#pls keep blessing my feed

[gothcsz]

Blocked and Begging | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~3.1k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: You block Javier and he shows up at your doorstep.

Tags: angst, smut, fwb dynamic, drunk!javi, fuckboy!javi, modern!au i guess, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, creampie!, pussy pronouns, half-assed beta'd, untranslated spanish, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, reader is a woman of color yet everyone is encouraged to read, no physical descriptions, sorry for any stray typos/grammatical mistakes, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: i blame this anon i got for this, tbh. so thank you for doing all the heavy lifting, 'nonnie. much appreciated. there's not much i can say except i hate javier peña so much the only way to fix it is to fuck him! also @almostempty 's fuckboy joel def inspired javi's characterization in this so thank you for blessing us with that weds mwah love u! okay guys as always let me know what you think and thanks for reading 🖤

The first call came in at 2:12 AM. An unknown number, but you knew. 

You silenced it. Then again, 2:14. 2:17. 2:23. Again. Again. Again. Until the screen was so flooded with missed calls and increasingly misspelled messages, it looked like he was trying to break into your world through sheer persistence.

Baby Answer the phone I fucked up Please

Fuck him. He hasn’t been around or texted back in days, and now all of a sudden he’s blowing your phone up like you’re the one who disappeared. 

You wouldn’t have minded the silence, really, it was to be expected from a man like Javier. However, one of your friends had seen him out last night—messy, drunk, as affectionate as he is with you with some girl—practically fucking her on the dance floor.

When the video came in, you stared and stared until the knot in your throat wrung angry, jealous tears from your eyes. You blocked his number right then and there, throwing your phone across the couch, telling yourself you didn’t care.

You shouldn’t care. You aren’t together. You both made that clear. It’s supposed to be casual.

But it doesn’t feel casual, not with your stomach in knots and your heart twisting up and damn it, it’s really your fault for fooling yourself into thinking this is more than what it is.

You finally answer the phone at 3:06 AM. Your voice is like ice. “What?”

He sounds drunk. Words slurred, voice raspy like he’s been smoking, or yelling… or both. “I fucked up. I know, I know—Just let me come over. Let me see you—”

“Why? So you can lie to my face instead of over the phone?”

“I didn’t fuck her, baby, believe me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You hang up.

He can take that sweet-talking, liquor-soaked bullshit and feed it to someone else.

However, twenty minutes later, there’s insistent knocking at your front door. Like he knows you’re waiting.

You exhale hard, palms dragging over your face, and stomp to the door. When you look through the peephole, there he is—his drunk ass swaying slightly on your porch, one hand braced against the frame to keep him steady, the other casually on his hip.

It pisses you off, yet you still open the door. “Leave.”

He does the opposite, stepping inside as if you aren’t in the middle of a fucking argument, shutting the door behind him. Javier Peña never needs an invitation to make a mess.

“You have some fucking nerve—” You push at his chest, but he catches your wrists. 

“I know,” The smell of whiskey emitting from him has your nose wrinkling.

“No, you don’t.” You yank your wrists from his hold, trying to be preemptive by putting some distance between you both.

Being close to him is dangerous as hell, especially when you’re angry and hurt and jealous. “You ghost me for days and now you show up like some stray looking for scraps? What—did she not let you spend the night? Got bored fucking her and remembered I’m always dumb enough to answer?”

All your overthinking spills from your lips, grinding your teeth at the thought of him being with someone else before showing up here.

His face twists. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Bullshit.”

“I didn’t sleep with her—”

“Oh, fuck you, Javier. Don’t insult me. I saw you with your hand up her dress!”

He tuts under his breath, shaking his head like you’re the irrational one here and you hate how that makes you feel. “That doesn’t mean I fucked her.”

“Whatever. I shouldn’t care who you stick your dick in. We’re not together, right? So go ahead. Have your fun. Just don’t show up at my place acting like you give a shit about me when you can’t even be bothered to fucking call.”

“I do give a shit.”

He steps forward and you move back, spine stiff, feet landing near the edge of the dining room, t-shirt barely brushing the tops of your thighs. You’re aware of how exposed you are and how his eyes flick downward, just for a second. Your whole body betrays you when he looks at you like this.

“I’m sure you do.” You sass and his jaw twitches. 

“You want me on my fucking knees, crawling to you to show you that I’m being serious? Because I will.”

“Estás borracho, Javi. No seas ridículo.” Men are so nonsensical when it comes to trying to prove their innocence. 

You just stare as he kneels, his shoulders going slack, hands on the floor. His gaze never leaves yours as he crawls the short distance across your living room rug to where you are.

You say his name, half-warning, half-beg, swallowing roughly, your ass grazing against the edge of the dining room table.

He reaches you, reverently sliding his hands up your calves until his thumbs brush the backs of your knees. His breath is warm against the tops of your thighs as he presses his face to your stomach, kissing you through the cotton of the shirt, inhaling your scent.

“I’ve missed you.” His fingers disappear beneath the tee, calloused palms grazing the skin of your stomach before they trail past your ribs, cupping your breasts, squeezing softly. 

You both let out sighs of pleasure, his thumbs grazing your nipples until they peak for him. 

“You’re just saying that so you can fuck me.” As if you’re not going to let him.

Javi squeezes your tits roughly, making your back arch. “I mean it. Was dealing with some shit and got reckless…” He continues to knead your breasts, making you feel disoriented. “Don’t wanna fuck someone else when I have you…” He sounds truthful, but you don’t know if that’s because he means it or because he’s touching you like this and saying all the right things. “I wasn’t thinkin’, perdóname baby.”

One hand leaves your chest to drag down, knuckles brushing your belly as he hooks a finger under the waistband of your sleep shorts, toying with them.

He looks up at you with those stupid, brown glossy eyes. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Your hands grip the edge of the table and your whole body screams yes even as your mouth tries to say no.

You never learn.

“Okay.”

His breath is hot and shaky as he lifts the hem of your shirt, exposing your torso. You rid yourself of it, the cooler air nipping at your heated skin, his palm still on your tit while the other grips your hip. 

You gasp when his mustache scrapes against your skin, coarse and ticklish, making you shiver so hard your knees almost buckle.

His tongue draws lazy circles around your belly button, slow and sensual, dragging heat lower with every wet swirl. You want to stay angry—you try—but it’s so hard.

Then his fingers slowly hook onto the waistband of your shorts again, tugging slightly like he’s asking permission without speaking. He glances up at you, and when you don’t stop him, he tugs them down your thighs and lets them pool around your ankles.

You step out of them, entirely naked now.

Javi’s strong hands slide under your thighs and lift you onto the table. The wood is cool beneath you but his hands are hot. He spreads your legs obscenely, exposing you fully. The air kisses your folds and you twitch, cunt glistening only slightly due to your anger-thinned arousal.

He knows exactly what to do about it, starting by letting his fingers stroke through the coarse hairs at your mound, his pointer and middle fingers matching the V of your cunt, massaging your sensitive flesh and making you mewl, hips hovering off the table.

He starts slow.

A kiss to your outer lips then a long, dragging lick right up the seam of your pussy, tongue splitting your folds, collecting every bit of heat you haven’t admitted you’re building.

“Look at her,” he groans, lips brushing your pulsing clit. “Fuck, baby. She’s so sweet.” His voice drops a bit. “You think I’d want anyone else when this is mine?”

His tongue darts out again, flattening along your labia, slow and wet. You hiss through your teeth, falling flat on your back, unable to keep straight.

He does it again and again, not quite giving you what you want, but he’s only doing this to savor the blissful taste of your syrupy arousal building on his taste buds.

“Still mad at me?” he murmurs into your cunt, getting even more drunk between your legs.

You open your mouth to snap at him, to remind him why you’re pissed—but then his pouty lips wrap around your clit and he sucks, gentle but insistent, and your head tilts back with a helpless moan you can’t swallow.

“Jesus—Javi—”

“Let me hear you. Let me make it better.”

Your fingers find his thick and soft hair, tugging hard. He groans against you, lips humming at your clit, tongue circling and flicking with a skill that makes your thighs shake.

Wetness floods you, you can feel yourself opening, melting, helpless under the pressure of his talented mouth.

“Pussy tastes so fucking good,” he growls, voice muffled against your now soaking cunt. “Eres perfecta. I’d never find better.”

His hands grip your thighs, groping the supple skin, holding you in place as he sucks and slurps at your pussy. Messy, wet sounds fill the space.

You grit your teeth, trying to hold onto your anger. To remember how jealous you’d felt when you saw that video. How humiliated you were. How tired you are of being strung along by a man who only seems to remember how much he wants you after he’s already hurt you. How he knows exactly how to play you.

But God… his mouth. His cock. They’re too fucking good and outweight all the shitty things he puts you through. 

He eases two thick fingers inside your pussy and you cry out loudly, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your walls clench around them instantly, pulsing with need as his fingers curl deep, finding that spot that makes your vision dot.

“Ohhh fuck, Javier—”

“Take ‘em so well, baby” he purrs, pumping into you slow and deep, his lips still making out with your clit between every sentence. “Let me have her. Let me love her. She deserves it. You deserve it.”

The squelch of his digits pumping into your soaked cunt is drowned out by the ringing in your ears and the hot wave of euphoria that seizes your whole body. Your skin tingles, toes curl, as your pussy clenches down hard, orgasming and fluttering around his fingers in messy, wet spasms. 

Javi comes up from between your legs, mustache wet and lips glistening. He reaches your breasts and palms them with greedy hands, squeezing them together as his tongue laves at one peak, then the other.

The attention to your chest has a needy, cracked whimper slipping from you and it makes him smirk against your skin.

He then hovers above you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, despite him being fully clothed, the scent of sex and sweat and his cologne wrapped around you like a drug. He leans in for a kiss.

But you turn your head, letting his lips land on your cheek instead—a silent rejection that makes him growl low in his throat.

His hand—the same hand that was just buried knuckle-deep inside your pussy—grips your jaw tight, fingers slick as he forces you to look at him.

“Dame un beso,” he orders roughly.

You don’t get the chance to obey or protest.

He crashes his mouth against yours, lips hot and hungry, tongue sliding past your teeth in an instant. The taste is potent—his favorite whiskey and your own pussy, mixed and heavy on his tongue.

You whimper into him, your arms pinned between your bodies, lips held captive and bruised under the weight of his kiss.

Your hips swivel when you hear the clatter of his belt then feel the rasp of denim sliding down low enough to release himself.

He drags the head of his cock up your aching seam, circling your puffy clit with it. Javi taps it teasingly against your tender nub, smearing your own wetness, making you jolt.

Breaking the kiss, a thin trail of saliva bridges your lips to his. He keeps the grip on your jaw tight, blunt fingernails digging into the skin, making you wince slightly. His nose brushes yours, eyes locked, the rest of the world melting away.

And without a word, he pushes in.

Slow.

Thick.

Deep.

You can’t speak. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. You just feel it—every inch of him forcing your walls to stretch until his balls kiss your ass and you’re stuffed to the brim with him.

“Mierda,” he groans, eyes fluttering. “You always look so fuckin’ pretty with this dick inside you.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip, eyes softening for just a moment. Then he leans in and kisses you again—this time tender, sweet, like he’s trying to say something he can’t put into words.

“Now,” he murmurs, voice honeyed and dangerous, “you’re gonna watch me tear this pussy up.”

You barely register his grip shifting—the hand on your jaw moving to the back of your neck, pulling you upright, making sure your eyes are trained down to where you’re joined. Where his dick is slowly dragging out of you, glossy and thick, before he slams back in with a sound that punches all the air from your lungs.

“So fucking good for me, even when you’re pissed off at me. But you don’t really hate me, do you baby?”

Your whole body jolts against the table, your answer coming in the form of a gasp.

He fucks you slow at first, making sure you feel every devastating inch, the drag of his cock pulling against your walls, your cunt already dripping down his shaft.

Your pussy sings.

He sets a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard and deep, making the table creak beneath you. Each time he drives in, your slick gushes around him, creamy and filthy, soaking the hairs at the base of his cock.

“Look at her,” he growls, keeping your neck craned so you can’t look away. “Look at how wet you are. You see that? That’s how bad you want me.”

You whimper, fingers digging into his arms for balance.

“Creamin’ on my cock like this—fuck, baby. This is why I come back. You’re why I come back.”

He slams into you again, making the whole table jerk forward.

“This pussy’s perfect. So warm. So tight. You were made for me, huh?”

You nod—frantic, trembling—tears in your eyes from how full you feel, from how right it feels.

“You gonna let me fuck you stupid?” he rasps. “Gonna let me ruin you?”

“Javi—”

“Say it. Tell me she’s mine. That you’re mine.”

“She’s yours,” you whimper, biting your lip, trying to hold on. “I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, slamming into you so deep it makes you see double.

After a few more strokes, he lays you flat on the table, his hands gripping your hips with bruising intensity. He drags you toward him until your ass is right at the edge, your body completely at his mercy.

There’s no teasing this time. Just the relentless pace of his cock plunging into your pussy, the wet slap of skin on skin while he fucks this second orgasm out of you.

You're already so sensitive, your walls quivering, stretched to the limit and still greedy for more. He hits that pleasurable spot inside you over and over again, and you can’t help the helpless cries that tear from your throat.

He leans into it. Grinds deeper. Fucks harder.

“One more, shit, Let me feel you. I know you fuckin’ want it.” He pants, watching your face twist up, your body arching. 

The pressure builds fast and then you’re coming again, a white-hot burst that sets your skin aflame, jaw open in a silent moan as your cunt squeezes around him, sticky and pulsing.

He curses low and filthy in Spanish as he follows, slamming deep one last time and holding there, cock twitching inside you as his own orgasm overtakes him. His seed floods you in hot, lazy waves, filling you so full you can feel it leaking out around him even while he’s still inside.

Javi slumps forward with a ragged exhale, arms bracketing your body on either side. He doesn’t collapse, but he’s close.

His lips find yours again, slower this time, gentler—just the soft slide of his mouth against yours, the afterglow humming between you like static. Your fingers drift into his hair without thinking, stroking through the curly strands, feeling like you’re floating.

His brown eyes are soft when he opens them, catching the dim light of the room like warm honey. He looks beautiful like this—flushed, vulnerable, skin damp, chest still rising and falling against yours.

“Stay,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and raw from all the moaning and crying he’d coaxed out of you.

There’s a pause. He studies your face, his expression unreadable, answer delayed momentarily.

“No puedo,” he says at last, his bluntness almost cruel. “Gotta be up in a few hours.”

And just like that, the warmth in your chest snuffs out. Cold creeps in, sharp and fast, and you lay there stunned as the post-coital haze clears. Your jaw tightens. Your hand drops from his hair. He feels the shift in you instantly, watches the light drain from your eyes as he pulls away.

He tucks himself back in his jeans, does his belt with maddening casualness.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You snap, sitting up so fast it makes your head spin. You reach for your shirt and yank it on.

“You’re really gonna leave after this? After that?”

He shrugs, not looking the least bit apologetic. “Promised Pops I’d help him with the fence. You know how it is.”

You slide off the table with a grunt, snatching your shorts up from the floor and stepping into them. Your legs still tremble from the good fuck you just received, thighs squeezing together to keep his cum inside you. You try your best to ignore it. “All this just so you could get some pussy,” you spit. “Get the fuck out.”

He rolls his eyes, unfazed. “No seas así. Unblock me so I can call you tomorrow.”

He steps close again like it’s nothing, wraps a hand around your waist and tugs you in. You stiffen against him, glare up into his face, trying—desperately—to see through him. But you can’t. And that makes you want to scream.

“You really gonna call?” you ask, voice quiet but sharp, already hating how pathetic it sounds.

“Yes.”

You roll your tongue over your teeth, the taste of him still clinging to your mouth, your skin still tingling from his touch. You should know better. You do know better.

And yet—you believe him anyway.

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[prettydaisygirl]

OMG. I cant beleive I found a new writer who can feed my james potter delusion! Generally I'm a silent supporter but after reading your Aus, you literally have unlocked a new part of my brain. Your ideas are truly amazing ❤️ pls keep blessing us with your works🙏🏻

I feel like the au idea which I have in mind you can really express it.so may I pls request a college au with fratjames potter x reader.where they both are acquaintance and something happens.due to some misunderstanding reader is the receiving end of James wrath.after realising his mistake he makes a sweet apology gesture to reader and wants to get in her good books.

It's just a just my apology if you couldn't really get the idea( english is my 2nd language and I don't feel confident in it)

P.s pls feel free to ignore it ❤️Have a wonderful Day/Night💗

Hello, my love! Thank you so much for the request! This is my first request so I'm a little nervous haha, I hope this is what you were looking for :) Your words are so sweet, and you really made my day! Also, I'm kind of obsessed with frat!James now... Have a wonderful day/night yourself, lovely <3

frat!James Potter x fem!reader who was supposed to bring the beer ✿ 1.4k words

cw: fem reader, marauders as frat bros, alcohol (or lack thereof), armed store robbery with a gun (not described in detail), reader is James' lab partner

james potter masterlist

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part two

James is having a bad night. It’s 8pm on a Friday and he hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol yet. This is unusual, especially given the music blaring through the frat house with enough bass to shake the foundation. There are dozens of people here. Most of them know James even if he doesn’t know them, which is great until it isn’t.

Another one approaches him, some guy by the name of Marty or something.

“Dude,” The guy raises his arms and James’ annoyance skyrockets. He already knows what this guy is about to say. “Where’s the beer?”

“I know,” James grunts at him. Barty, that’s it. “I’m working on it.”

Barty scoffs but James is already pushing past him. He pushes through the crowd, many of whom move quickly to get out of his way. His eyes scan through, looking for someone in particular.

Where the hell are you?

James makes his way to the kitchen, seeing the counters still bare and no sign of you anywhere. He curses under his breath and pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list. Just as he presses the call button, Sirius approaches him. James holds up a hand but Sirius speaks anyway.

“Prongs, where are the drinks? If one more Alpha Tau tells me my party sucks, I might go to prison.” James just glares at Sirius’ dramatics, the phone ringing endlessly in his ear. It goes to voicemail and he hangs up with a groan. 

“I thought you said you handled it!” Sirius stresses just as Remus walks into the kitchen, beelining for the two of them.

“I did!” James argues, running a hand through his already unruly hair with a huff. 

“What’s going on?” Remus asks, crossing his arms and looking between James and Sirius with a narrowed stare. “Is this about the beer?”

“Yes!” Sirius stresses again, and points at James, “It’s James’ week to get drinks. But here we are, at 8pm on Friday and…” Sirius gestures to the empty countertops. “No drinks!”

“You tell ‘em, Sirius!” James hears Barty shout from across the kitchen and James fears he and Sirius might both end up in prison together. 

“I thought I handled it.” James tells both of his frat brothers, shrugging a bit.

“What does that mean?” Remus asks, his brow furrowing. “Did you buy the drinks or not?”

James at least has the decency to look sheepish, running a hand over the back of his hair as he inhales through his teeth. “I may have… asked my lab partner to get it for me.”

Sirius gasps, raising a hand to his chest as though clutching his pearls, “I thought pawning drinks off on someone else was against the rules!”

“It is.” Remus tells Sirius, looking at James with an expectant stare. 

“I was using it as an excuse for us to meet up, you know? So the two of us can hang out…” James feels his stomach churn when Sirius’ face bends into a knowing smirk. 

“Oh, I understand…” Sirius winks at James, “To ‘hang out.’” His air quotes make Remus roll his eyes and James glare harshly.

“Someone needs to go get drinks.” Remus reminds the two of them. The party crowd is getting routier behind him. 

“James, it’s your week, so off you go.” Sirius nudges James toward the front door. “You never know, you might find your lover along the way!” 

“Oi, fuck off!” James calls back to him right as the door slams closed behind him. 

As he begins the trek to the store, he attempts to call you several times. Every attempt is met with voicemail. He texts you, and all of them are left unread. James finds frustration and anger building in his gut, not solely from the lack of alcohol but also from being stood up, apparently. James Potter has never been stood up in his life. 

On his seventh attempt to call you, it doesn’t even ring. It goes straight to voicemail. His jaw clenches and his fists ball up and he finds himself spewing words he shouldn’t say, airing his frustrations out to you. He calls you things like selfish and rude, and even a bad friend. 

By the time he turns onto the last street, his anger has mostly turned into disappointment. He’d really been looking forward to seeing you tonight, and though it hadn’t been to sleep with you like Sirius had suggested, he had been considering it your first date. 

James is lost in thought as he approaches the store, steps scraping gently across the pavement. He’s thinking about what he might say to you during your lab on Monday when he hears your voice. It catches his attention immediately and he looks up, eyes searching for you. 

There you are, just as pretty as always, but something’s wrong. You’re standing in front of the store, tear-stains evident on your cheeks as you speak to a police officer. James’ heart sinks into his stomach and he’s by your side before he can stop himself.

“Hey,” His voice is low and soothing, more comforting than he thought he could be but you look up at him like he’s saved your life and his heart pounds. “What’s going on?” 

James’ eyes dart nervously between you and the police officer, but the uniformed man shakes his head a bit. “I’ve got everything I need. You gon’ be okay?” James is a bit confused but he realizes the officer’s words are directed at you when he sees you nodding.

“Yes, sir. Thank you very much.” Your voice is a bit choked and you wipe at your cheeks before turning to him. He feels like he needs to scoop you up in his arms, to do something to help put you back together and get that look out of your eyes. 

“What happened?” James’ hands reach for your arms, settling on your elbows. His thumbs brush over your skin soothingly and you feel tears burning in your eyes again at his gentle movements.

“I was…” You swallow thickly when your voice cracks, “I was trying to get the drinks for your party and some guy came in and he was yelling at the cashier, and he… he had a gun, and I didn’t know what to do and you kept calling me and I was trying to answer but-”

James shushes you before you can continue spiraling, shaking his head. Guilt surges through him, knowing what his texts say. And that voicemail…

“Don’t worry about it.” He assures you, and his dark eyes meet yours. “Is it okay if I hug you?” As soon as you nod, he wraps you in a tight embrace, like he really is trying to put you back together. You both stand like that for a long moment until he feels your body relax, your soft sigh brushing his ear in a puff of warm air. 

James pulls back and moves to cup your face with one hand, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You tell him with a soft nod and an even softer smile. It’s one that gives James butterflies and he suddenly feels bad having you look at him like that when…

“Just… delete all of those texts from me.” He says, and your brow furrows, lips parting a bit to question him but he speaks again before you can. “And please don’t listen to that voicemail.”

You look to the side before your eyes meet his again, a confused smile on your lips. “What? Why, what did you say?” The smile fades when James doesn’t play off his words like he always does.

“Okay, I’ll delete them.” His face relaxes a bit at your words and he looks back up at the shop. He hears his text notification sound, but he ignores it, his eyes settling on your face again instead. 

“Do you… Are you still coming to the party?” He asks, and he hates the way desperation is plain in his tone. 

“I was hoping to, yeah.” Your smile turns a bit shy and sweet now and James beams, his hands on your shoulders.

“Okay, great! So we’ll get drinks and then walk back together!” His smile falters and he hesitates then, looking back at the store. “Actually, you wait here. I’ll go get drinks. You don’t need to come back inside.” Your heart almost breaks at his consideration for your feelings. You move up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Okay,” You say, “I’ll be waiting right here.” 

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© prettydaisygirl

[f14fun]

big mouth, big brain (!youtuber x op81) ~ part 1

synopsis: in which case y/n, a video essayist pops up on oscar's youtube feed, and he falls in love with the way she speaks and tells stories

smau ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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liked by oscarpiastri, user1 and 119,102 others

yourusername: "bernie ecclestone, the f**king genius behind f1" is out now on youtube! hope you all enjoy this video <3

view comments:

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yourusername: tysm oscar, this means a lot to me! glad you enjoyed it 🥰🫶🏻

username7: you are NOT fooling me girl, you are definitely shaking, crying, and screaming rn cuz he commented

username8: bro is THIRSTY he used three exclamation points

username9: get in line oscar, we all think y/n is hot too

username10: blessed mommy y/n 😍😍😍

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yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, user1 and 152,998 others

yourusername: guys, i got flown out

view comments:

yourusername: #hoes-in-different-area-codes

oscarpiastri: heyyy, i'm not a hoe 😒😞🙁

yourusername: that's right, you're my hoe

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri: 🫶🏻🫶🏻

user1: WHATTHEHELL HE FLEW HER OUT

user2: aight give me my man with money, where is he??

user3: idk guys, i kind of get the vibe that she's gold-digging him

user4: bffr. she makes plenty of money from vlogging video-essaying, she's been on youtube making vids since 2017

user5: yeah, be so fr. she was 13 then, and she's 20 now. i KNOW mawmaw is rich 🤑💲💸

user6: NAHHH he flew her out for a date that's so sweet I need that so bad

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

user7: oscar, while you are at it, could you please buy y/n the valentino garavani crystal-embellished shoulder-bag in red or blue <333

oscarpiastri: duly noted ✅

oscarpiastri: valentino✍🏻 bag ✍🏻🗒️

yourusername: NONONAOO PLS DO NOT DO THAT OSCAR

yourusername: AHHHHH NOOOO

user8: good lord the bag is 5K.

oscarpiastri: don't worry about it🤭🤑🫡

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

[veneralice]

art credit: @sesamefruit on x / twitter! all credits to the artist!

divider credits: @cafekitsune ! all credits to the original creator of the divider!

seaborn soulmates / rafayel (m.)

in a cruel twist of fate, it is the god himself who becomes the most fervent worshipper. after lifetimes of looking for you, rafayel has finally found his beloved bride once more - but this time, it is him sinking to his knees to chant your praises, not the reverse. (20.4k words)

content warnings: maybe ooc-rafayel idk i’m still an inexperienced writer, me making up lemuria lore as i go because my ass wasn’t playing the game when god of tides came out (also i’m clueless about lads lore), mc as an independent character called michaela (pushing my wlw agenda with her and simone fr), kind of dubious consent???? (past!reader worships rafayel and acts very self-sacrificing so uh? idk? i’ll note it just to make sure) (also drunk rafayel initiates some skinship but reader shuts it down because you cant give consent while youre drunk yall), they fucking, p in v, switch!rafayel (bc we all know it’s canon /j), some biting, some scratching (rafayel’s back bleeds), overstimulation (fem. receiving), violence (blood and cutting is involved in deity worship), is it stalking? 💀 (he keeps tabs on reader in the same way he kept track of mc in-game before they met), idek man, let me know if you need more content warnings 🙂‍↕️, kind of inspired by @poisonf0rest bc i read her siren rafayel fic and saw god and immediately decided i had to write a raf fic myself, so honorary mention of them LMAO (pls read their fics they are so fucking good)

A thousand moons and a thousand suns have risen and fallen on the waves, but none compare to the sight of you entering Rafayel’s court. You are the only celestial constant in this life from that day on, the planet around which Rafayel’s immortal life spins. How humorous, that mortals are so below Lemurians that they are not even worthy of appraising their worship, but it is a mortal bride that weakens the god of the tides.

You are radiant, ephemeral in your beauty. There is a certain kind of delicate balance in your mortality, a rose so ethereal before it withers. Your skirts, although handmade and of unparticular material, a sign of your lowborn upbringing, part to reveal the soft skin hidden beneath, an image that makes Rafayel’s fingers twitch in yearning. He has never envied the land-walkers their bodies, not once. But at the sight of your clay-formed body, loved and created by the earth, he finds himself straining for the shape. Your feet land on the coral floor as if the ground there had been prepared for your stride, blessed by your existence.

It’s not love at first sight, certainly not. But it feels like brushing your fingers over a book and knowing the story already. It feels like helplessly wandering into the trap out of your own volition, although you know that trap will bite. But you let it. It creeps in, the sweetest kind of death you could imagine.

Like poison, the first taste of you condemns Rafayel to eternity.

“Your divinity, we have brought you your sacrifice,” the priests chant, the human part of your procession. The Lemurian guards accompanying them cast them a dubious glance. Not every sacrifice is deemed appropriate, but it is not like the world beneath the waves would balance itself without the human’s worship. A necessary evil, an ugly truth. Their sacrifices are not acknowledged, but appreciated nonetheless. A god feeds on what is given, no matter how all-powerful they are. Even blood as soiled by the human world’s elements is sustainable. “Your bride, your blood, your heart. We have brought you your sacrifice.”

When you walked in, your beautiful face had been angled upward. Even the most stoic of people are forced by the frescoes set in the wall to halt and wonder, because there is nothing else in this world that compares to the sea’s creations. Rafayel’s court was closed in by a dome, decorated with mosaic illustrations of the kingdom’s history. Painted in with elegant whorls of blue, white and red, the image depicted here showed the creation myth of his people, rising from the foam on his fingertips. You had looked straight at that painting, ignoring the gaggle of eyes that had looked on, feasting on the sight of you. But at the call of your entourage, you lower your gaze, meeting his straight-on.

There had never been a feeling so violent seizing him than in that very moment. He wanted to crush you. He wanted to own you.

He wanted to know you.

Rafayel is not the first monarch to hold this court in his blue-scaled fist. He is also not the only one whose heart has ever been stirred for something that could wreck this empire forever. It feels like being hunted, heady and dangerous and addicting. In your eyes lies a future more enticing than anything the seven seas could ever offer him. This is damnation.

What a powerful heart that frail chest must contain; secured only by the soft bones that would willingly give way to his monstrous hands, protected only by the warm flesh surrounding it. Rafayel is the king of sirens, monarch of the abyssal deep, but it was your song that drew him in. He wonders if the prayers you had dedicated to the waves tasted as sweet as your lips looked.

The soldiers surrounding his throne stepforward, signaling the silent message until here and no further. But Rafayel has already risen. Not registering the court which sinks to their knees as they pay their respects, he draws near enough that he could grasp your hands, tucked away in your companion’s crook of his arm. You lowered your head, obedient supplicant as you are. “Court of clay, I accept your sacrifice,” he announces, breathless. He doesn’t care how giddy that makes the humans, how his court begins to whisper. A scandal, an outrage. He only sees you. Not able to hold himself back, he reaches forward to cup your chin - you are shaking, an information he shouldn’t delight in, but does - and your gaze is steady, certain. You are a docile little lamb, not afraid of the knife about to fall. He could crush your right then and there; he could snap your neck if he wants to.

That was his first mistake. Gods have always been unmade by the most simple of human emotions, a fact every single predecessor had heeded. He should have struck you down where you stood, before you could lay the seeds of destruction. But Rafayel doesn’t heed his instincts. There is nothing else in the world anymore but you. Your eyes search his face, taking in every detail, as if the roles were reversed and you were the executioner who was gently lowering him to the chopping block. He imagines your hands roaming his body as you prepare him for certain death.

Deep inside his cold, scaled body, under the layers of divinity and immortality, his godly heart skips a beat.

Rafayel is coming undone, unravelling at the seams. It is only a matter of time until he dissolves into the sea, cupped by your gentle hands, until he finally disappears.

Later, when night draws closer and washes the world in darkness like a paint dissolving in a glass of water, he accompanies you and the bridal party to the rooms you will be residing in for the near future. Gentle, gentle fingers in his hands; you are ashamed of being able to touch him like this, and he notices it. Rafayel angles his head so he can look at you. Although this is nothing but a fancy dress-up of the matter at hand, which means your death at the end of this foolery, the sacrifice is still honored. That means becoming familiar with the heart that will soon bolster his powers, immortalized in him forever. It’s an excuse, of course, but it’s what his mind settles on as a reason for trying to commit your existence to memory. Your eyes are swimming around, looking like the schools of fishes that lounge around in his stronghold. Taking everything in. His own are obsessed with gazing at every inch of your face; soon, it will become more familiar to him than his own. “Your name, supplicant,” he says, breaking you out of your trance. “You have not given it yet.”

Your answer is quiet, and he has to lean even closer to actually hear it. Your female companions, who will wash you and prepare you and celebrate the wedding with you, are chattering behind him to the point of annoyance, but the excitement is understandable. The syllables of your name take physical shape as they go through him, and Rafayel finds himself closing to his eyes as he listens to the melody of your words. Settling in. Taking root. “But you may call me as you wish, Your Divinity,” you demure. Someone has trained you well in the niceties. “I am honored to become anything that you desire.”

“Bride of blood,” he says, and his treacherous fingers finally begin to wander. The supple flesh draws him in, and he adores the way goosebumps claim your skin. He is quite cold-blooded after all. And you are oh, so warm. Human bodies are so confusing and strange that Rafayel can’t help but wonder what moves them. The unreliable skin that gives way too easily to the lightest of bites, the awkward bones that bend at the simplest of angles. As Rafayel chases the muscles running down your arms with his fingertips, you turn your wrist so he can seize it, as if you know what instincts he is following. An instinct as old as time. Life was created when intuition turned into contact, after all. You watch as the deadly king of the abyss stares at your flesh as if it was a wonder to behold. As if he is not the father of all miracles.

Soft, soft flesh. Brittle as wood worn out by the water. Rafayel does not relinquish his hold on you as he speaks. “Bride of clay. You have already become what I desired. You are welcome to ask any wish of me for the sacrifice you will accomplish. Let no one speak that the ocean’s court is ungrateful to your service.”

“I would never imply otherwise, Your Divinity.” Your cheeks are aflush with your humanity, heating below his touch in reaction to being so close to the object of your worship. You do not seem like a typical, blushing bride. He has already taken notice of the harsher, roughened way you admonished your bridal party earlier. Often times, the brides sent to him are scared, chosen at random, unprepared for what the sacrifice means. Often times, it means that Rafayel chooses other brides, casting over the human’s lot. Every year they visit, fighting to compete in their adoration with other worshippers, not realizing that they cannot compare. But you are true in your faith. There are scars feathering all over the palms of both your hands where you have drawn blood to cast into the sea. A moon-shaped indentation, where the lunar priests of the sea (as his worshippers are called above, named for the moon’s strained effort to become one with the sea) brand themselves after ascending to their positions, is situated in the hollow of your throat, right above that precious collarbone he could snap like a coral branch. You are calm, clear-headed.

You could not have been more perfect.

He tugs you along, deeper into the cold water. You do not complain once. The court to strangers is built like a maze, intended to confuse and rattle. A safety measure that is laughable. There is no one who’s might parallels the god of the sea. But Rafayel had taken care to implement it nonetheless, to protect the weak, even though the most vulnerable Lemurian could still overpower the weakest of humans. It is why it so unsettling that you stir him like this. He has loved nothing else on this earth than he has loved the folk of the water. He angles another look at you, suspicious.

The moonlight makes every edge of you luminous with beauty. From the tips of your lashes, to the curves of your features, down to the shape of your human body. It is normal to experience attraction. You were very comely, after all; it wasn’t only Rafayel’s head that had turned to follow your every move. During your presentation, even the most cranky of attendants had lit up with pleasure at such a delicious sight. But he wonders if this means more. He shouldn’t be so attuned to you, shouldn’t be so drawn in by a first encounter. Fate had such a funny way of working its motives. Its cruelty and its humor affected the happenstances of all beings, even gods like him.

The doors to your room have already been affixed with a pair of guards. They are armed with lances, sharpened at the edge to stab through even the most enduring of scales. Warriors of the sea are trained to handle even the most extenuating of threats. Rafayel dismisses them at once, and they stand aside, each taking a few steps away to grant the party their privacy. They will return to their post when Rafayel has left. He gesticulates with his free arm that the women may enter; your companions mouths shape oohs and aahs of wonder as they step inside, but you remain where you are. Your warm hand still lies inside his, a fact that makes his fish-blooded heart tucker inside his chest. “Forgive me for this presumptuous question, Your Divinity,” you say then, affixing your gaze to his face. A face of polite pliancy. He can almost imagine you leading the prayers in the rooms of your faith, the prideful upraised head looking to the sea. “But might there be a fountain which we can use for our prayers?”

“Praying to what, when all your prayers have been answered?” Rafayel swipes a thumb over the blood-darkened veins inside your wrist, the blood you wish to cast into the waves in the same manner as starlight spills over the endless sky. Your skin is as malleable as sand. He wants to dig in, a primal urge from when Lemurians still hunted humans for sport. Some still do. “You may ask the guards to show you to an appropriate location to perform your prayers. But you have already become a symbol of faith, bride of clay. You are being rewarded as such.”

You dip your head in acknowledgement. “I have, Your Divinity. But it does not mean I should stop dedicating myself.”

He stares at you, hard. You are going to die for your faith. That precious little thing you seem to guard so weakly inside your mortal chest will be ripped from you like a human child is torn out of the womb. And yet here you are, asking to dedicate yourself to the very faith who will murder you. Piety is a wondrous thing, and it has moved you so far that you have surrendered to your own sacrifice, but is it really piety that is making you go through the motions of something as superfluous as prayer, when the very act of sacrifice is the highest religious duty you could fulfill? “What an interesting bride they have brought me,” he says, and you lower your gaze, the picture of humility. “Pray, then. As long as you meet me after you do.”

You hum in response, and he watches as you finally rejoin the women already appraising the room. One of them, a younger woman who shares the curve of your jaw and the color of your hair, reaches out to grasp your hand. You free it almost immediately to brush over her hair, a startlingly gentle display of affection in comparison to the chiding you subjected her to earlier. She must be family, though she does not share your beauty.

How confusing to be jealous of a simple gesture like this. How idiotic to yearn to be in that woman’s stead. Rafayel turns his back on the bridal party, before he can do anything that could tarnish his reputation.

Rafayel finds you where he guessed you would be. Your blood is still dripping into the fountain as he approaches you, the thick drops submerging quickly as they fall, like tears of pearl. It was once said, a myth unfurling in the motions of history due to the fascination other creatures often felt at the people of Lemuria, that his folk cried pearls, a myth they had been hunted for. “Wasteful, don’t you think?” he quips at the sight, but his touch is gentle when he takes your hand into his own. “Spilling blood when you will spill so much more when we are wed.”

“Nothing performed in service of the sea god is wasteful, Your Divinity,” you answer calmly. The supplicant at your side, not the family member he saw yesterday, sends you an alarmed look before she lowers it. You questioned the words of a god, an action most people would never even dare. Had you been anyone else, your bones would have already become the fishes’ supper. Even if you had been part of this court, such a comment could still have costed your head. But Rafayel feels himself begin to bend, turning over in your scarred palms. For being the most powerful entity roaming this planet, he feels as though you are the one holding all the cards. “It may not be worthy, but I beg you to accept our meager offerings to you. It is an honor to live in the light of your divinity.”

A memorized answer, devoid of anything personal. It is not the answer he craves, and he wishes to tug at your hair, to tear the secrets you carry in your heart from your head. It is a gruesome instinct, supped on the desire that is beginning to grow inside his heart. “Come with me,” he says, and then, addressing your companion, “You may remain here. I wish to become my bride’s acquaintance.”

The companion lowers her head in pliancy, but she seems nervous, apparently not trusting herself to formulate words in answer. Not because of his presence, perhaps. Rafayel has the inkling that it is you who’s distressing the bridal party. Something mysterious is unfolding in front of his eyes, and he itches to know more. He turns to offer you his arm, and you hesitate, shying away from the fact that he is an immortal being that is worshipped by everything the waves washes ashore on. But you take it, your warmth as shocking as the flash of lightnings the rainstorms sometimes inflict on his domain. Rafayel begins to walk, directing you to the royal gardens.

The weather is much nicer today. The sunlight fights to flood the scenery wherever it reaches, creating shadows of myth. Power is appearance. This court has been designed in a way to strike both fear and awe in hearts untouched by the heavens. You turn your head as far as it reaches, taking in the sight in the same way you had admired the ceiling yesterday. You must have an eye for art. “Tell me about yourself, daughter of clay,” he says, using the address most non-humans utilize to respectfully interact with an unknown land-walker. You whip your head back around to look at him. Today, your face is kissed by the sun, the lovely light enunciating every feature, every trace of the ancestors who had loved the idea of you so much that they willed you into existence. The sight rips into him like a shark bite, and for a moment, he finds himself envying whoever created humans. They had been much more adoring and obsessed with their work than he has, and it is reflected in the creation of you. “And none of the faithful derision today. I do adore being admired, but we are to be wed, and I wish to know whose heart I am going to consume.”

“Faithful derision,” you repeat, clearly taken aback by him reducing the faith of the sea to a simple piece of doggerel. Most of humanity’s prayers go unanswered, after all, expected from an existence so frail it could be wiped out with the smallest of tsunamis. “You mock me so, Your Divinity. Very well. What is it you wish to know of me?”

How have you managed to bewitch me, you evil thing? Rafayel thinks, but does not say. The urge to consume not just your heart, but you in your entirety has still not left him, even after a cold night of serious self-reflection. He has never realized how much desire could blur into hunger. “Who raised you?” he asks instead. “Who were you before you came here? What is it that made you become the lamb to my slaughter?”

Your eyes glaze over, an unidentifiable emotion he only manages to glimpse before you veil it over with the distanced civility you employ to interact with him. “I never knew my father, but my mother is a shepherdess above the sea,” you answer, slowly. The words are chosen carefully. “My mother used to be a priestess, but she was released from her duty when she had me. I was born of sin, you know. A lunar priestess is supposed to remain unwed and untainted, but she became pregnant with me. I am absolving both my mother and me of that taint.”

What a human belief, Rafayel thinks. To categorize love and coupling and touch as something sinful. As if the simple act of dedicating yourself to another wasn’t the holiest experience one could live through. The wax and wane of desire is as holy as the kneel of prayer to a Lemurian, which live and die for love. Above all else, it is the connection to someone else that could be the most well-guarded treasure a Lemurian could ever possess. But humanity’s civilization keeps its own rule, and to laugh about their beliefs would mean disrespecting you, so he only responds with, “I am sure the taint you speak of does not exist.”

“You are kind to say so, Your Divinity.” You do not sound like you believe it. Your words are, like nothing else, an act of worship. But perhaps it is because you understand him that you accept the answer, and that means something to him: to be understood as he is. He guides you along until he reaches a pavilion in the middle of the garden. You sit down first, a distance away from him in the spirit of propriety, but Rafayel is done acquiescing to your silly human rules. He sits near enough that your knees knock against each other, and as he cages you in like a hunter would circle his prey, he takes hold of your hand again. A bone-deep ache has claimed Rafayel, an ardor he never knew he possessed. It is taking hold of him, surging up in him like a wave. It is more than just your body he craves, something that runs deeper and hotter than the center of his own existence. “There is something you are hiding from me,” he tells you, watching as your eyes darken. You do not like being perceived, and the realization almost makes him laugh. “I will not make you tell it. You are free to do whatever it is you wish. But you fascinate me, daughter of clay. It is rare to enrapture a god’s attention, you know.”

As the night before, you roll your wrist in his hold so he may grasp it properly. Perhaps you search out his touch in the same manner as he does yours. Your fingers graze the flesh of his thighs as he lowers your hand to his lap. “I will get in over my head, Your Divinity, if you keep complimenting me like this,” you say. It makes his lips quirk into a genuine smile. Clever human, to play along like this. Your pulse thrums below his fingertips, the rhythm addicting. A true siren song. “I may overstep myself. That would not befit me at all. I am here to be free of sin, after all.”

“You are free already.” Rafayel’s fingers trace patterns into your skin, lower and lower. He unfolds your fingers for you, stretching them as far as they go. The scars on your skin are hypertrophic and ugly, but they fascinate him as much as every inch of your body does. They tell the stories of experiences and lived memories. Each one contains another secret he wants to unveil, a pearl he wants to claim as his own. “And we are to be wed, aren’t we?” His fingers curl over your own, and then you’re holding hands, intertwined in all manners of fate. Rafayel leans in, close enough to make you uncomfortable, close enough to kiss you. You don’t lean away. “There is nothing sinful about being betrothed, or what you do in the name of love. You are mine now, daughter of clay. All mine.”

For the first time since you have arrived here, you smile, your teeth gleaming like knifes. He feels it cutting into his chest, cutting away at his restraint. Although Rafayel is part of a species that is the apex predator of all predators, hunting and reigning over all that lives and breathes, in this moment, it is you who becomes the huntress.

How easy it is to climb a throne. How easy to be torn from it.

In the following days, he feels that tear at his existence in everything you do. Your allure only grows with every minute spent in your vicinity, and finally he has grown so needy that he absolves you of your prayers. Instead, he makes you worship him in person, and the time blurs into eternity, the noose at the end of the road long forgotten.

Rafayel spends afternoon tracing the traces of your creation; every bone, every tendon he explores with the devotion of a fervent prayer. Your fathomless eyes, glinting with the knowledge and the plans you keep hiding away from him, draw him in like the bait at the end of a fishing rod, and even though he knows it’s a trap, he lets himself be caught. Three nights before the day at your wedding, he finds himself caught on the sharp hook as he submerges into a bath with you.

You are not naked, but it almost seems like you are with the way the fabric of your dress begins to cling to you as the water kisses your skin. The shivering claiming your human bones create little currents in the pool, the water much colder than the ocean that surrounds this make-shift castle. Rafayel presses you closer to him, and then his face is in your hair, breathing in deeply. You both have long stopped caring about the rules of polite society. Rafayel has not allowed you to. Every touch, every word, every smile has made you more pliant, until finally you have even allowed him to partake in your ablutions before the wedding.

Every sacrificial bride of the sea god is supposed to take a bath before her wedding, washing away her past so that she can present herself in her most purified state. Most times, the bridal party is asked to help her with that, but Rafayel has stolen that role. It is the single most blasphemous thing one could do. But he is a god, and it is him who dictates the rules, delivers the scripture. All it took was a jut of his lip, the allusion of a pout, and you had caved immediately.

And now you were here, in the curve of his arm, your ear hovering above his chest. His heartbeat was powerful, pounding as loudly as the waves crashing on the beach, the sound susurrating inside your very soul. You breathe in deeply, shaking. This is the most divine thing you have ever experienced, something your mortal shell never thought it would be able to feel. “Sweet conch shell,” Rafayel murmurs in to your ear, shocking you to your core. “I’m sure you know that we have to step in even further to be able to perform the purification.”

“Just a second, please,” you speak through gritted teeth. This man vexes you in the most alluring of ways, and you cannot help but acquiesce to his every whim. You know your pleading falls on deaf ears, though, because Rafayel’s immediate reaction is a smile so mischievous it borders on schadenfreude, and he is already tugging at your shoulders in an attempt to submerge you further. You try to stand firm, even though your determination is crumbling. “It’s cold. It’s really cold.”

“Hmmm.” Rafayel nips at your ear, then your throat; you shudder violently enough for the water to splash. In the silence of your private little bubble, it almost sounds like an explosion. It makes your eyes snap open, as if preparing itself to fight or flee. Never had you let a man so close into your proximity. The village had always been ripe with gossip-mongering and backtalk. Your mother, although the most honorable person in the world to you, had been a demonized figure, to the point where your own worship had made you cull out the presence of men. No one had ever expected you to follow in your mother’s footsteps. No one had expected you to become a bride worthy of the sea. The simple pleasure of his ministrations floods your cheeks with hot blood. “See, I already warmed you up,” he teases, mouthing the words against your carotid artery. Speaking the words directly into your heart. You are guided much easier now, the water sloshing as you are pulled in. “I’ll take care of you, my pearl. You’re with your god, aren’t you?”

With your god. You turn your face toward him. Rafayel’s fingers tug at your lower lip, and you watch as his eyes zero in on the flesh; he is weirdly entranced with the way your human body works, the strange reaction it elicits from him. It is something you have become accustomed to in the past few days. His nail is sharp enough to draw blood. “See, that wasn’t so hard,” he coos, mocking you outright. But his fingers are shaking. It’s you who’s got him wrapped around your little finger, and that feels both emancipating and sacrilegious, a conflict so confusing that you do not know where you have to draw the line. You don’t even want to draw a line. When you had joined the faith of the waves, the image you had conjured during prayer had been ephemeral and fleeting, as changing as the sea. Not in your wildest dreams would you have been able to picture a man, a deity as flawless as Rafayel. His beauty kills. It constricts your lungs and tugs at your heart, as if falling into the maw of a great beast. The still water does nothing to take away from your hypersensitivity to his proximity.

Mortals aren’t made for divine dalliances. You burn too easily. But here you are, playing with fire.

You aren’t delusional enough to think he loves you. You are clay-born, after all. Rough and hastily assembled, none of the precision that the sea god had employed to give birth to his people. You are dazzling in the same way as a fire is dazzling: a short burst of destruction that is as awe-inspiring as it is revolting. But even you can recognize that he is attracted to you, and to a simple servant of the faith, that is quite enough. You are basking in whatever affection he grants you, any scrap at all.

Although you are still on the cusp of youth, old enough to yearn but young enough to grasp the moment, you had never in your wildest dreams conspired of something like this ever happening. Love just wasn’t on your cards. You had your sister, and your mother, and your faith, and that was truly enough. It was fulfilling to the point that you had felt untethered to the earth, free from the judging glances of the village, free from all the expectations the convent placed on you. Living and breathing and becoming one with the sea. If you had died tomorrow without ever having glimpsed the miraculous sea god you had entrusted yourself to, you would have died happy anyways. It was as simple as that.

But this was life-changing. Altering. You were experiencing an out-of-body experience, mythology come true. After all those years you had thrown your love into the universe, the universe was reaching back. You were spinning off axis, losing sight of everything but Rafayel. He was the new epicenter of your existence.

You jump as his fingers trail the naked skin of your arms. He settles on your hips, the touch so electrifying that you bite the lower lip he is still so fascinated by, staring at it as if it were a treasure he discovered at the bottom of the sea. The moon behind him outlines his shape in silver and white, making him seem more like an apparition than an actual person. How fitting, when you have been fantasizing about him all your life. “We should perform the purification now,” you whisper, but Rafayel is still lazily drawing patterns into the flesh of your curves. “Certainly,” he drawls out, every syllable enunciated in the abundant leisure only a god could possess. Your nerves feel like they are on fire. “In a minute.”

“Your Divinity,” you caution.

“Raf-a-yel.” He pronounces the words slowly, but with a deadly intonation. His eyes are dark, unreadable. “Say it. Say my name.”

You look at him, unsure. He looks just as much the deadly hunter he is sometimes depicted as in the murals. Before humanity had started building shrines in honor of the sea god of the abyss, they had painted warning signs about him, about the quick and bloody death he delivers. Some sailors still caution against all interaction with the creatures of the sea, their doom-calling stories a fresh batch of nightmares every time you hear them. The way Lemurians used to drag their willing prey beneath the waves, where they watched as the light left their eyes. What remained of them were the last bubbles of air as they rose to the surface. You cannot say his name, not with your tainted tongue. Not with the bastardry you carry in your veins. Not when you are deceiving him for the sake of your sister. But … “Rafayel,” you whisper.

You should feel scared about the way his lips curve into a smile. Beneath the most beautiful skins still lies the deadly bite of a venomous snake. Somehow you don’t think it’s fear that spikes the speed of your heartbeat, though. It’s not adrenaline that makes you angle your face upward so Rafayel can nuzzle your neck, and you almost buckle at the swipe of his tongue. Tasting the salt on your skin, the earth you came from. “Here, I purify you,” he answers. “I’ll lick you clean.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what the scriptures meant, Your Divinity. Rafayel,” you hastily correct. He had frozen in his motions, but resumed nipping at your skin when you had added his name. The cold water was doing absolutely nothing against the fire racing inside your veins.

“Don’t care about the scriptures.” Rafayel draws up, pulling you with him. The languorous stretch of his figure forces you upward, and following his guide, you wrap your arms around his neck until you’re flush against him. His eyes darken at the press of your breasts against his chest. You screw your eyes shut at the delicious pressure, the way your nipples had brushed against his skin. How easy it is to throw all caution into the wind. You were losing sight of everything you built, in the name of love. “My word is law. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, Rafayel.”

He almost seems to purr at the sound of his name, easily pleased. It’s a deeply unhuman sound that should make you shrink away in fear. You screw your eyes shut as his lips trace the shape of your cheeks, inching closer to your mouth. “My name sounds so delicious on your tongue,” he whispers against the corner of your lips, bordering on a kiss. “If only all your prayers had been like this. I would have flooded all the ports and claimed the land just to have you.”

“I am yours,” you tell him, and you mean it. Rafayel grips your hips hard enough to draw blood, and he doesn’t need to tell you to know what he wants from you. You repeat it, again and again, telling him you belong to him, until Rafayel shuts you up with a kiss that tastes of both sanctity and sin, and the poison he pours into you is so decadent you almost don’t realize it’s killing you. You forget that at the end of this, it will not just be his kiss consuming you whole. You welcome the knifes and the sharp teeth and let Rafayel devour you.

The night passes then with the two of you trading kisses in the dark, small touches bordering on disgrace. You bend so many of your rules that at the end of the night, you’re not sure whether your virginity is sacred after all. But Rafayel never asks you for it, and you both remain clothed, although the bath has made you drip all over the floor. Inside the enormous bed that Rafayel claims as his own, you watch the sun rise as his fingers trace your ears, your collarbones, the shape of your body. It feels intimate in a way that is devoid of sex. It almost feels like Rafayel is the supplicant and you his deity, with the reverence he dedicates to touching you. “You do not need to be purified, bride of blood,” he says, addressing you like he did on the day you met him. Once again, it is a sign of respect. A sign that although he doesn’t understand your beliefs, he still wants to adhere to them because you treasure them. “You are flawless as you are. I chose you because you are everything I want.”

Although your sight is already blurring from tiredness, you make an effort to look at him. “Even though I am human?”

“Despite everything,” he tells you. “My heart sings with the presence of you.”

The sincerity of that statement dizzies you. You fall back into the blurness, feeling light as a feather. Never in your life before have you experienced a joy as profound as this; you have seen the face of God, and God has looked back at you. He is only looking at you.

“You do not have to do this, you know.”

It is the sister who speaks. Rafayel turns over the ceremonial knife, staring at it as he strains to hear the soft voices in the room behind him. Technically, he was eavesdropping. It was a breach of privacy, of course, but there was the matter of intention; he had come to see you, to fall into your lap as you told him about the human world, to allow himself to be reduced to a lover at the beck and call of a mere human like you. The days were beginning to slip away like sand in an hourglass, the wedding inching closer with every passing second. He had been trying to identify where the pit of dread inside his stomach came from when he heard your sister speak up, a feat so rare that he had forced himself to stop behind the door before she stopped. Your bridal party was composed of the most annoying people in the world, all of them paling in comparison to you in both faith and creature, but your sister guarded her words like a clam her pearls. And now, when she finally spoke, it was to deter you from marrying at all.

Rafayel hears something shift. You must have sat closer to her. “Do not say those words,” you hiss, a tone he has never heard you take before. “Do you forget how easily it is for a human to lose their head down here? We are already on thin ice.”

“I’m serious. You do know we could all die anyways, right? How can you be so calm? I feel like I’m about to go insane!”

“Then keep it together!” The answer is too loud, a cat mother snapping at its young. The anger in your voice is palpable. For a moment, the silence claims the room alongside the tension created by the secret conversation, but then you speak up, much calmer. “We either die together for this treason, or I die and you will live to tell my tale. In either case, it’s fine by me. I don’t care about my own life, but so help me god, Alia, if you even think of ending this ruse I will send you above water myself. I’m your older sister. It is my duty to think of you first.”

Treason. Rafayel’s fingers skim the edge of the knife. Blood pearls at the tip of his fingers, the sight of it as nauseating as the thought of a possible betrayal by the human world. Already, the world above them has started to leave them behind, with their experiments of gunpowder and weaponry. More and more patrols return decimated, the serving soldiers reporting death and violence. Complaining, pointing fingers. It’s no secret that the bridal party at court has become somewhat of a group of hostages. And hadn’t Rafayel already known that you were hiding things?

But he thinks of the way you let him cup your face in the sight of only moon and sky, how your eyes glint with the unspoken tenderness between the two of you. It was easy to lie with words, but your souls sing to each other. You both know it. There is something tucked away inside your human heart that belongs to him and him alone, something that makes Rafayel forgive you for every past and future grievance you could possibly muster against him. There is something every living heart wants for itself, and his heart wants you. The metaphorical knife sinks and sinks and sinks into his chest, slamming into bone, stuck there like Rafayel is stuck on his throne. Forever a hand-width away from everyone else, even his happiness. Just then, your sister whispers, “You love him, do you not? You have already given him your heart.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you gently reprimand her. Rafayel closes his eyes; the hand twisting the knife is rough and scarred, but familiar. He imagines taking that hand to aid it. Stab here, he wishes to say. Just a little deeper. I permit you. Only you. “This plan isn’t going to work, and I don’t care. I’ll take them down with me if I can. If I’m dead, I can’t be blackmailed, can I? I don’t care whether I die, as long as you live.”

As long as you live. Rafayel thinks of hearts, and the consumption of them, and of weddings and happy endings. He tucks the ceremonial knife away, his insides cold with the grim certainty of what he is going to do.

Later on, Rafayel will not remember the way his wedding had crashed and floundered into flames. He will not remember the sharp sting of betraying his own people, how his power had bled and bled. It was always so gruesome when gods fell. They weren’t destined for tragedies of this scale.

The only thing Rafayel will be able to commit to his recollection is how stunning divinity looked on you. He will forget the way his home had tasted, how the blooming kingdom of Lemuria had seemed to explode with colors, how the laughter of his folk had accompanied him everywhere. The only thing left will be you, your radiant face and your warm, warm tears, as warm as blood, sparking a fire in even the coldest of deep sea creatures. It should make him curse your name.

And yet he cannot forget you.

He looks for you everywhere, at every time, in every moment. The way your smile looked like the warm rays of the sun as they broke through the rain-heavy sky. The way the sound of your steps seemed to echo like the drum-like rhythm of his heart. He races after people who seem to have just the right hair color, who seem to share the shape of your eyes, who remind him just too much of you, only to realize that it wasn’t the person he was chasing after. You are haunting him. In every waking moment, in every dream that tortures his sleep, it is always you.

The resulting soul-devouring longing has turned him into quite the artist. When Lemuria fell, it took everything with it. Every painting since then he has ever drawn up fails to compare with the real thing, and he is terrified by the idea that he is forgetting how his home looked like. Already the details begin to slip away from him, becoming eroded over time. What remains crystalline is the imagine of you. Devilish you, crux of Lemuria you. It torments him to love you, but what torments him more is the loss of you. He had never been prepared for this possibility. He had never even considered what giving his heart away would look like.

And yet, he would do it again, and again, and again. Selfishly, egotistically. What he wouldn’t give to be able to make you smile again. In his most desperate nights, he strains himself to remember the way you used to laugh, the sound more heavenly than any music ever composed on earth. Even the falsification of the sound still manages to bring him so much peace that Rafayel stills his hands and abstains from painting another death trap. Although revenge has become the new mistress of his heart, he doesn’t love her as much as he will ever love you. It is the memory of you that makes him halt, makes him grant mercy to a possible victim. That, and the everlasting fear it is your blood he could be punishing. Your wish had been granted, after all - it was your sister who had lived and witnessed the death of a civilization, your sister who had escaped all culpability.

It was one of the most earliest memories he managed to commit to his brain after the atrocity that was the destruction of Lemuria. He had dug your sister’s grave with his bare hands. He had never even known her, not closely anyways, but it was your blood running in her veins, your love that had raised her. After so many years of searching and retracing his steps, he had finally found the village you had been born into. But by then, his bride had disappeared, and your sister had grown old waiting for you, and she had barely been able to squeeze Rafayel’s hand before passing on peacefully. That had hurt him in an entirely different way. Here was someone, who loved you and missed you just as much as him, who would understand how severely the loss of you had impacted him, but then she went and died. A cruel fate, as usual. But he did not regret finding her. For a little while, someone had been able to share his grief. And for a little while, that had been enough.

In his worst nightmares, Rafayel dreams he will never see you again. He will live and die for his love, but it will not matter. The bond that connected your souls stretched on into nothingness, past the place where living beings could reach, and you have already passed onto a place he will never see, because you’re an angel and he’s going to hell. Whether he believes it or not, he has betrayed his people, his court, his duty. There was no redemption, no way to come back from that.

Sometimes he resents you for it, so much so that his soul grows heavy with the anger he carries within. He stares at himself in the mirror for hours, trying to claw off the Lemurian mark that bonds you to him, but then he dissolves into sobs. He is hollow of you, a carved out corpse, a mermaid drowned. An oxymoron, like he was. He loves you so much that he convinces himself the pain is worth it; he convinces himself that he can survive this.

He becomes a renowned artist, his paintings a manifest oh the emotions he tries to overcome. But in every single one, his muse remains the same.

Like divine intervention, it is his paintings you admire when Rafayel finally finds you again.

He almost doesn’t trust his eyes. After all, this is not the very first time he has chased after a mirage like a traveler lost at sea. The back that is turned to him is not as scarred as yours was, and the curls of your hair are tucked away in a neat coiffure that almost makes him look away; you had hated to have your hair up. His favorite part of the morning routine you both established was when you had let him sneak into your rooms, and you had let him brush your hair until it was smooth and silky to the touch. But then you cock your head at the painting, and Rafayel sees your face, and he almost buckles.

The moon pales in comparison of the sight of your face twitching into the amazed expression at the painting before you. The sharp teeth remember him of your knife-like grimaces, the ones you used to grace him with when he saw a little bit too much of the truth inside you. There is a horrifyingly familiar birthmark where your brandmark used to identify you as one of the most devoted priestesses of the sea’s faith. You are as beautiful as the day as he lost you, as stunning as the day you had walked into his life.

He stumbles into Thomas, who steadies him with an appalled noise. The rest of the world falls away as Rafayel drinks in the sight of you like a man completely parched with thirst, as if he might die from it. You’re staring at a rendition of how Rafayel had imagined you might look in a bridal gown. His legs carry him forward, and never has the burden of walking on earth hurt him as much as now; he feels that knowledge tearing at him, clawing away at every protective measure, before he even reaches you. Every step is razor-sharp and painful, a conscious memory of what he sacrificed to roam the earth for you. He already knows before you meet his eyes. Your eyes are as clear and amazed as the day you had been brought to him.

You have no idea who he is at all.

It had already been a weird day. You had woken up to your face wet with tears, but as you touched it, you couldn’t for the life of you remember what you had dreamt about. There was only the disturbing feeling that were was something missing, something you couldn’t live without. You had laid in bed for a very long time, your hand placed over your heart, before your bestfriend and roommate Simone had burst into your room and told you to ‘get your ass up before we miss work’.

In the subway, the feeling hadn’t subsided. Beneath the bones of your breast cage, your most vital organ sputtered and stuttered, strangely arhythmic. The thing wasn’t very reliable, anyways, and you already had monthly check-ups to ensure it wasn’t fucking you over and you could continue your work. And then sometimes, it performed miracles. So many times you had woken up in a hospital bed after having passed out with the certain thought that you were going to die, but every time your heart had won out, like it loved battling death and beating the shit out of it every time. It had mystified Zayne, your childhood friend, to the point where he had suggested setting up a field study for his university studies, but you had firmly declined. You didn’t want anyone else to know about this freak heart, thank you.

Work itself had passed by quickly either way, and you had almost passed over the opportunity of going out with your friends. But Simone had wheedled at you and whittled your rejection down until it turned into acceptance, so now here you were.

Staring at this stranger.

He almost looked familiar. In another life, perhaps, you would have walked up to him and struck up a conversation. You had a special weakness for pretty boys, even though you knew even the most beautiful of predators are still deadly. But you had sworn off men after college, the short dalliances that had sparked up remaining unfruitful, so you thought it was for the best.

But the look in his eyes was so heartbreaking.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he knew you. He seemed to be looking at you like someone who he had believed dead had magically been brought back to life and returned to him. When you finally mustered up your courage to approach him, because he had been staring at you for quite a while now, the gorgeous man had turned and left. You quickly lost sight of him, which made you frown.

You were a Deepspace hunter, one of the best. You usually don’t lose track of your prey, especially not pretty ones like him.

It didn’t matter. You never saw him again afterwards. Your fake vow of chastity remained stable, even after the countless club nights Simone dragged you to and even after Tara’s desperate pleading to please, pretty please let her set you up with someone. You declined every time. Not because you were stubborn, but because there was a hollowness inside you that starved for tenderness, something so unreal you were sure you were never going to find it. There was a beast encaged by your veins and bones, starving for the scraps of affection. You had fed it and fed it and fed it, to the point where at the end, you were the one who had been left unnurtured, so you had abandoned the search.

You had never once thought it would find you instead.

There were times when the timing seemed almost too suspicious. The appearance of a fake account perceiving your social media posts. The feeling of someone keeping watch of you. Not following you, but checking in on you. The knowledge that someone was looking out for you, but every time you turned the corner, what greeted you was the sight of a whole lot of nothing.

It’s Wednesday night after Simone’s shift when the doorbell rings. “Did you order in?” you ask the girl, but she shakes her head, the freshly washed hair whipping around like a flag in the wind. “Maybe it’s Michaela?” she theorizes, and you shrug. You’ve met Michaela before; she was Xavier’s hunting partner, a competent hunter that was sure to rise through the ranks. You hadn’t realized that Simone and her had become so acquainted, though. You were definitely going to needle Simone about that.

You went to open the door, but it wasn’t Michaela standing in front of it. Instead, a delivery boy that looks like the most bored employee you’ve ever seen holds out a packaged bouquet to you. “Please sign here, miss,” he says, and holds out a board where a paper has been pinned to it. You scan it quickly to confirm it’s actually for you, then give him the signature he requires.

“Who was it?” Simone appears in the hallway, scrubbing away at her hair. You are momentarily distracted from the bouquet and stare at her instead; you always scolded her for walking around with wet hair. “Is that a bouquet?” she asks before you can say something, her voice amazed. “I thought you were a chaste nun and all that!”

“I’m not dating anyone!” you immediately defend yourself. But your heart is racing as you pass her, and you quickly walk to the kitchen counter where you reach for the scissors in the drawers. Simone rejoins you and watches as you free the flowers from their paper cage.

It is the prettiest bouquet you’ve ever received. Nestled inbetween baby’s breath and foxgloves, water lilies in full bloom reach upward, filling the kitchen with their dizzying fragrance. Simone begins to sneeze almost immediately; she is violently allergic to foxgloves. You, on the other hand, breathe in deeply, almost light-headed with the violent longing the flowers fill you with.

You stare at the flowers for a very long time.

After almost an hour of theorizing and reaching to no conclusion, you place the bouquet on the windowsill in your room where it can be seen from the street. It’s intentional, because you are almost sure that the feeling of that watchful stranger was not just a feeling. Maybe it was a secret admirer or something. But your heart was at peace with that knowledge, and the feeling that encapsulated you was as familiar as a dream; a dream where you are loved as you are, with every inch of your being. You sleep deeply and restfully for the first time in a very long time.

As someone rounds the corner, he angles his eyes upward to stare at a certain window. He passes by here almost daily, just to see whether you were sleeping and taking care of yourself. Worrying about whether when the lamp burned deep into the night, it meant you were overworking yourself or haunted by nightmares. Reassured when the light was off and your shutters closed, because it meant you were home and sleeping. When the shutters are open, he doesn’t even bother to pass by this street, having learnt quickly it meant you were on a business trip of some kind. He has quickly become resentful of your vocation because of how much it drains you. But today, he sees the bouquet he sent you, proud on display on the very windowsill he is able to see from below here, so far away from you.

Almost unwillingly, because he has yet to relearn the motion, his lips curve into a smile. Rafayel walks home, his heart as light as it never has been before. Well, maybe once. Back when the waves were still the emperors of the world. When love meant a certain, moonlight-illuminated face.

It doesn’t take long for Rafayel to re-enter your life under the guise of a part-time job. A bodyguard, for a painter. The joke almost writes himself. But you couldn’t deny how you had clapped your hands in joy when you saw him again, the pretty face with no name you had seen on that day of the art reveal. You let him seduce into the worst side-gig ever, which might as well have been a babysitting job instead of a bodyguard position.

You learn that he’s a recluse, famous painter with the weirdest quirks. You’ve never met a man as strange as him. He was immature, and whiny, and a brat. Most times, you were too exasperated to handle him, despite the ridiculous amount of money he was paying you (the dude was rolling in money) and the bonus of getting to see his gorgeous face every day for free. Sometimes, though, when you are careless, your heart jumps to your throat when your fingers brush. Other times, when you watch him paint, you have the counterproductive urge to grasp his face and kiss him until you’re breathless. You cannot understand it. You don’t know where the instinct comes from. But it runs deep in your blood, a calling as old as time.

Simone calls you a horny freak, almost guffawing when you meekly admit to having developed a crush on him. And hey, sure, maybe you were a little horny. (A woman gets quite desperate when her only sexual encounters were the reliable appendages of her own hand.) And sometimes you did want to jump Rafayel’s bones until you were sure you (or him) wouldn’t be able to walk for a least a week. But it’s not what stirs you when you look at him. Deep inside your heart, something yearns for Rafayel, something that’s even hungrier than the beast you call your own heart.

You’re never sure what will overcome you. On most days, where Rafayel mooches off the vacation days you get from Deepspace hunting and calls you in to watch him live his life, your cravings run on the need of wanting to touch him. You want to ruffle your fingers through his hair to discover whether it’s as soft as it looks like. You’ve even candidly wondered what it would be like to hug him while he sleeps; Rafayel often falls asleep on his own job, curling into a sleeping position right in front of his unfinished paintings, the elegant fingers unfurling around his brush. The need to touch him can get so severe that you brush your fingers over his hand as he sleeps, just to satisfy it; it feels like fire grazing your skin, as dangerous as his Evol. You never tell him about anything of this, though, even though you know the secret is burning you.

Sometimes he looks at you as though he can tell exactly what you’re thinking. Like now.

He looks up before you can tear your gaze away. You had been staring at him for a little too long, admittedly, but he was looking downright ethereal today. You had almost collapsed on his porch when he had answered the door. The man was already a threat because of his looks, but he had opened the door looking like he fell right out of the bed and walked to the door without doing anything. The sight of his sleepy face and frazzled hair was doing a number on your heart. He claimed he’d already had breakfast and had laid out a plate of pancakes for you (not prepared by him, of course, the man was too lazy to stand in the kitchen without incentive), then gotten straight to painting. You were fantasizing about what it would be like to wake up in bed with him, to wipe away the sleep from his eyes and kiss the eyelids, when he caught you red-handed. “What, do I have something on my face?” he quips, and you jerk upright.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“You’re looking at me as if I sprouted another head. I’m not an alien, you know.”

“Technically, you are. Aren’t you?” You blink at him, the question innocent. Rafayel rolls his eyes, though, as if he had both expected your stupidity but had hoped you would overcome it. “Lemurians are from the ocean, idiot,” he retorts, turning back to his painting. He was swiping away at another creation, something that looked like the abstract rendition of a hurricane on the sea. “Last I checked, that was still on earth.”

Well, he got you there. Before you could think of a smart response, your phone rings, bringing the conversation to a halt. Rafayel clicks his tongue in annoyance; he likes to be the center of your attention and has often hidden your phone during work hours just so you couldn’t distract yourself. As someone with the attention span of a goldfish, you had rebelled pretty soon. You turn your attention to the device in your hands and read Simone’s name on the display before you answer the call. “Hello?” You drawl out, gaze still fixed on Rafayel.

“Where are you?”

“Working. At Raf’s.” You don’t miss the way Rafayel straightens up at the nickname, looking like the satisfied cats he often chases away due to his hatred of them. It’s your turn to roll your eyes; he was easily pleased. At the same time, his simple joy at a nickname makes your heart soften. Although his dramatic flair ensures that he is never taken seriously, deep beneath it all, you have come to realize that Rafayel is a genuinely tender person. And who are you to judge for being needy when it comes to affection? “I told you that this morning. You know, when you were in bed with Michaela.” As far as you knew, they weren’t dating, since Simone claimed Michaela had only slept over yesterday because they had stayed out late, and she had refused to let Michaela walk back home in the dark.

“Do not say that out loud,” comes Simone’s buzzing response from the other end of the phone, and you momentarily hold your phone away as you cringe at the sound. You put it back just in time to hear her add, “I do not need the fish-man to know about my private business, thank you. He’s an employer after all.”

“Everyone knows about your fat crush on Michaela.”

“Well, how about your fat crush on…”

“NO!” you shout down the phone before she can speak it out loud and ruin your life. You manage to startle Rafayel so strongly that he topples from the chair he was situated on; you wince and turn around guiltily, not wanting to deal with the consequences of that. Simone had almost given away your secret feelings for the man currently painting his heart out on the canvas. “Alright, point fucking taken. Is that why you called me? To bully me?”

“You decided to bully me first! Anyways, I called to let you know that they emergency-scheduled you for this afternoon. Something about you being familiar with that no-hunting zone.”

You narrow your eyes. She was probably talking about the suburb north of Linkon that had just recently been declared a no hunting zone; they were still carrying out evacuations from the area, although majority of the place had been abandoned ages ago due to a factory accident. You often ran patrols there and had been the one to notify the agency about the rising threat-level which had ultimately led to the declaration of it now being a no hunting zone. Still, it must be pretty serious if they scheduled you without checking back with you first. Jenna usually didn’t take advantage of your willingness, since you often offered to cover shifts for your colleagues.

“When?”

“7:30 at the subway station. North exit. You’ll patrol alone, but I can join you if you want to.”

“No, that’s fine,” you answered absentmindedly, already racking your brain about what could have happened and how you could get there. Perhaps another luminivore? But you had cleared out a nest of wanderers just a week ago…

You barely remember to say goodbye to Simone before you whirl around to face Rafayel. He’s still on the ground, pouting, his full lips jutted at you in irritation. “Let me guess,” he grumbles. “You’re gonna abandon me again. Forget aaaaall about me on your fancy wanderer-hunting job.”

“Rafayel,” you sigh. He always got vexed about this, the fact that you had a life aside from basically being his handbag that he carried everywhere. Rafayel doesn’t even like public appearances, and rarely appears often enough where the necessity of a bodyguard was warranted. You step towards him and offer him your hand so he can let himself be pulled up, but he turns his face away like a child. “Don’t be like this. I’ll literally be back tomorrow.”

“Oh, will you? And what if you get another emergency? And what when your free days are over and you have to go back to your regular work? Since you’ve managed to forget to text me every time you’ve been busy, I’m assuming you’ll check back with me as soon as sharks have started walking on land.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

Rafayel turns his head to glare at you. It’s the only thing your register before the world is flipped upside down in a rapid whorl of colors. Rafayel has taken hold of the hand that had intended to help him and had pulled you down. The movement is so swift and sudden that you squeak in indignation before you can remember your training, but your fight-response dies down as soon as Rafayel leans over you, his hands pinning yours over your head. You could easily free yourself if you wanted to. You were a Deepspace hunter, for crying out loud. But it’s Rafayel who’s pinning you down, Rafayel whose lovely hair is as blue as the swirling sea, his eyes capturing you like a predator hypnotizing its prey. “You’re a liar,” he tells you. It’s an insult, but your skin tingles as if the word was a caress. You squeeze your hands into fists in his hold, and he grips your wrists tighter, as if he can imprison them. As if he can imprison you. Rafayel’s eyes are as hard as flint, and you recoil from the real anger inside them; he’s never looked at you like this, never. The air is thick with tension. “You humans always lie. You’ll leave me and forget about me.”

The situation seems so silly, but there’s something urging you to take it seriously, something in Rafayel’s eyes that tugs at your heartstrings. You feel like a deer in the headlights, yearning for the approaching car. “I’d never lie,” you tell him after a few moments, unsure where the words are coming from. “And I’d never leave you.”

Rafayel scoffs, and you feel the embarrassment creep up on your face. Well, it’s not like you were the one who initiated this ridiculous situation! But you cannot help but feel this isn’t a joke. You scan Rafayel’s face, but he’s as unreadable as the calligraphy of a foreign language, unavailable and unreachable to you. “How can you be certain?” There’s a tang of anxiety to Rafayel’s voice, a tone so disquieting that you feel desperate to get rid of it. The urge is strange, but not unwelcome. You think for a long time before you tell him, “I can’t be. I’m only human, after all. But I mean it with all my heart when I say I would never intend to.”

Rafayel’s eyes visibly soften at the words. It’s a confusing, mind-muddling reaction. Although your relationship to Rafayel is indescribable by words and constrained by its professional setting, you would still be able to claim that you had grown close enough to realize this was an extremely uncommon reaction. What’s even more confusing is when Rafayel lowers himself to tug you closer; you fit like puzzle pieces as he cradles your head in the hollow of his neck, holding you against his heart. You return the embrace with a racing heart. This is everything what your touchstarved brain had asked for and more. You turn your face to tuck it into the crook of his neck, and the man above you sighs with what sounds like content. After a few moments, he finally releases you, his arms unfurling like the petals of a flower. He’s still pouting, but he looks appeased. “Go, then,” he says, sitting up and crossing his arms. “But don’t expect me to miss you or anything!”

Like a sea creature that’s washed up on the beach, unable to breathe air, you gape at him. Meanwhile, Rafayel dusts himself off, as if nothing ever happened. He goes straight back to his art, sparing you not even a glance as he says, “Be sure to lock the door behind you, will you? I really don’t want Thomas to crash in whenever he wants again. I like my privacy.”

That damned fish!

This is the shape your relationship takes on, the constant push-and-pull between tearing each other apart and digging into every crevice you can reach in the other. What has started as a simple crush is starting to drive you insane, what with how Rafayel begins to take advantage of how familiar you both become. It’s on a night like this where he makes every effort to blur the lines between you two, like colors mixing and washing over each other, creating something new. It’s the middle of the night, and you should really be in bed sleeping before your newest mission in the morning, and yet you’re standing in front of the art gallery in the middle of nowhere. Thomas’ face looks like a tomato. He’s been blushing and apologizing for at least ten minutes, begging you to forgive him and spewing excuses about how he absolutely couldn’t call anyone else. He pawns Rafayel off like a discovered item being handed in to lost-and-found, abandoning you to your new task so he can hush back inside and hide the fact that a) the artist in question being discussed in there is drunk out of his mind and b) he’s pulling the Frenchest exist ever known to humankind, having slipped out the backdoor that is supposed to be reserved for the staff. You stare at the label that marks the closed door as such long after Thomas has left you, ignoring the whiny little sounds Rafayel is making. Asking for your attention, probably. Eliciting a very different kind of response in both your pissed and tired mind, but also your easily excited abdomen.

How did you even get here?

“Can you pleaaaase stop staring at that door and stare at me instead? And I made all that effort to look pretty, too.”

Your eyes snap back to Rafayel, momentarily distracted. “Surely you didn’t dress up for me, mister,” you huff, although you did take note of his attire. It’s an elegantly cut suit and tie, the cuffs of his shirt studded with something that looks like glinting stars in the dark. As you step closer, you realize that the buttons are not buttons, but rather pearls. From Rafayel’s left ear dangles an ear ring, a silver fishing spear that seems to pierce through the earlobe. “Because you best believe I didn’t agree to be dragged out at the ass-crack of dawn to pick you up just because you can’t hold your liquor.”

“I can hold my liquor!” Rafayel complains. You want to muster up a snarky response, but then he grabs your calf and falls forward, his head coming to rest on your thigh. The proximity is making your breath catch in your throat. “That was just …. a lot of piña coladas. They were just so delicious. It’s not my fault.” The drunkard at your feet squishes his stunningly beautiful irritating face against your leg, looking up to catch your gaze as he pleads you to swallow the lie.

You are robbed of speech.

It’s one thing to have an unrequited crush. It’s another thing to live with it. And then it’s something entirely different to have that crush used against you. Rafayel’s cheeks are red from intoxication, his eyes lidded, seemingly in a haze. But his hands are steady, goal-oriented. They feel their way along your legs, up to the hollow of your knees, until finally Rafayel digs his fingers into the back of your thighs and closes his eyes.

If anyone knew how fast your heart was racing right now, you’d never live to hear the end of it. You are shy and overwhelmed and in love. Before you can embarrass yourself even further, you take Rafayel’s hands into yours and pull him, the sound of your blood rushing in your ears reminiscent of the way the thunderous waves crash on Whitesand Bay when it storms. “Let’s get you home,” you hear yourself speak as if from a distance. For once, Rafayel is obedient. He nods eagerly, wrapping both his arms around the one you offered him, and you manage to find your way back to the main street as you round the art gallery and hail a cab.

The driver looks as tired as you are. The meter, calculating the price for the amount of distance travelled, sets a ticking rhythm for the drive. As you settle in and buckle up both Rafayel and you, the former uses the chance to inch closer to you. You direct your gaze to the roof of the car, thinking, dear god, please help me survive the ride back home.

Because this is just plain torture. It takes Rafayel five minutes, tops, to fall against you and hide away his face against your throat. His breath comes more steadily now, not as erratic, and he’s still got the scent of coconut syrup and rum on his breath, but beneath all that, he smells like the Rafayel you have come to know. That strange smell of salt and paint and mint, the latter being part of the perfume he prefers to use. He’s close enough to bite through your throat if he wanted to.

Somehow, the thought doesn’t terrify you. The lack of fear ought to be a warning sign, but all you can think about is how lovely it would be die on those teeth, like the drowned sailors crushed to pulp as the waves throw them against the cliffs over and over again. You curl your fingers to your fist in your lap, willing yourself to endure it. In the darkness of the cab, every touch seems amplified.

“Missed you,” Rafayel mumbles then, almost making you leap out of your skin. He hadn’t been loud, but you’re growing incredibly hypersensitive to his every mood. His lips brush your skin as he speaks. “Thought you wouldn’t come.”

You slightly turn your head to create some life-saving distance. Your heat is threatening to jump right out of your chest. “Of course I would come to get you, silly fish,” you whisper back. Through the window, you see the cab cut by the city, drifting through its streets like a snake through a flower field. Even in the middle of the night, Linkon City doesn’t seem to sleep. You try to fixate on the sight outside, instead of the man beside you that was threatening to make you lose your grip on sanity.

Rafayel grunts, then shifts his position. As he sits up, his hand falls into your lap, and with an ease you usually only ever see him exert on his brushes, he claims your hand for his own and turns it over. He presses a thumb to your palm, the touch light, but something feathers in your muscles. Your hand twitches. “You sound so sure,” he sighs, sounding petulant. He doesn’t believe you.

When finally the sight of Rafayel’s humble appears on the horizon, Rafayel manages to step outside the cab without falling over once. In the time it takes him to step outside and stand up-right, you’ve already paid and thanked the cab driver, who only nods and speeds away as soon as the door to his vehicle closes. You watch for a few moments until the cab merges with general traffic and then disappears, then turn back to your drunk, pouting companion, avoiding your eyes as if the eye contact could be embarrassing to him. For being so touchy in the cab, he sure has some nerve of acting like this. Without another word, you enter the passcode to his door, and Rafayel slips inside.

The studio looks like a mess. Clearly, nothing had been cleaned or tidied up before someone left to attend their oh, so important event. There is paint everywhere, even on the couch you know costs more than an entire year of your salary. You avert your eyes and press your hand on Rafayel’s back; you would talk about that tomorrow. The studio usually was a representation of Rafayel’s mental state. Whatever bothered him, had exploded into the artful reorganization of his home. “Quit pushing me,” Rafayel nags at you. He winds around so that he can free himself from your touch, then glares at you as if this was somehow your fault. “I can walk on my own.”

“Well, then maybe you’ll take yourself home, too.”

Your voice comes out too harsh. You know it as soon as you close your mouth, but Rafayel has already flinched. “I’m sorry,” you say as you try to soften the blow, and it feels ridiculous. Why is it you who has to apologize right now? But you continue speaking as if compelled, because you can’t stand the thought of hurting him, of him thinking he meant nothing to you. He doesn’t answer, so you step closer, intending to make him look at you so he’d see that you’re being earnest. That’s not what happens, though.

What happens is that Rafayel’s hands find your shoulders, and you’re about to ask what he’s doing, and then the only thing you can feel is the shape of Rafayel’s full lips crashing against yours, swallowing your words. It’s not even an actual kiss, too messy to be actually deemed one; his teeth clack against yours, grazing your lip painfully enough that you’re almost sure he’s drawn blood. But then he re-angles his face and Rafayel is actually kissing you, tasting you, stealing the air you breathe. Your brain shortcircuits. For a second, you forget why you’re here, and your fingers act faster than your mind does, gripping onto Rafayel’s shirt so forcefully you almost rip the pearls off them. Thankfully, your brain snaps back to reality almost immediately, and you push Rafayel away before the realization that you had been tasting his sinful tongue can actually hit you. That would be an information your brain would deconstruct later. “You’re drunk,” you exclaim. It is the most difficult thing you ever had to do, tearing yourself away from Rafayel. His face is the very picture of longing, an expression that makes you want to eat him alive, bones and all. But you did it anyways, because it would not be fair to him, and this is something that would have to be discussed when he’s sober. “Come on, Raf, I’ll take you to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed.” His fingers haven’t left you. They wander up the sides of your throat, digging into the space beneath your jaw, forcing you to angle your head up. Like this, he almost looks like the deep-sea predator he is. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes that seems to reflect your own hunger, a kind of starvation that will not leave a single scrap of you to scavenge. If you’re not dangerous, he will drag you into the depths of the ocean, never to be seen again. “I want to make you feel good and make it up to you, please, pretty please. You’ll let me, won’t you?” He tugs and tugs, unrelenting. His wicked lips are shaping his typical pout, his favorite expression of getting you to do his bidding. He almost gets away with it, too, and the only thing keeping him from kissing you again are your quick hands, placed on his mouth before he can even think of capturing your mouth again.

“Raf, I will not take advantage of you while you’re being drunk!” you exclaim. It’s unbelievable how his face grimaces into the most heartbroken expression ever, just because you refuse to be the villain here. It physically hurts, to see him in so much anguish. You quickly spin him around so you don’t have to see his face, directing him to his bedroom. “You can make it up to me tomorrow,” you say tentatively. Secretly, you hope he will forget all about this, and you’ll never have to talk about it all. You’ll file away the kiss in your secret drawer inside your mind palace and polish the memory until it physically deteriorates, like it’s your last dinner on death row. You’ll make that memory last. Because you know he doesn’t love you; you had just been a warm body who had been kind to him at the wrong time.

“You’re so mean.” Rafayel sniffs, but this time, he comes more willingly. In the bedroom, the atmosphere has almost returned to its original tranquility, the silence enveloping you both seeming to sober him up. The bed feathers, creaking as Rafayel falls into it, but then the only sound left is his quiet muttering as he continues to complain about your attitude. He falls asleep like that, grumbling about how you would regret not letting him kiss you, how he could make it worth your while. He almost looks innocent like this, his face relaxed and devoid of his usual dramatic flair. It smoothens out the deeper he falls into sleep, sinking further into the mattress, looking like a pre-Raphaelite angel in a painting. Peaceful. Neutral. Entirely ethereal. He’s so surreal, you wonder if you might not be imagining this moment, the way you imagined him doing other things to you as you laid awake at night.

You fan your burning face, wondering what exactly had Rafayel intended to with you. It only adds on to the maladaptive daydreaming you dedicated your time to every day, ever since the fish-eyed king who called you his bodyguard had stolen your heart.

You stare at him for a very long time, until every ethereal feature of him is burned into the back of your eyelids. Your heart is light as a feather, floating, yearning. It sings his name in a steady pattern, synching almost naturally to the breath that stirs in Rafayel’s chest.

From then on, there is a current of tension underlining every interaction.

It’s not on purpose, of course. You just can’t help yourself. Every single nerve is on fire, at the beck and call of your favorite painter’s whims. You twitch when your fingers accidentally touch. There’s an involuntary gasp whenever he comes near, a sound tugged out of you against your will. You would have never thought that love would feel like a thousand fireworks going off at once. Soft, resounding explosions going boom, boom, boom in your chest.

You are so very conscious of Rafayel. Your heart jealously guards every moment you share with him.

Amor vincit omnia, famous poet Virgil once said in his own works. Love conquers all. Poets have to describe it like that, for emotions to be so consuming. It’s supposed to be a fun little tale, a nice piece of text, to be read and enjoyed. It’s not supposed to be something that happens to you, in the most violent way possible. Rafayel, although his own empire has been laid to rest centuries ago, his claim on the throne long faded, has succeeded in conquering you after all, heart and soul.

But, spoiler alert: you do not talk about what happened. In fact, you make every effort to escape the conversation whenever Rafayel tries to bring it up.

Why, you ask? Well, that’s something not even you can answer. Your friends have grown intolerable with frustration, to the point where Simone has staged an intervention to get you to fess up and confess to Rafayel. (Michaela, finally dating Simone, had planned an entire powerpoint dedicated to the benefits of admitting your feelings to someone. Which is ironic, because it was Simone who had finally gotten her shit together and told Michaela about how she felt.) Even Zayne, uninterested in your love life and its endeavors, had chipped in with his own opinion, which you had quickly ignored, because Zayne was the only mentally-sound, responsible adult in your friend group, which meant unresponsible you didn’t want to think about his advice at all.

It probably has a lot to do with how Rafayel is the epitome of perfection in your eyes, and you are nothing. You know it’s completely idiotic to think of someone as flawless, although Rafayel, being a sea creature of mythological background, might be a little closer to fitting that description than a human would. But you do. He is tender and attentive and all-encompassing. You refuse to lose him like this, to lose him to an unrequited crush that he had nurtured on a whim because he had been intoxicated.

No, you’d rather dance around it and be able to stay in his vicinity. Even if it kills you to be the outstander in his life forever, you’ll sacrifice yourself for it.

Unluckily for you, Rafayel is entirely fed up with sacrifices.

To say the door was closed would be to put it gently; it crashes into the hinges as Rafayel shuts it in front of your nose, cutting off your only route of escape. The evening sunlight paints him in a rosy hue that only adds on to the weakness your heart feels when you see him. He is exquisite. “We are going to talk about this,” Rafayel states, crossing his arms in petulance. “Whether you like it or not.”

“Ah, I’d love to, Raf.” Your lips quirk into a nervous smile. The memory of those arms wrapping you up in their embrace is so powerful, it manages to spike your blood with adrenaline. You theatrically check your wristwatch, then point at it, as if Rafayel needed some kind of extra confirmation that you were out of time. “But I really have to get to this meeting, and I already told Simone that I would…”

“Nope, don’t care.”

“But I…”

“Nooooope. You want me to say it in Lemurian?”

“Raf,” you groan out. “Don’t be like this.”

“Me, not be like this?” It seems as if you’ve missed some kind of signal in his communication, because suddenly Rafayel draws up, taut as a bowstring. There is a palpable taste of anger on your tongue, like a shark tasting blood in the water, and the realization dawns on you that you probably shouldn’t have answered him like that. “You’re really one to talk. You know, I thought we were finally getting closer. But you can’t even look at me properly! Have I done something to you?” His eyes are unhappy, glassy with emotion. It tears at you. His anguish has always been like a knife in your gut, disembowling you like a fish being gutted.

Your breath hitches. Yes, you have done something to me. You’ve ruined me. All I can think about is you, and the way your smile looks like the first streak of warm light at the break of dawn, and how even your annoying jokes make me float with joy. You’ve done something, alright. But all you say is, “No, of course not. I mean, no you haven’t done anything. I like spending time with you.”

“Then, what is it?” Rafayel has stepped closer. You instinctually step back, craving distance from him so that your heart won’t explode in your chest, but it seems like he has had enough. He ignores your attempt at evading him and grabs your arms, shaking you like a child would its toy. You look up at him, helpless. “Please. I can’t stand the thought of being apart from you.”

“Don’t say that, please.” Your voice is meek. You cannot believe he is even saying those things to you, that he could possibly replicate all the feelings in your heart, both the light and the dark.

Rafayel sucks in a breath, as if the words were a slap to his face. “Does it disgust you? That I feel like this? Because if you don’t want me to take liberties, if you don’t want me to bother you, then that’s all you have to say. I promise I’ll go back to any role you want to cast me in, as long as we go back to what we were, and you will talk and laugh with me again.”

What even is this moment right now? You are dizzy with emotion, incapable of producing speech. In all your wildest dreams, never once had you thought that it would be Rafayel begging for even a scrap of your attention. It was always in reverse, the natural order of things. You shake your head, appalled at his words, heady with them. “You can’t possibly feel like this,” you manage to say through gritted teeth. “You can’t possibly feel like you’re the one being pushy, when all I’ve done is ruin things between us. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me. I knew you did it because you were drunk, and I’m not mad at all, but I should have been the responsible one, and now I’ve ruined everything.”

“Ruined everything?” Rafayel’s voice is ripe with incredulity. When you finally gather courage to look up, you see Rafayel’s face suffusing with blood, although you can’t tell if it’s in anger or frustration. You don’t understand that in reality, Rafayel has spent his entire existence living in devotion to you, praying to you, deifying you. There is a split second where you both look at each other, completely silent, but then Rafayel’s painter-roughened fingers circle around your wrist and guide you back into the studio.

There are art supplies strewn everywhere, littered on every surface, but the actual paintings have been draped in curtains, hidden from view. Sometimes, even the most talented of creators gets shy about his works, and you’ve never once pushed him or teased him for it, respecting his privacy. But now you’re standing in the middle of his domain, his one hand still gripping your flesh, the other curling around the soft fabric that hides his art. “Then believe this,” he scoffs, and before you can protest, he rips the curtain off to reveal what is beneath.

You are robbed of speech.

That day in the gallery, your eyes had been cloudy, blind. You never once thought to stop about whether Rafayel had a muse that he venerated, something he enshrined with his paintings in an effort to cage in the feeling. Like the visionary described in Plato’s allegory of the cave, you are stumbling towards the light, blinded by the grace Rafayel utilizes in everything he shapes and touches.

Blooming all over the canvas is a rendition of you, floating in the ocean, kissed by the sunlight straining to reach you in the depths of the water. You almost reach out to feel the brushes, each stroke of the paintbrush a loving word, a compliment to your existence. Rafayel has painted you with the loveliness of an artisan completely entranced with their source of inspiration. There is an unspoken language of love woven into the material of the canvas itself, every color, every shade fondly handpicked to highlight your radiance. The drawing of you is glowing, basking in Rafayel’s attentiveness, completely wrapped up in his adoration.

“This,” Rafayel speaks up at your side, leading you back to reality, “is how I feel about you. I worship you.”

“Worship me?” You are breathless. It’s an impossible feat to tear your eyes off of the craftsmanship, but you manage to do so. The sight of Rafayel almost knocks you to your knees anew. His gaze is so full of warmth that for the first time in years, your heart is expanding, feeling full and hungry at the same time. Rafayel takes your hands in his, pulling them towards him. “You sound so shocked,” he laughs gently, the reaction so untypical for him. You let yourself be guided closer into the circle of his arms, into your safe haven that Rafayel represented for you. “Is it so hard to believe that I love you? There is no one else I’d want to kiss, no matter whether I’m drunk or sober. I dream and think of you all the time, and I hate it, trust me. Did you really think there would have been anyone else that could take your place in my heart?”

You are still adoring the painting, but when you angle your head back to look at him, Rafayel is already looking at you. It’s a soul-connecting look, the kind that reaches deeper than his eyes, the color of them ressembling the star-speckled sky reaching to kiss the pink waves. He is literally cracking open inside his chest so that you may look within, so that you will believe him. There is a memory at the edge of your consciousness, something that washes the saltiness of the ocean and the strangely sweet taste of divinity over your tongue, something that you cannot recognize yet. But what you can recognize is the heart inside Rafayel’s chest, so similar to your own, even hungrier than yours possibly could ever be. “Say it in full,” you plead with him, just to hear it once more. To realize that this incomparable man, more legend than reality, in all his heavenliness and gracefulness, belongs to you. That although your heart has always been the most insatiable creature alive, it has finally found a twin that matched its voracity. “Say you love me.”

Rafayel’s hands come up to cradle your face, cupping it like one would hold their most precious treasure. He is looking at you like a devotee who has seen his salvation, like you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s the look of love you’ve always, always wanted directed at you. “I love you,” he says, sounding entirely to exultant for a moment like this, his voice like the bells of heaven. It is utterly unlike your sassy crush, the man who’s outwitted you countless times, who always tugs a laughter out of you whether you want it or not. This is someone else, someone who’s set fire to the earth just to dig you out of its ashes. “I will love you until the day I die and if there is another life after this one, then let me love you in that one too, in all lives that may yet come.”

You screw your eyes shut then. You are blinded by joy, amazed at what just a single string of words can do to you. There is a key turning in the lock inside your chest, something that opens up a tsunami of emotions inside you. I love you. I love you. I love you. “Rafayel,” you whisper, and then you stumble forward at the same time as Rafayel tips down, and you collide like stars. When Rafayel finally kisses you, it tastes of cosmic dust and red strings of fate and it tastes like eternity. Your hands reach upward, seizing at his clothes and shoulders, until finally your fingers claw at his cheeks and you are probably hurting him. Neither of you cares. You fold around each other until no one can tell where you stop and he begins.

Rafayel groans into the kiss, a sound of such profound relief that you almost manage to stop kissing him just to laugh. There is no opportunity to do that, though, as Rafayel keeps dragging you back for another kiss, and another, and another. “My pearl,” he gasps against your lips, and you swallow the sound eagerly, lips moving against his like the tide crashing back into the shore. There is a loud crash as Rafayel moves backwards; you are momentarily distracted and look downwards to see the palette having strewn all its paint and contents all over the floor. In the heat of passion, you had completely forgotten your surroundings. “Whoops,” you murmur, not feeling sorry at all. It makes Rafayel burst into laughter, and for a moment, you are two idiots stumbling in the dark, two boats in a storm.

Holding on to another.

“It’s so typical of you to make a mess when I’m trying to be romantic,” he whines, becoming your unserious Rafayel again, love of your life Rafayel. You brush a lock of his storm-blue hair aside, and he tilts his head until his cheek is fitted against your palm. “You exist to sabotage me, admit it.”

“You admit something first.” Still love-drunk from the kiss, you swipe your thumb over his cheekbone, the touch electric. “When did you paint this? Do you really like me for as long as I have liked you? Because if I’m being honest, I’ve been having the most embarrassing crush for the longest time. Simone can tell you all about it.”

Rafayel dips his head, looking at you straight on. “You have no idea,” he tells you, entirely honest. He looks as if he can tell that your heart is racing, like he’s speaking the words into your veins, carried to your heart with the steady pump of your blood.

You step closer to him then, the need so primal you feel your entire body shivering. The urge is so tantalizing that you threaten to choke on it, succumb to the threat that Rafayel’s love poses. He is a walking siren song. “Help me understand then,” you whisper. “You’re always so chatty. Chat to me now.”

“But I’ve done all the talking, you know.” He pouts, the expression entirely bratty and so Rafayel-coded that you can’t help but giggle. The corners of his own mouth twitch, clearly pleased by the reaction, the sound the only symphony in his ears he likes to hear more than the swell of the ocean.

Your arms come to wrap around his neck, and you slot together like puzzle pieces, every rib fitting into the hollow of Rafayel’s chest. It feels like you are made for each other. You place your lips on Rafayel’s ears, your own only hearing the rush of the ocean, the sound of your blood racing. “Tell me, please, Raf,” you whisper. He shudders violenty, a reaction that reaches deeper than evolutionary instinct. His hands find their home on the dips of your curves, every finger digging in. “I want to hear about every single thing inside your head. Always.”

“You are unfair.”

You kiss the curve of his ear. “Of course I am. I’m the human that stole your heart.”

Rafayel’s lips are seized by a helpless smile, an expression you’ve never seen before. It’s almost as if he’s reminiscing about a secret that you don’t know, something that feathers along the edge of your memory. But he answers you nonetheless. “But there was no theft, my love,” he purrs. It’s the sound of pure, languid affection, the kind that wells up from the depths of one’s heart. “I’d give you my heart again and again and again. You can tease me all you like, but in truth, I’d sink to my knees whenever you’d like and worship you forever.”

Your lips part in astonishment. You don’t miss the way Rafayel’s eyes zero in on the reaction in hunger. “You were right, you shouldn’t talk,” you stutter then. “Your words are gonna go right to my head.”

“And it’s such a pretty head, too.” Rafayel’s lips begin to chase the soft slopes of your face, tracing a fiery path across your cheeks. It is unbelievable how such a simple act unravels you, how you are going to explode beneath the simple touch of Rafayel’s kiss. You almost preen beneath the ministrations. You angle your head to entangle him in a kiss, but this time, it’s him who moves before your lips can touch. “Let me prove it to you,” he whispers, the words itself as soft as a kiss. It’s a dangerous promise, an even more dangerous game. “Please, pretty girl, let me prove it to you, show you how much I adore you. I’m all yours. Let me show you, I beg you.”

You bite your lips. You’re pretty sure the bar is in hell, but this is the single most attractive thing a man has ever done for you. Here he stands, his heart on a silver platter presented to you, his entire being at your whim. You are heady with power, dizzy with the implications. But at the same time, you have never felt so safe. You are in the palm of Rafayel’s hands, safe and comfortable and oh, so loved. “Show me,” you tell him, biting your lip. “Please, Raf, show me.”

Those are the magic words. You didn’t even need to plead. Before a single ‘please’ has left your mouth, Rafayel’s lips once again crash into yours, and this time, he kisses you properly. His tongue, as commanding as his personality, tastes like a weirdly enticing combination of cherry coke and ocean salt; there is a loud, embarrassing squeak that escapes you when Rafayel’s teeth drag over your lower lip, but the sound quickly changes into a drawn-out moan when he gently sucks on it. He releases it with a groan of his own, and his eyes, like mirrors to his soul, reveal the depths of his hunger. “God, you have no idea what I’d do for you,” he gasps out, his brain working faster than his own mouth, the words hurtling from some part in his soul he has been jealously guarding. You are his only vulnerability, the only one. “What I have been looking for all my life. Light of my life, my love, my pearl. Need to show you.”

“Show me what?” You’re so drunk on his kisses, you’ve already forgotten what Rafayel requested from you in the first place. He tugs you in the direction of his bedroom, and you follow with a scary compliance. Maybe all those stories about the sailors drowning at sea had more than just a kernel of truth to them. Who wouldn’t throw themselves into the waves, for a chance to experience Rafayel’s experiences, even if it was only mere seconds? Your haziness chases you into the bedroom; your head is still spinning when he pulls you down into the luxurious bed you’ve always mocked him for. Suddenly, all that space begins to make a lot of sense. You spread out on the bed entirely too easily, unfolding beneath Rafayel like the blossom of a flower.

He sucks in his breath, his chest rising rapidly. Even though you are dizzy in your stupor, your brain still registers with a delight that it’s not alone in its sensation. You are doing this to him, you are undoing him just as much as he is you. The knowledge is so sweet that every inch of your body seems to sing. “Show you how much I love you,” he says. “Never gonna make you doubt me again. You’ll never think about anyone else after this. No one will ever love you like I do, I promise.”

The promise sounds entirely too harrowing for the romantic atmosphere you had been cultivating since the reveal of the painting in the studio. You almost sit up. Not too argue against him, but to question where the need for the promise came from; after all, you’d be just as ready to prove to him that no one in your life would ever come close to the reign he held over your heart. But then Rafayel bows over you, and you’re entirely engulfed by his shadow, and Rafayel’s hands are carving their way out to your abdomen.

It almost makes you shy. You’re not a blushing virgin, but you’ve never let anyone into your body in this way, not like this. You’re afraid that Rafayel’s gonna get inside and seize evey cell of your body for him, and he’ll settle in your bones and your marrow and your blood, and he’ll stay there forever. It’s a delicious fear, a kind of anticipation that makes you peer into the void, listen to its call. You want it so bad that your own fingers dig into the way-too-expensive fabric of Rafayel’s blankets, tearing, anchoring. Finally, finally, his lips kiss their way down the shape of your hip bones, chasing their way to the edge of your jeans. “May I, please?” He asks, his voice laced with desperation, the picture of a petitioner.

You look down at him, at this siren bewitching your body and spirit. Although he looks like something straight out of a pornographic movie, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything this beautiful. Rafayel was like the most ethereal pictures, his lovely features carved out with the tender carefulness that makes even stone seem soft. His eyes are hopeful, open, trusting. You are falling in love with someone more divine than your mortal mind could have ever conjured, your every dream come true. “You better,” comes the weak response from you.

It’s all the consent he needs. Rafayel all but tears the pants off of you, his hands chasing flesh, craving connection. “Thank God,” he moans, and you almost think he’s enjoying this just as much as you are, more than you are. You watch his own hips buck into the soft mattress, chasing the mock-sensation your pussy would offer him, and you clench your thighs so hard your kneecaps almost pulverize. He grinds into the blankets, the torment of his own desire seemingly making him delirious, but his touches are determined, measured. Your curves fit perfectly into his hands, the elegant painter fingers gripping into your ass to angle you to his liking. “I thought I’d die without ever tasting you again.”

Again? You repeat in your mind, thinking you misheard. But Rafayel doesn’t permit you to think. Another pull, another tug, and then his treacherous mouth is around your core, kissing you through the cotton, mouthing around the shape of your pussy. You cry out, more in surprise than pleasure, but that quickly changes when he begins to drag his tongue across your pussy in a long, languorous swipe that makes your insides twitch wantonly. “Get those panties off of me or so help me god, Rafayel,” you manage to push out between gritted teeth, your own hips flying up to chase his touch. His grip is unrelenting, pinning you back into the mattress. “Weren’t you gonna prove something to me?”

Rafayel’s answer comes in a purr. “Your wish is my command, beloved.”

He pulls your panties to the side in a swift motion, placing another kiss on your clit. “Fucking hell,” he seems to mutter in amazement, and you’re not sure you were supposed to hear that. A mere moment later, Rafayel digs in like a man starved, moments away from the death sentence. You are not just a death row meal: you are the entire five-star course. You cry out entirely too loud as Rafayel plunges his tongue into you, the flexing muscle angling up to trace the soft, sensitive spot you chase with your own fingers when pleasuring yourself. You have no idea how he knows that, but you have no time to ponder as his left hands begins to trace circles around your clit, bullying the bundle of nerves with the pencil-roughened pads off his fingers. “Raf, oh my god!” you gasp, the sound dragged out of you in the same steady rhythm as his tongue pumping into you.

“I’m your god,” comes the moaned response, the sound’s vibration making your insides twitch in response. His fingers don’t let up, the ministrations steady, slowly picking up in speed in tandem with the coil of pleasure tightening inside your belly. You are twisting like a snake, your body shortcircuiting. “Say it.”

“Rafayel.” You are suprised in the coherency you fathom in expressing his name; your mind is already blurring at the edge, falling apart in soft colors like the confetti inside a kaleidoscope. “You’re my god, Rafayel, mine all mine.”

“Yours,” Rafayel keens. You notice the admission make him almost feral; he immediately puts his mouth back to work, slurping your essence in the most obscene manner. You are way beyond proprieties, way beyond embarrassment. All you can hope for is that he catches you at the end of this, as he hurtles you past the point of no return, the death-drop on a scary rollercoaster. You almost scream his name when he sucks your clit into his mouth, nursing on the spot like he’s going to die from thirst. The flick of his thumb makes you come undone; you fall back into the mattress into oblivion, shaking out of existence as Rafayel’s skilled tongue continues teasing your slit until you push him away, over-sensitive. “Stop, stop, stop,” you chant, the words slurred around the mind-blowing effects of your orgasm. Your tongue is heavy, your throat scraped raw. Did you scream that loud? “Can’t, Raf, can’t anymore, stop. So sensitive.”

“But I wasn’t done,” he whines out. His fingers still chase after you, even after you hastily sit up, dragging your unwilling body up the bed. He crawls after you, looking deliciously pathetic, his stunningly beautiful face pulled into a heartbroken grimace, as if the world was going to end if he couldn’t keep you eating out. There’s an unmistakingly large tent inside his thousand-dollar-designer pants, one that makes your mouth run dry again with hunger.

Heavens have mercy, you’ve never wanted to suck someone off so bad. You wonder if his pretty eyes would roll back into his head if you took it deep enough into your throat.

You don’t get to fulfill that wish, though. Rafayel pounces on you almost immediately, your sight taken over by his beautiful face as he kneels over you. His hips knock aside your thighs, demanding entrance, and you open up to him too easily. “Wanna make you feel good,” he begs you, but you’re too distracted with how delicious his kiss-swollen lips look. You trace your thumb over his lower lip, watch him as his mouth chases to suck on it.

He almost gapes when you place your thumb into your own mouth, tasting yourself. If he didn’t look so fucking attractive like that, you’d have laughed.

“You’re killing me,” he admits. Despite how vulnerable that sounds, he doesn’t hesitates at tearing at your legs until you’re laying below him chest to chest, ignoring the way you squeak at being manhandled into position. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Now you laugh. “I have no idea what I’m doing. But I’m definitely not trying to kill the person I love.”

His face softens. It’s that expression you’ve begin to adore, categorized in your mind palace which is entirely dedicated to being a shrine for Rafayel. It doesn’t matter that he’s the one submitting to you at the moment, wrapping himself around your finger. It’s you who’d move all the seas in the world just to be with him. “I love you more,” he tells you, and he sounds earnest. “I love you so much more. Here, I’ll show you.”

The kiss he places on your lips is entirely too sweet for the debauchery his lower half is committing. While his teeth gently tug at your lips, begging for entry, his hips have begun to grind against your pussy. You mewl into the kiss, the sound quickly swallowed by Rafayel’s greedy tongue as he curls it around your own, tasting you, tasting him. There’s a string of saliva connecting your lip when he disentangles from you, and you’re too busy staring at it to notice the way he stares at you like you’re the single most important thing in his world.

He’d die a thousand times just to live through this night once more.

You’re only pulled out of your thoughts by the realization that Rafayel has begun tugging off his clothes. You quickly mirror him by shedding the last of your own, tugging aside all the fabric until you’re as bare before him as the day you’ve been born. You feel a little self-conscious, but to him, you must look glorious: this time, you visibly see the way his chest expands with the sheer joy, the admiration that drowns out all the color in his eyes. “Like what you see?” you tease him, but there’s an edge of nervousness tainting the words. You’re literally offering yourself up to him like a sacrificial bride.

“I adore you more than anything,” he answers, his voice reverent. His fingers shiver with tremors as they brush their way down the curves of your breast, enveloping your waist until you’re snug in his grip. It makes you blush; he’s looking at you as if he’s seizing up every detail so he can paint you anew, the devotion only a painter can muster up for a muse he loves. “This is the single greatest thing I have ever experienced.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You haven’t been inside of me yet.”

His eyes darken then, returning to their sinful mischievousness. “No, I haven’t,” he retorts, and then he pulls you towards him, the head of his cock nudging aside your labia, knocking at your entrance. You yelp, and he snickers like the bastard he is. “May I come in?”

“Fuck you,” you tell him, breathless. It was supposed to be a harmless insult, your usual banter with Rafayel that most often ends up in you guys thinking up the most creative “your momma” jokes until you guys dissolve in laughter.

This Rafayel doesn’t. “You should not have said that,” is the only warning you get, before Rafayel drags you down on his cock, sheathing you entirely on it. Your back arches off the bed as if your heart was trying to escape your chest; the intrusion is so sudden that the nerves in your brain spasm before you register there’s something kissing your cervix. Not possible, you think. Not fucking possible. He can’t be this big.

Oh. Oh.

Rafayel bundles you up in his arms and pulls back his hips just to snap back into you with the deadly precision of a predator who’s killing its’ prey. This time, you’re fully conscious of the scream you let out, your insides squeezing the living hell out of Rafayel’s dick in a desperate attempt to contain him. The only thing that amounts to is him being spurned on; you turn your head to the sound of Rafayel’s sinful moans flowing into your ear, tingling right down into your abdomen. “Rafayel, slow down”, you manage to squeeze out, but at the same time, you raise your hips to meet his every thrust, your eyelids fluttering at the same time as the rapid rhythm Rafayel sets as he pounds you into the mattress.

“What was that, my pearl?” Slap, slap, slap. The lewd noise of his Rafayel’s balls smacking against your entrance makes your toes curl in delicious pleasure, and you wind around in his hold, sobbing from how good he makes you feel. His cock cruelly bullies into you, your cervix screaming up through your nerves every time the circle of muscles makes contact with his cockhead. Your fingers claw at his back, desperate to steady themselves somewhere, anywhere. You barely even register the fact that there’s blood dripping from where your nails dig in; you’re too distracted by the fact that the pain you’re inflicting on him only seems to make him fuck you into the mattress harder. “You want me to go faster?”

“Can’t,” you wail, feeling incredulous by the fact that sex can illicit a response like this in you. You’ve severely underestimated how much everything changes when you do something with the person you love. “Can’t, Raf, it’s too much, too much.”

Rafayel’s only response is to ignore your begging. He frees a hand from where it’s digging into the mattress above of you to balance himself and cradles your face in it easily, angling your face up so you look at him straight-on. “Wish I could stop, my angel, but I’m obsessed with you. Need you to cum all over me, mark me as all yours so I can never run away again. Can you do that for me, sweet thing? Cum for me, please?”

“Raf,” you whine out, the tell-tale sign of your orgasm approaching muddling your mind again. How exactly does he expect you to form a coherent thought when he’s fucking you like it’s his last night on earth? Your fingers search for purpose, gripping into his shoulders, weaving a cradle around his neck. He bows then, kissing you like his life depends on it, never once stopping his rhythm of fucking into you. “Gonna cum.”

“You promise?” he whispers against the curve of your lips. He angled his head, instead kissing his way down your throat, swallowing the sound of your heartbeat screaming his name inside your veins. Every thrust claims your soul more and more, until you’re nothing more than a prisoner to his love. “Please, my seastar, I can’t fucking take it. Need to cum with you so bad.”

“Pleeeease.” The sound is a single cry, hollowing out your chest as you hug him closer. Rafayel bites into the soft flesh of your shoulder, and you interlock your legs behind his back, seeing white. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. His bite feels like the soft brush of a kiss, violence mingling with lust. “Come with me, Raf, I’m coming, coming, coming.”

Your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. You arch off the mattress, weightless for a moment; Rafayel continues to fuck you through it, chasing his own release as the most lewd moans tumble from his lovely lips, which are probably going to haunt you and your daydreams forever. His semen mingles with your release, the messy sound making you hide your face in the hollow of his neck; you slap at Rafayel’s chest when he doesn’t relent, almost wailing when the pleasure gets too much. Your heart feels raw and cradled at the same time; Rafayel doesn’t pull out when he falls off from you, instead pulling your leg with him so that you’re locked in an embrace while you both lay there, panting like animals who’ve been chased. For a long time, no one says anything. There are no words for the way your souls have converged. You’re almost not sure whether what you did even can be called sex. But then you feel Rafayel’s cum drip out of you, and the blush that rises to your cheeks reassures you that yes, it still is sex.

Rafayel squeezes your hips, hugging you against him like someone would a teddybear. “I love you,” he drawls against your still naked skin, kissing the raw teeth marks he left behind on your shoulder. You sigh out, a sound of pure contentment. Your heart still feels like it’s on the tip of your tongue. “Love you more,” you tell him, but Rafayel, stubborn as always, shakes his head. He kisses you into silence, hands cradling your face gently as he angles you upwards to receive his kisses. “Never,” he murmurs into each one. You don’t argue with him. As the moonlight bears witness to the whispered love declarations you speak in the dark, the two of you curl around each other until you’re an indistinguishable tangle of limbs, cuddling into each other like cats bathing in the sunlight.

You fall asleep like that, head pillowed against Rafayel’s chest as he props you up against him. He continues to mumble compliments into your hair long after you’ve fallen asleep, thousands of words of adoration he’s had to keep to himself in the years that have passed waiting for you.

It’s finally his turn to become your worshipper. Finally, finally, Rafayel’s hearts soars with happiness again. The sea always returns what it takes. You have washed up on the shores of his life again, mate of his soul, love of his life. And this time, he’s never going to let you go.

[lxclerc]

𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐭 — 𝐚𝐚𝟐𝟑

summary… the leclerc twins have a reputation of messing with drivers and they’ve got their eyes set on poor alex albon request… yes. pls let me sleep laura faceclaim… char argyrou pairing… alex albon x leclerc!reader

note… because laura graduated and got her driver’s license, i caved @coffeehurricanes

note again… this was surprisingly really fun to write as someone with my own annoying twin brother so it ended up longer than i meant it to which means this will have a part 2

part 1 | part 2

masterlist

yn_leclerc

liked by lorenzotl and others

yn_leclerc serving cunt (as always) (with my 3 fav minions)

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username yn casually and unknowingly dropping alex thirst traps

⤷ username she knows she’s feeding the alex girlies

charles_leclerc charles erasure

⤷ yn_leclerc you know youre my most fav (you have the most money)

⤷ charles_leclerc gee thanks

alex_albon i thought you’d put slime on my hair

⤷ yn_leclerc i told you i wouldn’t. i was trying to style your hair 🙄🙄🙄

⤷ alex_albon i have 0 trust in you

⤷ username alex is waiting for that mega prank like the rest of us are

⤷ username i’m fully convinced they’d make alex cry worse than lando

⤷ landonorris it was one time and they ruined my limited edition louis vuitton

⤷ yn_leclerc *accidentally*

⤷ charles_leclerc that i paid for

arthur_leclerc hanging out without me now

⤷ yn_leclerc you were too busy crying abt having no seat for next season 🤗

⤷ username one thing about yn is that she’ll always give her brothers the painful unfiltered truth

username ok but not enough people are talking abt shirtless alex

⤷ username no bc picture me this; shirtless alex, they’re alone and she’s fixing his hair

⤷ username …that does sound oddly intimate

⤷ username yall are tripping. she and arthur did the same thing to oscar and max remember, became super close with them then pranked them when they least expected it

⤷ username yes but also it’s been literal months with alex

⤷ username that just means that the prank will be spectacular

arthur_leclerc

liked by alex_albon and others

arthur_leclerc we are in badly need of your prayers for my twin sister, y/n 😓😞🙏

she’s fine. she’s just so insanely down bad for a man that she can’t say it to his face and needs me to follow them around so she can hang out with him bc she can’t look him in the eye.

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leclerc_pascale ay, arthur! J'ai eu peur pour ta sœur ! (you had me scared for your sister!)

⤷ arthur_leclerc Tu devrais avoir peur, maman ! Elle pleure cet homme tous les soirs et il ne sait même pas qu'elle l'aime. (you should be scared, mom! she cries over this man every night and he doesn’t even know she likes him)

⤷ yn_leclerc Taisez-vous ! !! fermez votre bouche ! arrêtez de parler ! (shut up!!! keep your mouth shut! stop talking!)

yn_leclerc you’re dead to me 🙂

yn_leclerc 🖕🖕🖕

yn_leclerc j'aurais dû te manger dans le ventre de ta mère (i should have eaten you in the womb)

yn_leclerc you no longer have a sister

⤷ arthur_leclerc Comment faire autrement pour flirter avec **** ? (how else will you flirt with ****?)

⤷ yn_leclerc TAISEZ-VOUS !!! (SHUT UP!!!)

charles_leclerc a man, huh?

⤷ lorenzotl 🤔🤔🤔🤔

⤷ yn_leclerc no ❤️

⤷ username she gives no fucks 😭

username what are brothers for if not to publicly humiliate you?

username she’s so me coded actually

alex_albon prayers 🙏

⤷ arthur_leclerc thanks, mate. we appreciate it

alexandrasaintmleux and if i speak

⤷ yn_leclerc alexandra malena saint mleux don’t you dare

⤷ charles_leclerc you know too???

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 🤐🤐🤐

username she’s like me bless

username for a M*N??

alex_albon

liked by yn_leclerc and others

alex_albon was just trying to buy midnight snacks and then we got lost

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yn_leclerc we didn’t get lost bc i had a map 😁

⤷ alex_albon that you didn’t know how to use

⤷ yn_leclerc you weren’t exactly offering your map reading knowledge either, albono

⤷ alex_albon watching you struggle was adorable

⤷ username HE CALLED HER ADORABLE

⤷ username idc what anyone says, i am an ynalex truther

arthur_leclerc i was there too, guys

⤷ yn_leclerc you complained the entire time

⤷ arthur_leclerc because you woke me up to accompany you guys

charles_leclerc why is there a puddle on the floor?

⤷ yn_leclerc alex dropped one of the ten liters big water bottle

⤷ alex_albon lies. y/n dropped it and i had to say i did because she looked like she’s about to start crying.

⤷ charles_leclerc yeah, that sounds like my sister

username alex, don’t trust them or else they’ll make you cry like they did lando

⤷ username we’re looking out for you 😭

georgerussell63 mate, don’t be getting comfortable with those two

⤷ yn_leclerc slander

⤷ arthur_leclerc fake

⤷ georgerussell63 you put a rat in my cereal

⤷ arthur_leclerc *plastic* rat

⤷ georgerussell63 i dropped and cracked my phone

⤷ yn_leclerc sounds like you were being clumsy 💁‍♀️

username george is forever traumatised by that rat

username hear me out 👀

yn_leclerc

liked by alex_albon and others

yn_leclerc thirst trapping bc posting on my close friend that only has him in it isn’t enough apparently

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username she is so me!!!

username doesn’t matter how famous or pretty you are, you’ll always have an instagram close friends with only him in it

logansargeant i saw your close friends story on ****’s phone a few days ago 🤔🤔

⤷ yn_leclerc why were you looking over his phone you muppet?

⤷ logansargeant i just happened to glance by

⤷ username it’s alex. i’m fucking telling you all. ITS ALEX

⤷ username there’s literally no way it’s not alex

⤷ username it could be oscar

⤷ username bitch since when was o s c a r four letters?

⤷ username jack is four letters. they could be trying to throw us off

⤷ username JUST ACCEPT THAT ITS ALEX

charles_leclerc put a shirt on

⤷ yn_leclerc no ❤️

⤷ charles_leclerc 😡😡😡

⤷ username she’s always so unserious when it comes to charles lmao

arthur_leclerc abt to bleach my eyes brb

⤷ lorenzotl pass it over after

⤷ charles_leclerc pass it here too

⤷ yn_leclerc i could build a castle out of all the bricks they throw at me 💁‍♀️

username those leclerc genes are leclercing

username girl get the hell up 😭😭

charles_leclerc added to his story!

yn_leclerc

liked by alex_albon and others

yn_leclerc in the 1500s off in a foreign land, i was forced to marry another man (he can’t take the hint that i’ve been in love with him for years now)

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username whoever he is, please just ask her out already 😭

username girl, i’ve said this before but for the love of god get the hell up!!! you are better than this!

⤷ yn_leclerc i fear i’m not, bff 😔

⤷ username man down 😓

logansargeant i’m telling you rn that he’s as in love with you!

⤷ yn_leclerc did he tell you that 🤨

⤷ logansargeant no but he wouldn’t have put up with for this long if he doesn’t

⤷ yn_leclerc he’s put up with you for an entire year

⤷ logansargeant yes but he’s paid to put up with me

⤷ username this is all the confirmation that i need. it’s alex

username take the goddamn hint already @alex_albon

charles_leclerc WHO IS IT

⤷ lorenzotl it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?

⤷ charles_leclerc okay but whoooooo

⤷ username charles is worse than alex 😭

arthur_leclerc this is getting pathetic. @alex_albon it’s you mate. she likes you, you like her. kiss it out 🙄

⤷ yn_leclerc ARTHURRRRRRRRR

⤷ username arthur 😭😭😭😭😭😭

⤷ charles_leclerc WHAT?

username arthur starting chaos bc hes so tired of listening to y/n mope 😭

username arthur revealing y/n’s crush and publicly embarrassing her (again), charles being shocked not having a single clue and lorenzo not caring as much is peak brother behaviors in ways i cannot explain

username i fucking told yall its alex

landonorris mate dont leave a lady waiting @alex_albon

⤷ oscarpiastri yeahhh

⤷ yn_leclerc both of you shut the hell up before i replace your shampoo with nair

⤷ landonorris how would you even have access to my shampoo-

⤷ oscarpiastri don’t ask mate. she’s done it before to dennis in f3

username paging @alex_albon

username @alex_albon dont fucking fumble a bad bitch like her come on now

alex_albon oh?

⤷ yn_leclerc public announcement that y/n y/m/n leclerc has died in a ditch and cannot be contacted at this hour. or ever.

⤷ alex_albon i know where you live

⤷ yn_leclerc locking the doors and putting salt around the property as we speak

happy birthday and congratulations to my most loved laura. i love and adore you and i can’t wait to watch you be the woman that you’re always been capable of.

[goldfades]

𝐆𝐎𝐀𝐓 ─ UCONN WBB MANAGER

౨ৎ ─ summary | y/n posts some cute photos of herself and the team!

─ warnings | pretty short but i hope you guys enjoy nonetheless!!

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

─ ev's notes | this series is gonna be my hyperfixation for the next 3 months

yourusername

Liked by paigebueckers, kamoreaarnold, uconnwbb and 39,674 more

yourusername | my fav pics from the last couple months!! (and of me ofc) june 15th, 2023

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nika.muhel | gorgeous gorgeous pics and gorgeous gorgeous girl😙🩷

↳ yourusername i love you beautiful 😪

↳ fan001 NEED A FUCKING FRIENDSHIP LIKE NIKA AND Y/N PLSSS

uconnwbb | ate per usual 😙

↳ kamoreaarnold why tf are u commenting on ur own damn pics

↳ yourusername why do u care ???

↳ kamoreaarnold just wondering.....

kamoreaarnold | MOMMMMMM 🎀

↳ yourusername freshie 🥺🩷

↳ kamoreaarnold hell nah paige rubbing off on u now? tf is 🥺

↳ paigebueckers SO WHAT???? THERES NOTHING WRONG WITH IT

↳ kamoreaarnold ur so annoyonh bro

↳ paigebueckers bro hop off I DONT EVEN USE THAT EMOJI, bro can't even spell ...

↳ kamoreaarnold ima have to stop u right there bro cus .... not u lying LMAOOOO

↳ yourusername stop arguing in my comments please. first its the damn groupchat now my comments

↳ fan002 babygirl is tired, god bless her w dealing with these toddlers😭

fan003 | y/n reminding us she's still hot after not posting herself for six months is SOOO funny to me (shes so gorgeous i am in love)

↳ paigebueckers so are we TRUST

↳ fan004 oh okay... oh okay... the videos are makin sense now

paigebueckers | best photographer in the world 😍

↳ yourusername LOVE U P

fan005 | thank you mother y/n for feeding us paige pics (we all say in unison)

ice.bradyy | BROOOO THE LAST ONE GOES SO HARD, U ATE🥴🥴

↳ yourusername i love u 😭😭

ice.bradyy | my girl is servinggggg 😍

fan006 | pls can u post more paige content on tiktok?

↳ yourusername I JUST FED YOU GUYS???? LETS NOT GET GREEDY NOW...

↳ fan007 guys don't make her angry she won't post ever again

azzi35 | ATE ATE ATE ATE 😍😍😍

↳ yourusername i love u.

azzi35 | in love 😍😍😍😍 also photo creds for the first pic we love a good candid 🫶🏼

↳ yourusername YES AZZI CAME IN CLUTCHHHH WITH THAT PIC 😍😍

uconnmbb | come manage our team 😍

↳ kamoreaarnold dont get too comfortable there pal 💀

↳ paigebueckers WHOA WHOA WHOA BUDDY IS THAT... A THREAT????

↳ kamoreaarnold get the heck outta here with ur GOOFY BUTT

↳ fan008 kk tryna keep it pg is so funny omg

↳ yourusername no thanks ...

↳ paigebueckers #rejected #awkward #laughoutloud #shearealone #goat #theog

↳ kamoreaarnold bro ruined the moment🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[wintfleur]

₊˚ෆ the start to a chaotic summer !

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( this ideas suddenly just came to me , I’ve been having sm fun working on smau posts since I’ve been having a hard time writing lately , I hope you guys enjoy it !! . . pls don’t mind the few mentions of the challengers I’m obsessed with that movie rn )

𐙚 summary ( a few posts showing what Stella has been up to as of lately now that her summer has started ! )

au masterlist - you can find everything under #👩🏻‍🎨 ͡ ꒱ Stella Hughes!

stellahughes added to their story !

[caption: smiling at me like that as if he didn’t just take my ability to walk ]

jackhughes replied to your story ‘ESTELLA WTF’

jackhughes reacted with 🤮

_quinnhughes replied to your story ‘some things you just gotta keep to yourself stink 😐’

lhughes_06 replied to your story ‘Stella please stop this I’m disgusted, and it’s not even 1pm’

lhughes_06 reacted with 🍅

luca.fantilli reacted with 🤤

ahndaesee replied to your story ‘Princess the wording umm 🧐 ’

stellahughes OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THAYDBDJ

markestapa replied to your story ‘in public?? Pookie I was unfamiliar with your game 😮‍💨’

stellahughes MARK PLS YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT YOU WERE LITERALLY THERE ???

_alexturcotte replied to your story ‘have some decorum hughes goodness’

rutgermcgroarty replied to your story ‘babe I don’t think you worded this the best…’

stellahughes oh really ?? I couldn’t tell 😲

Lilybaileys replied to your story ‘STELLA YOU FREAKY GAL 🤭’

carmenbarlowe replied to your story ‘bestie I can’t keep defending you 😶’

ryan.leno_4 replied to your story ‘IVE BEEN A NASTY GIRL NASTY. IS SOMEBODY GONNA MATCH MY FREAK ??? 😌’

stellahughes RYAN PLEASE 😭

nicolassturniolo replied to your story GIRL 😭

stellahughes I meant from the workout we did 😭 the gym workout 😭 you know with weights and treadmills 😭

edwards.73 replied with ‘😟’

stellahughes i didn’t mean it like that 😣

pshoon2002 replied to your story ‘count your days mcgroarty. count your fucking days 😑’

stellahughes

liked by bboeser, arberxhekaj_, simjaeyunn and others

🎵 HOT TO GO! - Chappell Roan

stellahughes: it’s training season, let’s get back to winning 😽

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username she’s coming back for her crown!!!

username please she never lost it.

username the ice princess is back!!!!

username ESTELLA HUGHES WOMANS WORLD FIGURE SKATING CHAMPION TWO YEARS IN A ROW !!

username NO SILVER OLYMPIC MEDALIST ESTELLA HUGHES ‼️

username pls I can’t wait for the edits

username i’m still not over the breakin dishes one 🤭

markestapa training stella is scary

edwards.73 and mean

stellahughes I’m not mean I’m just determined 😐 @/edwards.73

rutgermcgroarty it’s sexy dw baby 😮‍💨 @/stellahughes

stellahughes oh is it? 🤭 @/rutgermcgroarty

markestapa you guys disgust me.

nicohischier I will be cheering you on Estella!!

stellahughes you want me so bad omg 🤭

jackhughes omfg stella go away @/stellahughes

stellahughes NO YOU GO AWAY YOU JEALOUS BITCH HE WAS TALKING TO ME @/jackhughes

nicohischier guys please calm down.

stellahughes yes sir 😌

amberglenniceskater let’s go Stella!!!

stellahughes AMBERRR ML 🫶🏻

isabeau.levito USA USA USA ‼️

stellahughes THEY ARE NOT READY FOR US 🤭

_willsmith2 STELLAAA ‼️

stellahughes WILLL ‼️

_quinnhughes i definitely have the coolest sister

stellahughes nooo I have the coolest brother 🫶🏻

jackhughes brothers !! PLURAL you have the coolest BROTHERS @/stellahughes

stellahughes I know what I said @/jackhughes

rutgermcgroarty pretty girl 😍

rutgermcgroarty blessing my feed fr 😍 god slide six 😮‍💨

rutgermcgroarty have I told you I love you today??

rutgermcgroarty I LOVE YOU 🩷

rutgermcgroarty sometimes it still blows my mind how lucky I am 😻 like me ?? Dating an Olympic silver medalist. Fuck I’m so lucky I love love love you 🩷

stellahughes babe 😭 please come over so we can make out.

username pls can the 2026 Winter Olympics come any sooner 😭

username pls shes so aesthetically pleasing 🤭

username AHHH YAY THE ICONIC STELLA SUMMER PHOTO DUMPS ARE BACK ‼️

simjaeyunn you already won the number one spot in my heart 😻

rutgermcgroarty IM SORRY???

pshoon2002 Jake I beg you put the phone down.

ahndaesee chat he’s getting bold 😭😭

stellahughes oh! Thanks Jake? 🫶🏻

ahndaesee bless your oblivious sweet soul @/stellahughes

notriki MOTHER IS MOTHERING 😌

stellahughes my child 🫶🏻

rutgermcgroarty since when did we have a child 🧍‍♂️@/stellahughes

stellahughes surprise 🥳 @/rutgermcgroarty

notriki hi dad! @/rutgermcgroarty

lhughes_06 I still haven’t recovered from that god awful green drink

stellahughes it’s not for the week lukey

lhughes_06 calling me lukey and then basically saying I’m week, in the same sentence is crazyyy 👎🏻

ahndaesee my superstar 🫶🏻

stellaughes my pretty dahee 🫶🏻

ryan.leno_4 my body still hasn’t recovered since you took us to that pilates class

stellahughes we have to go again so your body can get used to it!

gabeperreault44 NO NO NO ❌

_willsmith2 please no.

umichhockey our Olympic silver medalist 🫶🏻

stellahughes I love you admin 🫶🏻

christophersturniolo so when are you teaching me??

stellahughes when are you coming to visit hmm?

nicolassturniolo *US you mean

matthew.sturniolo YouTube vid idea ???

stellahughes I’m not going to go easy on you guys 😼

christophersturniolo LETS GOOOO

_connorbedard good luck Stella 🔥

stellahughes thank you con !! 🫶🏻

masonmctavish23 let’s go Stella !! 🔥

_quinnhughes lets go stink, so so proud of you! ❤️

stellahughes I love you quinny :(

trevorzegras STINK

jackhughes STINK STINK

colecaufield STINKKKKK

cam.york LITTLE STINK IS ALL GROWN UP

_alexturcotte STINK ‼️

stellahughes I hate you guys, please it’s not funny anymore 😭

lhughes_06 no no it’s still funny

williamnylander can’t wait to watch you win Estella! Miss you!

stellahughes thank you Willy! I miss you tons 🫶🏻

tatemcrae my girl my girl 😻

stellahughes mine mine mine 😻

usfigureskating our girl is back !!

stellahughes back n better 😽

stellahughes

liked by _slafkovsky_ , dixiedamelio , barzal97 and others

🏷️ jackhughes colecaufield trevorzegras

🎵Maneater - Nelly Furtado

stellahughes: rip cole n jack , me and trev totally dominated their asses 💋

view all comments

jackhughes please never say you dominated my ass again you freak

jackhughes besides it’s Cole’s fault, he can’t hit a racket to save his life…or mine!

colecaufield yeah well you were shit at golf and you act like I would want to save your life anyway 🖕🏻

trevorzegras we really did a number on them @/stellahughes they are still arguing 🤣

stellahughes @/jackhughes @/colecaufield it’s okay, we will go easy on you in darts 💋

Lilybaileys I am channeling my inner tashi this summer

stellahughes ART PLS IM ON MY KNEES 😫 IM TRYING TO BE MRS DONALDSON BY THE END OF THE SUMMER 😫

rutgermcgroarty babe what🧍‍♂️@/stellahughes

carmenbarlowe okay but Patrick tho…. 🤭

stellahughes THE WAY I WOULD MATCH HIS FREAK PERFECTLY IN A WAY THAT IS CONCERNING TO FEMINISM 😵‍💫

rutgermcgroarty sighs

username Please Stella being in love with art and Patrick is so real 😭

username her outfits always eat goddd 😫

username JACK IS SO PRETTY AHHH

username Stella + art and Patrick fanfic is not a want, it’s a need.

rutgermcgroarty please don’t, she’s already up all night reading them and watching edits 😭

tarayummyy ur so hot babes imyyy

stellahughes i miss you moreee 💋

_alexturcotte can’t believe you went without me.

stellahughes ITS NOT MY FAULT YOH MISSED UR FLIGHT

luca.fantilli lookin good Stella 👀

stellahughes come back pls :(

username she’s so pretty sobs 💔

username can Rutger fight??

rutgermcgroarty you wouldn’t even know how to handle her bud

username THE ICONIC FOUR IS BACK TOGETHER ‼️

username no one will understand how much I love Stella’s relationship with Cole and Trevor 😭

colecaufield good games or whatever 🙄

stellahughes don’t be upset Cole! It’s not your fault Jack dragged you down 🫶🏻

jackhughes don’t be afraid to come downstairs, it’s on sight you brat.

_quinnhughes I’ll make sure to come next time!

stellahughes pls pls pls we missed you (mostly me because I missed actual good competition)

jackhughes I am actually going to fight you.

_quinnhughes she would win that as well 🤣

lhughes_06 thanks for the invite 🙄

stellahughes you were to busy sucking face with Ethan and Daisy to see that I texted you 10 times.

rutgermcgroarty Stella the skirts are driving me crazy 😵‍💫

stellahughes why do you think I wear them? 🤭

jackhughes I can’t stand you guys.

simjaeyunn what are you not good at 😻

pshoon2002 driving, playing hide and seek, swimming, writing in cursive…the list is quite long actually.

stellahughes WHY ARE YOU MY BIGGEST HATER 😭‼️

pshoon2002 IM NOT IM JUST TRYING TO PROTECT YOU FROM JAKES DELUSIONAL ASS ‼️

simjaeyunn Stella is this guy bothering you 😾

ahndaesee my superstar is always on top 🫶🏻

stellahughes my number one supporter 🫶🏻

rutgermcgroarty ‼️ LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER ‼️

ahndaesee gtfo rut don’t ruin this for me 😾

stellahughes pls guys don’t fight, their is enough of me to go around 🤭

rutgermcgroarty I DONT LIKE TO SHARE

pshoon2002 Stella doesn’t like selfish guys

stellahughes HOONIE WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

username pls why is Stella’s comment sections always so chaotic

username Daisy and ruts beef is hilarious

username Stella, daisy and sunghoon best childhood friends ‼️

markestapa I’d let her fuck me with a racket 🏓

lhughes_06 MARK?!?!

jackhughes TF DID YOU JUST SAY TO MY SISTER?!?!

markestapa ITS A QUOTE FROM THE MOVIE I SWEAR

markestapa POOKIE PLS HELP ME @/stellahughes

edwards.73 pls I can’t breathe 😭

username like I said chaotic 😭

stellahughes

liked by _alexturcotte , _eliaspettersson , g.brindley4 and others

🎵 coming home - Beabadoobee

stellahughes: the prettiest views + jack n trev

view all comments

jackhughes there is way to much kissing going on here 😾

jackhughes what’s that’s supposed to mean ??

jackhughes for your information, I’m by far more prettier than you

stellahughes plss 😭 jack when did you get so funny??

trevorzegras are you saying me and Jack not pretty?

stellahughes 🤐

dylanduke25 I’m still recovering from that dinner 🤒

tyler__duke5 wdym I’m a great cook?

nick_moldenhauer great is a strong work bud

stellahughes you almost lit my kitchen AND Nick on fire 😰

tyler__duke5 ‘almost’ being the key word okay 👍🏻

Lilybaileys mark almost falling in the fire out was the best part of my night ☺️

markestapa just say you want me okay 😏

luca.fantilli miss you Stella :(

stellahughes I miss you more !! You and Adam get your asses here asap !!

adamfantilli yes ma’am 🫡

edwards.73 I’m still in shock from that criminal minds ep

LiamBarlowe I don’t think we will ever be the same 😖

stellahughes you guys are so dramatic omg 😭

trevorzegras Luke face planting into the water five seconds after you took that pic was the highlight of my day

stellahughes I thought we lost him ngl

jackhughes the Hughes do summer the best!

jackhughes would be a perfect summer if I don’t have to see you and rut kiss and touch each other all the time 😒

username everyone say thank you Stella for feeding us this summer!

username the iconic faceless pictures are back!

username love them but I miss her face 😭

lhughes_06 I’m pretty sure I still have water in my nose and ears

lhughes_06 also can we all vote that Tyler is never in charge of cooking again

stellahughes LEAVE TYLER ALONE YOU PUNK only I can bully him

colecaufield you always make the summers better stells! ❤️

stellahughes I love you coley ☹️ (let’s go get breakfast)

colecaufield I’m getting the keys rn

mackie.samo I’m still sick from all the s’mores stell

stellahughes please I haven’t left my bed 😭

jacob_truscott20 STELLA HUGHES THE UNDEFEATED QUEEN OF BEER PONG ‼️

stellahughes hmm it’s so comfy on my throne 😇

lhughes_06 someone please humble her

edwards.73 that’s no way to talk to your queen lukey

lhughes_06 omfg

markestapa MY BEAUTIFUL QUEEN 🙇‍♂️

_alexturcotte the way I witnessed you pushing rut into the lake after he took that first picture of you 😟

stellahughes I wanted him to take off his shirt 🤷🏻‍♀️

rutgermcgroarty YOU COULD HAVE JUST ASKED

username Stella and rut are actually the cutest ever

username I love Stella’s relationship with all the guys!

username that’s their little sister !!

ahndaesee your ass looks great in that picture

edwards.73 BABE ??

lhughes_06 Baby pls stop looking at my sisters ass 😐

stellahughes look @/ahndaesee men trying to tell us woman, what to do 🙄

ahndaesee disgusting you two.

edwards.73 PRETTY I DIDNT EVEN SAY ANYTHING @/ahndaesee

_quinnhughes I’m never letting you drive the boat again.

stellahughes it was an accident, no one got hurt ☹️

trevorzegras i literally fell out of the boat Stella

stellahughes but it was funny! @/trevorzegras

_quinnhughes okay yeah ur right it was funny

trevorzegras wtf Quinn 😐

username pls Quinn and Trevor are so funny 😂

username boat Stella is the best Stella

rutgermcgroarty ur so cute baby, I can’t wait for more summers with you 🩷

stellahughes you make my summers (life) better rut 🩷

username AHH THE PICTURES OF HER AND RUT

username HIS COMMENT PLS IM GONNA SOB

username PLEASE THE WAY HES HOLDING HER 😭

username awe Daisy and Stella cuddled up on the couch watching criminal minds 😭

carmenbarlowe I will never be able to look at that hot tub the same Stella 😐

stellahughes MINNIE PLS WE APOLOGIZED ALREADY 🙏

rutgermcgroarty we weren’t even doing anything crazy 🙄

jackhughes WTF ARE YOU GUYS TALKING ABOUT, AM I GONNA HAVE TO BUY A NEW HOT TUB ??

stellahughes omfg we were just kissing

stellahughes added to their story !

[caption: not rut trying to erase our love @/ahndaesee 😐]

ahndaesee replied to your story ‘rutger mcgroarty count your fucking days’

stellahughes he’s sleeping on the couch tn 🙄

rutgermcgroarty replied to your story ‘you’re mine 😾’

stellahughes I love when you are possessive. But know your place 🩷 (I love you, but I love my wife)

lhughes_06 replied to your story ‘let’s go rut! Taking one for the team 💪🏻’

stellahughes 🙄👎🏻

simjaeyunn replied to your story ‘how dare he…you should break up with him 😌’

stellahughes don’t be silly Jake, I’m just being dramatic 🫶🏻

dylanduke25 replied to your story ‘oh, the d isn’t for me?”

stellahughes DYLAN PLS 😭

Lilybaileys replied to your story ‘that’s our sacred tree that mf 😠’

carmenbarlowe reacted with 😱

LiamBarlowe replied to your story ‘not him messing with the sacred tree’

stellahughes RIGHT ?! 😾 (miss you come back to Michigan pls)

markestapa replied to your story ‘oh he can mess with the tree but I can’t 🙄’

stellahughes don’t be jealous pookie 😽

stellahughes

liked by adamfantilli , mollyannmcg , _willsmith2 and others

🏷️ ahndaesee

🎵How Sweet - NewJeans

stellahughes: my pretty wife took me out on a date today 😻

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📍 ahndaesee happy wife happy life 🥰

stellahughes happy WIVES happy LIVES 😻

rutgermcgroarty @/ahndaesee she’s literally laying right next to me rn in my shirt btw.

ahndaesee ya don’t you know how sweet it tastes ?? 🍭

rutgermcgroarty you DON’T know how sweet it tastes 😾

stellahughes RUT PLS ENOUGH 😭

username this is so pretty stop

username Stella and Daisy are the best duo mhm ‼️

username Prettiest best friends 💕

Lilybaileys about to get in my homewrecker era 😻

stellahughes we don’t live together

Lilybaileys stella pls you gotta stop quoting the challengers 😓

markestapa MRS STEAL YOUR GURLL 😎

markestapa please ethan is a pouting mess rn he’s having Daisy withdrawals

stellahughes it’s deserved. now he knows how I feel 😾

lhughes_06 stop stealing my gf :/

stellahughes it’s not stealing if she willingly came 😼

lhughes_06 why is reading that making me so uncomfortable.

elblue6 you girls are so pretty 💕

stellahughes I love you mom 😽🩷

ahndaesee thank you Ellen 😭🫶🏻

pshoon2002 without me 😓

stellahughes stop being dramatic and come visit 🫶🏻 (PLEASE)

edwards.73 😐

stellahughes 👰🏻‍♀️ 👩🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏻 👰🏻‍♀️

edwards.73 I HATE YOU

stellahughes ur gf doesn’t 😮‍💨

username I love how close they are!!

username pls Luke and Ethan’s comments are taking me out 😭

username the nails are so pretty 🥰

rutgermcgroarty wow I am so lucky to have STELLA as MY GIRLFRIEND 🥰

ahndaesee 🙄

rutgermcgroarty I’m seeking for a promotion in our relationship 😌

rutgermcgroarty my eyes have been blessed 😍

stellahughes baby stop flirting with me in the comments and flirt with me in person pls

rutgermcgroarty bet 😏

username THE STRAWBERRIES 🍓 😋

username Stella please I am not your strongest soldier 😍

username cutest couple ever 🩷

rutgermcgroarty @/ahndaesee it’s on sight.

ahndaesee you heard the people 😇

lhughes_06 how do I dislike this post.

rutgermcgroarty ur asking the right questions.

mackie.samo LETS GO GIRLS ‼️

tyler__duke5 bring me some of those strawberries I’ll make us some pancakes

stellahughes if it’s in Daisy’s aprentment I’m down!

ahndaesee last time you cooked in my kitchen my apartment almost burned down @/tyler__duke5

tyler__duke5 okay but it was an accident ☹️

stellahughes yeah Daisy , it was an accident ☹️

carmenbarlowe I’m in love 🥰

ahndaesee you want us sooo bad 🤭

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( this took me way to long omg 😭 I rlly hope you guys enjoyed it — please let me know what you guys think !! This genuinely took me forever . . . I also have another smau in the work !! )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( ahndaesee/daisy is an oc created by my bestie @qoqurt and everyone should go check her out pls !! So a few people in the smau might be a little confusing . . . So pshoon2002/sunghoon is Stella and Daisy’s childhood friend and is also in the kpop group enhypen !!! simjaeyunn/ jake and notriki/niki are also part of the group , just wanted to clear any confusion !! )

°. — taglist ( @cixrosie @toasttt11 @lovings4turn @bunbunbl0gs @petite-potato4 @winterbarnesblog @yoontwin @iceflwers )

©️WINTFLEUR

[shuaboo]

i usually don’t write on this account but heres some of my little takes on bf!gyuvin 🥹

lowercase intended // cw: fluff, sfw, i think these r called hcs idk, non-idol au so the members are just referred to as his friends, kind of all over the place and unorganized, sorry if this is bad im new to this, shitty writing because i’m seriously not a writer at all. 😭

bf!gyuvin who treats you like a princess and is literally the winner of the kindest cutest boyfriend award every single year 🥹✋🏻

no, seriously. i feel like his language is acts of service and he would absolutely do anything for you if it is in his capabilities.

gyuvin carries a bigger sized bag so you can carry your little purse that barely fits your phone and lip gloss. he also keeps a hair tie on his wrist or has a hair claw on the strap just incase you need one while you’re on a food date together.

when you get tired from walking and your feet start to hurt from your shoes, gyuvin will guide you (maybe even carry you) by the waist so you don’t struggle as much. probably also keeps comfortable shoes for you in his car since he doesn’t expect that this is the last time it will happen.

speaking of shoes, gyuvin is constantly checking your shoelaces. when he sees that they have gone undone he’ll stop you from walking and tie them up for you.

gyuvin who always holds your hand or has a hand on your waist when you’re in a crowded place, because the last thing he’d want is to lose you.

if you and gyuvin do lose each other in a crowded space, he would definitely panic and look around for you. he’d give you a call asking where you are in the most panicked tone. you’d have to calm him down and tell him that you see him, since he’s so tall that he practically towers over everyone else in the area. god bless this man ☹️

whenever you and gyuvin get food, he always asks if you want to try some of what he ordered. he’s such a sweetheart, kindly asking you and then feeding you his food if you agree to try some. i also firmly believe that if the food is still hot, gyuvin will blow on the food so you don’t burn yourself when you take a bite.

gyuvin who always brags about you to his friends. he really can’t help it, he’s so happy to have you that he always yaps about you and your dates to his friends. they tease him simply for being a man in love and beg him to let them meet you :).

when you do meet gyuvin’s friends, it legitimately might be the funniest day of your life, and maybe the worst day for gyuvin. they tell you about some of his embarrassing moments, and you all have a good laugh about it.

…except for gyuvin. he’s beside you 100% pouting and sulking at the reminder of his embarrassing mistakes in the past. oh, plz keep your attention on him as well ! ! ! he might start feeling a bit left out if you have too much fun with his friends. make sure that he’s comfortable and that he’s still smiling. you don’t want to end up with a sulky, jealous, sad boyfriend :’c. give him a peck on the cheek and squeeze his hand so that he smiles again :].

gyuvin who whines about how embarrassing it was that his friends exposed him to you while walking you home hand in hand, and you just laugh at his whining. hes secretly smiling to himself because he made you laugh, even if it kinda cost him his dignity. but hey, at least you’re laughing and you’re happy.

gyuvin who kisses you on the forehead, cheek, and lips and gives you a tight hug when you reach your home before leaving you.

gyuvin who facetimes you as soon as hes a few meters away from your house because he already misses you.

bf!gyuvin who is your constant reminder that pure and true love does exist.

sorry it became kind of a scenario at the end lol, this is also like way too long HAHAHHAHA😅😭

pls lmk if this is ok😭😭 i had a lot of fun writing this and i would love to write more

[forever-rogue]

hi miss bee 🐝💛 would you pls bless us w more joel x wife!reader 👉👈

since it was joel being protective of reader maybe this time it can be the other way around where he comes home from a patrol and is slightly injured and she makes a huge fuss over him and then tries to o make him feel better through some sugar and spice 😋🫶

AN | Well, well, well how the turntables have…anyway, I love this concept so much! 💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You paced around the kitchen as you waited for him to walk through the door. You’d already been waiting…and waiting and waiting. You’d done so much that you’d made enough baked goods to feed a small army; it was something to keep your mind and hands occupied. 

“Holy shit,” Ellie’s big, brown eyes went comically wide as she stepped into the kitchen and looked at the mountain of cookies and muffins and breads. You turned to face her with a guilty little expression on your face, “that is a lot of food.”

“I…yeah,” you admitted sheepishly, “I was going to go and give some stuff to the neighbors…I needed a distraction.”

“Joel?” she asked hopefully, her eyebrows perking up as you leaned against the counter and shook your head.

“Nothing yet,” you sighed, trying to keep all the bad thoughts and worries at bay, “I’m sure he’ll be back any time. Soon.”

“Of course he will,” she promised, wanting to keep you from panicking while trying to convince herself of the same thing. The truth was that she too was worried about how long he’d been gone. He should have been back two days - he was almost never late, “Joel’s a stubborn old man. He’s coming home no matter what.”

“He is and he will,” you agreed, “I just…I want him home.”

“Me too,” she confessed quietly, “me too.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Long after Ellie had gone to bed, and you should have as well, you were still sitting on the couch. Waiting. After every couple of minutes, you’d look at the door as though you were somehow going to will him to come home. You’d read the same page of your book about ten times, but still weren’t fully sure what was happening. 

But then - as you were almost dozing off - you heard it. The unmistakable sound of the door being unlocked and then slowly opening. You tossed your book to the side and jumped, scampering to the door. When it fully opened you found yourself face to face with your husband. 

“Joel,” despite your best efforts, tears were rolling down your cheeks, ‘you’re home.”

“You’d never get rid of me that easily,” he smiled, a tired and crooked thing, “hi baby.”

“Oh my love,” you threw yourself into his arms and held onto him tightly, melting into his familiar body, and enveloping yourself in his scent, “I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve been…”

You trailed off as you pulled and looked him over. You could see the grimace on his face, despite his best efforts. It was then that you noticed the bruising and cuts on his cheek. He could sense you growing worried and shook his head, “baby-”

“What happened?” you stood in front of him and reached up to take his face in your hands, gently brushing your thumb over his cheek, “who did this? Where else are you hurt?”

“It’s fine,” he insisted, but he knew that you weren’t going to relax. That wasn’t your nature; you were caring and nurturing and always fiercely protective of those you loved, “I’m not that hurt.”

“I don’t believe you, Joel Miller,” you reached for his hand and gently pulled him over to the couch. You reached for the hem of his sweater and silently looked for permission to take it off. He gave you a small nod and you tenderly pulled off his sweater, and set it to the side. Your frown only grew when you noticed all the bruising on his left side, “what happened? I hugged - oh no. I squeezed you so hard. Did I make it worse?”

“I did this to myself,” he insisted as he reached for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “I tried and fell - landed too hard on my side. Just a clumsy old fool.”

You huffed lightly - you were still worried. Nothing that he could say would change that, “has one of the medics or anyone taken a look at you? Are you sure-”

“I’m sure,” he tugged you softly towards him onto the couch and you reluctantly sat down next to him, “nothing permanent and nothing terrible. Just a lot of bruising and soreness and some cuts. I’ll be alright, I promise.”

“You know that I’m still going to worry,” you huffed, making a small sound of surprise as he shuffled you so you were perched on his lap. You delicately ghosted your fingers along his ribs, sighing softly at the lavender haze on his skin, “you’ll tell me if it hurts?”

“Of course I will,” he set his hands on your hips and gave them a gentle squeeze, “baby, let me just enjoy being back with you. Let me enjoy you.”

And you almost gave into him - almost. You wrapped your fingers around his wrists and shook your head. Your husband groaned heavily as he tossed his head back dramatically, “nuh uh, Joel Miller. Not right now.”

He was a good man through and through, so while he was going to be dramatic, he was going to respect your wishes. He sighed softly as he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a delicate kiss to your knuckles, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you melted under his reverent gaze, “I’m glad you’re home, my love.”

“I will always come home to you,” he promised and you knew it was true. It still didn’t mean, however, that you weren’t going to take care of him. Oh no; as long as he was hurt, you were going to take care of him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel was fast asleep next to you, snoring softly and bundled up in blankets. You, meanwhile, weren't able to sleep and were sitting up and leaning against the headboard, an unopened book on your lap. You were too busy worrying about Joel, and if the extent of his injuries were more than he was letting on.

You'd made him take a long, hot bath before getting into bed, taking care of his cuts and scratches. There wasn't much you could do for the bruising besides be gentle with him. 

"Baby," he murmured softly, eyes still closed as he rolled onto his side, "sleep."

You couldn't help the small snort of amusement that escaped your lips. He knew you way too well. The book was tossed onto the bedside table as you turned the light off and snuggled up to him. He wasted no time in throwing an arm around your waist and pulling into his body. He could feel you tensing up with effort to keep from hurting him.

"Relax," he insisted through kisses pressed to your shoulder, "'m alright."

"Promise?"

"Swear."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You slipped out of the house before either Joel or Ellie were awake. You pulled on some clothes and walked over to Tommy Miller's house, going over the conversation you planned on having over and over again in your head. You didn't want to be over the top or dramatic but you also felt instinctively drawn to protect your loved ones.

You knocked on his door and rocked back and forth on your heels, trying to remain calm. When Tommy opened the door a few moments later you reached for his hand and pulled him onto the porch light. 

"Hey - hi- what's up?" He looked confused for a moment before noticing the worried expression on your face.

"What happened to Joel?" And yeah, everything you'd practiced in your head faded into non-existence. You sounded as hysterical as you felt, "he c-came home and he was hurt."

"It's okay," he put a hand on your shoulder and gave you a gentle squeeze, "I had him checked out as soon as we got back."

"He's -"

"A stubborn old fool," Tommy insisted as you couldn't help but chuckle at him, "but he's okay. The steps to the cabin on our route were slippery and he fell. He wasn't paying enough attention and down he went. That's all."

"And you're not lying to me?" You visibly relaxed when he nodded. At least now you had the reassurance that nothing was seriously wrong, "good. I know I probably seem -"

"Protective," he finished for you as you smiled softly, "loving. That's all."

"Yeah," you agreed, "thank you, Tommy. Thank you for keeping him safe."

"He does just as much for me. Besides, we're all family," he gently nudged your side as you laughed softly, "but you're welcome."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you made it back home, you heard commotion in the kitchen and were met with the smell of coffee and delicious foods. Your heart kicked into overdrive as you almost ran into the kitchen, expecting to find the worse but instead -

“Hey baby,” Joel wore a lazy smile as he looked at you from over the cup of coffee he was drinking while Ellie was busy making pancakes. You relaxed sightly at the sight of your family, “what’s wrong?”

“I…” you ran a hand through your hair in exasperation before shaking your head fondly at them, “Joel, you should be resting!”

“Hey,” his voice turned soft as he put his coffee mug down and stepped over to you and touched your cheek gently. You pouted at him, and if you weren’t so upset he might have laughed and kissed it away, “it’s okay, I’m okay - I’m right here. Please don’t worry about me.”

“But you’re all…bruised up,” you looked at him with big doe eyes and he sighed wistfully, “I don’t want it to get worse.”

“I know,” he promised, “I know it’s all out of love. I’m sore, but that’s all. It already feels better just being back home with you.”

“I like to worry,” you admitted as your face grew warm and he brushed his knuckles along your jaw, “I can’t help it.”

“And that’s okay,” he insisted, “I love you, baby. You know you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Or me!” Ellie chirped from the stove, a bemused little smile on her face.

“I love you yoo,” you went over to the young girl and gave her a tight hug which she pretended to abhor but you knew she loved it. You turned your attention back to Joel and gingerly hugged him too. Joel responded with a bone-crushing hug that had you breathless and giggling, “Joel!”

“It’s alright,” he leaned down and kissed you softly, stealing away all of your worries and fears, “promise.”

“Okay,” and finally, a real giggle bubbled up as you leaned up to kiss him in return, “I love you too, stubborn old man.”

“But I’m all yours, baby.”

“And I’m yours too.”

[jzprncess]

the missing melody ♪

part 3 previous

pairing : franco colapinto x singer!reader

faceclaim : various people!

summary: Y/N announces exciting news, keeping her fans buzzing. Restless, she spends the night awake and finds comfort in a late-night call with Franco, who has to hang up for race day. The next morning, nerves and excitement fill her as she worries about Franco after his crash during the Brazilian Grand Prix. Despite only knowing him for a month, Y/N is falling for him and decides to surprise him in Las Vegas for the next race, reflecting on their growing connection as she rushes to catch her flight.

warnings : some singers do not exist in this au since i might take their songs!

y/n's mini album playlist - its on spotify

note : lowk do not know if this fits well since i wrote it awhile back an i dont feel like rereading it lol.

 ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

yourusername just posted 

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yourusername what would you guys do if i dropped a mini album in a few hours? I forget I have children to feed 👀👀

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username3 LITERALLY CRYING IF YOU DROP IT. I'M READY. 🙏🙏

F1GOSSIP I’d sell my soul for a mini album.

username1 I WILL CRY ON THE FLOOR. FEED US PLEASE.

username2 Manifesting that mini album like it's my full-time job.

username4 Feed us, we’re starving!

username6 Sooo we’re about to be fed AND blessed, I’m here for it.

username5 i still can’t believe she's back

gracevanderwaal you know you wanna drop it girl

♥️ liked by yourusername

bensonboone ready to get sent to heaven ☁️

♥️ liked by yourusername 

madisonbeer oh pls do 😭😭😭

♥️ liked by yourusername

third pov

Y/N set her phone down after reading through the overwhelming flood of comments and DMs pouring in. Her fans were ecstatic, begging her to release the mini album as soon as possible.

With her laptop open on the kitchen counter, she stared at the six tracks she’d poured her heart into over the past couple weeks. The raw emotions, the late nights, the breakthroughs—each song held a piece of her story.

“Alright,” she muttered to herself, clicking open her notes app. “If I’m doing this, it needs to make sense.”

She scribbled down the track names, numbering them in various orders. Should she start with the vulnerable acoustic ballad that mirrored her hiatus? Or lead with the upbeat anthem that felt like a comeback?

As she toyed with different combinations, a thought crossed her mind. Franco had been listening to her yap recently about ideas—maybe he could help her settle on a title. She grabbed her phone and typed out a quick message.

messages

After texting Franco and finalizing the album title ‘Breathe Again’, Y/N sets her phone down, letting out a long sigh as she takes a moment to reflect. The decision felt right, the title capturing a sense of renewal and strength that she had been channeling throughout the past few weeks. She leans back in her chair, eyes drifting toward the window where the soft, golden glow of the evening sun filters through the curtains. It was quiet in her house, the only sound was the gentle hum of the air conditioning.

Her mind drifts to the photos she had taken recently—images that had been a source of inspiration for her mini album. She pulls up the gallery on her phone, scrolling through the collection. Each photo had a story, a memory, or a feeling attached to it. There were shots of early morning fog clinging to the trees outside her home, a few candid pictures from when she had visited the beach, the wind tugging at her hair, and others of her walking through empty streets at dusk, feeling as if the world was holding its breath with her.

Y/N smiles to herself as her fingers gently tap the screen to select the photo. It wasn’t extravagant, not a dramatic moment or a flashy pose, but it held something far more meaningful. The photo was taken from the back seat of a moving car, capturing just the view through the window. Outside, the trees sped past in a blur, their shapes dissolving into streaks of green and brown as the car moved along. The only thing visible in the shot was the natural world unfolding outside, with no sign of her face, just her silhouette as she sat quietly in the back. There was something serene about the image, the simplicity of being in motion, surrounded by nature, yet detached from everything else. It was the kind of photo that spoke to her journey of healing—about moving forward, even when it felt like the world was rushing by. It was real, and it felt right for the album’s theme of finding peace and strength amidst the chaos. And of course, with a little twist of falling for someone new.

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francolapinto i’ll be here

yourusername you better be

y/n’s pov

Y/N sank into the couch, clutching her phone as her thoughts raced. She scrolled past Franco’s name a dozen times, debating whether to call him or let him rest. But she couldn’t shake the jittery excitement coursing through her. The album was dropping in a few hours, and her nerves were impossible to ignore. She knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight, but maybe hearing his voice would help.

After a deep breath, she tapped his name, and the phone began to ring. It didn’t take long for him to answer, his familiar voice warm and slightly amused.

start of phone call

“Hola, trouble,” he greeted, his accent making her smile. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not even close,” she admitted with a laugh. “It’s dropping in the morning, Franco. I don’t know if I’m excited, terrified, or both.”

“Both is good,” he said. “It means you care. But we talked about this—‘Breathe Again’ is perfect. It’s going to be amazing.”

Y/N felt a small rush of gratitude at his confidence. He’d been there when she’d been agonizing over the title, encouraging her to go with something that truly reflected her journey.

“You really think so?” she asked, fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt.

“I know so,” Franco said firmly. “You’ve been working on this for weeks. People are going to love it. Plus, you have me hyping it up from the pit lane.”

She laughed, imagining him sneaking mentions of her album into post-race interviews. “I’m holding you to that,” she teased.

“Done. So, what’s keeping you up? Overthinking or too much caffeine?”

“Both,” she admitted, slumping further into the couch. “And maybe a little imposter syndrome.”

“Stop that,” Franco said immediately. “You’re Y/N L/N. You’re a badass. Remember what I told you—this album isn’t about perfection; it’s about being real. And that’s why it’s going to hit people in the heart.”

His words felt like a balm, calming her just enough to breathe easier. She shifted the conversation to him, not wanting to hog all the attention. “What about you? Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Always,” Franco replied. “But race day nerves are a thing, even for me.”

“You? Nervous? I don’t buy it,” she teased.

“Okay, maybe not nervous,” he admitted. “But it’s Brazil. The crowd is insane. The energy is next level. It’s like racing in the middle of a concert.”

“That sounds amazing,” she said, a bit wistfully. “You’re lucky you get to experience that.”

They fell into a comfortable rhythm, their conversation bouncing between her album and his race. She told him about the meaning behind some of the tracks and how each song reflected a piece of her journey. He asked thoughtful questions, like, “Which song was the hardest to write?” and “How do you know when a song is finished?”

“Honestly, sometimes I don’t,” Y/N confessed. “It’s like I have to force myself to stop tweaking things and just let it be.”

“That’s like racing,” Franco said. “At some point, you have to trust what you’ve done and just go for it.”

When the focus shifted to him, Franco painted a vivid picture of the upcoming race, describing the challenges of the track and how the high altitude affected the car’s performance.

“Do you ever get scared?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

“Not really,” he said. “But there’s always this moment at the start, right before the lights go out, where everything feels... still. Like the world’s holding its breath. And then it’s chaos.”

“That sounds intense,” she said, shivering at the thought.

“It is,” Franco said with a grin in his voice. “But it’s also the best feeling in the world.”

Eventually, their conversation turned playful, almost like a round of 21 questions.

“What’s your go-to comfort food?” she asked

“Dulce de leche on everything,” he replied. “Yours?”

“Hot Cheetos,” she said.

“Figures,” Franco teased. “Classic Gen Z choice.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Dulce de Leche. What’s your most embarrassing moment?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he groaned. “Waving back at someone who wasn’t waving at me. You know when you’re sure it’s for you, and it’s not?”

“I’ve done that!” Y/N laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone. “It’s the worst.”

“And yours?” he prompted.

“Tripping on stage during a show,” she admitted, cringing at the memory. “I tried to play it off, but it was so obvious.”

“They probably thought it was part of the act,” Franco offered.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” she said with a chuckle.

The hour flew by, their laughter and easy conversation making time feel irrelevant. But eventually, Franco’s voice grew softer, a sign that fatigue was catching up to him.

“I hate to say this, but I need to sleep,” he said reluctantly. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed, though she wished the call didn’t have to end. “Thanks for staying up with me.”

“Always,” Franco said warmly. “Good luck tomorrow. You’re going to crush it.”

“Good luck to you, too,” she replied. “I’ll be watching.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he said softly.

“Night, Franco.”

As the call ended, Y/N leaned back into the couch, her heart full and her mind a little calmer.

Y/N set her alarm for 9:00 a.m., double-checking it twice to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally sleep through the morning. The thought of her mini album finally releasing had her stomach flipping with a mix of excitement and nerves, but she tried to push it aside as she made her way to her room.

Once inside, she flicked on the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow over the space, and began her nightly routine. She changed into an oversized t-shirt and soft pajama shorts, tying her hair into a loose bun before settling on the edge of her bed. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen, but her thoughts were anything but calm.

Her mind wandered, inevitably landing on Franco. A small smile crept across her face as she thought about their conversation earlier. The sound of his voice, his confident yet playful encouragement, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say—it all made her chest feel warm and fluttery.

She leaned back against her headboard, hugging a pillow to her chest as she allowed herself to dwell on him a little longer. He made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a while: excitement, not just about her work or her music, but about life. It was like seeing the world in brighter colors.

Y/N chuckled softly to herself, the sound breaking the quiet of the room. “I feel like a teenager in high school,” she whispered, shaking her head at how giddy she felt. It was silly, but it was true. The butterflies, the overthinking, the random smiles at nothing—it was like she was back in her teenage years, crushing on someone in secret.

Without thinking, she reached for the notebook she always kept on her nightstand. It was her sanctuary, a place where her thoughts and feelings often turned into lyrics. Grabbing a pen, she opened it to a fresh page, the faint scent of paper filling the air.

She tapped the pen against her lip, thinking for a moment, then wrote the words: I feel so high school. The simplicity of it made her smile. It wasn’t a complete lyric yet, just a fragment, but it captured the light, bubbly feeling she couldn’t quite shake.

As she stared at the words, her mind raced with possibilities. Could this be another song? A hidden track someday? She didn’t know yet, but for now, it was enough to capture the moment.

Setting the notebook aside, she turned off the lamp and slid under the covers. Even in the dark, her mind refused to quiet, replaying memories of their conversations and imagining what tomorrow might bring.

alarm ringing

At the first ring of her alarm, Y/N's eyes snapped open, her body still heavy with the exhaustion of staying up late. She groaned, disoriented, not quite believing it was already 9:00 a.m. She had barely gotten any sleep, but she had set her alarm on instinct, knowing she couldn’t afford to sleep in.

She rolls over in bed, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains as she reaches for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lights up, briefly blinding her sleepy eyes. After a quick glance at the time, she unlocks it with a practiced swipe of her thumb. Her fingers hover over the screen, lingering for a moment as she debates if she should text him.

Even though she’s just woken up, the thought of Franco crosses her mind immediately. She imagines him at the paddock, likely already in the midst of the buzzing race-day chaos. He’s probably shaking hands with fans, posing for pictures, or answering rapid-fire questions from broadcasters surrounded by the wet air, with heavy rain drenching everything in sight. It’s his element, and the image of him—calm and confident—makes her smile softly to herself.

With a small sigh, she decides to text him. The familiar sound of her keyboard clicking under her fingers fills the quiet room as she starts typing. She keeps it casual but thoughtful, knowing how hectic his day must be.

messages

Y/N grabs the cereal box from the counter, pouring herself a bowl as she leans back into the couch. The screen of her phone is flashing with notifications about the album release, but it’s still too early to press "send" on her post. She needs a distraction. She hits play on the F1 broadcast, just in time to hear the pre-race chatter about the rain in Brazil. She can't help but smile a little, feeling the excitement of the race season.

The soft sound of the cereal crunching is the only thing that fills the room for a moment, and Y/N stares at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. She scrolls through her phone, making last-minute adjustments to her album post while keeping one eye on the screen. The F1 broadcast is so familiar, comforting almost, with its chaotic energy that she missed during her time off.

"Weather looks like a mess today, but that’s just Brazil for you," the commentator says, bringing her back to the present. Y/N tilts her head, thoughts still racing, but everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. She absentmindedly stirs her cereal, her finger hovering over her phone screen, ready to post when the time comes.

The race begins, and she can't help but feel a little nervous energy bubble up—Franco’s out there, racing in the rain, a place where anything could happen. She bites her lip, watching as the cars race off, feeling oddly connected to the moment.

A few laps in, the race is going as expected—intense, slick, unpredictable. The camera zooms in on Franco’s car, and Y/N leans forward, a smile creeping onto her face. She knows he’s got this. He’s in his element.

Then, just as Y/N hits the "post" button to announce the album's release, her phone rings with a loud buzz. The commentator's voice breaks through the moment: “Red flag for Colapinto. It’s a big crash, and we’re going to have to pause the race for now.”

Y/N freezes.

The spoon she was holding clatters softly onto the table. Her heartbeat hammers in her chest as she replays the words over and over. "Red flag... for Colapinto..." She slowly turns toward the screen, eyes scanning the faces of the team members and the rain-soaked track.

She stops breathing for a moment. The bad weekend, the tense race conditions, all of it flashes through her mind. "Please be okay, please be okay," she mutters under her breath, her fingers nervously typing a quick message to Franco. She barely registers the notification from her album release going live.

franco’s pov

The world was spinning. Or maybe it wasn’t—the car had stopped moving. Franco’s ears were ringing as he leaned his head back against the seat, staring at the rain-splattered visor of his helmet. He could hear muffled voices in his ears, the panicked chatter from his engineer cutting through the haze.

“Franco! Are you okay? Talk to us!”

He groaned softly, wincing as he shifted in his seat. His body ached, but nothing felt broken. That was good, right? Definitely a good sign.

“Yeah,” he rasped, voice cracking as he reached for the release on his harness. “I’m... I’m okay.”

The marshals were already there, waving frantically as they helped him climb out of the car. The rain was relentless, soaking through his suit as soon as his feet hit the asphalt. Franco glanced back at what was left of his car—a crumpled mess of blue and white—and let out a shaky breath.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his damp hair, “guess that’s my day done.”

He turned away, his mind already jumping to the list of people he’d have to reassure. The team, his family, her.

Especially her.

y/n’s pov

Y/N was still glued to the TV, her cereal now soggy and forgotten in the bowl next to her. The commentators were running through the replay of Franco’s crash for the fifth time, slow motion showing every agonizing second as his car spun out and slammed into the barriers.

She wasn’t breathing. At least, it felt like she wasn’t breathing. Her leg bounced nervously, her nails digging into the edge of the couch.

“Get up,” she whispered, eyes locked on the screen as they finally cut to a live shot of Franco stepping out of the car. She let out a loud, relieved breath, slumping back against the cushions. “Thank god.”

Her phone buzzed, the flood of notifications from her album release catching her attention. Fans were posting their reactions—excited, emotional, over-the-top—but it barely registered.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, finally remembering that her album was live. She glanced at the clock. It was 10:15 AM. She’d been so caught up in the race—and Franco’s crash—that she hadn’t even checked her post or seen the reactions.

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yourusername i don’t even know where to start... breathe again is finally here. 💙

this mini album is more than just music—it’s a piece of my heart. it’s the moments where i didn’t think i’d make it, the nights i didn’t recognize myself, and the mornings i fought to find the light again. it’s about falling apart and learning how to pick up the pieces, one deep breath at a time. and its about something else… you’d have to listen to find out!

thank you for waiting for me, for letting me figure out who i am again. thank you for giving me the space to come back when i was ready.

this isn’t just my album—it’s ours. i hope these songs make you feel seen, heard, and held.

link in bio. tell me which one feels like home to you.  #BreatheAgain

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madisonbeer girllll you did a number with this one, we deffff gotta collab!

↳yourusername yes! double yes!

username1 y/n really said, 'y’all need healing' and then dropped an album for us to get our life together

username2 ‘Chaotic’ has me screaming into the void. I’m in my feelings but also vibing at the same time.

username3 so who's ‘enchanted’ about????????? y/n?????? Hello?????

username4 my neighbors are about to become fans. I don't care how early it is right now.

username5 “i just wanted you to know that this is me trying” EXCUSE ME???? DID YOU JUST STAB ME?!?!?!

username6 brb im sobbing

username7 ho did you just hit me with a ford f150?!?!?!!?

noahkahanmusic we have to collab. 

↳yourusername why all serious haha (yes)

username8 “they talk shit, but i love it everytime” BAHAHAHAH iconic

Her phone buzzed again, but it wasn’t Franco. It was just more notifications—more comments, more fans reaching out. The sheer volume of it all made her head spin. She hadn’t expected this much of a reaction. She had known people would listen, but this... it felt like she was being swallowed whole by it all. It was overwhelming, but in a way, it felt like something she couldn’t escape.

She switched her attention back to the TV screen. The commentators were still talking about the crash. They kept replaying the moment over and over, and each time it made her heart stop.

He wasn’t just some driver on the track anymore. He was someone she thought about when the lights went out and when the world got too loud. He was someone she’d shared enough moments with to make the thought of him hurt more than it should.

A few minutes later, the screen showed an image of Franco being helped off the track, his helmet now off, but his expression unreadable. Her heart dropped. She could see the rain, the puddles on the track, the chaos unfolding around him. The scene was chaotic, yet there he was, walking under his team’s support, keeping his head down.

She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, feeling that familiar mix of protective instinct and helplessness. This was part of the life he’d chosen, the one where every race had that potential risk of danger. But it never made it easier to watch.

The announcer’s voice broke through her thoughts: "Franco Colapinto, unfortunately, out of the race today due to a crash. He’s been taken to the medical center for precautionary checks, but we’re hearing that he’s okay. We’ll keep you updated."

The relief hit her like a wave, but it didn’t take away the gnawing worry that lingered. She needed to know how he was doing, but there was nothing more she could do right now. He was out of the race, and all she could do was wait for more updates.

She leaned back in the couch and closed her eyes, letting the sound of the race drown out everything else for a moment. It was the only thing that grounded her right now. Everything else—her music, her career, the fans, the pressure—it all felt like it was spinning out of control. But here, in this moment, at least she had this connection to him, even if it was distant.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time, she didn’t hesitate. She reached for it, a small part of her hoping it would be a message from Franco himself, something that would assure her he was okay. Instead, it was a reminder for her album launch, a simple notification to congratulate her on hitting another milestone in the release.

She sighed. The world kept turning, no matter how she felt.

In that moment, Y/N realized something she hadn’t truly thought about until now: the music had always been her escape, her way of telling her story without saying a word. But now, with the album out there and the weight of her feelings laid bare for the world to hear, it felt like she had no choice but to face those emotions head-on.

And maybe, just maybe, the chaos of everything—whether it was the race, Franco, or the pressure of fame—was part of her healing. The only way out was through.

She let the sounds of the race continue to wash over her, trying to block out the weight of her thoughts. But, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco was doing, how he was feeling, and if he had listened to the album. Would he know that, even without his name, there was a piece of him in her songs?

She shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside, and refocused on the race. She wasn’t going to let anything distract her from this moment, from this connection to him—no matter how small or distant it seemed.

For now, she just needed to breathe again.

franco's pov

Franco sat in the quiet of the race room, still processing the crash. The team had been struggling all weekend with car issues, and when he lost control on lap 34, it all fell apart. His body still ached from the impact, his head spinning from the sudden stop, but it wasn’t the physical pain that lingered the most—it was the frustration, the disappointment.

He had been so close to making it through the race. But now, he was sitting in the aftermath, forced to watch the race unfold from a room that felt more like a holding cell than a place of recovery. Alex had been out of the race from the start, unable to even take his place on the grid. It had been a tough weekend for the Williams team—nothing had gone right.

Franco’s phone buzzed again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. He picked it up, seeing the message from Y/N still there, her words jumping out at him:

"I’m so worried right now. please tell me you're ok. I can't stop thinking about you."

Franco leaned back in the chair, reading Y/N’s message again. He had just crashed on lap 34, and the weight of the race day was starting to sink in, but Y/N’s message made his heart race in a completely different way.

Franco blinked, his stomach doing that familiar flip. Why does she always make me feel like this? he thought, slightly flustered. It wasn’t like they were dating or anything—he could never figure out where they stood—but damn, that little “thinking about you” was enough to make his face go hot.

He quickly wiped his hands on his pants, trying to hide the small blush creeping up his neck. Okay, focus... he thought, but the message was making it hard to do so.

Finally, he decided to keep things light, adding a bit of humor to ease the tension.

After sending her last text to Franco, Y/N sat back, a soft smile spreading across her face. The worry was still there, of course. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. But at least she knew he was okay, which brought her some comfort.

Still, it wasn’t enough. She felt the itch to do something, to show him she cared in a bigger way, to really surprise him. He’d been through so much lately, and she was determined to be there for him.

She grabbed her phone again, not wasting any time.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It was on. She was going to make it happen.

She quickly found the first flight to Las Vegas, and within minutes, the ticket was booked. There was no turning back now. The clock was ticking, and she needed to get on the plane before Franco.

With the flight confirmed, she tossed a few things into a bag—comfortable clothes, her phone charger, and the essentials—and headed out to the airport.

The nerves hit her as she drove, but it was nothing compared to the excitement bubbling inside. Franco wouldn’t see this coming. She just hoped she’d get the reaction she was hoping for when she showed up to surprise him.

It wasn’t just about being there for the race, it was about being there for him—letting him know that she cared more than just as a fan or a friend.

yourusername added to their story

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francolapinto  GET OFF OF YOUR PHONE WHILE DRIVING. Also, where you going? 🤯

↳yourusername somewhere……. I have a mischievous grin on my face. 🙃🙃😏😏😉😉

↳francolapinto WHAT ARE YOU UP TO?!?!?!😤😤 anyways, wanna call later? I don’t leave until early morning tomorrow so i’ll be bored. also, your plane leaves thursday morning yeah? 🧐

↳yourusername NOTHING hehehe. I can’t talk tonight, ill be busy. yeah thursday…why? You cant wait to see me huh? 😏 i’m just that awesome.

Y/N sat at the airport gate, her eyes scanning the crowd as she waited for her flight to Las Vegas. It was just the calm before the storm—her flight didn’t leave for another hour, and Franco wouldn’t be arriving until the morning. She had the night to herself, time to reflect before everything became a whirlwind.

She pulled out her phone, scrolling through the texts from earlier with Franco. She couldn’t help but smile, feeling a rush of excitement wash over her. They’d only known each other for a month, but in that short time, she’d found herself thinking about him more than she cared to admit. Their connection had been instant, easy, and now, here she was—ready to surprise him in Las Vegas.

She felt a mix of excitement and nerves. The truth was, she hadn’t seen him since Austin, and while their time together had been brief, there was something about him that made her want to take the plunge, do something a little crazy. The more she thought about it, the more this whole surprise felt right.

Tonight was about anticipation. She had hours before she’d see him again, and as much as she was looking forward to the reunion, she couldn’t help but think about how weird it was that they hadn’t had much time together yet. There was still so much to learn, so much they hadn’t experienced. But for now, this surprise—coming to Las Vegas to greet him—was her way of taking a chance.

With a deep breath, she snapped out of her thoughts. She’d be in Vegas soon, and before long, she’d be face to face with him. And that made her heart race with a mix of excitement and nerves. She couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @meadhbhcavanagh @rawr-123s-stuff @coral7161

[hey-august]

Saw the cuteness aggression post you reblogged and would feel blessed if you ever wrote whump fic with Buggy because I would ALSO love to try and comfort a man who just staggered into the room bloody, beaten and bruised, clearly just thumbling over the threshold of “show no weakness” to “in so much pain he doesn’t even care anymore that he’s hiccuping and sobbing like a child while clinging to you” hurt comfort with heavy emphasis on the hurt? Yes pls

Anon, I'm so so sorry for how long it took me to get to this. I love me some angst and whump, and while I had ideas, the motivation to write was not working with me.

I don't want to keep holding onto this and leave you hanging for even longer, so I wrote out my idea in bullet point format.

I hope this still hits the spot!

WC: ~550 Warnings: buggy x gn!reader, mentions of blood and burn wounds

You and Buggy have an unspoken thing. A mutual pining. There's respect and some affection. A closeness, but still distance and a barrier that neither of you acknowledge.

You're the ship's doctor and the crew was in a rough fight. Lots of injuries, ranging from minor scuffs, to teeth knocked out, stitches, broken noses and broken bones, blood and tears - it's a lot in a short period of time.

You're doing what you can, and those who are less injured are helping where they can.

Once you get through those involved, the captain is the last one left needing your attention.

Maybe he's been sitting nearby the whole time, waving away anyone coming to triage or check on him, snapping that he's fine. Get the hell away from him.

But when the room empties, Buggy crumbles. It starts small, bit by bit as you assess him.

His busted lip is split and bleeding, the color mixing with his smeared lipstick. His right eye is swelling. His beautiful hair is singed. The affected tips are stuck in terrified curls from trying to run from the heat. The smell is clinging everywhere.

But the worst are the burns. You're not sure what happened - some of the other crewmembers had burns and scorch marks, but not like this.

Your captain has some rough wounds on his arms and torso, where the heat ate away at the fabric before feeding on his skin and flesh.

He's wet and sticky. Swaths of skin are weeping. Buggy's feeling exposed, tender, and hurt. Pain is radiating out while regret and fear are falling inwards.

All it takes is one soft comment from you. "You must be in so much pain." You were talking to yourself, but it's the acknowledgement that Buggy must have needed.

The eyes that had been avoiding yours, stopped holding back tears. His clenched jaw and tight lips quiver. He nods.

You can't fathom how much it hurts to move, but Buggy has his arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. His hands are clutching your clothes, pulling them taut. It's like he's a cracked vessel, losing liquid and life, but maybe you can keep him together. Maybe you could fix him. And if not, he wouldn't be alone as he breaks.

Hurting more is often part of getting better. You know this, and you let it happen.

You let Buggy cry against you. You let his tears, snot, spittle, and worries seep into your clothes. You hold the back of his head and put a hand on his back, and rub. You let your own stinging tears fall.

Noises get caught in his throat and Buggy fixes his hold, as if he's trying to wrap himself around you even more. As if he's trying to squeeze every drop of comfort and care from you.

His hands are detached, fingers stretched and probably barely connected, all so he can hold more of you. Even his feet are shuffling, seeking contact against yours. His knees knocking against your legs.

Buggy continues until he's hiccupping and coughing. Until he has a headache and his eyes are bleary.

You should have stopped him sooner. Some of the oozing wounds started to crust and are clinging to the fabric of your clothes.

Buggy whines and grunts as he literally peels himself away.

You still need to clean and dress the wounds, so another round of pain. One could argue that you should have gone ahead and done that right away, but no.

Despite the visible injuries, there's invisible damage that needed to be soothed.

You can almost see Buggy picking up his broken pieces and putting them back together. Recreating a wall, a mask, a barrier.

You know what's on the other side, though. And you will be there whenever he needs you.

[vettelsdarling]

can you do an Instagram au with Charles x female tech CEO? (Like they're trying to keep it private.)

Thank you xx

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐜𝐲

Lissie note... This was a great idea, I loved the CEO aspect, but couldn’t quite find the right pictures and timeline things couldn’t match up for something as grand as a tech CEO, but I really enjoyed writing this prompt and scouring Pinterest for fitting photos to use. Hope you enjoy anyway!!❤️

Few things to note:

Reader is from a rich and esteemed family, but she’s self made

Reader lives in Monaco

Reader is the CEO of a world renowned luxury brand based in Monaco

Charles and reader have been dating for a few years (Since reader’s college years and Charles’ early f1 years)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x CEO!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight cursing(?)

Playlist recommendation: 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔, 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗

Taglist: @allwaysalleyway

yourusername

Liked by blakelively, carmenmmundt, francisca.cgomes and 1,378,831 others

Tagged: voguemagazine

yourusername Thank you, @ voguemagazine. I had a lot of fun with this shoot and the interview— happy to do it again next year❤️

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user1 I literally GASP every time I see those interviews with her. How is anyone THAT gorgeous????

user2 I love her sm and she cares for women and the sick😭😭😭

user3 She’s so amazing, honestly

user4 Honestly the price of her brand is reasonable when you know a lot of the proceeds go to helping people in need❤️

user5 Hi gorgeous, tysm for the work you do❤️

user6 Did anyone notice Kika and Carmen👀 (f1 fans pls interact)

user7 I NOTICED IT TOO

user8 I’m an f1 fan but I genuinely don’t think this is anything big..? Probably just a coincidence that they both follow her. She’s literally got millions of followers so…

user9 @ user8 but didn’t you see how Giada and Isa also follow her?

user8 @ user9 Like I said, coincidence. I mean they’re all pretty big into fashion, no?

charles_leclerc

Liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, and 937,284 others

charles_leclerc Blazer goes perfectly with my jewelry.

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user1 AHHH BLESSED MY FEED❤️❤️❤️

user2 I LOVE that blazer on him ughhh🙏

user3 Anyone know the brand?

user4 It looks a lot like @ yourbrandname and their newest collection

user3 How did I not notice thisssss

user5 Love that he’s supporting yourbrandname❤️❤️❤️

user6 He’s literally so dreamy wtaffff

user7 Right???😩

yourusername and francisca.cgomes

Liked by francisca.cgomes, pierregasly, lilymhe and 1,682,104 others

yourusername So gorgeous in the 4th picture, we should do this more often. Make it a tradition whenever you stop by Monaco🤍

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francisca.cgomes You flatter me too much, 2nd picture is obviously the best🫶

yourusername Debatable…

lilymhe I’m joining next time

yourusername Yes.

user1 Okay, I refuse to believe she doesn’t have anything to do with F1

user2 Ngl I’m speculating😭

user3 New wag alert???

user4 AHHH I SEE THAT FERRARI…

user5 Ferrari + Kika, a wag = she’s a wag???

user6 You guys are so quick to jump to conclusions lmao

user7 @ user6 It’s not “jumping to conclusions”. It’s literally so obvious…

user6 @ user7 But it isn’t though… a lot of rich people own a Ferrari. She also just happens to be friends with Kika. Doesn’t mean she’s automatically a wag…

user8 Another post where she’s SERVING

user9 She’s so ldr coded❤️

user10 I absolutely agree with both of those statements you guys

user11 Since WHEN was she hanging out with wags???

user12 Since you learned to mind your own business..?

f1gossipcentral

26,732 likes

f1gossipcentral Lord Perceval said it! He’s in a relationship! Wonder who it is👀

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user1 I mean, if he hasn’t revealed the wag, he obviously doesn’t want to share who it is…

user2 and all the 13 yr olds are pressed because he wants to keep his privacy💀

user1 Literally

user3 I mean, I heard a lot of people think that it’s @ yourusername

user4 Just because he wore a blazer from her line..? Doesn’t make sense…

user3 No, she’s been hanging out with Kika and owns a Ferrari too. Also- lot of wags and drivers follow her.

user4 Wow, okay. Didn’t know this..

realtalkcelebs

56,287 likes

realtalkcelebs SPOTTED: Y/n L/n leaving the interview where she reported that “she’s currently in a relationship”. She’s yet to reveal who it is!

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user1 NOOOO I HAD MY WEDDING DRESS PICKED OUT

user2 I’ve never read anything as soul crushing as this.

user3 Okay but WHO STOLE HER

user4 Whoever won her over better count their days.

user5 I’m here to assist😭

user6 Ig I’ll be having my salty tears for dinner tn

user7 me too.

user8 Who in their right mind would steal a national treasure like this?

user9 I think there’s been some talk in the F1 community…

user10 The timing of things is really suspicious ngl.

user11 I suspected she may be a wag, but Charles was unexpected

user12 Ever thought that it might not be him?

charles_leclerc

Liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55, yourusername and 873,283 others

charles_leclerc It’s time for Monaco. My beloved home❤️🤍

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user1 Hope this year is THE year

user2 Fingers crossed😭

user3 Oh no, not the Monaco curse pls😭

user4 I have a feeling he’ll do well🙏

user5 Don’t jinx it omg

user6 I love how we’re all collectively worried about this specific gp

user7 Is nobody noticing a certain CEO in the likes?

user8 Atp I don’t really care too much because it’s their life and they chose to be private about it. They may not even have anything to do with each other.

user9 I agree, everything so far is all superficial in terms of proof…

user10 Yeah, leave these people alone and stop shipping random celebrities together. It’s weird.

user11 Ughhh going to the Monaco gp is not a want. IT IS A NEED.

user12 Relatable

yourusername

Liked by francisca.cgomes, lilymhe, bellahadid and 1,362,102 others

Tagged: francisca.cgomes

yourusername Couldn’t miss the Monaco GP, when I live here?! Fourth picture is a Kika appreciation moment❤️

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francisca.cgomes Best photographer I’ve ever met❤️

yourusername Okay but you made my back look so great in the first picture

francisca.cgomes No, that’s all you

lilymhe Finally seeing you in the paddock

yourusername I know, it took a whileee

user1 Yep, I’m convinced she’s a wag.

user2 I reckon she might just be one of those celebs who attend the most famous races. We didn’t see her in the paddock before?

user3 I would honestly agree if she hadn’t posted abt something Ferrari related so much lately.

user4 Guys let’s let her live her life whoever she feels😭😭😭

user5 She’s honestly so amazing. I love her😭 She’s wearing her own line too😭❤️ Bless her.

user6 Why wouldn’t she wear her own line lmao💀

user7 I love her friendship with Kika🙏

user8 She’s a multitasker. CEO of one of the most well known luxury brands, best friends with several wags, maybe even a wag herself— AND HAIR CARE??? Drop the secret pls🙏🙏

user9 She’s a literal goddess

realtalkcelebs

163,373 likes

realtalkcelebs SPOTTED: Heartthrob Ferrari driver, Charles Leclerc, kissing the young and flavorful CEO of yourbrandname, Y/n L/n. How long has this been going on for? You tell us.

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user1 Um what😃

user2 I KNEW IT

user3 Since when😭😭😭

user4 WHAT IS GOING ONNN?!??

user5 Idk but I want to cry💀

user6 In retrospect, I can see the proof now, but wow they were actually pretty great at hiding it wtf

user7 Right? I did not expect this…

user8 Yeah, and then you just see these entitled gossip accounts profiting off of them… I feel bad for them :/

user7 I do too. I don’t think it’s fair for them to be revealed like this… they should’ve gotten their own chance to explain things

user9 Okay but he’s so lucky😭

user10 Literally. He’s dating the most relevant woman on this planet rn

user11 Googling how to become a Ferrari F1 driver rn

charles_leclerc and yourusername

Liked by francisca.cgomes, yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 537,733 others

charles_leclerc .

Comments have been limited

francisca.cgomes Love you guys, stay strong❤️

pierregasly This was not deserved. Hope you guys are okay

maxverstappen1 The paparazzi is always so shitty like this.

lewishamilton This was unexpected, but shouldn’t have come from anyone but you guys. Real shame they did this to you.

lilymhe This is just not okay!!

carmenmmundt Shame on the paparazzi.

yourusername

Liked by francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt and 937,295,173 others

yourusername Some pictures from our trip to Paris❤️ Taken by us.

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charles_leclerc❤️

Liked by yourusername

user1 I love their relationship, actually

user2 Honestly, as much as I’m IN LOVE with her, I’m so happy for them

user3 My parasocial relationship is crumbling, but this is so cute😭

user4 I am living for the caption😭😭😭

user5 It’s literally like a big “fuck you” to the paparazzi lmao

user4 Exactly💀

user6 SHE’S WEARING ALL OF THE NEW YOURNAMEBRAND CONCEPT DESIGN DRESSES😩❤️

user7 He’s wearing the new concept design pants😭

user8 He gets early access to all the good stuff😭💀

user9 I still can’t believe they managed to hide it for so long

user10 For real. I’m still processing it..

charles_leclerc

Liked by yourusername, francisca.cgomes, pierregasly and 647,383 others

charles_leclerc Sleeping beauty❤️ Happy anniversary❤️

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yourusername I did not know this photo existed, but I love you, so I’ll let it slide❤️

Liked by charles_leclerc

francisca.cgomes Gorgeous even when you’re asleep?! @ yourusername

yourusername You flatter me too much🫶

user1 They are really made for each other

user2 The picture😭😭😭 He rly loves her

user3 If this isn’t my relationship in the future, I don’t want it

user4 WHY AM I SO JEALOUSSS

user5 Don’t worry, you’re not the only one😭

user6 I get it, I’m extremely single.

user7 Pain😭

user8 Honestly such a lovely couple🤍

user9 I love this dynamic so much. It’s just so sweet🙏

user10 They’re both so luckyyyy

*I’m just experimenting with some layout changes. Feel free to give me input on what you think!

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.)

[love-toxin]

yes pls tell me all ur thoughts on blade, luocha, gepard, jingyuan and kafka 😳 the eng va and trailers for jingyuan and kafka in particular got me acting up—just smthing about jingyuan’s lil smirk and laid bk countenance and how i know he can fuck the daylights out of anyone effortlessly—and kafka? yes ma’am anything for u pls slam ur foot against the wall behind me 🙏🏻

god bless im literally in love w/ all of them anon. would give my left nut for blade, luocha or jing yuan, gepard and kafka carry my team so hard. also bc i want them to step on my face.

also i wanna be toxic rn so under the cut ⬇️⬇️

blade -> prrrrrrrrr. big daddy. idk why but he gives me discord kitten daddy dom vibes. he manspreads. he gets pussy. he probably doesn't shower as often as he should. he's unapologetically a rude bitch. he absolutely girlbosses you into being his baby, he pulls out the "i feel nothing but you give me a taste of life" and keeps you so close you're basically part of him. handsy and off-putting in public for passersby but you can't get his hands off you, it's a losing battle babe. nd he's nasty freaky slimy and rubs his cock against you as a sign he wants to go home or just find someplace quiet. he doesn't like fucking you out in the open but he'll do it if the need arises--like if you "forget" that your body & soul belongs to him and need a harsh reminder. you're just his delicate little kitty after all, so if anyone's gonna break you it should be someone you love unconditionally. right?

kafka -> gatekeep. gaslight. girldaddy. beats you up and makes you say thank you. you're her pet so get used to it, but she'll feed you once in a while so you should be glad, puppy. she's the mean tall girlfriend who babies you and then spits in your mouth for a treat. her & blade treat you like a pet and if she's feeling extra mean she strips you down and makes you kneel between them with nothing to cover yourself. if you're good and give them a lil show they'll let you go early, they promise (lie). humping kafka's pillow to get your scent all over it becomes a nightly ritual to help her sleep, no it is non-negotiable, it is in your spouses' contract that she signed with your hand while you slept. it also states that your face may be used in any and all leisure activities at her discretion--mainly for her to push your head between her legs and lazily give you an order as she sifts through documents. you might be her pet, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you. at least as far as you can tell.

luocha -> ngl idk that much about him yet but he's immediately unhinged bf-shaped. stupid and drunk on thoughts of you & gives you his credit card details on the first date. he's gross and wants to bite your thighs. begging to be drowned in pussy/choked with cock. you're so pretty and he's so dirty by comparison. he can't blame you for not wanting his gross dick anywhere near you, guess all he can do is eat you out <33 oh noooooo! what a tragedy! sike. he loves that shit. he's got meds to make you squirt too. ik he's not that kinda healer but don't tell me unhinged luocha wouldn't have a ball drugging you both up and taking you for a ride. he wouldn't even know his name once the high dies down, just the feeling of your lips leaving stray kisses all down his face as you try to stay awake.

jing yuan -> daddy 2.0. a dilf with no kids. 1000% goes into husband mode the second you're within reach. chill & soft & uwu until everyone's outta the office, then he becomes a menace to society and your underwear. he cums in them before you leave for the day so you don't forget him <3 you can have a cheeky one in your mouth on his lunch break if you're good. ♀️ he beats your pussy up cock-first for hurting his bbg with your period. he still doesn't get enough of you in the day so he creeps on you at night, rubs one out on your thighs while you sleep and flips over to go right back to snoring afterwards. you can never have too much cum on you--that's his wisdom and as your superior general you should probably believe it, no? don't worry, he can fuck with your job and your life and your friends and your money and your heart until you find it within yourself to agree.

gepard -> dummy boy goody-two-shoes. he likes fuckin in the uniform and being called "captain" i am not taking criticism at this time. dumb little captured stellaron hunter & horny silvermane captain roleplay. moans in your ear during sex. he moans like a girl and he hates it but it's hot and he cums 10x faster if you tell him just how hot it is. he's so big & tall he just makes you feel like a little bunch of grapes when he picks you up, nd he's self-conscious about how weird it is that he likes seeing your face scrunch up in pain when he eases you on his cock but it's just too big. the gravity makes it all feel too much when he sits you on his lap like that but you just wiggle around on it rather than get off, and he's a fiend for it. also consider clean, prim, missionary-lover gepard falling in love with rimming you & feeling like a dirty mutt for enjoying it so much & begging you for it when he's in need. asking him to take a shower with you turns into code for "let's do anal against the tile please" real quick.

[hugogetspowerbottomed]

VARIGO CANON COMPLIANT ROUNDUP

A collection of all the Canonverse Varigo that I've enjoyed over the past three years. It is likely that there are a few missing due to them being deleted or my memory being poor. Nonetheless, pls enjoy.

Mature: +++ Explicit: *** Not Rated: 0

Teen/Gen: Not Marked

hello to my old heart by izabellwit

“Why do you trust me so much?”

Or: the beginning of the end for the betrayer. In which Hugo asks a long-overdue question, and gets the answer he never wanted to hear.

Say You Won't Let Go (I Won't) by DragonTalyn

Hugo needs some reassurance that Varian isn't going to leave

The Simple Act of Scraps Unraveling by @hybrix-hidings

There is a moment, on the trail to the library, where Varian realizes that he will love this man.

-

Or: Hugo and Varian enjoy a show, barefaced.

(Prompt #2 - Fireworks)

Snippets in Time by @sonicgetsrawed

Snippets of Varian’s adventures through the seven kingdoms to save his mother.

Darling you look perfect tonight by @the-reverse-mermaid

Hugo, Varian and Yong are invited to a winter holiday event in Nuru's kingdom, but one of them is having significantly less fun than the others… Hugo is already feeling insecure when a snobby noble decides to turn her nose up at him and make everything worse. Good thing his friends are there for him.

Small Chocolate Confections by @glitter-lisp +++

Sending Varian in to distract their target isn’t ideal, but someone has to keep him occupied while Hugo searches his room, and the duke made his interest pretty clear at dinner last night.

Hugo’s fine with that. Hugo’s very good at what he does, and so focused on the task at hand, and completely unbothered by the thought of Varian hanging out with a handsome guy who's probably feeding him fancy little desserts and talking about how rich he is while Hugo crawls around upstairs looking for loose floorboards and secret drawers.

Save Your Convictions (They Never Will Do) by @littlemisslol-fic

Varian and Hugo return to Corona after the events of the Varian and the Seven Kingdoms AU, with mixed reception. Turns out Rapunzel won't hold a grudge against people who slight her, but if they hurt her friends? And then show up still dating said friend?

Let's just say Hugo's got a storm coming.

The Dating Game by @littlemisslol-fic

In which Rapunzel, bless her heart, didn't know Varian and Hugo are dating, and thus takes it upon herself to find her darling baby brother a man of proper pedigree if it kills her. However, bloodlines aren't everything, and her choices are... less than stellar.

Darling, so It Goes (Some Things Are Meant to Be) by @littlemisslol-fic

My submissions for Effin' Varigo week! Big thanks to battybatzgirl for setting it up!

Hugo and Varian have been dating for three years, and are finally ready to take their relationship to somewhere a lot more serious. However, the world has other plans. With Hugo's proposal in shambles, and Varian focused on saving their friends, they think things can't really get any worse.

They would be wrong.

Prompts are Family ‧ Firework ‧ Fever ‧ Flirt ‧ Fight/Forgive ‧ Future ‧ and Free Day!

as long as it leaves a mark by @aziraphalesbookkeeper

For a guy who never takes off his gloves, Varian sure does lose them a lot. It’s not really the gloves Hugo notices though—it’s the scars underneath them.

Or: 5 times Hugo tries to take off Varian's gloves + 1 time he doesn't have to.

Whumptober Day 27: Scars AILESS Whumptober Day 9: Scar Reveal

We Carry Through by @aziraphalesbookkeeper

Adjusting to living in the castle with Varian is hard. Going from having nothing to having everything makes Hugo feel...twitchy. Luckily, there's one person who knows exactly what he's going through. Unfortunately, it's Fitzherbert.

Prompt: Family

The Touch of Sunlight by TheArtistsMuse ***

Varian was used to being kidnapped- as sad as that sounds- but he can always trust his friends to save him. Only this time was different, and now something is deeply bothering Hugo. Will Varian be able to get his secretive boyfriend to open up? Will they be able to figure out why he was taken?

... Will Varian be able to hide his very inconveniently timed sexual awakening?

meteor shower by @oshunalchemy 0

varian has a nightmare.

Wither and Decay by @eggmuffinwaffles

The Moonstone and the Sundrop were gone, the trials were completed, the Eternal Library was opened. Everything in Corona had returned to as close to normal as it could possibly get- but Corona seems to have a habit of attracting trouble. When old enemies arise, bent on her downfall, it will take more than just quick wit and luck to ensure that they fail.

My Head's Above The Rain and Roses by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober Day 5: Every Whumpee Needs

Varian, Hugo, Nuru and Yong decide to go camping for the first time in a while after the trials. What could go wrong?

The answer is everything. Everything can go wrong.

Aka Part 1/3 of Hugo learning to like the TTS gang

Maybe if You Fixed the Whole World by Yourself by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober Day 7: The Way You Shake and Shiver

Hugo had a really unfortunate habit of ruining his own life. It wasn’t intentional- if you asked him, he’d swear up and down that he played absolutely no part in causing his entire life to go up in flames, and yet time after time he would keep doing it. Funny how consequences work.

Maybe he was being a little bit dramatic.

OR:

Hugo finds himself being blackmailed by a noble at a ball, and gets help from an unexpected source

Part 2/3 of Hugo learning to like the TTS gang

Keeping Me Up At Night by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober Day 29: What Doesn't Kill Me

Even a year after moving to Corona, sometimes Hugo's guilt finds itself creeping into his dreams. In the middle of an episode, he realizes he has more in common with Rapunzel than he thought.

Part 3/3 of Hugo learning to like the TTS gang

Turning Saints Into A Sea by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober Day 25/Day 30: Silence is Golden/Note to Self Don't Get Kidnapped

Varian has to confront his jealousy head on when Hugo's ex finds herself back in Corona. Unfortunately her return might not be as innocent as she wants them to believe.

I Won't Let You Pull Me Down by @eggmuffinwaffles

Whumptober 2022 Day 16: No Way Out

Hugo and Varian get into a fight. Instead of handling it like an emotionally healthy adult, Hugo manages to go and get himself possessed.

Possession 2 electric boogaloo baby

Lessons in Luxury by @varibean

All his life, Hugo wanted nothing more than to live a live of riches and luxury. He had always failed to imagine what a change like that would entail. Real life was becoming too much like a fantasy and it was always the same questioned that brought him hurdling back to reality.

"Have you eaten today?"

Amalgam by @varibean 0

After relying on Ulla’s notebook to help them through their journey, the gang find that the next kingdom has little to no notes on where the next trial takes place. Their only clue is a location that might have a lead on where to go next. However, after a royal mess up on Hugo’s part, they’re left up the creek without a paddle. Not only are tensions high, but emotions as well. One thing was certain though: Hugo and Varian did not mix well.

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

M-maybe for your beloved wife... Y-you would write a jjk fic angst n-no fluff...? 🥺🥺🥺

The Cold

angst (so sorry) plot: he is your warmth, and now he is gone. content: tw major character death (not the actual death but the effects of it on reader), grieving & mourning, hopeless/depressed reader, heartbreak, pls dont read if your sensitive to these things pls it gets kinda dark at the end so be cautiousss pls i beg ily also shoko is mothering frrrr. word count: 2.6k satoru gojo x reader note: sorry for mistakes i proofread but i always miss something. but god i cried writing this pls i am sorry in advance ilyilyily & thank you for requesting cause i have had no ideas so this sparked my writing again <333 i hope this fulfilled ur wishes but lmk if u wanted something different! love u wifey!

Satoru Gojo is many things, but if you had to describe him in one word, you would choose warm.

Physically, he is your personal heated blanket. Every night without fail, he wraps his arms around you, his body heat lulling you to the most comfortable of sleeps. Sometimes, he dozes off too, though in his mind, never for long enough, because he never wants to leave the comfort of being with you.

He is the brightest part of your day. His love for you overflows into every part of your daily routine; from little sticky notes here and there that make your face heat up and your heart feel warm, to big, romantic gestures accompanied by more roses than necessary (and then some), your boyfriend's love is warm herbal tea in the mornings that lingers on your tongue, thick, fuzzy socks adorning your feet as you dance in the kitchen together. Even when you happen to give him the cold shoulder for whatever reason, he is the sunshine on your skin, and a blazing fireplace on a harsh winter night. Your silent treatments never last long, for you feel so intensely frigid without hearing his laugh or being teased relentlessly by him, that you can barely survive without him. The heat of anger is always, always overpowered by the passionate flame of your shared love for each other.

He is your campfire; his presence gently wraps around you, warming you up after the worsts of your day. Everything he touches is blessed with love, light, and comfort. He is the Strongest Sorcerer, yes; though, the magic power everyone seems to ignore is the way his smile illuminates even the darkest day, and how his presence makes everything feel alright. Life feels normal when embraced by his arms and surrounded by his aroma, because somehow, and someway, he has that effect on you.

But, naturally, every campfire goes out eventually. Whether from being out of fuel or simply due to weather, fires always extinguish.

Your eyes can barely process the words on the letter Shoko placed gently into your hands. Your vision blurred from the combination of tears and fatigue, the note's ink melds together in your mind, nothing making sense in your scatterbrained mind. The dampness of your eyes isn't helping your case, either; fallen teardrops cause the ink to spread, losing the integrity of their meaning.

"You don't have to-" Shoko begins, but you don't let her finish.

"No. I need to," you respond in a harsher tone than you intended to have. You know you shouldn't snap at her, since she has been the one practically keeping you alive as of late. She drags you out of bed, helps you shower, feeds you, and helps you to sleep. She really is an angel to you, and as much as you hate that she does not let you wallow in your pain, you are eternally grateful for her friendship.

It has been a few months at this point since Satoru Gojo officially died; rather, it has been a few months since the light of your life dimmed into nothingness, becoming one with the void, a black hole forming where your heart once was.

It's been a few months since you've felt his warmth.

Now, hypothermia has taken over your entire body, your fingers numb, akin to your heart. The blood in your veins is icy, and the tears that you have now run out of are frozen in their place down your face.

You are so, so cold. Freezing even.

And your warmth is gone forever; it has passed on to another life, another universe, another timeline. You're not sure what happens after death, but all you know is that he is not alive anymore. And it hurts. It hurts so, so much.

Nobara and Megumi had read their letters from Gojo months ago, but something about reading his writing feels like saying your finally goodbye to him, and you refuse to believe he is really gone. In your mind, by reading his letter, you are accepting his death - which you refuse to do. Honestly, you keep thinking that maybe one today, he will walk around the corner with a confetti cannon and jump out, yelling "Surprise!" and you would run into his arms, angry at his antics and telling him he had gone too far; but you would be happy again, because your body would regain it's heat, and you would feel whole again.

But it's not going to happen. He's gone. Even Gojo, the prankster he is, would not go that far with you. He is gone, and he wrote a letter in case this happened, and you are holding it in your hands, staring at it, and trying to read it, but none of the words process in your mind. You aren't sure you can do this. His script is almost taunting you, his handwriting a solemn reminder of what you had such a short time ago.

Even with all the evidence stacked against you and regardless of what everyone has been trying to tell you ever-so-gently, you are certain that psychologists lied about the stages of grief. There must be no stages, as you cannot find a cell in your body feeling anything other than denial.

"Hey," Shoko speaks as soft as ever. She kneels down in front of you, a hand on your knee, a tender look in her eyes. "I'm here for you."

"No, Sho. I hate making you see me like this. You shouldn't be taking care of me," you ramble. You have felt so guilty for the way she has been practically your nurse even amidst all of the duties naturally dumped on to her. Even at some of her busiest workdays, she still finds a way to care for you, too.

"No, no, no. Your pain is mine as well, okay? Take some of your own and give it to me if you need to. I'll take on whatever you need me to take on," Shoko says so softly, and so gently. If not for your vision being so blurry already, you would likely have caught the wetness forming in her eyes. "I'm not losing you, too."

And her last sentence is what breaks you.

You crumble into her arms, the grief taking over you as it so often has recently. She wraps her arms around you, and you hate that you wish it wasn't her arms, but Gojo's. You hate that her comforting you doesn't do much - you feel as empty and cold as you do without them. But it is nice to have someone to lean on, and you love her with your entire being, and you owe her the world for how she has taken care of you, so you give int o her embrace and let everything out. Her palm is flat on your back, moving up and down so tenderly, it is as if one wrong move will make you shatter into even more pieces of yourself. Your cries are painful. It's not easy for Shoko to listen to them, as every wail brings with it a resurgence of pain in her own body. She knows you need this, though, so she tightens her grip on you and takes on the inner pain you're releasing while you sob onto her shoulder.

You're not sure how much time goes by, but you eventually run out of tears and have numbed yourself to the thought of existing enough that you slowly back from her arms. You look at your best friend, and her dark circles look so much worse than they do normally, and a dulled pain runs through you as you realize that was likely your doing.

"I'm sorry," you barely whisper, as you barely have any energy to say the two words.

"Please don't be sorry. Like I said, we're in this together. You're my best friend. I will always be your shoulder to cry on," she smiles as she finishes speaking, but it does not reach her eyes. You reflect her smile on your face and nod, glancing at the paper in your hands.

"I'm gonna run to the restroom, okay? Will you be good?" she begins to stand as she speaks, hesitation within her every move.

"Yeah, of course," you say and nod, reassuring her that you will be fine. Shoko looks like she wants to say something else, hesitating, before deciding against it and standing. She walks to the door without another word, only a glance back to you to make sure you're still there - that you didn't disappear or face the same fate as has happened twice now to those she loved.

You return to the letter, your sweaty palms grip onto the white sheet in between them, a slight tremor to them signaling your anxieties. In a moment of clarity, you decide that you must read it - avoiding this will solve nothing. You need to read it.

So you do:

To the light of my life,

If you are reading this, then I am so, so sorry, love.

Please don't be mad at me. Everything I do is with you in mind - to protect you, to create a world safe for you to live in, to ensure you live a happy life, etc. Please know that. I know I can be impulsive and make rash decisions, but I make them with reason. And sadly, sometimes that means I have to make sacrifices, and I guess this time I had to make a pretty big one.

I know that you are hurting, and I hate myself for being the reason behind your pain. But you are so strong (Even stronger than me, honestly! I mean, you are still alive... sooo...) and I know you will get through this. For me, somewhat. But mainly for you.

I love you and I believe in you. The pain may be excruciating right now, but I promise you will be okay. We will meet again. I am certain of that. Please don't hold yourself back because of me. You deserve love and happiness, and I would kick myself in the afterlife if I was the reason you stopped yourself from getting that.

Don't forget me! Though, who am I kidding? Who would? >_<

Thank you for being my reason to keep going.

With all of the love in the universe, Your Toru P.S. Here is a reminder I love you for every day I won't be there but you will (and some extra!)

At the end of his letter, Satoru left a little doodle of you and him (him with kissy-lips), a big heart around the two of you, and the words "I love you!" written a million times around your figures.

As you take the contents of your letter in, wish so much that this letter could make you feel better, or make anything hurt less. But it doesn't. Honestly, it makes you angrier. How can he expect you to be okay? How can he even think that you will be okay without him?

Your arms wrap around your torso, the hoodie covering your figure still faintly smelling like Gojo. He haunts you - not just his scent, but his presence is everywhere. From the vending machines you two would contemplate almost daily which snack to get from it to his side of the best you sleep on every night, he is everywhere. His aura, his ghost, whatever it is. He is always there in the back of your mind.

Whatever closure Gojo wanted you to find after reading that didn't work, and you're not sure if you wish it did or not. How can he even consider you finding love or happiness in a world that does not have him in it? How are you supposed to fight curses from now on if you yourself were cursed with the agonizing pain of having lost true love? There is no you without him; and now that he is gone, a piece of your soul gone missing, there is only the shell of you that functions as barely even a human being. How could he do this to you? How dare he leave you behind like this?

The door to Shoko's office opens and signals her return, but your mind is too congested with your anger that you don't even acknowledge it. The same cycle of questions ruminate in your mind, echoing through the crevices of your mind that are slowly starting to lose a grip on the memory of him.

How could you forget him? His cheeky smiles when the two of you woke up bundled together in the morning are beginning to fade, along with the feeling of his hand in yours. How dare your mind betray you like this - how dare it act as if he was something forgettable.

Though, even though some memories are hazy, you will never, ever forget the way his love feels in your heart, as now it is gone, and it has left you unable to exist without it.

"Everything okay?" Shoko questions with slight apprehension, noticing a shift in the energy of the room.

"No. But it's fine. I'm fine," you answer, and you strain a small smile for her. "I think I am going to take a walk."

"Oh. Okay. Are you sure? Do you want me to go with?" Shoko seems rather confused as she responds - or maybe it's concern. As much as she trusts you, worry floods her mind at the thought of something happening to you. But you're an adult. She can't baby you.

"Yeah. Just need some fresh air," you respond and you grab your jacket, avoiding eye contact with the doctor, and rush out of her room before she can say anything else.

Once you are outside, the air is frigid, but you can't tell a difference between the temperature of it and you. Your body, your heart, your skin, your soul - they are all frozen in the absence of the one that that warmed them, and you fear they will never thaw for as long as you live.

A bench comes up as you round a corner, and you sit on it, allowing yourself to ruminate on the last words Gojo had for you.

And then, you yell. At the top of your lungs, you yell. Scream. Howl. Until your lungs run out of oxygen, you holler into the forest you sit at the edge of. When your throat feels raw, you continue your song of anger, gusts of wind humming along to your tune. His ghost still remains everywhere around you - you swear you can almost hear his voice in the wind's music.

As the wind blows, it takes your anger with it and leaves you again as a hollowed version of yourself: Empty and alone. The wind grieves with you, enwrapping you in a hum that is almost numbing the pain - an impossible feat, to be honest, because nothing will ever be strong enough to numb the pain you feel right now.

How will you live without your lifeline? How can he expect you to do that?

As you close your eyes and listen to the breeze, you find yourself fearing you will spend the rest of your life cold as ice, as now there is no fire to warm your hands, and there is no Gojo to warm your heart.

His fire has been extinguished, the newfound cold now fully embracing your soul. And maybe he is singing to you in the wind, but it will never be enough to regain your warmth.

sorry guys this got darker than i originally planned but i hope you enjoyed it as much as you could <3 I haven't written angst yet so i'm sorry this isn't the best, but i hope you enjoyed it anyway! love love love you, make sure you're taking care of yourself !!!

[johnnycakesswitch]

Soda having one of those high pitched laughs that get squeaky when he’s laughing really hard

Soda always cheating at cards and Steve always letting him

Steve purposely showing off how strong he is when girls are around the DX but it’s not for them it’s for Soda

Steve being REALLY good at whistling somehow

Steve and Evie who were childhood friends and are now each others beards

Soda and Steve dancing in the DX garage after hours

Steve laying with his head on Sodas chest for comfort after being kicked out and Soda playing with his hair

Steve finding Soda on the front porch of the Curtis house while his brothers are arguing loudly inside

Steve attempting to count Sodas freckles while he’s sleeping

Ponyboy hating that his brother is dating Steve but also seeing how much happier his brother is vs when he was with Sandy

Soda randomly revealing mean things Sandy said to him when they were dating and Steve wanting to burn the town down

Steve pretending he doesn’t like physical affection but he secretly loves when Soda hangs all over him

Soda always holding onto Steve’s arm whenever possible

Something about them patching each other up after rumbles

Something something Steve finding Soda after he’d been jumped one evening and not letting him go anywhere alone for months after

Something something Steve and Soda are exact opposites and therefore a perfect fit something

My sweet babies 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Live love stevepop

Every single one of these are perfect. Pls keep feeding me stevepop guys we need more of it like you can’t tell me they aren’t perfect for each other!!!

Also- I love the idea of mlm/wlw Steve and Evie bc as much as I love Stevepop the idea of Steve and Evie is so cute too so I love when Stevepop still incorporates her like yes they are bffs!!! Evie is the number 1 Stevepop supporter those are her bffs, her 4lyfers bruh, they’re a trio I love them

I love all of these so much thank you for blessing me with Stevepop 🙏❤️ now MORE 👹