood there for what felt like an eternity, the tears streaming down her face blurring her vision. She wanted to call him back, to beg him to stay, to tell him that she didn't mean it. But the words remained trapped in her throat, choked by duty and despair. She had sacrificed her happiness, her heart's desire, for the sake of her kingdom, and the price was a loneliness that stretched out before her like an endless desert.

Time passed, each day a slow, agonizing march for both Hermes and Y/N.

Hermes, despite his divine nature, found himself unable to simply move on. The memory of Y/N's tear-streaked face, the echo of her heartbreaking words, haunted him. He wandered through Olympus with a heavy heart, his usual energy and playful spirit dimmed. He neglected his duties, his laughter was absent from the halls, and even the other gods noticed the change in him. He was a shadow of his former self, a god in mourning for a love he believed he had lost forever.

Y/N, on the other hand, was living a life that was a beautiful lie. She fulfilled her royal duties with grace and composure, attended to her people's needs, and even smiled at her suitors. But inside, she was withering. The vibrant princess who had once captivated Hermes was now a pale reflection, her laughter forced, her eyes filled with a perpetual sadness. She had made her choice, the "right" choice, but it had cost her everything.

The kingdom prospered under her rule, alliances were forged, and peace reigned. But Y/N found no joy in her achievements. Every success was a reminder of what she had sacrificed. She would often find herself in the quiet corners of the palace, gazing at the stars, wondering if Hermes was looking at the same stars, if he ever thought of her.

One evening, as Y/N stood on her balcony, the cool night air caressing her face, a familiar melody drifted towards her. It was a song Hermes used to sing to her, a song of longing and devotion, a song that spoke of a love that transcended worlds.

Her heart leaped with a desperate hope. Could it be? Was he here?

Following the sound, she found herself in the royal gardens, bathed in the soft glow of the moon. And there he was, Hermes, standing beneath the ancient olive tree, his lyre in his hands, his face filled with a mixture of sadness and a fierce determination.

Y/N rushed towards him, her heart pounding in her chest. "Hermes!" she cried, her voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

Hermes lowered his lyre, his eyes widening as he saw her. He looked different. Still achingly handsome, but there was a depth to his gaze now, a maturity that had been forged in sorrow.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You... you came."

"You came back," Y/N corrected, her tears flowing freely now, but tears of happiness. "I thought I would never see you again. I thought I had lost you forever."

Hermes stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup her face. "I could never stay away," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I tried, Y/N. I tried to forget you, to move on. But you are in my heart, in my soul. I belong with you."

Y/N threw herself into his arms, holding him tight, burying her face in his chest. "Oh, Hermes," she sobbed, "I've missed you so much. Every day has been an eternity without you. I was wrong. I was so wrong to let you go."

Hermes held her close, stroking her hair, his own tears mingling with hers. "I know," he murmured. "I know the burden you carry, the weight of your duty. But Y/N, you don't have to carry it alone. And you don't have to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of your kingdom."

He pulled away slightly, his gaze searching hers. "I've been talking to the other gods," he said, a hint of his old mischievous spark returning to his eyes. "And I've been doing some... negotiating."

Y/N looked at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and hope. "Negotiating?"

Hermes grinned, a genuine, heartfelt grin that lit up his face. "I've found a way, Y/N. A way for you to be both a princess and to be with me. It won't be easy, and it will require some... changes. But it's possible, thanks to my father."

He explained his plan, a daring, audacious plan that involved a complex web of alliances, a renegotiation of ancient pacts, and a little bit of divine intervention. He had convinced the other gods that true happiness, true love, was worth fighting for, even if it meant bending the rules a little.

Y/N listened, her eyes widening with each revelation. It was a plan that defied tradition, that challenged the very foundations of her world. But it was also a plan that offered her everything she had ever dreamed of: the chance to rule her kingdom with wisdom and compassion, and the chance to be with the man she loved.

[arieslost]

sky full of stars | ln4

summary: dj!lando always plays your song when you’re at the club.

word count: 3,615

warnings: drinking

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

2021

You did not want to be in this club. You would need another pair of hands and feet to count off all the places you’d rather be, the very first one being asleep in your bed.

But here you were, not only in the club, but within a throng of people at varying levels of fucked up, jumping around and dancing to the song pounding through the speakers. Your comforts were twofold: the first was knowing that you could handle the two shots in your system, and the second was that your best friend was the designated driver tonight, so there was no way in hell she was going to leave without you.

Frankly, you’d been ready to leave an hour ago. In fact, you’d started saying the words, “I want to go home” when you caught a glimpse of the DJ in charge of tonight’s music. Granted, it was hard to really look at him considering the fact that the lights were low and you were on the other end of the club, but you’d seen just enough to know that he was attractive and any thought of leaving had gone right out the window. Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t said anything when he started his set, so you didn’t even know what his voice sounded like.

You needed a closer look.

So here you were, surprisingly enjoying yourself on the dance floor while you tried to check him out without being overly conspicuous. You were only able to make out a head of curly hair and the large hand that lifted a shot glass to his lips when your phone started ringing, the buzz in your pocket the only indication thanks to the blaring music. You squinted at the screen, thinking it might be your friend trying to find you, but the caller ID read “Potential Spam,” so your phone went right back into your pocket. You were on a mission.

When you looked up, you made direct eye contact with the man of the hour– the DJ you found nothing short of infatuating. You were rather close to his setup, maybe ten people away, but you could feel his gaze on you as he picked up a microphone.

“This next song is dedicated to the gorgeous woman I’m looking at right now,” he announced to the whole room, sending a wink in your direction before getting to work on fading the current song into the new one– “A Sky Full of Stars” by Coldplay.

You felt goosebumps rising on your arms as the first few notes filled the room, suddenly glad that you were here and not at home, asleep. The lights moved in tandem to the beat of the song, and you finally got a proper look at his face. It’s then that you knew you were screwed, because if he wasn’t the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life, you’d be lying.

You barely had any time to pull yourself together before he was motioning for one of his friends to take over for him and stepping down from the booth into the crowd, making a beeline right for where you stood in the middle of it all.

“You’re awfully bold,” you said when he was close enough to hear you, a bit taken aback by how quickly he’d closed the distance between the two of you. “What makes you think I like this song?”

He didn’t answer at first, instead choosing to slowly run his hand down your arm until his fingers tangled with yours. “You have goosebumps, and I’d be shocked if you didn’t like it. When I played it last time, you came up to me and tried to take the mic so you could sing it to everyone.”

That’s another reason why you never made a habit out of going to the club. Somehow, it always got to the point where you lost your mind a little bit and somehow managed to find new ways to make an idiot out of yourself. But tonight was different– you were managing your alcohol intake, and the hot DJ was calling you out on something you’d been too drunk to remember the next morning.

Your friends hadn’t though; in fact, they’d been gracious enough to provide video proof of them dragging you away from the DJ booth. You’d never felt such shame as you did watching that back.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, his free hand tilting your chin up so he could look right at you as he spoke. “It’s how I noticed you in the first place. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you since.”

At least one good thing came out of my foolishness, you thought to yourself as he took your other hand and put both of your arms around his neck. It made sense, anyway– you definitely would’ve remembered seeing him before had you been sober.

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you warned him as he began to sway to the music, taking you along with him as his hands went down to your hips.

“Neither am I,” he confided, lips close to your ear.

The chorus began, the song’s beat drop making the lights change from red to blue, and you decided that you would let this happen, even if it turned into another embarrassing memory. At least you would remember this time, and you’d never forget swaying back and forth with the handsome DJ as the rest of the crowd danced around you both.

2022

You were in the club again, and you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Spending so much time with your favorite DJ, Lando Norris, will do that to you. After that first dance, he bought you a couple drinks and didn’t go back to the DJ booth for the rest of the night due to you dragging him right back out into the crowd and dancing with him until your feet hurt too much to stand. Eventually, your best friend had found you and told you it was time to go, and in your tipsy state you’d kept your arms firmly around Lando, said something about “holding him hostage,” and vehemently refused to go anywhere. It wasn’t until he gave you his number that you allowed your best friend to take you home.

He texted you right away when he woke up that morning, and the day after the two of you went on your first date. He surprised you by taking you to a rather high-end restaurant; you’d pegged him for a more low-key guy when it came to dates, despite the fact that he’d dedicated a song to you in front of a club full of people, and you were proved correct when you were on the phone with him later that night.

“I don’t even like going out that much,” he confessed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “I just thought you deserved something special for a first date so I didn’t look like a loser.”

“You could have just told me that,” you giggled. “The dress code for our next date can be sweats.”

You still remembered the way his eyes lit up when you said “our next date.” That next date, a movie marathon at your apartment, had turned into countless dates, and you never went back to that restaurant.

Now, you were in the club where the two of you first met to celebrate your one year anniversary. Lando was wearing a white button up, and had just unbuttoned the top two buttons to reveal more of his tan skin and the gold chain around his neck. You’d given him a look, and he’d complained that “it’s just so hot in here,” but the both of you knew he was just doing it to rile you up.

It was working.

Your hands gravitated to the newly exposed skin, palms running up along his shoulders and fingers dipping beneath his collar to gently scratch at his back. You could spend all night running your hands over his skin, and he’d be happy to let you do it. He leaned closer to you, nearly stepping on your toes as his arms looped around your waist.

“You really weren’t lying last year when you said you were a bad dancer.” You laughed at the affronted look on his face.

“I think I’ve gotten better, thank you very much.” He said, and promptly stepped directly on your foot. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry!”

You only laughed harder, pulling him into a kiss. You could feel the vibrations of his own laughter against your lips.

“Wait right here,” he instructed, breaking the kiss. “I’ve got something for you.”

He kissed your cheek and disappeared into the crowd.

The song playing began fading out, which caught your attention because it was in the middle of the chorus. You didn’t need Lando’s DJ knowledge to know that it was a strange decision to fade a song out long before it was over.

“Attention, everyone. We had a special request tonight from a familiar face,” the DJ announced before passing the microphone to none other than your boyfriend.

“This next song goes out to my beautiful girlfriend,” Lando said, pointing directly at you and causing your face to get hot when half the room looked in the direction of his finger. “Happy one year, baby. I love you.”

Your jaw dropped as the familiar opening notes of “A Sky Full of Stars” started playing. Not just because of the song, but because of those three special words. I love you. You’d only said it to each other a handful of times, and Lando had just said it to you in front of hundreds of people.

You met him in the middle of the floor, too impatient to wait until he got back to you.

“I love you, I love you so much!” You yelled over the music, kissing him again.

“One year is just the beginning, yeah?” He asked, and you nodded enthusiastically, cheeks hurting from smiling so wide.

2023

You were wrapped up in Lando’s arms as you stood before his setup. In the past year, he had been promoted to be the main talent for the club and had three sets every weekend. He had insisted that the only gift he wanted from you for your two year anniversary was that you help him DJ his next set, and you’d obviously agreed. You got him a necklace anyway, but kept your promise so long as he promised to help you gain at least some skills beforehand so the audience wouldn’t kick you out for being shit. After a week or so, you felt confident enough with the buffer of the knowledge you’d picked up over the past two years to be where you were now– fading one song into another almost seamlessly.

Lando would take his hands off of you for only seconds at a time to adjust something here or there and make the music flow as smoothly as possible. Otherwise, he was all over you for the whole club to see, and you were kind of obsessed with it. He was hardly paying attention to anything else; only moving on autopilot to fiddle with the knobs or whatever it was he was doing to make you look like an adequate DJ.

“Did I do okay?” You asked towards the end of the set, looking over your shoulder at your boyfriend who hadn’t stopped smiling at you since you left the apartment and arrived at the club early to set up.

“Are you kidding? I think I might be out of a job after tonight,” he said, threading his fingers into your hair to pull you into a long kiss. “At least I would be, if I didn’t have this party trick under my sleeve.”

Slightly dazed from the passion of his kiss, you let him lean around you and queue up a song that wasn’t originally in the mix for that evening’s set.

At this point, you should have expected it, and maybe you did a little bit, but that didn’t stop the tears from pricking your eyes and the goosebumps rising on your arms when “A Sky Full of Stars” began, sending the crowd into a chorus of cheers.

“It works every time,” he said cheekily, reaching up to wipe away the tears that had escaped.

“You are unbelievable.” It was meant to be said in jest, but you were just so filled with love and adoration for him that it sounded like a compliment.

“Dance to our song with me,” he said, spinning you and tugging you forward so you bumped right into his chest.

“Here?” You looked behind you, at the set up, at the hundreds of people, and he took your chin in his hand and turned your face back to him.

“Here. Now. I want them all to see how much I love you.” He said it so sweetly that, in that moment, you were willing to give him just about whatever he wanted.

He started singing the song to you, “‘Cause in a sky, ‘cause in a sky full of stars, I think I saw you,” and it felt like you were the only two people in the room when the beat dropped and you kissed him with everything you had, letting him sway you back and forth and spin you around one too many times just to see his smile and hear his giddy laugh.

2024

You’re surprised when Lando tells you that he’s made different plans for your three year anniversary. The club has become a second home of some sorts; you’re there more often than not to watch his sets, and you’ve always gone there for your anniversaries. Not just the years, but the six month, year and a half, and two and a half year anniversaries as well. Thus, the sudden deviation from tradition raises a few alarm bells in your head. If anything, you’d expect a change for your four years next year since 4 is your boyfriend’s lucky number.

You don’t have time to dwell on it that much. You have to be out the door in ten minutes, and you still have to finish applying your lipstick, not to mention strap yourself into the sparkling silver heels Lando had gotten you for Christmas.

“Almost ready, baby?” He asks, peeking into the bathroom and watching as you add one last swipe of lipstick.

“Yup! Just need my—” you’re cut off when he holds up the heels. “—shoes. Thanks, Lan.”

“Here, sit. I’ll put them on for you.” He gestures to the edge of the tub.

You take him up on his offer happily, and your heart jumps up into your throat when he stares right into your eyes and slowly gets down on one knee before you.

You’d overheard him talking about possibly proposing to you with your parents over the holiday break, and you hadn’t been stealthy about it at all, so he knows that you heard. Since then, he’s made a game out of getting on one knee in front of you every now and then. He already did it once this morning when he woke you up only to tell you that he made you breakfast. You know he’s joking, but now that you’re celebrating a significant milestone in your relationship you can’t help but have a slight inkling that his joking around is less of a joke and more of a hint.

So when he holds your gaze long enough to make you start thinking that it might actually happen before going about putting your shoes on, you’re not at all fazed and ruffle his hair.

“Hey! Easy, I spent a lot of time making my hair look good for you.” He yelps, jumping up to look in the mirror and patting it down meticulously.

“I like it when it’s messy,” you reply, giving him a look that you know drives him crazy.

“You can’t say that and look at me that way when we’re trying to leave the house, babe.” He whines.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You make sure the straps on your heels are tight enough before you stand up, pleased that your retaliation to his down-on-one-knee joke worked better than you thought it would. “Come on, I don’t want to be late!”

He wastes no time in getting his payback for your antics when you arrive at the restaurant he took you to for your very first date. He opens the car door for you, and takes your hand to help you step out. The moment you’re on the sidewalk and the door is closed behind you, he gets down on one knee again, making a point to look at you the entire time. Your heart jumps again. Certainly he wouldn’t do it on the sidewalk? Or maybe he would, to add to the element of surprise?

He doesn’t. He simply ties his shoelace, the picture of innocence all the while.

“Shall we?” He says as he straightens up, offering his arm with a smile.

You retain your own picture of innocence, wrapping your hand around his bicep. “We shall.”

Seeing that he had booked the private dining room has more alarm bells going off in your head, not to mention the fact that you thought you’d never see the inside of this restaurant again. Regardless, you were actually kind of happy to be somewhere quieter to celebrate your anniversary, as much as you’ve fallen in love with being at the club.

Lando clears his throat loudly towards the end of your meal as the waiter pours two glasses of champagne. “Three years,” he begins, sounding somewhat awestruck.

You nod in agreement. “Three years. Sick of me yet?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” He passes you a glass, and you clink them together before you each take a sip. “Actually, I’d really love to just spend my entire life with you.”

Now he’s not even trying to hide it, so you laugh a little bit. “That’s sweet, Lan.”

“I’m serious,” he pouts, and you try to contain yourself, painting a serious expression on your face and nodding as you press your lips together. “Fine, I admit it. I went a little too far with the joke.”

“Which time? Are we talking about just today or the past few weeks?” You ask pointedly, taking another sip of your champagne.

“Okay, a lot too far.” He huffs, getting out of his chair and pushing it in before walking to your side of the table. “I want to make up for it right now though, if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh my God. You’re actually serious?” You ask, feeling your insides beginning to shake a little with giddiness as he gets down on one knee before you for the fourth time today.

“I have never been more serious about anything in my life.” He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a small box.

It looks a bit different than ring boxes normally look, and the moment he opens it you understand why. The notes of “A Sky Full of Stars” emit from within the box where the ring sits, the dazzling diamond sparkling when it catches the light.

“Fuck’s sake, Lando, I wouldn’t have spent so much time on my makeup if I knew you were gonna do this,” you sniffle, putting a hand over your mouth.

“I’ll keep it short because I don’t want to cry too much and ruin it,” he promises, taking your free hand in his own, the other holding the box out to you. “I’ve never been happier to be borderline assaulted by a drunk girl in the middle of a set, because if that never happened I don’t know if we would’ve met.”

You start laughing hysterically, tears most definitely ruining your makeup, and he laughs through his own tears.

“I just love you so much, every little thing about you. It would take me eternity to tell you how much I love you, and that wouldn’t even be enough time with you. So, that’s why I want to ask you to be with me beyond eternity and do me the honor of being my wife.” He says your name like he’s saying it for the first time, taking his time to savor the way it rolls off his tongue. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Hand shaking, he slips the ring onto your finger. The moment it’s in place, he puts his other knee down and pulls you into the tightest hug as the song continues playing from the box.

“I love you,” you whisper in his ear, feeling his shoulders shake slightly as he cries. “But did you have to give me a heart attack so many times today?”

He laughs, pulling away and grabbing a napkin to gently wipe your eyes. “Four’s my lucky number, I had to do it three other times today to make sure I got it right.”

The song comes to an end, and you pick up the box, observing the intricate design and the engraving on the outside– You get lighter the more it gets dark. I’m going to give you my heart. Forever.

“You know this has to be the song we dance to for the first time as Mr. and Mrs. Norris, right?” You say to him, leaning in and kissing the tears off of his cheeks.

“Way ahead of you, baby. I already started making our playlist; it’s the first song on there.”

note: the fact that i’m posting this after lando confirmed he “retired” from dj-ing… call this my long-winded eulogy. special thanks to coldplay for making a song that inspired a whole story!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

beautiful dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @thef1diary @clara760-blog @baby-moxley @positiveaspirations @xfuckoffx @hannahbrown2002 @cataalinababeyy @inejghafawifesblog @formulasportworld @meandjoemama @maddie-bell @mrsmaybank13 @hadids-world @havaneselover08 @aacherrylips @itsmoonia @universallyhoundbonkfestival @rery30 @paigeworlds @wassgood @itscrzy @ctrlyomomma @inlovewithdeadboys @multifandomfan1 @bwormie @megsmclaren @barackostea @enchantemirrorball @tiredallthetimex @cosmoscoffeee @mlilyb16 @ophcelia @idktbhhsworld @l-inas @kath8278 @formulaangel55 @y-nusername @sla123455ffh @dinodumbass @diaa-20 @alexmarie29 @lisoba13 @ftdtlovecore @clowngirlsstuff @jurelij @romanxffs @sadisticfries @loyalpuffofthehuffle @cherrue @itsprashimusic @danielmarie @dampcelery0294 @shasasthings @bringbacktim @lou-larcher5 @yunakynn @hanbinnneee

[goldfades]

can you PLEASE do a lamelo fic with wnba player!reader, where she’s like the leagues golden girl, super sweet to the fans (but a baddie on the court) and the public finds out about her and melo. fans and maybe melos fam’s reaction?

ps- ur doing gods work🙏 we love you babes🩷

Everyone loved you.

Not in the way they loved a social media personality, not in the way they adored an overnight sensation. No, you were something rarer—an athlete with the kind of magnetism that felt effortless, like you were born for this. The league’s golden girl, the sweetheart of the W. Every time you walked onto the court, it was like stepping into a home filled with people who actually wanted to see you thrive.

You made the game look beautiful. Smooth, calculated—tough, but never reckless. You played with a kind of intensity that made analysts call you a generational talent and had little girls in the stands screaming your name, homemade posters in hand. And off the court? You were the one stopping to take pictures long after the cameras had left, signing jerseys and sneakers, talking to fans like you weren’t exhausted from dropping a near triple-double. You were gracious. A role model.

But that wasn’t the only reason people adored you.

You were also a badass.

You carried yourself with a kind of confidence that wasn’t loud but undeniable. The sleek tunnel fits, the way you always had your nails done before games, the way you could be seen courtside at an NBA game one night and dropping 30 in your own the next. There was something about you—something that turned heads, something that made people watch a little closer.

And Melo? He had been watching.

At first, it was casual. Highlight reels popping up on his timeline. Clips of you laughing, talking to fans, walking into the arena in some effortlessly fire fit. His brothers teased him about it, but he wasn’t tripping. He didn’t even follow you back, wasn’t about to look thirsty. He just respected the way you moved.

But then, something shifted.

It was the way you talked about the game in interviews, the way you carried yourself in press conferences with that easy charm, the way you had that rare balance of humility and quiet confidence. You weren’t trying too hard. You were just her.

And suddenly, he wasn’t just watching anymore.

He was intrigued.

It started quietly.

Melo wasn’t the type to move messy, especially not when something actually caught his attention. He’d been in the league long enough to know the difference between a momentary infatuation and something real. At first, it was just an interest, a curiosity that made him linger a little longer on your post-game interviews, watch the way you carried yourself after a tough loss, how you always kept your composure. He liked that. He liked the energy you had, like you weren’t out here trying to prove anything to anyone—you just did your thing, and people followed.

And maybe he was one of those people.

But Melo played it cool. No DMs, no fire emojis under your pictures. That wasn’t his style. Instead, it was a slow, deliberate kind of approach. He started showing up. Not in a way that was obvious, but in a way you noticed.

First, it was at a random game in the middle of the season, nothing crazy, just a courtside appearance that people chalked up to him supporting women’s basketball. He played it smooth, dapped up a few of your teammates, posed for a couple of fan pictures. But you caught the way his eyes lingered on you during warmups, the way he was watching—not just spectating, but watching.

Then, a few weeks later, it happened again. Different city, different game, but there he was.

“Your boy Melo in the building again,” one of your teammates teased as you laced up your sneakers.

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not my boy.”

“Yet.”

You shook your head, but it was hard to ignore. The cameras caught him watching you, fans started speculating, and before long, people were making TikToks about the way LaMelo Ball kept mysteriously showing up to your games. The internet was already piecing things together before either of you had even spoken a single word to each other.

The first time you actually talked, it wasn’t some big, dramatic moment. No extravagant introductions, no forced conversations. Just a post-game event where you ended up in the same VIP section, mutual friends overlapping in ways that made interaction inevitable.

And still, Melo didn’t press.

He wasn’t in your face, wasn’t trying to force something. Just a casual, “Good game,” as he raised his glass to you, that signature smirk tugging at his lips.

You nodded, sipping your drink. “Appreciate it.”

A pause. His eyes stayed on you, just long enough to make you glance back.

“You always this humble?”

You huffed a small laugh, setting your glass down. “You always this nosy?”

His smirk deepened. “Only when I’m interested.”

You were intrigued, but not easy. You made him work for it.

Over the next few weeks, it became a thing. Little moments that built into something more. A DM here, a casual conversation there. Melo wasn’t used to chasing, but with you, it didn’t feel like a chase—it felt like a slow, deliberate unraveling. Like he had to prove himself in a way he hadn’t had to before.

And you weren’t in a rush. You had your own career, your own life, and you weren’t about to be another girl on an NBA player’s roster. If he wanted your time, he had to show he was worth it.

And Melo? He was up for the challenge.

So, he did what he did best.

He showed up.

Game after game, text after text. Nothing pushy, nothing overwhelming. Just a steady, undeniable presence. He didn’t hit you with the corny pickup lines or the flexes—he was just him.

And maybe that’s why, after a while, you let your guard down. Maybe that’s why, one night after one of your games, you let him take you to dinner. Nothing flashy, nothing over the top—just the two of you, sitting across from each other in a quiet restaurant, talking about basketball, life, everything in between.

And that’s how it started.

Not with some viral moment, not with a grand gesture.

Just two people, drawn to each other, figuring it out—slowly, but surely.

LaMelo Ball and WNBA Star Y/N Are Officially a Power Couple—Fans Are Obsessed

It wasn’t like people didn’t already suspect something.

The sideline glances, the way Melo would just happen to be in the same city on one of your off-days, the little inside jokes exchanged during interviews—it had been adding up for a while. But tonight? Tonight was the confirmation. The hard launch.

The charity event was packed. Players from both leagues showed up, big names in attendance, all for a good cause. There were shooting contests, skills challenges, and, of course, the highlight of the night—a one-on-one exhibition game featuring none other than you and Melo.

He was already grinning as you stepped onto the court, looking effortless in your warmups, that unmistakable confidence in your stride.

“Oh, you're smiling a little too hard,” you teased, spinning the ball in your hands as you approached him.

Melo shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at you. “Nah, just think it’s funny how you talk like you really about to do something.”

You raised a brow, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Oh, I am about to do something. Just don’t get your feelings hurt when I lock you up.”

The crowd around the court was already eating it up—phones out, cameras rolling. People were loving this, but all you saw was him.

Melo licked his lips, taking a step closer, lowering his voice just enough that only you could hear. “You locking me up, huh?”

You held his gaze, a smirk pulling at your lips. “You wish I’d lock you up.”

His eyes darkened slightly, his smile lazy. “Say less.”

The ref tossed you the ball, and you checked it to him, clapping your hands as you dropped into your stance. The second he started dribbling, you were on him—fast, aggressive, your body close enough that he had to work to get around you.

“You play defense like this in the league?” he taunted, trying to shake you with a quick crossover.

You didn’t bite. “You this easy to guard in the league?”

A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd, and Melo gave you a look—one of those alright bet expressions that made your stomach flip.

He tried to drive past you, but you slid with him, staying locked in, making it difficult. At one point, he used his shoulder just enough to push against you, nothing illegal, just enough contact to make you stumble slightly.

“Oh, so you're playing like that?” you said, regaining your footing, an amused gleam in your eyes.

Melo chuckled, bouncing the ball against the court. “You can handle it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding slowly. “Alright.”

The next time he tried to move past you, you got even lower, your body pressing against his just enough to make him hesitate. And then—quick hands. You knocked the ball loose, and before he could recover, you snatched it up, stepping back behind the three-point line.

The crowd was already hyped, and Melo held his hands out, a cocky grin on his face. “Go ahead, then. Show me what you got.”

You didn’t hesitate. Smooth release, perfect arc—swish.

Game.

The gym erupted, and you turned to face him, beaming. “What was that about me not doing something?”

Melo laughed, shaking his head as he stepped toward you. “Alright, you got it. You got it.”

You were still smiling when he leaned in just enough to murmur, “You ain’t really win, though. You still gotta see me later.”

Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t let it show. You just arched a brow, lips quirking. “Oh yeah?”

His smirk deepened. “Yeah.”

And just like that, the internet had its confirmation.

[merakiui]

eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

[6ixtoru]

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, who, despite widespread belief, adored when his (much younger) pretty lady adorned those babydoll lingerie sets. Or, more specifically, when she shamelessly welcomed his home with a honeyed greeting, her sensuous figure clad with that specific provocative attire on display after abruptly swinging the door open – preventing the opportunity for him to (intentionally) rattle his keys in the allocated slot with vigour, longing to be within the confines of their unpretentious but snug apartment.

And the hench male knew she never bothered to verify if it was him standing on the other side with the smart doorbell she’d pestered him into purchasing. Firstly, because he was aware she had memorised the sequence of his arrival, the particular jingle of his keys as he nonchalantly played catch with them, the hefty thumps of his Timberlands as he trod closer, and the melodic whistle reverberating within the isolated hallways. Secondly, it was to simply rile him up. Revealing herself so brazenly as if her modesty weren’t hanging by a thread, as if the possibility of neighbours occupying the cramped corridor of their complex and able to sneak a glimpse was non-existent.

“You're jus’ opening the door like that for everyone, Doll?” He enquired, opting to shut the door with a raised leg and firm kick from behind.

“Perhaps.”.

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, whose sharp eyes, coloured a collection of forest depths, narrowed with a light scoff whilst a sly smile paired itself with her scheming orbs.

She gracefully swivelled around and continued to saunter off, exhibiting the gracious flow of the sheer mesh stitched to the underwire, the base construction of her bra, skimming the bottom of her cheeks, the veiled thong taunting him, which almost provoked him to lunge forward and aim a harsh smack to her bottom.

“Ohhh no you don’t~” he tutted, swiftly grasping her dainty fingertips before she could stray any further, which she demurred amidst a feathery giggle once he twirled her back around.

He strung her soft hand, which he had captured, to rest above his shoulder, dismissing her, chastising his failure to remove his boots with a low ‘shut up'. Tender expressions flickered across both their visages.

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, whose broad physique loomed over her, swayed back slightly so his attentive sight could wander over the matching set, studying the undergarments despite having seen them before – but he could not resist, enraptured by not only her domestic gesture but by the pink colourant complementing her satiny complexion.

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, whose thumb grazed over the synthetic fabric moulding the cups which were embroidered with exaggerated hearts of tonal shades of blush and lilac, the bralette completed with golden hardware and cross detail trimmed straps with a miniature satin bow delicately sewn upon the centre gore and a heart-shaped lock pendant dangling beneath – the design replicated onto the panties that obtained a double-strapping detail to the waistband.

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, who had decided to actively disregard her, informing him that dinner awaited digestion, was still infatuated with assessing the minuscule efforts stitched with delicacy.

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, who had internally perceived the sheer drape as an automated invitation for his calloused palms to slither beneath, marvelling at the feminine material and its pliable attribute, caressing his skin roughened by subservience to capitalism, which stirred his ungovernable libido further.

“Forget ‘bout dinner,” he murmured once his scarred mouth dove for her neck, playfully nipping his brutal canines into the side, which she involuntarily tried to wriggle away from with a syrupy laugh and whine of his name.

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, who hooked his thick index finger between the centre panel and her sternum to forcefully tug her closer once more, the distance between them minimising even further, charming features lifted from the haven of her neck to hover over her own beguiling traits.

“You’re not hungry?” She stated with disbelief and raised brows. “That’s a first.”.

Her witty statement earned the waggle of his brows, and another deliberate tug on the small expanse his digit had remained curved over, suggestive smirk almost brushing against her plush lips “Never said nothin’ bout not being hungry. Just…not for food.”.

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, who paused in coordination with his girlfriend when a faint gurgle disrupted the swell of their sexual tension, rugged mouth parting slightly as her mellow chuckle fanned his briefly flustered expression.

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, who returned to his assertive demeanour when she patted his shoulder, disconnecting his touch from her frame by replacing it with the entwine of her own fingers, trailing him behind her towards the kitchen.

“Well, it seems your body has betrayed you,” she paused, glancing over her shoulder with a reassuring smile, “But hopefully you’re up for desert after?”.

ᯓ★ BOYFRIEND TOJI, who allowed her to remain in the lead and guide him before roughly grabbing a handful of her ass and delivering an assured nod.

“No doubt about it Babe.".

a/n: definitely not my type of writing but was fun to do in short time so expect more lil cherubs

© 6ixtoru all rights are reserved. do NOT repost or copy my work

[birdiewritessometimes]

Hello, can i request for draco x reader where draco is madly in love with the reader but the reader likes someone else. Draco always tried his chances but reader always rejected him. One day, the guy that reader liked chose the reader’s best friend instead of her. Draco is the only one who comforted her and eventually they both end up together

After all this time

A/N: Hiii! I'm so sorry for the wait! I adored this request, and I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it! <3

Summary: Draco has been in love with you for a long time, will he finally get you when no one is there to comfort you after a heart break?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Themes/warnings: fluff, bad friends, heart break, longing, pining, lovesick Draco, kissing, if there is any more, please let me know x

Word count: 1900-ish

Please do not copy or translate my work!

Draco’s infatuation with you had started around fourth year. When he had seen you in that beautiful silver gown, your hair up to show off your neck and shoulders, he had been quite literally floored. He remembered how he had felt bad for his date, Pansy, because his eyes had been on your gracious figure the whole evening as you had danced with one of the Durmstrang boys. The grass had just turned that particular shade of spring green when he had worked up the courage to ask you on a date. He had caught up with you as you had made your way towards the castle after a lesson in care of magical creatures. Your hair had glistened in the spring sun as it swayed in the wind. Your usual group of friends weren’t around you, making it the perfect opportunity for Draco to ask you out. He had strutted up to you, his usual air of arrogance around him, trying to hide his nervousness behind a façade of bravado.

“Y/n” he said to get your attention, you had turned around, a quizzing look on your face, “how about I take you out on a nice date to Hogsmeade next weekend?” He had suggested, a small smirk on his face as his eyes sparkled with hope.

“Oh,” you had let out, a sympathetic look on your face, “I’m sorry Draco.” You had said. Before you could’ve said anything else he had let out a loud, laugh and a quick ‘never mind’ before darting away, not letting you finish.

That was the first time Draco had asked you out. He thought it was the last as well, but boy was he wrong. He found himself trying his luck every now and then. But every time you had said no. You always had the same explanation; you liked someone else and it wouldn’t be fair to him. He understood that he really did. What he didn’t understand was what he didn’t understand was why you couldn’t give him a chance to prove to you that he could treat you a million times better than anyone else at Hogwarts could. You were now both in your sixth year and Draco’s feelings for you hadn’t subsided one bit. In fact, they had just become stronger. He found that you became more beautiful as time ticked on, that smile that he liked so much became more vibrant with each summer and his heart beating faster with every look at you.

He was seated in the library; it was a quiet afternoon in mid-December. To anyone who didn’t know him it seemed like he was studying hard, various leather-bound books scattered around the wooden table. To anyone who knew Draco knew that he was probably to busy staring at you. You were sitting on a table with you best friend across the little secluded part in the library. The two of you were talking about something which was making you frown increase the longer the conversation went on. He swears he didn’t try to listen in on your conversation, he just happened to be within hearing distance.

“He asked you out? And you said yes?” You asked, your voice breaking as you spoke. Draco could feel his heart sink as your voice sounded increasingly sad with each word you spoke.

“So, what if I did? Honestly, y/n, he isn’t your boyfriend.” Your friend said back in a snarky voice. Draco felt his blood boil, because who was she to talk to you like that? Every fibre in his body was screaming at him to go over there to tear into your so-called friend for speaking to you like that.

“No, I just thought-”

“You thought what, that I would pass up a chance with him just because you like him.” Your friend interrupted you, her voice cold, a vindictive smirk on her face. Draco had never wanted to wipe a smirk away from someone’s face as much as he wanted now. Not even Potter could tick him off like this girl, that was supposed to be your friend, was doing right now. He saw the heartbroken look you had on your face as you stood up and excused yourself. Hugging your books to your chest you headed out of the library with hurried steps.

Before Draco could react, he was on his feet, walking after you. His own books under his arms. He didn’t care about putting back the library books. He burst into the corridor, gaining a few apprehensive looks from the students lingering there. His heart was beating rapidly as he looked around for you to no avail. Listening intently, he heard your soft sniffles from a deserted corridor to the right. Approaching the corner slowly he peaked around the corner and saw you sitting against the wall, your books still clutched tightly against your chest as tears streamed down your face. Seeing you look so sad made him want to go back in the library and tear your friend a new one. But he slowly rounded the corner, walking carefully towards you. Hearing his footsteps, you looked up at him. He felt his heart break and blood boil simultaneously when he saw you so sad, so broken against the cold stone floor.

“Not now Draco.” You mumbled, your voice fragile. He continued to walk towards you until he was right beside you. He slid down the chilly stone wall, his arms embracing you to let your cry into his chest. He rubbed your arms and back to give you some comfort and warmth.

“Shh, I’m sorry, princess.” He mumbled as he gently rubbed your arm while you cried into his chest. You sat like that for a while, you sobbing, him rubbing your arm in a comforting way. He was gently rocking you side to side as a way to calm you down. If anyone had asked Draco about his romantic life, he could’ve never had predicted that he would comfort the girl he was so desperately in love with for a heartache she suffered from another guy, but here he was, and he would do it again in a heartbeat.  

“Do you want to tell me about?” He asked gently when you had calmed down slightly. He could feel his heart beat hard in his chest at the look you were giving him, your eyes big and vulnerable as you looked up at him in his arms. Your hand came up to wipe your tears from under your eyes.

“That wouldn’t be fair to you.” You said, your usually soft voice now hoarse. He smiled gently down at you. The thought that you looked good in his arms crossed his mind as he watched you intently. What he would give to be able to hold you like this all the time.

“Don’t worry about it, princess, I want to hear you talk about anything and everything, even if it is about another guy.” He said softly as his thumb came up to caress your cheek. You looked at him, stunned at his admission. He smiled at you; a gentle smile people rarely saw.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a really good guy, Draco?” You mumbled softly. He was sure you could feel his heartbeat now, there was no way you wouldn’t be able to. He felt his heart swell from your words. He was so in love with you it was painful. Any complement from you and he could feel it echo through his whole body.

“I might’ve heard it once or twice.” He said lightly, making you let out a hoarse chuckle. It made his smile widen into a full, broad smile.

“There’s that beautiful laugh.” He said while tucking a strand of your soft hair behind your ear. He saw how your cheeks turned the cutest shade of pink, if he was standing up, he was sure his knees would fail him as you looked up at him, your eyes wide, a blush dusting your cheeks. He was smiling broadly down at you, making you smile slightly back up at him. Without thinking he placed a kiss on your forehead, which felt so incredibly natural to him. He looked at your face again, you looked stunned but slowly a small smile made its way onto your lips.

“Thank you for being there, when no one else was.” You said softly. He was looking into your eyes, those eyes he found so incredibly beautiful.

“Always.” He breathed out as his eyes flickered to your soft looking lips. He saw how they parted as you let out an exhale. His eyes flickered up to yours again as his heart was beating out of his chest with nerves. He could hear the background noise fade as he sat there with you in his arms. He noticed how close you were now making him feel how his blood was rushing through his veins as his eyes was mapping out your face.

“Please kiss me.” You whispered. Draco felt his heart stop for a moment before his hand found your cheek, caressing it softly. He slowly leaned in, embracing the moment as he thought his heart would beat out of his chest. The moment his lips met yours everything stopped. His heartbeat, his nerves, his breath, he thought he might’ve died and gone to heaven. Your lips were softer than he ever could’ve imagined as he kissed you slowly. You kissed him back immediately, your lips tentative and gentle. His hand moved to the back of your neck, to caress the soft skin there making you let out an appreciative sound against his lips. This is how he realised that he did in fact not die, that this was reality. When you broke apart after a while you were sitting there, smiles on your faces as you looked into each other’s eyes. When Draco had opened his mouth to say something you had placed a finger on his lips to silence him.

“Before you say anything I would like to say something,” you said softly before continuing, “I’m sorry for always rejecting you, you are amazing, Draco, if you still would like, I would love to go on a date with you, as long as we go slow.” You finished, a vulnerable note in your voice as you looked up at him. A wide smile spread on his face as his arms circled around your waist hoisting you up in his lap, making you let out a laugh in surprise.

“Slow is fine with me as long as I can keep kissing you.” He said, the smile still etched on his lips. You nodded shyly, a blush on your cheeks as you leaned in to kiss him once more. Yes, Draco had been infatuated with you since your fourth year. Yes, he is madly in love with you. Yes, waiting for you was worth it. (and yes, he did go and tear into your so-called friend when you had finished kissing).

[saintgoths]

ɴꜱꜰᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴅᴍᴄ ᴠ

warning - p!links.

♆ this is my nsfw headcanosn and judgement for v from devil may cry; and i honestly think that v might portray himself as someone who doesnt care for sexual desires but once he gets introduced to it, he's somewhat obsessed with the commodity and sense of his body climaxing.

♆ even though his body can get overwhelmed easily, the outcome of the high erotic bliss is what keeps him going, and sometimes you have walked in on him lying on his own pool of cum, his cock twitching from the over stimulation he has granted himself.

♆ he would be upset that you walked in on him at the end, because he would be too tired for you but he would promise that when he feels better he would have rounds with you and once time passes you usually start out with sucking on his dick and trust me when i say he is obsessed with that feeling, holding both sides of your face as he smoothly fucks his cock down your throat his moans somewhat loud but whiny.

♆ he loves eye contact but sometimes he closes his eyes because of how good he is feeling but when he opens those pretty eyes of his, you could see how much he is trying to pull himself back from crying out of pleasure, your mouth just feels so good.

♆ without a doubt, he does love cowgirl, but he does try out other positions like your leg over his shoulder, side position and full nelson, and sometimes he would teasingly blame you for taking his virginity and making him so addicted to your wet cunt; how he sometimes feels compelled to be risky and take you in areas that could get the both of you caught, though there are moments when v would like to do it in a privacy of a home. though there are other moments when he cant wait any longer and would, in his own gracious way, plead to have your sex gripping around him.

♆ there's been many moments you have given in, compelled by his whines and begs of his moans when you ride him behind a large rock, bouncing on his long and curved shaft as he tightly holds onto your body, his eyes rolling back while he greedily bucks his hips upwards to chase his high.

♆ the moment you give him the green flag that he can suck your boobs, he takes his time to worship and explore your body, but once his lips wrap around your nipple, a switch flicks and he there's this random energy phase he has which pushes him to buck his cock deeper inside of your cunt, taking you by surprise which leads you into being a moaning mess.

♆ he is so infatuated and obsessed with your pleasure, that when you introduced cunnilingus to him, he immediately agreed to it, finding his own pleasure and comfort when it came to licking and sucking on your clit, when lapping his tongue against your cunt he would find himself wrapping his slender hand around his size, tightly squeezing his shaft and fucking his hips up as his tongue dips inside your pussy.

♆ your moans high and twisted while you grip his hair and desperately rub your area against his face helping yourself cum. he finds it amusing when you get into that frantic state.

♆ he really likes it when you ride his face, he likes he idea of you sitting on his face and desperately grinding your sex against his tongue, the mere scent of your nectar drives him frenzied that his cock stands tall and sore, yearning for stimulation which he easily gives into, pumping his cock to a climax while he sucks and and licks your bud.

♆ but when he returns by your side, you would see how tired he gets and sometimes he gets annoyed when you look at them with those eyes, but he understands its from goodness of you caring.

♆ he usually falls asleep before you, but you like that and use the time to admire his tattoos.

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[thatnonameuser]

honsetly really curious on how normalizing yanderes even started, like imagine the laws saying “it’s okay to kill your family and friends if it’s for the sake of a random guy/girl you have a crush on! You can also kidnap and abuse them btw 😁” and then everyone just accepted causally like hello???

The idea I have for this is wayyyyyy too long to be explained in a normal post, so it got upgraded to an imagine.

Imagine.....

Their world is built from stories, myths and legends.

Stories of heroes and heroines saving the day from evil.

Stories of the villains causing the evil to be defeated.

Stories of love conquering all evil, platonic or romantic.

But these stories aren't made up. Aren't tales spun by parents in the dark night to lull children into their beds. Aren't little blurbs of the past to recall and discuss as fiction. They bear so much meaning, too much meaning.

Love was at the center of all these beloved tales. Love conquering evil, love fueling evil, love being what separated the good and the bad.

The heroes and villains of these stories all had one thing in common, love.

The oldest recorded story, from the Shaftlands about the Fairest Queen and the Enchanting Princess was about love. The Queen fueled by her desire to be loved by all, and the princess awoken by true love's kiss. Even platonically, the dwarves' kindness and love for the princess was a story of friendship and love in itself.

But that story isn't a relic told over and over by a weary grandmother trying to get a youth to bed, it's a true story.

But things aren't as beautiful once the final chapter is finished. The Queen and Princess were the first two recorded. The first to ever be found the way they were.

Obsessed with keeping one person to themselves but , despite the way that obsession was born, the two were not too different, the heroine and the villain.

The Queen had loved one, her man in the mirror, and ensured that only she could have them. Back then, she would have been burned for her crimes. As an evil witch, back when magic was rare and scarce, where fae and magic were feared. But she risked it, and imprisoned her 'love' in a mirror, killed off all that fell in her love's sight and, if the dwarves had not come, she would have continued such wicked deeds.

She was originally smeared and slandered when human blood poured out her shattered mirror, and her behaviour regarded as evil. Until the princess began to act the same.

Her prince had loved her faithfully after her awakening, but she began to become enraptured with keeping her prince away from all who could come between their love. Just like her evil stepmother she became taken with isolating her husband from all she could, killing off those who got too close and becoming more and more obsessed.

Back then some feared their kind and benevolent princess was becoming just like her evil stepmother, but one day, the then-anxious and restless prince she married became equally infatuated with her. Some servants noticed a goblet that the prince frequently drank out off being filled with a warm red liquid by the princess. Discovered to be a love potion after the death of the Princess and her husband.

But their princess was kind, she was gracious and fair, soon many began to wonder about the love the two shared. Was it as bad as they wondered, was the Fairest Queen's desperation to kill the Princess warranted, so that she could keep the man in the mirror to themselves.

As the next generation of babies were born, children began to show these attachments to their friends, and strangers. People who'd never meet became attached to one another, both with the ties of family and love. Back then, it was considered a fluke.

But as years went by and the young grew, more yanderes were born and more could feel and aching pull that drew them to another. It wasn't just the human kingdoms either.

The stories of the King of Beasts and the Prince of the Pride, the Thorn Fae and the Slumbering Beauty, and more. And more.

All encompassing that controlling, obsessive love.

Human, beastman, fae. All started to feel the ache of an attachment.

At first, the thought of harming another in the name of love was so alien, so horrible that they could not even conceive it. Even the beastmen, with their animalistic instincts, could not see the appeal of such brutality in the beginning.

So at first, they would try to seek their love, now dubbed as 'darlings', and try to form the normal relationships that they had once assumed.

But that didn't work.

Well, it did at first. At first, the love yanderes had for their darlings were innocent. It was the traditional courting, full of boundaries and self-induced restrictions. And many were originally satisfied.

Originally does not mean forever.

Break-ups happen. Love isn't reciprocated. And darlings can fall for another.

And that is what caused things to get bad. Heartbreak for a yandere is the emotional equivalent of a knife to a heart. It was crippling, agonising. That pain, that ache pushed some to the brink.

Kidnapping.

Murder.

The use of Magic.

All of the once crimes, were used, exploited and abused to keep their darlings to themselves. To kill that agony ripping them apart. At first, the preparators were punished, and their victims were released.

But after so many, many people resorted to this, it became a problem. Especially when the rulers and lawmakers of these lands committed these same crimes. So the laws changed.

Laws went into place, to prevent the normal, civil society from becoming animals, but at the same time, turned them into animals willing to kill for a mate.

Magic and it's powers were decriminalized. Kidnappings and Murders were pardoned, if done in the name of love.

Darlings, the apple of a yandere's eye, became a necessity, a need that all yanderes needed to survive. So allowing yanderes to capture darlings became normal, it became a need.

Over the course of millennias, these things became normal, as magic spread, as more and more yanderes and darlings were born, things changed even more. For the better for yanderes, and for the worse for darlings. Yanderes could do so much, kill and be pardoned, be taught all the ways to control, to break. And darlings could only just sit there and accept it.

Eventually, things did get better for the darlings. Darling rights became common in the more progressive nations. But that was it.

In the name of love all can be pardoned.

Familial murder, kidnapping, the most invasive and defiling of crimes....

And all yanderes are more than willing to do that.

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife - 2

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace, but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”

This blog supports Palestine. Zionists are not welcome here.

You were both nervous and excited, when the nice lady invited you and Rueben, you could sense his hesitation, and you were ready to make an excuse to get out of it but when her son tugged on Rueben’s slacks and asked Rueben to come see and meet his friends, you could sense Rueben’s resolve melting a little. You smiled, seeing your big soft teddy bear of a husband accepting the invitation of little Charlie Shelby.

Rueben looked at you with questioning eyes, you smiled and nodded. Rueben promised that cute little boy that he would definitely come to meet him and his friends at the ball.

Your husband was an introvert and so were you, but he had the courage to ask you out after two months of fleeting glances in the local coffee shop you both frequented. You were pretty sure Rueben timed his breaks to come to see you during those two months just like you used to wait for him for a chance to see charming and handsome devil you now proudly called your husband. Destiny is weird but for you, Rueben was your destiny, and you were his…

His club business had brought him to the U.K., Birmingham specifically, but you had cousins in London, so you decided to tag along with your husband and visit them and then join your husband in Birmingham. It was a nice change of pace; both of your professional lives were hectic and so this mini vacation of sorts came at the right time.   

Your husband is ex-Navy, and he does not trust many people around him or even his business anyone but his squad, and they even adopted you into their little family, something you are eternally grateful for. You asked your husband if his squad could join both of you after a weekend together in Birmingham and your husband agreed with no qualms, little did you know, half of his squad was already planning on joining both of you on this elusive business trip. Rueben always has backup, he never wanted to be involved directly but Tommy Shelby insisted on joining him at his mansion, Arrow House, as his guest but Rueben refused, you can never trust anyone in this business especially the new partners.

Half of Rueben’s squad had already landed in the U.K., prior to his visit to the King of Birmingham, and the other half was back at home. Rueben made sure to book the suite under a fake name, nothing that could be traced back to him or you…

Rueben picked you up from the train station, he loved your quirks, how you hated public spaces like clubs but loved trains, how you pretended to love coffee for him but in reality, you loved tea. How you always made sure to pack him lunch and always made him make dinner for both of you. Rueben never thought he could have a normal life, but meeting you made him believe he at least had to give it a shot, he dragged his feet for two months only to later succumb to his crush, infatuation, his desire to see you daily whatever you can call it. You were his world and he was yours…Your relationship was something true, something solid, something filled with love and determination, something only few people ever find in their life and you were the lucky ones.

At the ball –

Your gracious husband bought you a cool purple gown because he wanted to make you feel like a queen, his queen…Who would’ve thought for once in your lifetime you and your husband would love dressing up? Both of you were giggling like teenagers and acting like royalty.

Just like you assumed the ball was extravagant, more extravagant than anything you had ever seen before. You looked at the wastage of money, these assholes can easily donate money, but they need these stupid ass-kissing events to donate to children in need…

You held on to your husband tightly, out of your element but still giddy about dressing up with your king bear. Just like you, your husband did not leave you alone even while mingling with the people he knew…

“Good evening, Mr. Fitch, I did not expect to see you here…” Tommy commented in his Brummie accent as he joined your group of people, and they left both of you alone with this new person.

“Hello, Mr. Shelby…” Rueben greeted, and you could sense Rueben’s unease.

“I was convinced to join your charity ball by a very insistent Charlie Shelby, whom I couldn’t disappoint.” Rueben replied, you may have missed the implication, but Tommy didn’t, just like Charlie, you were not involved.

“And you must be Mrs. Fitch” Tommy turned towards you, his eyes consuming you.

“Hi, I’m Y/N” you say meekly as you extend your right hand to shake Tommy’s, but Tommy Shelby had something else in his mind, he brings your hand close to his eager lips, kissing the back of your hand much to your shock. You look at your husband clearly annoyed just like you. You feel a chill running down your spine. You take back your hand quickly, trying to escape this man. You lean on your husband to send him a clear signal and your loving husband grabs you by the waist and tugs you towards him, in his embrace… Rueben kisses the top your head to calm you down meanwhile Tommy Shelby watches the interaction enviously. Rueben is fuming with anger, but he is smart, he knows Tommy has his eye on you, something Rueben had been trying to avoid from the start. There is a tense atmosphere around the three of you, thankfully Grace joins in unaware of the charged scene and asks Tommy to mingle with other guests, Thomas Shelby leaves reluctantly with his wife while you plead with your husband to take you back to your hotel,  not wanting to endure the steely blue-stare of the devil.

[adore-laur]

HER

— when harry realized he was in love with sawyer 🩶

——

Harry, an eternal optimist and lover of fluttery sensations that made him weak in the knees, knew Sawyer was his soulmate in December of 1987.

In a way, he felt thrilled about it. He adored his friendship with Sawyer, the girl he laughed unabashedly and could be his complete self with. Pure contentment swam in his psyche every time he was with her, but she was taken by another man who had a leash on her heart and dragged her away. Harry was pacified by how Sawyer always returned to him until a sensation called jealousy wanted her to never leave his side and made his fond feelings a bit too obvious.

Enter: Crush on Sawyer. There was no need to reiterate how the physical attraction had transpired in seeing a clementine-colored bikini hugging smooth, golden skin. That day had just been the beginning of Harry's infatuation tipping overboard because, with someone like Sawyer—endearing, angelic, and fun-loving—the more time he spent with her, the deeper he fell.

After only six months of friendship, Harry had begun fighting fervent urges to kiss her. They occurred unexpectedly—if she had cutely giggled at a joke he made, squished his cheeks together when he was being a ditz, or proudly declared herself as his number one fan, his lips would ache to introduce themselves to hers and whisper, mine, mine, mine. But he knew better than to give in. Even though his blood pumped hotly and his skin felt a spark whenever Sawyer touched him casually, he was a composed gentleman on the outside. In an alternate universe where she was officially his girl, he hoped she touched him differently—her hand in the back pocket of his low-rise jeans, a tender bite on the tip of his nose, or her thighs wrapped around his waist when she was feeling needy.

Harry's urges had grown stronger whenever he and Sawyer were alone together. When he started getting hard during friendly moments that should never warrant a boner, he knew he had to scold his male brain and squash any hopes of dating his best friend.

Yet in those cherished moments, a nauseating thought confronted his confidence. Would their friendship be tainted by his true feelings? Was there a chance Sawyer would realize he could treat her better than her lousy boyfriend? He would dedicate his whole life to making her smile. He'd spoil her with spontaneous date nights and kiss her all over until she was flushed and breathless. Call her baby. Were his fantasies too far-fetched? Was he a wicked person for wishing her relationship would fall to pieces so he could swoop in and love his girl properly?

A night in December had left him lovestruck with more questions than answers. It had all started with a Madonna song and a gift gone wrong.

——

The annual Christmas Eve bonfire event on Daytona Beach was in full swing. The evening sky was a blend of orange and burgundy, with wispy clouds drifting close to the horizon. Far out, the Atlantic Ocean shimmered, its surging waves a spectacle. The shore's white strip of sand was imprinted with an erratic cluster of bare footsteps, the coarse grains cooled by the impending darkness.

The beach was packed with tourists and locals alike. Celebrating the holiday season without an onslaught of snow and frigid air was a dream Harry had growing up in England. He preferred a Christmas tree in the shape of raging flames crackling with all-embracing warmth, competitive oceanside activities, and an assortment of free booze at his disposal—hard ciders, piña coladas, flavored vodka, and spiked eggnog served in a mason jar.

It seemed like a thousand different parties were going on at once. It was a rambunctious environment, and it wouldn't be surprising if the cops showed up to ruin the fun with their tiny flashlights and handlebar mustaches. Or maybe they would be gracious and let everyone off the hook in favor of the Christmas spirit. At least it wasn't as rowdy as Spring Break, where dozens of teenagers had gotten busted for marijuana possession and disorderly conduct. Harry had thankfully skipped out on that mess this year, and after reading about the incident in the newspaper, he decided to only visit Daytona Beach once a year for the sake of his sanity and liver.

He was lying on the sand, his hands bracing the back of his head as he stared up at the faint crescent moon that awaited its turn to shine. He breathed in the aroma of burning hickory wood and toasted marshmallows, which brought forth nostalgic memories of childhood camping trips. As the waves lapped the shore, he felt utterly content, knowing that tomorrow he would visit extended family in Sarasota, see how fast his adorable nieces and nephews had grown up, and laugh with relatives like no time had passed. Not to mention stuffing his stomach with hearty home-cooked meals and beating all of his cousins at Clue.

While the thought was nice, Harry drank one too many strong apple ciders tonight and was now wondering how he was going to accomplish the hour-long journey home. His throat was warm, and his head was a little dizzy. He had played a game of Horseshoes with a group of guys his age, and whoever lost had to chug an entire plastic cup filled to the brim with cider. Harry cut himself off after three and abandoned his teammates for, again, the sake of his poor liver. Maybe if he passed out on the shoreline, some good samaritan would drop him off at the closest bus stop.

Music blared from a nearby group's boombox, Eric Carmen's "Hungry Eyes" reverberating into his bones. His foot tapped in time with the drumbeat as he closed his eyes and smiled reminiscently, thinking about last August when he and Sawyer watched Dirty Dancing at the Silver Moon Drive-In Theater. It had been an arousing experience, thanks to the humid weather making Sawyer's skin glow and the film's sensual scenes that had made him squirm in his seat. Afterward, they had tried to recreate the lift scene in his backyard, which ended up with Harry's hands glued to Sawyer's hips many times, the fabric of her denim skirt brushing his nose. In a completely platonic way, of course.

That had only been two months after they met. Harry needed to somehow banish his attraction to Sawyer. He couldn't continue longing for her soft, slender figure to fit perfectly against him. Or wishing she would smile brighter than the sun before leaning in to kiss him through breathy laughter and pretty moans. It had to stop. She was taken, and he would never ruin a good thing for her. She deserved all the romantic feelings life had to offer. She deserved to be loved. And while it killed him that she didn't see him as the best man for the job, he would love her from afar. He'd subdue his unruly heart and appreciate the gift of knowing her at all.

There would come a time when Harry would have to accept the fact that she was simply out of his league. However much it ached, he'd survive. Yes, he'd eventually bleed out watching her get married, carry children, and grow old with her lover, but his wounds would be stitched together by getting a glimpse of her newfound happiness. If she kept him in her life, that is. He feared she'd forget about him one day and haunt his existence for eternity.

Harry sighed and took a sip from the lukewarm water in his red solo cup. Being tipsy made him meek. He had to face reality and realize Sawyer saw him only as a friend. And Harry saw Sawyer as a... friend. That he sometimes wanted to make out with. But, in his defense—

Two palms suddenly covered his heavy-lidded eyes, tethering him to the present. Then, a gentle breath warmed his ear. "I made it," whispered a familiar voice. Sweet Sawyer.

Harry's body practically melted into the sand as a shiver racked his system. He smelled her jasmine and orange blossom perfume behind him, a spritz that was somehow innocent and erotic at the same time. Butterflies let loose his belly, and when he opened his eyes, they fluttered around his heart. Sawyer's face appeared upside down, her long, wild hair cloaking them in a private moment. Her expression was so radiant that he was almost blinded by its beauty.

"Hey. How was the Clemente Christmas?" Harry asked. He knew she had brought her boyfriend home to meet her family today—something she'd been excited about—and the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Had he held her hand under the dinner table, pulled her into an empty room to kiss her supple lips in secret, and lent her his jacket after they left? Curiosity killed the cat, so he blocked those questions from morphing into a green-eyed monster with gnashing teeth.

"It was fun!" she replied happily. "We did the white elephant thing."

Jealousy churned in his gut, but he flashed her a tiny smile and rolled over into his stomach. "Yeah? What'd you end up with?"

Sawyer grinned, sitting cross-legged on the sand and looking so fucking precious in her cream-colored knit sweater and bootcut jeans. "A creepy porcelain doll from my grandma's basement.”

"Don't tell me you brought it home with you," he said.

"She's sitting in the backseat of my car."

Harry sputtered out a laugh. “How delightful. Totally not possessed and cursing all of your belongings right this very second."

She giggled without reserve, and his heart ached. "Anyway, hi. How was your day?"

He shrugged and hiccupped. "Lame. Didn't do much."

"Well, I'm here now. Let's have fun." She reached forward and hugged him—the tiniest hint of coconut lotion he inhaled from her jawline drove him momentarily insane. She always smelled heavenly, like an angel stepping through the mist of a waterfall.

When Harry reluctantly pulled away, he got a good look at her, noting her subtle makeup and tired brown eyes. She had a long day but still wanted to be in his company before he left to visit family for a week. It meant the world to him. He craved kissing her so badly because of it.

"Have you been drinking cider?" Sawyer asked, her manicured nails lightly scratching the nape of his neck. He nearly purred and nuzzled her like an affectionate feline.

"Maybe."

"Mm, I want some."

Harry gasped teasingly. "That's illegal, Sawyer. Naughty girl."

She cocked her head to the side and said, "Nineteen is basically twenty-one."

"You're such a little rascal." She was quite the opposite of one, but he enjoyed teasing her occasional rebelliousness. He stood and brushed off the sand from his sweatpants before asking, "Are you sure you don't want eggnog?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Yuck. No thanks."

He restrained himself from giving her a noogie and moseyed over to the line of folding tables with coolers and cartons of liquor on them. He grabbed a small glass bottle of hard cider, the ice-cold condensation a welcome distraction. He remained frozen in place, trying to tame his heart from getting too ahead of itself. It palpitated knowing Sawyer was here, and they were technically alone. He was just tipsy enough to feel like a loose cannon when it came to his urges. She looked extra cozy and kissable tonight, and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes off of her. Touching her too.

Friends could find each other unbelievably pretty, right? It was normal. He could flirt with her without being too forward. He could touch her politely. But she's not yours to admire so blatantly, buddy. Reel it in.

Harry rolled his shoulders back and returned to Sawyer. She was hugging herself while staring at the roaring bonfire a few meters away, slightly shivering. The temperature was in the low fifties, which was the coldest Florida got during the year. He knew Sawyer thrived under the summer sun, so without wasting another minute getting caught up in his tangled web of thoughts, he tossed the bottle next to her and swiftly removed his black pullover.

"Thank you," Sawyer whispered, looking up at him. "I forgot my blanket in my car."

Before he could stop himself, he said, "I'll be your blanket." Damn, what had they put in those apple ciders?

She snorted and put on his pullover. It was large and loose-fitting on her, and Harry hoped traces of her perfume lingered in the threads for weeks afterward.

He sat down beside her and cracked open the bottle with his teeth. "Take one sip of this, Sawyer. I'm serious—that's all you need."

She grinned mischievously and snatched the bottle from his grip before taking a swig. Her plump lips caressing the rim was a sinful sight, as was the way her throat bobbed with a swallow. She winced when the taste registered—the uneven spiced rum to apple juice ratio was obvious. But then she groaned deliciously and took another quick sip before Harry pried it from her fingers.

"You like it?" he murmured with a smirk, feeling warm from head to toe.

Sawyer nodded and wiped the corners of her mouth with her knuckle. "Gosh, I needed that. I couldn't drink at my grandma's because I had to drive my parents home." She rolled her eyes. "They had way too many margaritas.”

"I bet you had fun regardless."

"I did." She watched him drink his water, her eyes lighting up with a question. "What about you? Your family Christmas is tomorrow."

Harry's mouth curved into a smile as he replied, "Yeah, I'm stoked. I haven't seen everyone in a long time."

She nudged him. "Are you bringing a girl home?"

His nerves sparked, exploded, and then disintegrated. Sawyer had never inquired about the potential of other girls in his orbit before, so he was thrown off course. His brain short-circuited, trying to compose an intelligible response even though there was only one truthful answer.

Eventually, he mumbled, "Um, no. Not this year." He left it at that.

"Do you see any girls you like here?" she pressed, her twinkling eyes searching the groups of people both near and far.

"What?" Harry stared at the side of her face. He suddenly felt like he was being inspected under a microscope. He didn't want to talk about girls with Sawyer—it felt wrong and unimportant. They didn't matter when she existed. Didn't she know that?

"C'mon, when's the last time you asked a girl out on a date?" Sawyer poked the beauty mark adjacent to his mouth. "Tonight's the perfect opportunity."

"I don't want to date right now," he said defensively. But would you say yes if I asked, like the selfish man I am?

"How come? Dating is so electric."

"I'm busy, Sawyer. I have baseball tryouts next year and can't afford to be distracted." It was true, but fuck if he didn't plan to make time for her.

Sawyer frowned, losing her inquisitive momentum. "Am I a distraction?"

As Harry contemplated the least offensive way to answer her question, the beginning of "True Blue" by Madonna started playing, and he observed people skipping around the bonfire, free-spirited shadows lit by an orange glow. He thought about what a distraction really entailed. He had dated in high school and still managed to graduate with average grades. He'd maintained friendships during the strange period after graduation. He'd met people through baseball tournaments and hung out with them frequently.

Then Sawyer had drifted into his life like a summer breeze—pure, gentle, and invigorating. Everything he had thought he knew and wanted was altered. The scope of his desires instantly shrank when she stood before him on Cocoa Beach and called him out on his flirtatious behavior. All he had seen and cared about was her. He hadn't been the same since.

"You're not the kind of distraction you think you are," Harry said finally. He hoped the semblance of his admission wasn't too vague.

Sawyer tucked her chin into the high neckline of his pullover. Kissable. "What does that mean?" she asked quietly.

"It's..." He sighed, aware that he needed to tread carefully. "It's complicated. You just take up a lot of space in my mind, I guess."

"I don't mean to."

"No, not in a bad way," he said quickly, scooting closer to her. "You're just... inescapable."

"Oh," she said, sounding confused. "I only wanted to hang out and dance with you tonight before you have to leave."

"Sawyer, I invited you here. Trust me, I want to hang out with you." Harry pawed at her hand. "Mi chica fav... favorita."

Her brows caved in before slowly rising toward her hairline. "I think you've had too much cider," she said, amusement making her lips twitch.

Harry was getting drowsy, the settling liquor warming his blood and nearly breaking his self-made promise of staying in platonic territory. There was no predicting what words would slip off his tongue, so he accepted defeat. "Yeah, you're right," he agreed ruefully. "I should head home."

Sawyer whined in protest and looped her arms around his bicep, resting her chin on his shoulder. "But I want to dance with you." Her eyes were pleading, all doe-like and mesmerizing. The last streaks of burgundy light in the sky reflected in them, looking like portals to an ethereal planet. How could he possibly refuse?

"Then we'll dance."

Wordlessly, she led him closer to the bonfire, squeezing past dancing bodies. Her hand gripped his tightly, and she looked back at him every so often. He had half a mind to tug her into his arms and kiss the hell out of her. She was so spellbinding. The way her jeans hugged her legs was some kind of witchcraft. The shape of her smile could heal his deepest wounds. Her sweet soul, bursting with kindness, solicitude, and wisdom beyond her years, was his greatest weakness.

She was one in five billion. And how lucky he was to dance with her under the twilight sky, his heart reaching for her. I love you, it called out. Please love me back.

"Your cheeks are flushed," Sawyer said, stopping them in the middle of the crowd and draping her arms over his shoulders. They began to sway back and forth to the lighthearted beat. Harry's arms wrapped completely around her waist. He leaned in, wanting to melt into her like a gooey marshmallow over an open flame. The bonfire warmed his skin, but it was Sawyer that warmed everything underneath.

"I'm happy," Harry murmured in her silky hair. He took pleasure in the fragrant whiff of candy apples.

"Be honest with me, Harry. You seem a little cloudy."

She was so attuned to his weather. He usually emitted a sunny disposition—however, gloom was inherent in even the happiest of people. But the clouds always passed by. They were never perpetual.

"I'm just going to miss you,” he said. There were several other reasons as to why he was duller than usual, but they were far too pathetic to speak aloud. Namely, the fact that Sawyer had spent the day establishing her boyfriend as a part of her family. Meanwhile, Harry didn't even know what her parents looked like—was her mother responsible for her daughter's devastating beauty? He hadn't gotten to cuddle Sawyer on the couch while everyone opened gifts—would she have minded the display of affection? He hadn't gotten to hear stories about her childhood from aunts and uncles or flip through baby books—had she been a stubborn wild child with babydoll eyes no one could say no to?

He was wholeheartedly, undeniably gone for her. And it was gutting him.

"It's almost Christmas," Sawyer said, letting him twirl her like a princess before guiding her body close to his again. "You should be ecstatic."

"I am," Harry said with a soft laugh.

"Then what's the matter?"

He moved his lips to her ear and let them linger there for a few seconds before he built up the courage to confess, "I wish I could take you home with me."

Sawyer's dancing slowed, her punctuated exhale ghosting over his collarbone. "Me?"

"You," he confirmed, his clammy hands gripping the fabric covering her back and twisting it nervously. He fought the urge to nip the shell of her ear. "And I have a gift to give you before I leave, but I'm now realizing it's probably stupid."

"Why would it be stupid? What is it?"

Harry stepped away and reached into his back pocket. His fingertips grazed the jewelry box, and he swallowed down anxiety. He had been eager to buy a Christmas gift for Sawyer, but now he feared it was too telling of his fondness toward her. There was only one way to find out.

He held it in front of his chest and gently opened the velvet lid, revealing the piece of jewelry he had a goldsmith custom-make. It was a gold chain necklace with an initial pendant—"H" for Harry. The sentiment was simple enough. They were best friends, and he wanted her to remember him when life got tough.

"Harry..." With her eyes downcast, Sawyer ran her thumb over the metal surface. "Harry, I can't accept this."

Her unexpected response brutally stabbed him in the gut. "Why not?" he asked sadly.

Sawyer inhaled deeply, then said, "I don't know how to put this without sounding strait-laced, but... I can't wear another man's initial around my neck. Imagine my boyfriend seeing that." She crossed her arms, shrinking in on herself. "It'd cause problems."

Harry let everything wash over him and sink into his bones. He had known the gift was a ballsy move, but the true intention behind it wasn’t meant to create an interpersonal plight. He had only wanted to show his appreciation for their friendship. Her boyfriend hadn't even crossed his mind. Why would he?

"You don't like it?" he asked.

"I do!" Sawyer gripped his forearms and leaned into him. "It's so beautiful. But please understand where I'm coming from."

Harry silently tugged up the chain hiding under his shirt to show her the "S" pendant he bought for himself. The nearby firelight made it gleam. Sawyer's eyes locked in it, and he swore tears began forming in them, if only for a second.

"I thought we could match," he said. "And, you know, we could always have a part of each other wherever we wander."

Sawyer nodded, but it didn't make him feel any less discouraged. She must have thought he was pitiful. "I just think we should wait until we're further into our friendship," she replied.

Wait. He loathed that word. When he felt something, he pounced on it before it could disappear. And what he felt for Sawyer, even if he knew the feeling wouldn't be going away anytime soon, was rare. No girl had left him so enamored. Loving her was easy. It was intoxicating. The lust had grown like a meadow of wildflowers at the peak of spring. Somewhere in between the weeds, seeds of love were planted. They sprouted quicker than expected, and it was his fault for tending to them.

He couldn't control the overgrowth. And he couldn't control the torment leaking out of his voice when he said, "It's okay. I'll wait for you."

Sawyer's hand covered the jewelry box in his grasp, her fingers brushing against his. "I'll take it home with me and keep it in a special place until I'm ready to wear it. How's that sound?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said hoarsely. He ignored her comment, strictly focusing on patching the holes in the sinking ship that was this conversation. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

"Don't feel bad," she assured, shaking her head. "I appreciate the gift immensely. You're always so thoughtful."

He tucked the box back in his pocket and embraced her, worried she'd drift away. "Are we good?"

"We're good. Solid as a rock."

He squeezed her frame. "Best friends still?"

"Of course." Sawyer pulled back to lightly kiss his cheek before resuming their swaying, this time to a ballad. "Now let's dance."

Under the December sky, surrounded by strangers, Harry’s emotions ran rampant. He knew he would leave the beach wounded, but Sawyer secured him to the present and made him temporarily forget about his failure.

When he stared at Sawyer, he let himself fully feel the flutter in his chest. She was so goddamn gorgeous in any light—it felt unfair to hold such a precious vision in his arms. She was attentive, staring right back at him, her irises dark pools of temptation. It felt like she could see into his soul, his imperfections all on display. But she was gentle with them and never made him feel too fragile or flawless.

When Sawyer rested her cheek against his chest, right over his thumping heartbeat, the warmth that coursed through his veins confirmed it all. It hit him like a hundred-mile-per-hour baseball pitch to the head—he was in love with Sawyer. What scared him the most was that it wasn't just ephemeral young love. This was steady, consuming, and only going to swell over time.

Harry’s body had known it before his brain. And his soul, while he didn't realize it until today, had been searching for her since he took his first breath.

——

[stories4eve]

FROZEN YOGURT DUMP POST

Starting off strong with his powerset:

Portal manipulation

Time manipulation

Dream manipulation

Shadow Magic

Hypnosis

Memory manipulation

(Extra note: He is also able to shield people, but it doesn't work like pv's HP shield, it kinda traps and stuns them instead of letting them move freely)

Most of his powers have negative effects on the people receiving them, but time manipulation exhausts him alot so he can only do it like once in a blue moon.

--

General familial dynamics

Shadow Milk- tense relationship, although it stays relatively normal from the outside, inwards Shadow really hates seeing Frozen become an image of what he once was.

PV - loving, alot moreso. Despite his concerns, PV can connect with him better because he does not really trigger alot of past trauma for him

Cream Vanilla - General care for her, but he wishes he was more "normal" like her. More socially acceptable to say the least.

--

Friend Dynamics

Nodding Lily - unhealthy obsessive relationship. He views her as a source of validation and he wants to "protect" her innocence because she was one of the few gracious enough to provide him her time and care-- which due to his messed up mindset and social trauma, he interpreted as romantic intent.. Yikes! Heavily one-sided.

Pepperjack - One-sided romance right now, he tries to be distant with Pepperjack, viewing him as annoying at first-- but eventually after nearly loosing him, he realizes the importance of him in his life and ultimately has inner conflicts on who to pursue because now he feels attracted to TWO cookies. However, Pepperjack may or may not reciprocate still by the time..

Choco Oat - Very tense with her, mainly because of their shared infatuation with Nodding Lily (I say infatuation on Frozen Yogurts end as if it is not just unhealthy obsession) but in a way he can sympathize with her social struggles.

Candied Berry - finds her annoying, she has trouble reading rooms at times (unfortunately) think extroverted friend and heavy anti-social introvert friend who can't properly communicate nor process his emotions.

Sugared Berry - Has a relatively neutral relationship with him. Yogurt enjoys the company he provides alongside the music, he contradicts his twin sister in a wonderful balanced way to him.

--

Extra headcannons:

He's one of the taller characters, standing at a good 6"2 as a teen, and 6"6 as an adult. Pepperjack beats him by two inches every time.

Has severe depression, and BPD, alot like Shadow Milks on issues basically. He also has alot of self worth issues, which kinda translates him into being more judgemental of others as a result of his projection <//3

Actually alot nicer if you get to know him/respect his boundaries, hes just mean when you're a stranger though because he doesn't trust you at all.

He absolutely adores weird creatures, like insects, monsters, you name it. He's always fascinated by them.

Does not enjoying talking about Shadow Milk. Like AT ALL.

--

Weapon wise? He uses a scythe, usally one able to cut small rifts into reality. He's powerful alright.

--

Weaknesses:

Light magic of any kind, as hes mostly shadow resonated. Any light magic will weaken him significantly.

Fire. He does not do well in heat.

His own terrible eye sight, his hearing makes up for it but even then its still a pain (no he does not want any glasses)

--

More modern hcs:

Listens to indie rock, dresses in a emo kind of style as well, he most definitely is such a nerd please let him talk to you about his interests...

Tried starting a band once, failed and never tried again (loser)

Basement Dweller. PV is the only reason hes still living with them.

Has a bunch of piercings he got in secret.

Most definitely smokes though, maybe as a coping mechanism but still. Really unhealthy like I'm talking are we sure this man is gonna make it past 40.

Wants to be something like a musician or game developer one day, but nothing else.

Only really goes out during the winter, every other season is too hot for him.

His favourite holiday is Halloween, and its because he genuinely loves to mess with Cream Vanilla during it.

Has a tattoo on his neck of a butterfly. You know why.

--

Age wise? I think he's like 17-18 in the photo I show above

Modern Au wise? 24-25, all the tgnoh characters are aged up for this au lol.

--

That's about the most I can dump right now! Enjoy these headcannons.

[diamondpastry]

hi guys this is just a quick ramble thing because i did not get the chance to talk much abt the latest comic upon posting ... i skimmed through a few of the comments i plan on reading and responding to them later when i have the time but im glad that you guys are loving it ^^

anyways emmet 💙 goodness gracious the poor thing ... at this point, it felt like hes tried everything ... the first year he spent doing research and looking for ingo himself (all while people were telling him that it was a lost cause) and the second year spent mostly alone stuck with one of the most unhinged individuals suffering from divine madness

i suppose it wasnt exactly clear what volo said in confession ... i will confirm that it wasnt the fact that ingos dead ... its more on his original motives regarding arceus. he wanted emmet to join him in rewriting the world. the reason as to why he confessed this is a bit of a mixed bag though ... part of him hoped that emmet would join (theyve both been fucked by arceus + emmet was hopelessly in love with him at that point of the story) and another just... felt the urge to be transparent. hoping emmet would accept him. he wants to feel vulnerable with at least one person; craving that intimacy he could never have. (another reason is that it could be a test. see how far emmet would go for him. or could it be his tendency to self destruct? he doesnt believe emmet deserves him. hes a monster past redemption and emmet needs to see this)

unfortunately for volo, it completely shattered emmet's infatuation. he grabbed the plates, returned them, and rushed back home

at this point, emmet feels like hes practically tried everything for ingo. i mean, maybe not but he was so exhausted. even he could recognize how irrational his decisions had been. he had to stop and accept that ingos gone

and thats what he did... reluctantly

i cant decide whether hes hesitating due to denial or if its because he doesnt believe the words himself. theyre twins. he never felt ingo die. he doesnt believe ingo could just die. its all a confusing mess for him but he does know that he cant keep going at such an unhealthy phase

working on the panels was something ive been excited about ... as much as possible, i really kept the focus on his face and emotions

trying to say three words was painful and felt unbearably long for emmet... i wanted the reader to feel the same

i dont believe i did the actual breakdown justice though ... it couldve used one more page but alas i do not have the time

also elesa mention 💙 um emmet felt the need to 'tell her about ingo' because emmets continuously promised to bring ingo back. elesa doesnt believe that its possible but she couldnt bare to tell emmet the truth anyway. whenever she tried, she was immediately met with a cold shoulder ... i cant blame her; emmet grew completely unapproachable and mean in the last quarter of that first year ...

going forward, i will be focusing more on volo's pov ... also the weird way his mind words ... ive been doing too much of emmet, its only fair

feel free to send me asks meanwhile i severely want to ramble about my au

[mslanna]

Raphael is Tav's warlock patron and he is infatuated with them (though he probably wouldn't/hasn't admit it, not even to himself) and now he sees Tav leading a group of tadpoled misfits who are all fawning over his dear warlock. 👀 What is his reaction?

Well, here goes. Warlock? What warlock? (I am not the writer for warlock stories. Sorry. 😅 Here's hoping you enjoy anyways. It's My Party on AO3

Of course, Tav deserves the celebration. They saved the grove and made a dent in the goblin population. Raphael watched the spectacle with more engagement that behoved a devil of his state. But he can be lenient with himself. After all, Tav will be the means to his rise to archdevil supreme, ruler of all nine hells. A little – investment won't hurt.

As celebrations go, the party in the camp is – rustic to say the last. Food abounds and so does drink, though neither is up to Raphael's refined palate. A pity. But then, nobody expected him to attend, himself least of all.

Korrilla reported as he asked and while her news was heartening – Tav enjoyed themself, no immediate danger threatened the camp, the overall goal is not in jeopardy – some of the news were not to the devil's liking at all. He adjusted the red sash of his outfit once more.

It is just a courtesy visit. An occasion to congratulate Tav on their achievements while needling them about their lack of progress with their tadpole problem. To remind them of their best option, which is him. Naturally.

It has nothing at all to do with the tadpoled fools who Tav amassed falling over themselves to court his little mouse. Nothing whatsoever. Raphael brushes invisible dust from his doublet. It is none of his business who Tav spends their time with. Still, it coan't hurt to keep an eye on their company.

Tav might be influenced by their companions. Not all of them are approving of his offer or even devils in general. Korilla will find out who the worst offenders are for him, but Raphael trusts his own assessment more. Making sure he knows who might work against him – the devil takes a deep breath.

Enough gallivanting. Time to make an entrance.

Raphael appears at the perfect distance to camp for sauntering over. After the first step, he has to realise there is nothing saunter to, though. The party wound down as anticipated but Tav is engaged in a most unhinged dance, limbs flying wild, eyes closed and mouth agape with laughter.

He stops in the shadows and watches. Just to find the perfect moment to make his entrance, of course. Not because there is anything to see worth watching. The small knot that forms in his stomach is purely annoyance at having to rely on such a reckless mortal. And of course it tightens when the burning Tiefling catches Tav. What if she missed? This is dangerous!

Tav doesn't care. They are careless at ever. Maybe a good thing considering what they are up against. The Chosen of the Dead Three. Worry furrows Raphael's brow. Such formidable opponents for one little mouse and their rabble. A pity he cannot yet intervene directly. He has to reel them in slowly.

Still laughing, Tav detaches from the tiefling and makes their unsteady way towards their tent. It is the last chance Raphael will get this evening. Yet he hesitates, acutely aware of his formidable frock and unfortunate position. A painful emotion surges through him.

How dare they make all his preparations vain? Tav turned his gracious visit into a futile fumble without even noticing. Such insolence cannot go unpunished. If this is how Tav wants him to lay hands on them, they can get it. Raphael balls his hand into a fist, strung up and ready to pounce.

Some noise must have startled Tav because their gaze suddenly falls his way. It hitches, moves on and returns. Their eyes go wide for a moment before their face scrunches up in thought.

"Raphael?" The vowels of his name wobble in their mouth. "What are you doing here?"

The answer to that as simple and so very complicated. Raphael sticks to his script. "To congratulate you to your victory, of course. And-"

"That's really nice of you." Tav brightens, cheeks red from alcohol and dancing. "Should've come sooner. Party's over now. Shame. Karlach said I must go to bed. Or else."

Raphael wonders what the 'or else' has been to make Tav leave laughing and still unhappy. A pointed conversation with the tiefling is in order. Later. "I don't think your little – bash had anything to offer I am sad to miss."

Tav's face falls. "Was a good party." Their lip wobbles. "Fun. Should've come sooner."

"Whatever for?" Raphael asks. The sopping wet mortal makes him uneasy which is not acceptable. He is the one unsettling others. Tav may just be too inebriated to remember it. "You have seen the feast in my House of Hope. How does your party compare?"

Tav's shoulder slump and their whole posture goes limp. All joie de vivre drains from them in a quick second.

Triumph doesn't materialise. Raphael feels, quite the opposite as he looks at the dejected mortal. Still he sticks to his script. "At least you have found help with your tadpole problem, yes? The reason you attacked the goblins in first case?"

The contrast to Tav, epitome of joy dancing but a few minutes before, to now, where they are the embodiment of misery cuts deep. For a moment the devil regrets having said anything. But how can he raise Tav from the depths of desperation if they are not suffering down there? A good justification, a truth to cling to.

"Maybe it's better you didn't come sooner," Tav murmurs almost inaudibly as they wrap their arms around themself. "Would've killed the party in a heartbeat. Likes nobody noone who gloats."

"My arrival now means that you can continue to party, should you so desire." Raphael extends a hand with an elegant gesture. "You seemed to want to when you were sent to bed."

Dark eyes settle on his face, they glitter in the moonlight, a mirror of the sad face they are set into. Tav gets the wobble of their lip under control and for a second, their eyes glance down at his hand. "What do you want, Raphael?"

The flat resignation in their tone hurts. Raphael retracts his hand unwilling to answer. He came to gloat, and it didn't make him happy. He missed the party which fills him with vague regret. He offered Tav to show them a better time. That they didn't jump at the opportunity makes him want to lash out in return.

"What I said," he replies. "And make sure you don't get lost on the way to your tent in your intoxicated state. A wonder you walk the way alone. I hear there were more than enough offers of company."

Tav has the pick of their companions for the night. And here they stand on their own. A part of him is elated about this development. Tav is alone! His little mouse. They should be happy to come along. They should-

"Oh." The sound drops from Tav's lips like a pebble into a still pool. They straighten and blink away some of their drunk confusion. "You're jealous."

Before Raphael can reject that idea with the intensity such insolence deserves, Tav takes his hand. They wind their arm trough his and intertwine their fingers before leaning heavily against his side. "Could've just said so. Show me that feast of yours, yes?"

They rub their red face on the fine fabric of his doublet that was not meant to take such abuse. Still, the smile returns to their face somewhat which is a small win. But the mortal is definitely in no shape to celebrate appropriately. If he had known they 'd accept – Raphael bites his lip.

He offered and he cannot take it back now. Not with the after-image of an utterly forlorn Tav imprinted on his mind. But in their state Tav wouldn't last ten minutes. They'd fall asleep with their face in their soup – If he was lucky.

Still, he lifts their clasped hands. There is something here he can work with. Jealousy – laughable. The relief that Tav is not interested in any of their companions stems purely from the worry they'd be distracted from their quest if they were. His little mouse has a long way to go yet.

Raphael smiles. A small pit stop at his House of Hope will only strengthen them, a token of the help they can expect once he offers his deal in earnest. He places his free hand over their intertwined fingers and leads his mortal away.

Once he returns his little mouse to camp, they will not have a thought left for their paltry companions. It is the least he can do.

[cordiallyhqs]

29th of MARCH, 1813・.・𓂃۶ৎ ― DEAREST GENTLE READER,

Did you miss me?

It appears that vinegar is just as compelling as honey, that yearning can be so bittersome. The sweetness of certain intentions, instead of amusing enticement, are no different than a trap where you die from a sickly saccharine dizz. The social season will attract not only bees to their flower, but flies to dead infatuation. Be weary, because words may not be revealed as empty until you taste them on your tongue. I have observed from afar the revelations my musings have provided our gilded members of society, but it far from the blossoms of spring so eagerly admired and idolized by the Thorpe Family. Perhaps this is sourced from what grows within the belly of Miss Juliet Thorpe, but who planted such a seed?

Better intentions, however, remain attempted by the Thorpe Family this week as they aimed to tug on the heart strings on the ton and find their inner poet. What a courageous matinee, indeed! Many performed, including Lady Cecilia Sinclair, who appeared at the Thorpe Manor just days before the Musings of Spring Matinee. Evidently, her sincerity could not have been the genuineness Miss Juliet Thorpe was searching for when helping her mother send out invitations. Perhaps they felt the Sinclairs could not afford it then because of the illustrious ball they have used to prove their fortune.

Or is it that their children are innocent of the deeds of the Marquess and Marchioness Elisabet Sinclair? Despite their intentions, it appears these actions have taken a toll they are not quite willing to admit as they have commissions even the most questionable of doctors to threat the fragility that is their middle son, Lord Callum Sinclair. Was this insistence to the countryside to hide that he is riddled by his own nerves? Has the hysteria of those who seek out open air, such as the winds of Margate, carried into London and infected them with such whims?

Perhaps the excommunication of the Sinclair family from the Thorpes is all by design, as Miss Beatrice Bennett has been seen enthralled by the lord. Oh how a mother's love must have spared her from such slander since she is truly a beloved family jewel of her household. Dare I say that Miss Bennett is but the zirconia if she cannot be the diamond?

And that certainly, dear reader, brings into question the sparkle of Her Majesty's diamond, Lady Maude Whitlock. What would our queen say if Lady Whitlock is illegitimate— would she still be deemed so worthy and if she still such an honorable addition to this beloved ton? It has come to this author's attention that His Grace, Duke Christopher Whitlock, has had relations with the sister of the late Duchess. Which child of this gracious household will be the heir in the eyes of the queen? And what is this to say of our beloved Duchess Emma Whitlock, and is this a secret she keeps as a marital vow to the man who changed her status with a promise and a ring?

But dear reader, questions of identity do not come to a halt here. Years in the countryside have driven such feeble characters of ton to seek a new life, a second chance, but their efforts that were once fruitful have come to rot. A songbird that comes to eat at the fallen apples, however, have proven to know it seeks torturous bittersweet. The ever so alluring Miss Violetta Mancini is not a muse, but a careful curation herself. Hailing from Cheshire, all she knows is the bland countryside estate of the Claremont family where she was hidden away by Sir Thayer Claremont himself. Why does he concern himself with a commoner like so? Miss Mancini, whose identity was an unfamiliar name in another Italian singer's mouth who could not confirm details, is rumored to have produced their heir to the late Timothee Claremont who would have taken the crown after his father if not for their exile.

This line, however, does not die here. It appears the sons of the exiled king have fostered hope in a generation with no title except some hope for honor... until Sir Claremont pulled his own heir into the light of being his. A humble investigation for letters that were never delivered to him in his youth, Miss Eleanor Winthrop has lived a lie of parentage. But dear reader, was it better to be a commoner amongst the ranks of nobility or to be a product out of wedlock to an exiled prince?

Assisting in this investigation is an unsuspecting hand belonging to Mr. William Erwood, the groomsman of the Sinclair Household. Is it possible his heart lead him to find this lost child, or do his pockets carry nothing but hay upon scarce payments as a result of the Sinclair's waning fortune? Perhaps this was done to gain the favor of the former caretaker of Miss Cassandra Lockridge— a former flame that holds Mr. Erwood's heart in a stampede. Not only does he dabble in such affairs, but he holds more than affection for Miss Lockridge. Will she do the same? Whispers speak of the first engagement of the season, but she does not carry him wrapped in gold around her finger.

Ah, engagement— the greatest promise to keep, or to lose during this time of year. The Sinclairs have invited the Whitlocks early to their celebration. Though, it is believed that the Duke accepted this invitation reluctantly if only to give into the lesser of two evils. The footman of the residence have been seen drinking on a far more expensive tab, and this only feeds the speculation that Mister Korbin Vidura is courting Lady Whitlock. How much courting is known to the Duke and Duchess? There is, of course, the speculation that the Sinclairs may not be seeking a diamond at all as Lord Jasper Sinclair is undeniably infatuated with the lady's maid, Miss Wilhelmina Dalton. Perhaps this agreement is influenced by the Her Grace, who has a close relation with her maid, to be more than a servant to a great household?

While this remains a rightfully founded deduction, it may not be so obvious. The most handsome and beautiful of ton cannot be blessed with wisdom to wrinkle their pretty little faces. Where does this leave Lord Leonidas Alvarado who is courting Lady Whitlock?

Enough of our diamond, who we must entrust the Queen picked well. Or, shall we look to someone who has far more knowledge to the quality and cut of precious gems? Miss Kate Beckett's opinion should weight more, but she seems to have misjudged herself. Ladies and gentlemen of the ton, you have one of your own lingering on the outskirts. She has made her way to the countryside but not with the intention to provide the sparkling manipulation for your proposals, but as a possible prospect herself. Suspected a lost daughter of Lord Hawthorne, she has evidence of a suspicion around her neck to a family heirloom. Is it true, or just wishful thinking from so much time so close to prosperity but never a true chance?

There are those in attendance, however, who do not wish to be part of such a scene. Miss Dorothea Alwyn, a debutante overlooked all by her own intention, has returned to London by force. She chased feeble dreams on the stage away from our ranks— and was it all to play a commoner? It is unknown if it is shame that brings her to abide by the unspoken rules of society. There is no telling if she makes it to the altar with such a fair face, only to run away again.

Her brother, Sir Theodore Alwyn, seems to hold himself to a different standard basking in the luxuries of his knighthood. He welcomes his introduction with an eagerness that is both amusing and charming, catching the eye of Lady Georgiana Hermance. Does he aim his prospects too high, or does her use her attention to his advantage to entice other women? If chivalry is all it takes to intrigue the lady, competition may arise with Mister Richard Kensington who was noted to have been overtaken by her beauty. A man such as him could rise above a knight in his accounts alone with such close relation to the Marquess... if there is any coin left. Could he be a plausible suitor?

The better question to ask, dear reader, is what the Dowager Countess Sabrina Hermance thinks of such a possible match. A household of breath taking daughters is no easy feat, even if one would try to regard them as a testament of a great love such as the one she had with the Earl. Lady Marjorie Hermance has caught the eye of not one but two prospects within the same household— and a sweet match enticed by spilled jam. We certainly cannot cry over that mistake when it brought Mister Hunter Thorpe into her midst. But Mister Tobias Thorpe has also been seen circling the lady, and despite the lessons he seems to be taking trapping him inside the Thorpe Manor for one reason or another, we wonder if he has mistaken her for prey. Men who disappear to sea are such curious creatures, but do they ever really return the same? What ever would Mister Tobias do, to even his own blood, to prove he yields such power as the lord to be?

The family in which he hails from is not an innocent one, either. Mr. George Thorpe, with such boyish charm that you must bite into to savor, is not what you think. Within their household, they hold a man just a poor shot shy of a criminal. As men solve with their fists, Mister George raised his pistol in a duel that just barely killed himself and another man. Has he been brought to London to turn a new leaf, or to be bound under the watchful eye of Lord Thorpe? What draws the line between him and a mad man?

A man with a far better chance at a shot is Mister Amos Locke, but there is doubts if he will participate in the hunt. Dear reader, we speak of the ripples of war that still linger but what of the wounds? What a grand feat to meet his eye, but I do not believe he is the warrior we think he is. The hammering of his heart for any potential lover that looks his way is not out of the thrill of passion, but the echoes of misplaced fear. He has the heart of a soldier, ripped apart. Do our debutantes want a man they must fix, or one who can protect them? It is only understandable that a fractured mind like his brought such strife to Miss Marisol Alvarado at the matinee. His brother, Mister Kit Locke, seems to make up in charm. Entertaining any longing look, it is rumored he falls in love with any and all around him. It is up to you, dear reader, if this is but a trick of his own mind if he can fall so quickly out of love as he falls into it.

Luck of the draw, however, seems to belong to far more deserving guests or so we hope. Mister Lysander Digby and Miss Catarina Barnet are commoners that have caught the eye of the ton and are in attendance upon invitation. What a peculiar set of outsiders brought in, the two very ends of the spectrum! However, both are the very backbone of the ton and their endeavors— owning the heart of every questionable decision made by the men, and the other holding the key to any apology to be made in the morning with a bouquet ready in hand. Dear reader, I remain curious to how is it that Mister Digby came at the invitation of the Lady Dowager Aylin Kara? Will Miss Barnet gain a new customer?

There is a chance for flowers without apology, but it remains to a limited fraction of our nobles at the moment. Lady Sophie Rosewood and Lord Raphael Rosewood appear to be the truest demonstration of love. What does Her Majesty think of this, for a member of her precious Viscount's household to belong to a gem so easily overlooked and not part of the jewelry box she has made London? Perhaps the lord is her andalusite, one step closer to self realization that not every match that yields perfection is of her doing. There is a chance this match can bring humility... or humiliation.

Scandal to the Rosewood family, however, has not seemed to bother Lord Laurence Rosewood who was revealed to be activist of sorts. Though he has accepted invitation to the Sinclair's ball, this author doubts what his intentions are. The family doctor was said to be on his way to the household for him, but what troubles the man? I believe he holds more judgement than I, a famine for truth... and yet he surrounds himself with men like Mister Edmund Covington who are known for performance.

Though, Mr. Covington's tricks are sought after and the King's Theatre is set to perform at the ball. This author wonders if there is a particular influence over the fever dream they are scripted against. The theatre is rumored to hold far more illustrious performances that are far more interactive, with Mister Elijah Hall as a favorite actor of every audience. There are other noteworthy members of the ensemble such as Miss Esma Sakarya though we wonder if this is a softer fall from grace or even more shameful. Are the rumors true, dear reader, I inquire once more? What does the Kara family think of such an controversial hobby?

Caught in the end of a mourning period for their dear brother, there is chance the Kara family cannot dwell on those with twisted fate. Miss Ela Kara's health demands care and attention, and perhaps they seek to protect those who are not guilty of their own demise. Though, gentleness is not a virtue in this household with the sharp tongue Miss Ayla Kara sports for fun. Tension beyond their grief is rumored to be present in the household with Miss Ayla in the heart of it.

Does she worry for her dear cousin, or her reputation and that of her vulnerable family? If she holds concern, it is certainly warranted as Miss Bahar Talbot twirls for more than the stage. Her presence at each social event is at the commission of the most desperate of suitors that use her as a tool to get what they want. She is quite the expensive escort, but whatever for? Is a name upon a crinkled paper at the theatre worth such endeavors?

Possibly, as the theatre captivates the hearts of so many with such ease. Even Miss Alice Heywood, quiet the successful modiste in Mayfair for a newfound business, has given in to designing the costumes for the Shakesperean dream on the countryside. Though, why ever would Miss Heywood need this— for you see she is far more wealthier than any dressmaker dares to be. How is it that her brother, Mister Oliver Heywood, is a servant but a woman like her is a business owner? This author believed that there was possibility that the waning Sinclair fortune was tied to these accomplishments, but alas, this is another affair all together. Miss Heywood has been paid off by a noble family to keep a secret that threatens their reputation, all in return for her victorious success in Mayfair.

Miss Heywood, however, is not the only one with riches made outside of good intentions, dear reader. The Silver Lantern, owned by Sir Edward St. George, is hardly built on discretion. This knight abandoned vows of justice and honor well into his service to the crown, taking payment to hassle and threaten those targeted by noble men. But if he is easily won over by a golden coin, it is to be noted that the Lady Paloma Alvarado should have taken advantage of this to run away with her lover that her family so thoroguhy disapproves of. This appears to be a well known experience within the household, as Lord Florian Alvarado has also shunned every invitation to a ball because he is also in love with someone the Baron will never approve of.

When it comes to such approval, head of households carry much weight. The Ruling Countess Josephine Hermance holds this in the palm of her hand, but could the love she holds for her dear sisters lead her to push them out of love? Lady Rosemary Hermance is a glistening jewel this season, and if she were to be bound to any necklace her own sister would wear to prove the power and value of her house, she would be moss agate. Surely a promise of abundance, but hopefully far from trouble.

But should be so gluttonous, so greedy, dear reader? Where do we draw the line this line? Mister Hunter Thorpe has been the bandit in the night it seems, stealing instruments of the arts and giving it to the less fortunate from those who suffer from abundance. The arts that we so quickly dismiss are integral to our society, with note worthy artists in the ton such as Monsieur Roman Beaumont at the Royal Academy of Art.

Though, not all characters within the ton hold such honor even with questionable acts. Quite many remain a mystery, or a ticking clock ready to scream at the right hour to startle the room. Mister Emmanuel Juarez with such a handsome face that shines through soot and grime of the blacksmith's corner has a smile like an animal in the night, but is he friend or foe to the ton? Lady Eva Alvarado seems to be captivated, or is it s trap she has fallen in? A most curious creature she is integrating her name into the ton as more than just a whisper, but enticing desire. Would she aim higher for an heir such as Lord Atticus Sinclair, who remains just as mysterious— does he enter this marriage market with similar hesitation, or is he waiting for the one?

Those who who desire me, dear reader, have made themselves known as avid readers. Miss Cora Rosewood and Miss Rosalina Alvarado have admitted to awaiting my next edition and I must say I am flattered— such an admission even leading to accusation they are me! I must offer this, then, to any speculation. If they were me, why would I as a married woman decide now to write of my distain for society in London when the alternative of America is far more biting? If I were Miss Rosalina, wishing for more when I have taken such action with my own pen to make it so? Perhaps I should try harder to entice her.

Though, there are some individuals that I have nothing to reveal thus far. They are the most authentic of the ton, and rightfully so. The talent of Miss Penelope Follett is sought after by every family with children who seem to lack any sense of purpose and they believe she can instill talent upon them. Her attempts are duly noted. Then there are governesses, and then there is Miss Esther Chaidee. Living under the roof of the Thorpe Manor with attention cried out by little Miss Emily Thorpe is no easy feat... though one begins to wonder if she finds comfort somewhere else such as the arms of her own household staff to remain so unbothered and chipper.

I suppose, dear reader, if all does not go well in the countryside that we may find some noblemen fighting to avert from the outlawed dueling. The closest thing to a fair match that will gut reputation is a loss under the roof of Mister Valentine Sado's establishment. WIth a fleeting presence, perhaps this only benefits the theatre and its far more uplifting entertainment. But with so many packing their supplies for a hunt, violent delights may be sought soon after.

But if all does remain in high spirits, this does not mean the boxing club will not serve as the perfect come down from a trip so far. Some crave the bustlling city, a noteable admirer surely Mister Mun Hanuel who was seen far too interested in the gambling of other men. Dear reader, could this be a threat to Lady Mun who heads his household to find a place to hang their fortune in a balance that begs for more allowance if he burns it so quickly with the wrong move? The man seems to have some hesitation, but could be easily persuaded it seems... unless he does value his reputation. Evidently another addition to the marriage market, he was also seen conversing with Miss Isabelle Adwani that hails from the seaside. Did he so easily dismiss the attention given to him by Mister Zagreus Blackthorn, does he seek a certain kind of eye? If the man is to spend, on a lovely lady he surely should... especially one brought to London on the premise of a tragedy remedied by hasty love.

Yes, dear reader. There is speculation that the Locke family believes their mother's body was barely cold when Miss Adwani's mother married into their family though this is up to interpretation. Still stricken with grief, Miss Adelaide Locke is a most gorgeous jewel of the ton like an aquamarine who holds this misery with a talent. Some may say it is startling, but with a household so adamant to pushing out their new family, perhaps she is the calm in the storm... for now. What will take for her to break?

Higher spirits will of course be encouraged with the exquisite cuisine and pastries following the ton to Nottingham. Mr. Lémery and his apprentice, Miss Lavinia Moreno, have been tasked to bring the best taste of Mayfair to the countryside for guests during the hunt and ball. Evidently, no one believes the Sinclair family to skip over the perfect addition to a game of croquet. However, some guests may have their reservations no matter the talents of the pâtisserie— such as Lady Alethea Reade who was seem grimacing in the company of the apprentice. This author remains all the more curious.

Battle cries, however, still reach Mayfair and the countryside alike in rivalries we do not expect. Heirs and those set to replace them echo, families torn apart now forced to heal with new limbs of another broken one, and lovers who are abandoned cry out in the night. I am aware of the damage that comes, the consequences of making such things known, but dear reader... do you not see how startling the silence can be? Miss Edith Cooke whose truth was revealed must move forward but will not find herself holding this back. She is but of serpentine, far stronger than any believed as a mere orphan now that what she was revealed as a mother parted ways to find a better life and provider for her child. Look, dear reader, of what remains after our secrets shed their skin. Debutantes and their bated breath will not be wasted on men like Lord Henry Sinclair whose heart lies elsewhere and who aimed to sabotage any other who was not his lover. Who does he dare hide from the ton now?

I wonder, dear reader, how this will all translate in the end. Will people still choose to hide, think what they did in the countryside will haunt only ancient estates and dreams? It will find it's place in our society, reveal us as human no matter how the queen wishes to make the ton no more than rock or stone. After all, we bleed— and what a handful we must be to Dr. Silas Elsworth and Miss Aurelie Feng who nurse us back to health even when it is not deserved. We can only hope they remain on the property, and that they have found a way to mend broken hearts.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown