#I MEAN JUST LOOK AT MATÍAS

[detection-official]

eye redesigns are going well so far!

[lieutenant-amuel]

Why is it so hard for people to believe that boys/men can be affectionate with each other without being a couple 😭

[piastrisun]

soft as yesterday.

pairings: franco colapinto + fem reader.

summary: reminiscing memories with your childhood friend sometimes bring feelings back, maybe even confessions.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 2.1k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: i don’t know how to feel about this but i live for friends to lovers trope!!! it’s everything to me.

the car hums softly as franco reclines his seat just enough to gaze out at the stars above. the midnight air slips through the slightly open windows, carrying the lingering warmth of summer—a perfect backdrop for the shared memories dancing between you. the laughter between you has faded into a warm silence. franco steals glances at you in the driver’s seat, both of you enveloped in the comfortable intimacy of the moment, his arm resting just close enough that you can feel the heat of him. you’ve spent the entire day together, a reunion of sorts with old friends—nico, matías, and paula—reminiscing about teenage memories. the weight of nostalgia pulls at your heart as franco glances your way.

“remember that time when nico tried to teach me how to skateboard?” you chuckle, brushing your fingers over your knee, the familiar warmth of the memory pulling you in. you glance down at the faded scar—a reminder of youth and recklessness. "i still have that scar."

franco lets out a low, warm laugh, the sound wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. his shoulder nudges yours, the space between you narrowing with ease. "yeah, and you said you were going pro after one lesson," he teases, his voice holding that familiar note of affection. “ambitious much?”

you bump him gently with your elbow, the playfulness dancing between you like it always had. "hey!" you protest, your lips curving into a grin. "i was fifteen. everything seemed possible back then."

his smirk deepens, eyes gleaming under the dim streetlights. "fifteen and apparently already getting kissed by him, too," he says, nudging you back, his words laced with mock scandal.

heat flushes your cheeks at the mention. you turn away for a moment, unable to resist glancing back at him, your heart fluttering at the sight of his amusement. "oh my god, not that," you swat at his arm, laughing despite yourself, but the laughter comes out softer.

franco chuckles, leaning in a little more, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath. "oh yes, that," he says, his grin widening. "we can’t forget about it."

you laugh, the sound resonating in the quiet of the car, your body relaxing into the moment. "it was a dark time for both of us," you admit, shaking your head, trying to keep the mood light.

he’s smiling, but there’s a flicker in his eyes, a change that you catch, though he tries to hide it behind the playful tone. "but you’ve dated other people, too," franco continues, a hint of something new creeping into his voice—an edge of insecurity he rarely shows. "he’s on the list."

you let out a breath, shaking your head again with a soft smile. “it’s not the same,” you say, trying to reassure him, but he’s still watching you, the joke not landing as it usually does.

his voice drops, a bit more serious now but still continuing with the banter. "but your first kiss was with him,” he points out, his gaze no longer teasing. “and you dated for a while."

the easy laughter fades as you roll onto your side to face him more directly. "c’mon, it was for like a month and we were kids," you say, trying to shrug it off.

franco turns onto his side too, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks at you, his eyes softened by the glow of the stars. "that stays in the history, though. you can’t delete that," he says quietly, almost like he’s testing the waters of what that past means to you now.

in the stillness of the car, with the vast universe above and the soft hum of the engine, you feel the shift between you, the lightheartedness evaporating. you two never really talked about the topic after it happened. you roll onto your back again, staring up at the sky as you gather your thoughts, then finally, you speak. "it was wrong in so many ways," you admit, "nico is family, and the same thing goes for matías and paula."

you feel him tense beside you, waiting for something, his breath catching slightly in the stillness of the night. he looks over at you, his voice almost hesitant now. "and me?" franco asks, his tone barely above a whisper. "what about me?"

your heart tightens in your chest as the air between you shifts again, heavy with unspoken things. as you look at him, really look at him, the boy you've known for years, the one who has always been there. no one has ever made you feel this way, not nico, not anyone else from your past. you always look for the right moment to confess, but it never seemed to come; it’s always been him, and admitting it now feels monumental.

you take a deep breath, the weight of the moment settling into the air between you. your voice is soft, but steady—carrying the quiet truth of what you’ve always known. "you’re different, fran. you always have been."

you don’t look at him right away, your gaze drifting toward the ground as if the confession might feel lighter if you don’t meet his eyes. but you can feel him shift beside you, his body suddenly still in a way that makes you aware of every inch of space between you. the stars above feel closer now, pressing down with the weight of what’s unsaid.

franco’s hand twitches beside yours, as if he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if it’s the right move. "different, huh?" his voice is low, barely above a whisper, but there’s a roughness to it now, a vulnerability that wasn’t there before. he clears his throat, his confidence faltering for once. "is that… good?"

you finally glance at him, meeting his eyes, and the look there makes your heart skip. there’s something raw, unguarded, in the way he watches you, like he’s letting down a wall you didn’t even realize was there.

“it’s good,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the night. the words feel bigger than they sound, echoing between you with more meaning than you’ve let on for years. he glances at you, his eyes searching yours, but he doesn’t reach for your hand just yet.

he shifts slightly, leaning back into his seat as he studies you, the moment hanging in the air like the stars above. “may i ask, different how?” his voice is low, barely more than a breath.

you smile, feeling warmth radiate from his gaze. “no one else has ever mattered like you do.” your words hang between you, heavy with the truth they carry, and as the confession leaves your lips, you feel a sense of relief, of finally letting go of everything you've been holding back.

he opens his mouth to speak, but for a second, no words come out—just the soft rise and fall of his breath as he takes it all in. “do you really mean that?” he asks, his voice quiet, almost like he’s afraid to break the fragile spell between you.

you nod, holding his gaze. “i do.” his eyes, those warm, familiar eyes, are full of emotion now—no longer teasing, no longer holding back. it’s all there, laid bare before you.

“i’ve loved you for as long as i can remember,” he admits, his voice soft but filled with raw, unfiltered sincerity. “i tried not to. i told myself it was just friendship, that what i felt wasn’t real, but it never went away. every time i saw you with someone else… it hurt. but i didn’t say anything because i didn’t want to lose you.” his hand trembles slightly as he reaches for your hand instead, grasping it firmly between both of his. you can feel the weight of all the years of buried feelings finally bubbling to the surface, coming undone.

you open your mouth to respond, to say something—anything—to ease the ache you hear in his voice. but franco shakes his head quickly, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips, silencing you. “wait,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. his eyes are almost pleading as they lock onto yours. “i just need to get this out. i can’t hold it back anymore.”

“i didn’t want to ruin what we had,” he continues, his voice low and earnest, every word weighted with the truth of his feelings. “i kept thinking i missed my chance, that you’d never feel the same way. and i couldn’t stand the thought of losing you because of it. i told myself it was better to keep quiet, to be your friend… but every time it killed me a little more.”

he closes his eyes for a moment, his breathing uneven as if he’s fighting with everything in him to stay composed. but when he opens them again, his voice trembling. “you have no idea what it’s been like,” he whispers. “seeing you laugh with them, knowing they got to hold you, kiss you… when all i wanted was for you to be with me.”

you can feel the desperation in his words, the way his grip tightens on your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, a soothing gesture that feels far more intimate now than it ever did before, like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you. your lips part again, wanting to say something, but you’re too lost in the flood of emotions that has overtaken you to talk. every inch of you is drawn to him, as it has always been.

he lets out a soft, shaky laugh, his lips curling into a sad smile. “i was terrified,” his voice cracking with the weight of his confession. “terrified that if i told you how i felt, you’d run. that i’d lose you completely, and i couldn’t bear that.” his voice lowers to a whisper, his eyes searching yours desperately. “but i can’t do it anymore. i’m done acting like i’m not in love with you.”

you lean into him, your hands slipping from his to rest on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart beneath your palms. the heat of his body less than half a meter from yours, the tremble in his hands, the way he’s looking at you like you’re his whole world—it all feels like too much, and yet, not enough.

“you never lost your chance. how could you when no one ever made me feel the way you do?” you finally manage to say, the words tumbling from your lips like a long-held secret, and you can hardly breathe as you lay your heart bare before him.

franco’s expression shifts, surprise washing over his features. his eyes widen slightly, a mix of hope and disbelief flickering there.

“i never wanted anyone else,” you continue, your heart racing as the vulnerability of the moment sinks in. “you’ve always been the one i cared about. the one who made the world feel brighter, the one who understood me in ways i never thought anyone could.” your voice softens, laced with a sincerity that makes your pulse quicken. “for the longest time i tried to convince myself that i only thought about you all the time because we’re friends, but every laugh we shared, every moment we spent together—they were pieces that only fit with you.”

his lips part slightly, the flicker of emotions in his eyes reflecting what you’ve felt all along. you can see the surprise melting into something deeper, a longing that mirrors your own. “i want you, franco. i’ll never stop wanting you,” you finish, feeling the warmth rise in your chest, a wave of relief washing over you as the truth finally spills into the open.

as your words linger in the air, you hold your breath, waiting for his response, the world around you fading away as the moment stretches, filled with unspoken possibilities.

“i thought it was just me,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a raw intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “i thought i was the only one.”

there’s a flicker of understanding between you, something that feels as if it has always been there, waiting for the right moment to break free.

“guess we were both too scared to say it,” you say softly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips, though it’s tinged with relief.

the corners of his mouth lift into a tentative smile, though there’s a hint of disbelief in his eyes. “yeah,” he says, the word heavy with meaning. “i just didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

you’ve both walked on this tightrope for so long, balancing between friendship and something deeper, and now, with every heartbeat, the air crackles with possibilities.

“it was never going to be ruined,” you say, your voice steadying as you lean in slightly, bridging that last gap. you reach up and cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs gently brushing against his cheeks as you look deeply into his oceanic eyes. the warmth of his skin beneath your touch reassures you. “not with you.”

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 24’.

[blasdavinci]

matías teaching you how to kiss but he’s so cocky and shit and things get heated 🙏

SOAKED - MATÍAS RECALT

pairing matías recalt x f!reader genre smut wc 1592 warnings cocky!matías, virgin!reader, mean dom!matías, pet names, degrading, not proof-read, lowercase intended (lmk if i missed anything!) synopsis matías teaching you how to kiss somehow turns into something more

you let out a frustrated sigh and thumped your phone down onto your lap, throwing your head back in annoyance. this caught the attention of your best friend, matías, who raised his eyebrows and looked over at you.

"what’s bothering you?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes in response.

"i have a date..." you muttered, running a hand through your hair.

"yeah, so what?" Matías questioned, setting his phone aside and facing you.

"okay, if I tell you, promise not to judge me," you said sheepishly, causing matías to roll his eyes.

"it's probably not that big of a deal," matías reassured, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips, "what is it?"

taking a deep breath, you sighed and turned to matías, who was waiting expectantly. "i… i've never kissed anyone before."

you looked down, playing with the hem of your shirt, and heard a snort of laughter escape matías's lips, causing you to snap your head up.

"you said you wouldn't judge!" you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"i know what I said, but..." matías tried to hold back his laughter, "is this a joke, y/n?"

"you're such a dick, matías," you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, "you're supposed to be my best friend."

"hey, okay, I'm sorry for laughing," matías said, his amusement still present, "i really am sorry."

"yeah yeah, whatever," you replied, rolling your eyes.

you stood up, intending to leave, but matías sighed and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down onto the couch next to him. his action made your eyebrows furrow. "what?”

"you've really never had your first kiss?" matías asked again, his eyebrows raised this time, the smile gone from his face.

"surprising, I know!" you rolled your eyes and threw your hands up, "but no, never."

matías remained silent, staring at you, causing you to tilt your head and regard him. "what is it?"

he suddenly grinned, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he looked at you, making your face grow hot and your thighs clench together. "i can teach you."

your eyes widened in surprise. You hadn't expected that response from matías. after all, you were best friends; would this go too far?

"would you actually?" you asked nervously, fiddling with the hem of your shirt again.

"come on, y/n, it's not that difficult," matías said, scooting closer to you, "just follow my lead, okay?"

"okay," you agreed, feeling your heart race with anticipation.

matías inched even closer to you, your bodies now just a few inches apart. He slowly cupped your jaw with his hand, locking eyes with you as he gently stroked your face.

without wasting any time, matías pressed his lips against yours, the kiss soft and gentle. instantly, butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you kissed him back, your mouths moving in perfect harmony.

matías's hands slipped to grip your waist as he pulled you onto his lap, placing his hands on either side of you. they roamed up and down your sides, eliciting a soft whimper from you, which only made matías smile against the kiss.

his hands then ventured down to grip your rear, causing a gasp to escape your lips as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. it became difficult to keep up with his tongue's movements, so you let him take control, allowing him to explore your mouth.

matías pushed you down against him, and you could feel his hardness beneath you, sending a wave of heat to your cheeks. you both had definitely crossed a line.

you involuntarily ground your hips against matías, earning a groan from him as he pulled away from the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. "don't do that."

"do what?" you asked innocently, looking up at him with a teasing smile.

matías glared at you, his intense gaze causing a wetness to form between your thighs. you slowly ground your hips against him again, drawing another groan from him. "You want me to stop that?"

"fuck," Matías muttered, picking you up and flipping you both over so that he was now on top of you, "you’re supposed to be my best friend, y/n, and now you're acting like a little slut. is that what you are?"

you didn't answer, prompting matías to shake his head as his hand went to the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging at them. you grabbed his arm and guided it back to where you wanted him most, pressing his palm against your clothed heat.

"what’s the matter, pretty girl, did you need something?" matías smirked down at you.

"please, mati, i need you," you whined, your gaze locked with his through your lashes.

"what do you need me to do, baby?" matías rasped, his hand returning to the waistband of your sweatpants and teasingly tugging at them, "do you want me to touch you?"

you hummed and nodded in response, but he glared down at you, snapping the waistband once again and amplifying the sensation between your legs. "use your words, pretty girl."

"please touch me, matías," you breathed out, your desire evident in your voice.

those few words were all it took for him to yank your sweatpants off completely, revealing your panties. matías ran his fingers teasingly over your clothed core, causing you to bite down on your lip as he continued to tease you.

"you're soaked, baby," matías grinned down at you, attaching his lips to your neck and leaving sweet, tantalizing kisses. a moan escaped your lips at the sensation, and he chuckled darkly. "all this for me?"

"fuck, matías, stop teasing," you whimpered, "just fuck me already."

matías smirked before discarding his own clothing, revealing his erect member. he grabbed a condom from the dresser, quickly putting it on and aligning himself with your entrance. he teased your entrance with the tip, eliciting a groan from him and a whimper from you. "matías, please."

with one last stroke against your sensitive folds, matías finally slid himself inside you slowly, causing a loud moan to escape both of your mouths. he let out a guttural groan as well, allowing you to adjust to his size.

"shit, you're so tight," he breathed out, gripping onto his back as pleasure coursed through your body, "start moving, matías."

"are you sure?" matías asked with a slight smirk, his eyes narrowed at you.

"yes, matí, i’m sure," you replied, your eyes roaming over him as you met his gaze, desire burning in your eyes.

without further hesitation, matías began to thrust in and out of you, starting off slowly. you held onto him tightly, your nails digging into his back as you moaned in contentment. your back arched as matías groaned above you, his hair falling over his eyes slightly.

"you feel so fucking good," matías groaned, his thrusts growing faster and harder.

"i-i’m close," you breathed out, feeling your orgasm building, a tight knot forming in your stomach.

"you wanna cum all over my cock, pretty girl?" matías groaned, his eyes locking with yours, "oh fuck, cum for me, baby."

your body tensed as the pleasure washed over you, and you let out a pornographic moan, completely lost in the euphoria of your climax. matías's thrusts became sloppier as he peppered your neck with wet kisses, his own release approaching.

"oh my god, please don't stop, matías," you cried out, your nails digging deeper into his back.

"fuck, y/n, you feel so damn good," matías groaned, his thrusts growing even faster and more erratic.

as the waves of pleasure subsided, matías pulled out of you and collapsed onto the couch beside you, both of you struggling to catch your breath. you had just lost your virginity to your best friend.

"that was... amazing," matías grinned, turning to look at you. however, he noticed the slight frown on your face. "what’s wrong?"

"we crossed a line, matías," you whispered quietly, your eyes meeting his, filled with uncertainty, "what does this mean for us?"

matías remained silent, his gaze locked with yours. suddenly, he leaned over and pecked your lips, his thumb rubbing gently along your jawline. "let me take you on that date, y/n.”

A/N: sorry for this late post </3 working on more reqs and will try to post at least 2 or 3 of them tmrw!

[sthavoc]

Hi! I love your Enzo fics! I was wondering about one where she's friends with a castmate and they all go out for a night and Enzo sees her dancing and is smitten with her? Like he's had a crush for a while and hasn't done anything so the guys are pushing them together

˚｡⋆🪩 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒, 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

𖥔 ࣪˖ pairing: enzo x fem!reader

𖥔 ࣪˖ summary: Enzo has had a crush on you for the past months after meeting you. The guys finally push the both of you together to talk as a form of little help to their friend.

𖥔 ࣪˖ warnings: mentions of puke, alcohol, and fluff

𖥔 ࣪˖ note: ohh goody!! I love a crushing enzo. thank you so much your nice comments mean a lot! I hope you enjoy it!<3 hoping I didn’t miss any grammar mistakes.

“Ya dale boludo. Por qué mejor no vas y charlas con ella en ves de estar aquí todo embobado viéndola.” Enzo turns his attention to the curly blue-eyed boy.

He hadn’t realized it yet but he had his eyes set heavy on you. He watched how you danced and sang the lyrics of any song that would be playing. Thinking you looked beautiful. Enzo was lucky you hadn’t noticed that he was gazing, he didn’t want to startle you away.

You had been friends with Juani for a while now, and he always invited you out with the guys. Since you were like a sister to him, he wanted you to hang out with him at all times. If possible. When you met Enzo, it was as if the world stopped for him, he found you mesmerized. The poor man couldn’t say a word, he didn’t want to mess up. The boys were getting tired of him, always telling him to go talk to you but Enzo just couldn’t bring himself to.

“No, que tiene miedo que no le de bola al nene,” Matías says in a joking tone. Enzo only rolled his eyes since he knew Matias was just making fun of him.

“Pero es que es tan hermosa que no se que decirle.” Enzo looked around towards his friend group who only stared back.

“Pues eso mismo. Que esta hermosa.” Blas points out. He didn’t think it should be that hard since he seemed calm about it. His tone said it all.

“¡Que no! No quiero ser directo.” Enzo’s hand points into the center as he speaks.

He was overthinking too much. He just wanted to try and find a good topic to talk about. Another possibility was he was just scared you wouldn’t want to talk to him.

“Ay, ya boludo. No más que viene pa’ acá.” Juani stands up waving his hand in the air with his cup on the other. He walked closer to Enzo before he spoke. “Te dejamos con ella y le hablas.”

“Juani pero si apenas y le puedo decir un hola.” The last syllable drags on his tongue while he faintly motions his hands towards your direction.

“Práctica.” A pat is set on Enzo’s shoulder by Juani. “Pero no me le hagas nada que te mato pelotudo.” He finishes his sentence and points his index finger at Enzo who only nods.

The boys stayed quiet for a second after you got there. You still had a bit of your drink, which you had asked Juani to take care of before getting up to go dance. You smiled at all of them while Juani spoke—

“Eh oye linda, fíjate que tenemos que salir corriendo que se le descompuso el auto a kuku-” Juani points towards Esteban. The poor guy was confused for a second but quickly followed along with the plan—

“Ah sí. Algo del combustible.” He makes up.

“Oh, okay.” You nodded.

“Sí pero te quedas con Enzo—” Juani gave him a small pat on the back while all Enzo could do was share a small smile as he glanced at you. Shortly he downed the rest of his drink in a nervous manner only he knew. You gave him a genuine one. “No estarías sola.”

You nodded while taking a sip of your drink. “Bueno, vayan. No pasa nada.”

After you say that, all of the guys disappear leaving you with Enzo in the bar. He felt like he was back in middle school, having his friends to help him stay with the girl, or himself being too scared to ask the girl out. But this was worse, he couldn’t even say a small hi.

“¿Como te la estás pasando?” You asked to break down the iced silence. In some way, Enzo was thankful, and on the other, he felt nothing but nervousness.

He decided to swallow the lump and speak to not leave you hanging. “Bien, bien. ¿Y tú?”

“Bien, divertido.” You nod.

In that moment the music shifted into a song that you recognized. La Tormenta de Arena by Dorian played. You watched how the lights dimmed into a dark blue and the flashes shifted with the rhythm of the beat.

“Ay, vamos a bailar.” You rose from your chair excitedly. A smile was spread across your face while Enzo’s face looked surprised.

“¿A- a bailar?” He swallowed. “No, nena. Creo que prefiero quedarme sentado.” He downed his shot shooting you a smile that made his eyes squint.

You giggled at his facial expression before you grabbed his hand and pulled. “Ay ándale solo somos tú y yo. Todos se fueron a arreglar el carro de kuku.”

Enzo thought about it for a moment. The guys had left just to get the two of you together, and right now you were asking to dance. This could be the chance for the two of you to finally start having more conversations. Get close.

“Dale.” He smiled. One that showed his dimples.

You dragged Enzo towards the dance floor that was full of people. Everyone moved to the rhythm of the music, bodies touching. Enzo could only smile as you brought him closer to you. He was admiring you. He admired how your skin reflected against the hue of the blue. How you smiled while you swayed your body to the beat. He only moved from side to side.

“¿Siempre eres así?” The same smile stayed on his lips. His voice had risen up due to the loud music.

“¿Así como?” You hollered coming closer to get a better listen.

His neck lowered down to get to your level. “De divertida.”

You picked up your head as you were about to answer, but you felt how a body pushed you over making you stumble into Enzo. His hands gripped your arms as you looked up towards him with a shy smile.

“Perdón.” You say pulling back.

“No pasa nada, nena.” His words followed a smile. “¿Volvemos?” He points back to the chairs on the bar making you nod.

The both of you walked away from the crowd as you looked around to see if you spotted the boys. But they were nowhere to be seen. You had ordered another round of shots for both, you and Enzo. He seemed to decline at first, saying he had already drunk too much, but you managed to convince him.

Four shots later of two rounds and you were giggly with Enzo. “No, no, en serio. Ese chico no tenía forma de liga. Llegue vomitada a mi casa.” You scowl at the memory.

Enzo and you had been talking about your past talking stages, or guys you had gone on dates with. He somewhat felt like he was getting good information on what you liked and what you didn’t.

“¿No, pero como se puede ser tan asqueroso?” Enzo laughed while you nodded along. “Y en su primera cita también. Me imagino que no lo volviste a buscar.”

“No.” A chuckle escaped your lips while a shake of the head followed. Enzo thought about asking a question he had been thinking about, but he wasn’t sure if he should. Until he downed another shot was when he did—

“Bueno, ¿y qué te gustaría que tú cita hiciera?” He questioned.

He felt like this conversation was perfect to ask this question. He knew he would not have another chance to at least know something, for if he ever invited you out on a date.

“Pues-” You sighed setting the piece of lemon into the small tray. “Me gustaría que sea simpático. Que tengamos cosas en común, haga chistes o que no sea serio.” You shrugged. “También lo más importante que no sea un patan y se crea el centro de atención.”

“¿Y tienes cita ideal?” He titled his head towards the side somewhat squinting his eyes.

“Mmm. Siempre he querido ir a la playa y hacer como un picnic. Ver el atardecer, con Bob Marley de fondo.” You giggled before speaking again.

noted.

By that time both you and Enzo watched as the guys came back towards the both of you. All of them circled where you and Enzo were before Juani spoke—

“¿Como andan?” He looked straight at Enzo with a smirk, but then toward you.

You nodded. “Bien. Bailamos y nos tomamos unos tragos.” You glanced at Enzo with a small smile while Juani nodded with raised eyebrows that followed a smile on his lips, that was somewhat opened.

“Ah, ¿en serio?” Juani patted Enzo’s shoulder. “Que bueno.”

Enzo knew where Juani was going. He just wanted him to stop talking so he wouldn’t say anything that could come out in a wrong way. He thankfully did and didn’t say anything wrong.

However, after all, he was thankful to the boys for giving him this small push. Without it, he wouldn’t know if he was going to ever be able to talk to you. This somewhat made it better, and he felt like the two of you had gotten closer than you were.

[iwaoiness]

Iwaizumi, leaning against one of the barriers separating the stands from the rink, just a few meters away, smiles in amusement when a staff member stops Oikawa in front of the advertisement panel, where a group of eager journalists from various international sports outlets are waiting. Tooru hands over his water bottle after taking one last hurried sip and flashes them a bright, radiant smile before greeting them.

Then the round of questions begins, and Oikawa, with his hands behind his strong back and his tempting hips slightly tilted into his most comfortable stance, lets his tongue take the lead. He answers everything with charm and ease, drawing out a few collective laughs and subtly sidestepping the more personal questions so smoothly it's almost imperceptible. But the best part—the most amusing thing that will never cease to fascinate Iwaizumi no matter how many years go by—is the way Tooru switches between languages effortlessly, without the slightest hesitation.

When they speak to him in Spanish, Oikawa responds in nearly native Spanish, complete with his little filler words, that distinct "sh" sound, his melodic intonation, his voice a bit deeper. When they speak in English, Oikawa replies in smooth English, only tripping over the more complex words, slipping in some Californian slang, his voice a bit higher. When they speak in Portuguese (to many people's surprise), Oikawa answers in playful, cheerful Portuguese, a tone that matches his grin too well, leaning on his Spanish when he can’t find the right words, his voice soft. And when they switch to Japanese, Oikawa responds with a fluency that's one of a kind, his tone shifting into something that feels like coming home after months away, his tongue rejoicing in finally using those words from his native language that just don’t have the right weight in other tongues, his voice genuine.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, the session wraps up despite some mild protests from the journalists, and Oikawa bids them farewell with heartfelt gratitude. Hajime straightens up, never missing how Tooru looks for him with his eyes, how his slight pout melts into a sweet smile and a twinkle in his gaze when he finds him.

Damn it, he loves him so fucking much.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa jogs over, arms already outstretched to wrap around his neck in a warm hug, which Hajime quickly returns, his own arms finding their place around Tooru’s waist.

“Hey, babe. Good job today.” He places a soft kiss on Oikawa’s neck, near his jugular.

“Did you catch the whole interview?”

“Of course, mister it-was-a-very-intense-matcha.”

“That was just a slip-up, Iwa-chan! You’re so mean! Match and matcha sound really similar!” Oikawa protests childishly, lifting his face to pout at him under his messy bangs.

Iwaizumi grins playfully, pulling one hand away to reach into his pants pocket, where a ripe banana is sticking out. Oikawa’s eyes light up when Hajime hands it to him, and he snatches it immediately.

“I disagree, Iwa-chan is the best!” Oikawa self-corrects, practically moaning as he takes the first bite after peeling it with the hunger of a pro player who’s just played four hard-fought sets in the VNL quarterfinals.

Hajime rolls his eyes in amusement, watching him fondly, Oikawa’s voice still echoing in his mind like a mantra in four different languages: Go shitsumon arigatōgozaimasu, jitsuwa kono gēmude wa…", "No sentí que Matías estuviera en baja forma, solo que estaba boludeando demasiado en el primer set, de hecho…", "If I had to decide which set was more intense, I’d definitely say the second one—did you see that 6’7” opposite hitter who came in mid-set? And don’t even get me started on...", "O melhor momento sem dúvida foi quando chegou a vez do Lucar sacar, ele tentou um saque para cima e o idiota achou que tinha acertado a bola em um ângulo bom, mas ele bateu direto na cabeça dele. Ah, e também quando..."

“You know,” Hajime says, catching Oikawa’s attention as he chews, his right cheek bulging, “the way you speak so many languages and switch so easily is pretty hot.”

Just two seconds later, Iwaizumi regrets those words deeply when Tooru blinks at him, wide-eyed, before a mischievous smile spreads across his face, his eyes narrowing playfully. Hajime’s cheeks flush instantly because he knows that fucking smirk all too well, and damn the moment I opened my stupid mouth.

“Ara, ara, Hajime-chan! I didn’t know you had that kind of kink!”

“It’s not a kink,” Iwaizumi mutters through clenched teeth, glaring at him with burning cheeks.

“There’s no need to be so shy, my little big boy!” Oikawa widens his smile and tilts his head slightly, blinking in that way that makes Hajime’s pants feel suddenly tighter. “I can moan for you in four different languages when we’re in bed,” he assures, his voice low, gravelly, and damn tempting as he slowly bites off another piece of the banana, never once breaking eye contact with Iwaizumi, who feels his throat suddenly go dry.

And, oh.

Oh, shit. Merda. Kuso. Mierda.

...

maybe i'll post this on ao3 cuz its so so so funny

u can fine me on my ao3 and this is my carrd 🍉

[slyscoutess]

SUMMARY: your fans notice a very strong change in the way you've been acting lately, compared to a few weeks ago, last few weeks in which you seemed happier than ever, do your new feelings mean a new album coming to their liking or is it just a strong reason for them to worry. . . It seems like you should never have opened your heart to someone in an open relationship.

⌜ TAGS angst and some kind of fluff, reads like you’re high, nothing here is real, everything is your imagination, don’t confuse with reality, kuku and Enzo being toooo old to handle this young in love people shit ( I love them, it’s not hate )

⌜ MAIN PARING matías recalt x fem!singer!reader

⌜ NOTES : smau, the faceclaim chosen was: @ ssavannahsmithh on Instagram, the songs used on this plot belong to Raye on her Album "My 21st Century Blues"

⌜ STATUS on going

⌜ WRITER : I'm just going to pretend that my first post isn't for a half meter tall Argentinian who looks more like the 🧍🏻 emoji than a person

( introduction ) - 04.03.24

( oscar winning tears ) - loading . . .

. . . more to come.

[ tradução em português ]

[popmusicu]

Soundtracks that transcend: Supergiant Games and the strength of diegetic music

Since their inception as a games studio, the independent company Supergiant Games has been known for creating what can only be described as art; games that go beyond the usual constraints of the medium, that elevate what once was mere entertainment into engaging storytelling, full of memorable setpieces and gorgeous art direction. While looking at the studio’s catalogue, be it their 2011 debut title Bastion or their latest hit Hades II, one not only finds a distinctive and gorgeous artstyle or lush level design, but also an instantly recognizable soundtrack that chronicles each games’ journey. A piece of the puzzle oft overlooked in film and television, here Supergiant utilize the original soundtrack to hone in on an identity for their titles, and all thanks to their particular approach to said OSTs: making them diegetic.

What differentiates Supergiant Games’ approach is, indeed, the fact that most of the music found in their games can be directly tied and linked to a particular character singing and playing said songs. Since their very first game, the studio understood that to craft a complete title, no part of the experience could feel secondary, and as such, music was elevated from mere background to the forefront. All throughout their catalogue one can find characters with the voice of singer Ashley Barrett or composer Darren Korb, seamlessly interwoven into the narrative and world. In 2014’s Transistor, for example, the protagonist Red is a famous singer that goes mute during the start of the main conflict. However, we can still hear her voice at certain times, as her songs play at key sequences. Due to that, the soundtrack is immedialtely framed as part of the world, and not just set dressing made for us players. The effect is that each track becomes all the more memorable and impactful, with lyrics that at the same time serve as worldbuilding and storytelling.

While Transistor may be the most blatant example, as I said, every title carries that same approach to music. Pyre (2017) has us travel with a minstrel in our wagon, while Hades (2020) utilizes mythical figures such as Orpheus and Eurydice to sing melodies about Greek gods and their own distanced relationship. I could go on and on with examples and highlights, but what I really mean to say is: these soundtracks go beyond their constraints, and hold their own as bodies of work. Take a listen to the fantastic Transistor OST full of trip-hop reminiscent of Portishead with an electronic edge, or the angsty-yet-fun rock of Hades, you won't be disappointed.

Matías Flores

[hbosscreations]

I love that you made him younger. Part of the tragedy of Noah is that he’s nearly a man by society’s standards, but it’s clear that he’s been treated like an adult for a lot longer. Even John is guilty of it, Noah drives him everywhere, Noah follows orders, we never really get to see him act like a kid. The closest I can point to is a panel in The Favourite where he reaches out the car window to play with Water-Wheel’s cats that she just apparently let’s wander outside of Grokk & Roll. It’s nice to get the visual cue of him still being a child, despite not even the artists treating him like one.

He barely has a face model, which makes me crazy. His jaw, mouth, nose, and eyes barely stay the same panel to panel, let alone across issues, and Aaron Campbell’s art style of keeping everything dark and shaded means that even if he didn’t intend to make Noah look like an old man, he absolutely does. While I do prefer the art in the issues done by Matías Bergara because I can actually see what’s happening, he’s so much worse at drawing Noah than Aaron Campbell if Noah is there at all.

I was CRUSHED when they shaved his head after Scrubbing Up Part 2. I understand why they did it, the same way I understand why they put him in that weird shirt that looked like the title card for Saved By The Bell, but man I wish that they’d given him some love and care with his hair. A quick google search won’t tell me if Aaron Campell is American or not, but it does absolutely have some American hair policing vibes.

Does this mean that sometimes Goldie follows Noah around? Man, the shenanigans! Teenage boy tries to get the little kid who thinks he’s neat to leave him alone so he can do teenage boy things. Instead becomes assigned babysitter. Noah not saying anything about Goldie out of politeness or whatever and getting the very wrong impression is just…chef’s kiss. He’s gonna take care of this disaster man and the ghost that haunts him. I wonder if Noah worries about Goldie wandering off by himself, he knows that demons are real, would he be concerned about a ghost’s safety? I’m all up in my feels about this now!

Oh man. So, I don’t know if anyone else reads it this way, but Noah only has one vocal sound effect in the entirety of the 2019-2020 run.

I’ve always thought because of this that Noah is basically incapable of making noise from his mouth, but I do love the idea of Noah and Goldie mimicking each other’s noises and learning to communicate that way as well. Goldie letting out an uneasy giggle if something feels wrong or Noah humming a lullaby for Goldie like his mum did.

I desperately want John to discover random sweets hidden around his flat and just being utterly confused by it. Did he buy these? Why would he do that? Why would he hide them? Is this a prank? Was he drunk? Meanwhile, Noah and Goldie understand the value of not telling John things sometimes.

I have been working on a rewrite of Marks of Woe and The Best Version of You, so I’ve been trying to make some in universe justifications for why these things exist. The biggest ones I can think of are ageist (how dare this child look at a phone instead of me?), ableist (how dare this person look at a phone when I’m talking to them?) or racist (a black ‘gangster’ is reaching into their pocket, must be going for a weapon!). I think all of those things can actually be useful if you’re going to address the topic, but yeah, it’s clear that the creative team didn’t care all that much about Noah as himself. They didn’t think about the kid basically at all.

Truly, I love your work, it’s always a delight to see a new post and I’ve really enjoyed your thoughtfulness toward the characters and how their stories could have been. You got me back into Martian Manhunter! It’s always a delight to find a new post, even if it’s a work in progress or a single drawing.

I am 100% a Noah Ikumelo stan. I fell in love with him from the very first panel he was in with the cricket bat, and I’m so sad that he doesn’t get more love.  There’s like, zero fanart, he’s in less than 10 fics on Ao3, and the only meta I have seen that goes around about him is ‘John shouldn’t have kids’ and ‘look at this ableist thing’ (which I’ve been super guilty of perpetuating). I have never loved a character so much who was given so little panel time and definitive personality.

How does Goldie feel about Noah Ikumelo?

(Tiny gold ghost plushie. Double naps.)

So!! I'm endlessly fascinated with cases of Chimera twins where the surviving twin has a child but ended up passing the deceased twin's genes instead of their own. This idea that they ended up living on in someone new when they never got a chance to exist? Amazing. I love twin science. It's like cosmic horror. Since John and Goldie are identical twins, their chimerism is essentially undetectable (identical sets of DNA being mixed)- but that doesn't mean a part of Goldie doesn't pass on genetically to Noah.

Speaking of Noah! Here's my take on him! I aged him down to 14 and went for a younger look (the artists couldn't make up their mind with what his face and especially hair looks like so I went with a combo of his hairstyles but also something new). Noah doesn't know Johnstantine is his dad- that's still a secret John keeps to himself.

tiny golden ghost plushie.

guilt ridden naps,,,

[lieutenant-amuel]

Rosette for the Oc ask game

Thank you so much!! And I’m really sorry for making you wait!

🏵️ [ROSETTE] What flower symbolises your OC best and why? What does the flower mean in floriography?

Honestly, this is a difficult question because I never thought about flowers and have no idea what they symbolize XD

Anyway, I looked for their meanings online and since you didn’t specify the character, I’m gonna take all the main characters from Was Born To Lead plus Leticia (no Fausto or Verónica, because neither of them has a well-thought personality yet).

Valerio.

Honestly, Valerio is the easiest and the hardest at the same time because I have a lot to say about him, therefore, it's hard to choose just one flower that would embody him in all his depth ×) yet who said I'm supposed to choose just one >:)

Angelica - this flower symbolizes inspiration in the first place. Valerio is encouraging, he always sees one's strenghts and helps them to direct them into the right way. Being helpful to others is the meaning of his life, so I think this flower is a good choice for him.

Marigold - honestly, I hesitated to choose this flower, because it has an important meaning for the existing holiday and associating my character with it is kinda weird. Anyway, it symbolizes many things that I associate with Valerio like grief, restoration/renewal, positivity. Despite being a symbol of death, it carries a bright meaning, and Valerio, despite going through so many horrible things in his life, stayed a warm and kind person, so I think it really fits him well.

Lotus - it symbolized rebirth, enlightenment, self-realization, and new beginnings. I know it might not seem fitting for him for now, but the main point of Valerio's story is to find his true purpose in life. He never did what he wanted when he was a child/teen, he went through trauma that made him run from his problems instead of dealing with them, which definitely doesn't allow him to live the way he would like. But one day, he'll be happy. Truly happy (also daffodils symbolize something similar and I want to include it, too, maybe even instead of lotus, because lotus has several different meanings)

And also amaranth because it symbolizes undying love 💔

Ángel - sunflower.

Honestly, I thought of this flower for Ángel even before I started looking for the meanings XD Sunflower is a symbol of happiness, optimism, and devotion, and I think all of this describes Ángel quite well.

Frida - lavender.

Lavender is a symbol of calmness, serenity, silence, and devotion. It also represents elegance, and Frida is quite feminine, so I think it fits her.

Matías - valerian.

Oh yeah, that rare flower that doesn't symbolize love and purity ×)

Matías was extremely hard because most of flowers that represent strength (which definitely applies to him) also imply courage, endurance, strong will, and other stuff like this. Well, yeah, it does fit him but these are not the main aspects of his personality. He's rather grounded, practical, and rational than ambitious and success-driven.

So, I chose valerian because in the first place it symbolizes strength, awareness, health, and integrity that I think fits him the best, knowing how, to be fair, "normal" he is.

Emilio - begonia.

First of all, it symbolizes caution, and I think it fits Emilio, knowing how incredulous he is. But it also a symbol of individuality (which allow me to interpret both as loneliness and creativity), gratitude, and peace. Yeah, the last two ones don’t really fit but just wait for the conclusion of Emilio’s story~

Leticia - lupine.

I know she appeared just once and it was in a flashback but I adore her and can’t help but include her.

Lupine symbolizes imagination, happiness, admiration, new opportunities, and a hunger for life, and I end here so I don’t spoil you too much yet give you a clearer picture of her :3

Thank you again! That was difficult but also super interesting to answer this question!

OC Ask Game

[archduchessofnowhere]

The Collection Tatiana Zubov, or how I found a tiny bit of Imperial Russia in Buenos Aires

I don't know about you, but I haven't set a foot in my college ever since the pandemic broke out. Since the beginning of 2020 I only had virtual classes, which means that I hadn't seen my college friends for almost two years. But now we are all fully vaccinated, and the cases had been dropping for a while, so we decided to finally meet up again. When choosing where to go, one of my friends suggested the Museo Nacional de Arte Decorativo (National Museum of Decorative Art), which is in the City of Buenos Aires, and we all agreed. I've never heard of this Museum before, but it looked like a beautiful place, and I just love going to museums. Also, the entrance is free, so that's a nice plus.

The Museum is also an actual palace.

The Errázuriz Palace was the home of the Chilean diplomatic Matías Errázuriz and his Argentinian wife Josefina de Alvear. It was designed by the French architect René Sergent (though the couple intervened a lot in this process) and built during the decade of the 1910s. The Errázuriz-Alvear only lived twenty years in the mansion, and in 1937 it was acquired by the Argentinian State; it has been a museum ever since. Because of this, it's the only French-style mansion open to the general public in Buenos Aires.

Via National Museum of Decorative Art

When in a place of such lavishness you can either to be lowkey horrified at the wealth of the early 20th century Argentinian aristocracy (Really? A palace for only four people?? Built during WWI??), or to imagine that you are the protagonist of a period drama film. I chose both, in that order. I was absorbed in my third fantasy in which I was a Jane Austen heroine wandering around my romantic interest's manor, when suddenly this dude showed up:

Nicholas I of Russia, by George Dawe, early 19th Century (National Museum of Decorative Art)

If you follow me here you know that the Wittelsbachs and Habsburgs are my main interest, but I also have a soft spot for the Romanovs, specially the ones from the 18th and early 19th century. So of course I was glad to find a "familiar" face in this place. And I also thought it was a bit strange. How did the portrait of a Romanov emperor ended up there?

We kept walking through the museum, visiting the different rooms (part of the palace was kept as it was in the times its original owners lived in it), and then we entered into this room:

Via National Museum of Decorative Art

Yep, that's Catherine the Great over there. She's a lot of times in this room. And not only her: Emperor Paul, Emperor Alexander I and his Empress Elizaveta, Grand Duke Konstantin and many minor princes and princesses were here too. I was on my area here, and went around the room talking about Russian and fashion history to my friends (yes I'm annoying when I like something, sorry). But now my curiosity was skyrocketing. European art it's not unusual in Argentinian museums. Russian art it's rare though. And Imperial portraits? To me, until that moment, it was unheard of. How did all these portraits ended up here?

Throughout that room, and in other rooms too, there were two names that kept popping up: "Tatiana Zubov" and "Countess Rosario Zubov". Rosario isn't a Russian name at all, so I thought that there had to be a a story there. When I got back home that night I immediately looked up who these women were, and what was their connection to the Museum, and to Russia. It turns out, there was indeed a story, one that went back to the times of Catherine the Great. So how did a collection of 18th and 19th century Russian and European art ended up in a Museum in Buenos Aires?

Our story starts in 18th century Russia with Count Alexander Nikolayevich Zubov, an impoverished nobleman who had four sons and two daughters. Out of them, the most known is Count Platon Alexandrovitch Zubov, who went down in history for being the last lover of Empress Catherine the Great, from 1789 until her death in 1796. During his seven years as a favorite Platon and his family raised in rank and fortune, but they fell out of favor after Catherine's son, Emperor Paul, whom the Zubovs opposed, came into power. But Paul's time in power didn't last for too long: five years into his reign, he became extremely unpopular amongst the nobility and soon a faction of officers decided that he needed to go. And that meant that he needed to die.

Like the rest of the family, Platon's eldest brother Nikolay had been greatly benefited by his brother's relantionship with Catherine, and had also suffered the lost of favor during Paul's reign. According to Wikipedia, out of the six children of Count Alexander Zubov, four actively participated in the conspiracy to murder Emperor Paul. The night of March 23 of 1801, a group of dismissed officers broke into the newly finished Mikhailovsky Castle where Paul was staying. Platon and his brother Nikolay were amongst them. The plotters tried to make the Emperor sign his abdication, but he resisted. Nikolay was the first to struck Paul, and soon the rest of the plotters followed him strangling and beating the Emperor to death (according to witnesses, Platon just watched). Then, Nikolay went to look for Paul's son and heir, Alexander, who was also in the palace where the assassination took place, announced him that he was now the Emperor, and added "Time to grow up! Go and rule!"

Nikolay was married to Natalia Alexandrovna Suvorova, the only daughter of Count Alexander Suvorov, and they had a son named Alexander. He in turn married Natalia Pavlovna Scherbatova and they had a son, Platon, perhaps named after his infamous great-uncle. Platon married Countess Vera Sergeevna Plautina, and they had a son named Sergei. This Count Sergei was married in 1906 first to Countess Elizaveta Alexandrovna Scheremeteva, and they had two children. For some reason unknown to me, they divorced in 1916. And then the Russian Revolution happened, and like many aristocratic families, the Zubovs scatered into exile all over the world.

It was during this period that Sergei met one of the richest Argentinian heiresses of the time, Rosario Schiffer de Larrechea, the young widow of an Italian count. They married in Geneva in 1922, and a year later their only child, Tatiana, was born. The family divided their time between Geneva, where the Zubovs had a mansion, and Buenos Aires, where they ended up settling down. During these years Sergei's art collection grew as he added more items to the ones he had inherited from his family. But tragedy struck when in 1957, aged 33 years-old, Tatiana met an untimely death in a car crash in Uruguay. Two years later, Rosario created the Foundation Tatiana Zubov in Geneva and donated half of their art collection to be displayed in a museum with the same name that still exists and you can visit. Sergei died seven years after his daughter in Buenos Aires, aged 82 years-old. And in 1977 Rosario donated the other half of their collection to the Museo Nacional de Arte Decorativo in the memory of her daughter. What happened to the Countess after that, I don't know: I couldn't find any more information about her.

Portrait of Countess Rosario Schiffer de Larrechea de Zubov, by Zinaida Serebryakova, 1939 (National Museum of Decorative Art) // Portrait of Tatiana Zubov, by Marie Thèrese Geraldy, 1929 (National Museum of Decorative Art) // Portrait of Count Sergei Platonovitch Zubov, by Giovanni Boldini, 1913 (The State Russian Museum)

The portraits of Rosario and Tatiana are two of the main items of the museum. Even amongst Empresses and Emperors, their images stand up and leave an impression in you. Meanwhile this portrait of Sergei ended up in his homeland in The State Russian Museum, thousands of kilometers away from the pictures that immortalized his wife and daughter.

There are over two hundred miniatures and dozens of portraits, mainly from Russia but also from France, England and other places of Europe. Given the images limit of Tumblr posts and the fact that the camera of my cellphone sucks and therefore the quality of the photos that I took it's total crap, I'll limit to the most famous sitters of this paintings. Also because I'm an idiot I didn't write down the names of all the painters of this portraits, so sorry about that.

Empress Catherine was all over the place on this collection. I choose to believe that she personally gave this images of herself to her boyfriend Platon.

If any of you follow me on my main you'll know that I've been absolutely OBSESSED with The Great since the second season dropped two weeks ago, so casually stumbling with the actual Catherine while I was meeting up with my friends was kinda crazy to me (in the first picture she's clearly judging me for shipping the show's Catherine and Peter with a burning passion).

Emperor Paul // Catherine the Great // Count Platon Alexandrovitch Zubov (I've been trying to decipher the artists names but the sign it's unreadable).

Yep, the portraits are hanged next to each other in this order (you can see them in one of the pictures of the room I put above). Sometimes a family it's you, your mom, and her lover who will literally team up with a bunch of guys to kill you in a couple of years.

Emperor Alexander I of Russia and Empress Elizaveta // Alexander I of Russia (when a Grand Duke) // Grand Duke Konstantin of Russia

The first picture it's the worst one that I took because it's moved and I didn't realize this until I was at my house. It's what happens when you take pictures while excitedly explaining the line of succesion of the Russian throne in the 19th century I guess.

Not all were Romanovs though. The Bonapartes were here too!

Empress Josephine // Emperor Napoleon // Hortense de Beauharnais, Queen of Holland // Empress Marie Louise. All by Jean-Baptiste Isabey, early 19th century.

I had a great time at the museum mainly because I was with friends that were willing to listening to me rambling about Romanovs and 18th and 19th century fashion (thanks for putting up with me guys), but also because it's a beautiful place, with an almost hidden small treasure of Imperial Russia. Originally built for the élite, the doors of this palace are now open to anyone who wishes to enter, so if you ever have the chance to go to the City of Buenos Aires, do consider visiting it. It's definetly worth your time.

SOURCES: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

[papcr-rlngs]

"My dream was always helping you achieve yours. My dream was always you, as cliche as it sounds. Getting you out of that hell hole. Away from the abuse. From the misery. Working as much as I did to get us here. And then helping you during school. Getting my business degree just made the most sense. I wanted the shop to be successful, and look at this little corner of heaven that we've built for ourselves here. I know we took a leap of faith all those years ago, but I would do it again and again with you." He knew maybe it was a bit of lip service, telling his husband everything that he needed to hear, but it didn't make it any less true. He absolutely adored Gabriel, and would've done anything and everything for him and his happiness.

While their life hadn't come with a lack of sacrifices, their current success and stability had made it all worth it in the end, just like he had promised Gabriel when they were 18 and 20 when he slipped the shiny engagement ring he had worked for weeks to afford. It wasn't anything flashy, not the first iteration at least. The money was better spent getting them out and onto their next adventure.

"Miserable old man? Hardly from it. Just because you're going through a rough patch doesn't mean that you're miserable. And you're barely greying, you aren't old." He ran a hand through his husband's hair. "But I'm planning on loving you for the rest of my life. Even when you actually do become a miserable old man. Just remember, though, I'll always be older." He gently pressed three kisses to his husband's face- one on his forehead, the tip of his nose, ending with kissing him deeply on the lips.

"Do I need to go grab one of our pre-rolls to help you mellow out? The wine doesn't seem to be working." Matías motioned towards where their stash was hidden in the kitchen, keeping one hand securely on the small of his back. "Just a few hits. Something to calm your mind. I know it always seems to work."

when they moved to new york twenty years ago, gabriel had no idea what to expect from their new life. a shiny new engagement ring on his finger and a mutual hope for something better than he had previously known. it didn’t come without hardships and countless hours of work, but they had made it. they had made their little life for each other, with each other. truthfully, some mornings gabriel still woke up thinking he was in a dream.

matías' arm around him made gabriel feel like he could take on the world. like he was invincible. like he could maybe muster up the courage to reach out to his sister. he relaxed into his husband, his wine over halfway gone now. "you're right. there's a huge chance that i wouldn't be here, but we don't need to talk about that."

he hated nights like this only because he felt like a burden to matías. he hated feeling like the world was crashing around him around the holidays. gabriel made no attempt to leave matias' grip, instead burying his face into his husband's neck. "thank you for being here with me. thank you for letting me live out my little dream of owning a flower shop. thank you for being a miserable old man's husband."

[dinawrites]

Westwood is so compelling im ALSO beguiled just like Tristan rip

I saw that youre open for ocs in westwood - do you have any rules for that? Creatures you creature types you don't want included or canon characters you don't want to interact with oc ideas? Rules for posting and sharing westwood oc ideas?

Anything like that? I just dont want to overstep cos this entire world is so cool an intricate and youre already so nice for letting others play in your sandbox

Thank you so much! This is genuinely so heart-warming to hear. I'm so glad that people are liking Westwood. I was worried for a bit that I was the only one who was going to be obsessing over it, so to hear these words have really validated me like a parking ticket. And to know that people actually want to create OCs for it?! I really cannot wrap my head around it. When I pitched the idea to some friends about creating OCs for Westwood, the response was a little bit shaky and disheartening, so I really didn't want to push the idea at all. But I initially created Westwood Academy with the intention of it being a safe place for fun, non-committal OCs and I'm really open to any and all OCs for Westwood. In fact, I encourage it!

I really don't want to be restrictive, but I do have some rules for Westwood OCs, the biggest being:

Please abide by the rules of the Westwood Universe.

One of the things I didn't like about media like The Vampire Diaries, Twilight, Teen Wolf, etc. is that they would begin with previously established rules and then progressively break each and every single one. The consequence of this are the stakes, now made non-existent, and characters are in danger of being so overpowered, every threat becomes laughable or easily vanquished. An example of this is Hope Mikaelson being a Tribrid, when it was previously stated that a vampire could not also be a witch. Also, why is it necessary for someone to not only possess the superhuman speed and strength of a vampire, but also turn into a wolf, and also be able to do magic?

To prevent this, I've created a set of Laws of Lore that governs the world of Westwood:

The Westwood Six (Witches, Sorcerers, Warlocks, Fae, Werewolves, Vampires) are the only creatures admitted into Westwood, as they are the pillars that make up the Recondite Citizenry.

Any other creature has not done so, are not represented on the Eldritch Council, and have elected to remain independent of the Citizenry. Although this means their freedom, it also means they are isolated from aid.

The Unseelie Court (including Imps) have no interest in interaction with the mortal plane, and thus do not attend Westwood.

The only ones capable of creating half-Fae are Elves, and even so, many do not survive to adolescence.

Nymphs have minor manipulation over their respective elements (otherwise, what reason do I have for Sorcerers?)

Warlocks are at the mercy of their Demons. The only one to have achieved ownership of his own free will was Atticus Aimes, and was driven mad by it.

The First Families were the first Witches to settle in Westwood, not the first ever Witches. More Witches exist outside of the Families, and are safe from the bloodcurse.

Hybrids cannot, and, in the current timeline of Ottoline's enrollment, do not exist. Many die, as they are unnatural, and cannot survive in nature. The only thing outside of this is Warlocking oneself, in which it is a matter of possession. Atticus himself was a Witch when he sold his soul to The Fiend.

Werewolves die during the Warlocking process as their bodies reject the Demon, and Vampires cannot enter a demonic bargain as they have no soul to sign.

Only Werewolves exist.

Only a few Witches, Warlocks, and Sorcerers remain, so I will eventually have to put a cap on how many more of them can be admitted to Westwood. But as of now, feel free to make OCs for the Troika!

Outside of that, anything goes! Canon characters are all available for OC interaction. Some canon relationships to know about beforehand:

Ottoline, Thomasin, and Eliseo are the Golden Trio of Westwood

Ottoline and Ulric are an OTP but it's a slow-burn, and we love unnecessary angst. So he is available for pairings during his and Otto's "enemies" phase of Enemies-To-Lovers

Eliseo and Thomasin are also OTP, but they try and stay away from each other romantically. This leads to more than its fair share of shenanigans. Both are available for temporary pairings

Matías and Tristan both believe they love Otto, but they really don't. They're simply being thralled by a protection spell she has placed on her by her mother (very similar to a Siren's mesmer). Both are available for pairings

One of the many mysteries at Westwood is the Disapearrance of Lucille Burke, so if you're looking for canonical angst for an OC to be made for, concern for a missing friend or lover would be perfect

Westwood Academy is a college, not a high school. All students are legal and majority of them are immortal and much older than they look anyways. So, unless a teacher is otherwise taken, they're free for pairings!

There are no rules for content posting. I'm just excited to see what you come up with! Please do not hesitate to ask any questions you may have for your OC, whether it be about the species they are or a character pairing you envision, and how that character would react or interact to certain things. My ask box is always open!

[mazzy-moon]

A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 14

Title of Chapter: Hide Out

Word Count: 2.6k (mostly smut)

Warnings/Tags: Explicit Language, Significantly younger ofc, Smut, Foreplay, Sex

Pairing: Javier Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary:  After Javier leaves, Isabel's anger and frustration with him grow. Later, she and Javier are forced to confront each other, finally acknowledging the tension that's been building between them.

Notes: I didn’t want to give away everything in the warnings, but this chapter contains explicit sexual content. 18+ only, please.

This ended up taking me way longer to write than I imagined...

Hope you enjoy reading this. It’s a good one. x

Read it on ao3

It doesn't take long before Javier has left and Sanz shows up. I'm furious. He knows what the cartel did to me better than anyone, yet still he's forced me here against my will. I might as well go back to Oregon. I would be put back into Witness Protection, but at least I'd be more free than I am now.

I can tell Sanz isn't exactly enthusiastic about the baby sitting job she's been assigned, but she tries to hide it somewhat out of consideration.

"You know, he's only doing this for your own good."

"Don't start."

"But he's right. If you go and get yourself tangled up in this, we'll have an even bigger mess on our hands."

"I know." Arguing with her would be useless.

_______________

The day passes agonizingly slowly as I sit with my anger, unable to do anything about it. I try thinking about what I'll say to Javier when he comes back. Maybe I won't even say anything. I've never been a violent person, but I think if Javier were here right now I would slap him for putting me in such a position of helplessness. He said he trusted me once, though it's clear that can no longer be true.

At one point I try to lure Sanz out of the room by feigning hunger. She doesn't take the bait, and instead has food brought to us. I switch on the television in an effort to distract myself.

After a while, I've stopped counting the hours as they pass. The light outside suggests night is not far off. Worry starts to trickle in. Not for the first time today I wonder what Javier's team uncovered at the location. Did they arrive only to find out Matías lied to them?  Was it a a set up? Despite my anger at him, I'm anxious to see Javier, to know he's okay. I get up from my seat on the couch, suddenly restless, and start pacing the room.

Sanz's phone rings and she steps outside to answer it. Once she's back, her calm demeanor from before is gone.

"Pack up your things.  Peña's on his way and wants you ready to go once he gets here."

"But why-"

"You're not safe here any longer, just do as he says."

Fear replaces my anger. I don't argue with her.

Soon after my things are all stuffed into the suitcase, Javier crashes through the door. He barely looks at me before hauling my luggage in one arm and tugging me out the door with the other.

"C'mon," he says, his voice rough. "We've gotta get out of here now. The cartel knows you're in Columbia."

My eyes go wide as I allow him to lead me to the waiting car. He throws my things in the back before placing me in the passenger seat. He explains the details to me as we're driving.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"The Embassy's got a place a ways out, a hide out. You'll stay there until we get the cartel under control."

"So he was lying."

"Not entirely. When we got to the location, some of Matías's men were there. They ambushed us. Somehow, they must have found out we were coming. There's no way that's where they're keeping the girls though."

"How do they know I'm here?"

Javier's looks out the window, despondent.

"I went back to Matías's cell after the ambush, to confront him. During our... chat, he revealed that he and his gang knew the moment you arrived. Somehow, he's had eyes on you the entire time."

"Why not just send me back to Oregon?"

"We can't be sure they won't track you there also. They already have once. For whatever reason, whoever is operating this cartel is hell bent on getting to you."

I remain silent, stunned. How has the cartel been able to track my movements so closely? More importantly, why bother? They've already replaced me with at least a dozen other girls.

Javier and I drive for hours until it's well past dark. We pull up to a dirt road and drive down it for what seems like an eternity. As we near a little cottage, I notice a river bank running not far off. The car comes to a halt just in front of the house and Javier steps out to get me. The place looks like a setting for a horror movie, but I say nothing as we walk inside.

_______________

Now that the panic has settled somewhat, I remember the rage I felt from before. I remember the rough way in which he spoke to me, the way his hands dug into my arms as he tried to reason with me. And then, the door slamming behind him as he left, locking me inside. Deep down, I know he was only trying to protect me, but it still hurt. I wanted to be useful, wanted to help the women who were now in the same position I was once in. It seemed, though, I wasn't going to get that chance.

He flips the lights on and locks the door behind him. The place is surprisingly cozy.

"Are we safe here?"

"It's secure. Only a small number of people know this place even exists."

There's a tense silence between us as I consider bringing up what took place this morning. The events of the evening have made it seem less important. Before I decide, he beats me to it.

"I know you're still mad about this morning, Isabel."

I refuse to respond to him, so he continues.

"Just so you know, I wouldn't have done what I did if I didn't think it was the only way to keep you safe. If I had to, I would do it again."

My eyes meet his finally and I know he can see the defiance in them.

"I know you hate me for it. As long as I know I'm keeping my promise to look after you, you can hate me all you want."

I remain silent for a moment before responding.

"I don't hate you, Javi." I stare down at my hands, suddenly unable to keep eye contact as I make my confession. "I don't think I ever could. I just... don't like feeling like that. Helpless."

I glance back up to him, and his expression breaks me. Unable to control it, and annoyed that I can't, my eyes begin to water. I quickly look back down at my hands.

The floorboards creak as he closes the distance between us. He towers over me as he gently grabs hold of my upper arms.

"You're not helpless, Isabel. You never have been. Even when you were captured, you found a way out. It was you who took Matías's eye from him. You've always been strong. And brave. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve to be protected."

My throat closes up as his words warm me. Somehow he knew exactly what I needed to hear. I feel guilty for ever doubting him. I want to respond, but can't seem to figure out how.

He holds my face in his hands and brushes my tears off with his thumbs.

"Shh, baby, don't cry."

He pulls me into a hug. His smoky scent hits me and I feel instantly better. Clinging to him, I savor the strong feel of his arms around me. The urgency of our situation combined with our close proximity causes an overwhelming sweep of emotion to wash over me. I tilt my head, meeting my lips with the edge of exposed skin at his collar.

He groans. "Isabel."

I ignore him and go for his mouth instead. He beats me to it. His lips meet mine, gentle at first. He deepens the kiss almost instantly, and I feel his tongue sweep against mine. Not breaking contact, he backs me up until I'm flush with the wall.

As our mouths explore each other with tongue and teeth, his arms leave me to remove the leather jacket from his body. He comes back to me as soon as it hits the floor. His arms roam my stomach, back, and chest. As his hand comes up to gently grasp the base of my throat, he shoves one of his legs upwards, between both of mine. I gasp in his mouth as warmth pools to my center. His mouth leaves mine, trailing down from my cheek to my neck. At the same time, his right hand travels up to my breast, grasping it over my dress. My hips move involuntarily against his thigh. The friction causes a deep ache within me and I whimper at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Javier makes a sound that forces my hips to react again.

He places his hands on either side of them, holding me still. I open my mouth to protest, but before I can he hauls me up, forcing my legs around him. His lips meet my own once more as his tongue finds mine again. He backs away from the wall, aiming for the hallway. We don't break away from each other until we reach the bedroom and he sets me on my feet.

He leans down, moving his hands from my body up to my face.

"Isabel. If we don't stop now, I may not be able to," his eyes are closed as he utters the strained words.

"I just want you, Javi." I touch his jaw with my fingertips. "Please," I mutter, my voice breaking.

The single word that comes from him is barely a whisper.

"Fuck." He grabs my face once more and this time his mouth is gentle on mine, a stark contrast to the heated passion felt moments before. I fumble with his buttons, but his hands are quicker as he tugs off the shirt gracefully. I press my hands against his hard chest as his eyes study me. He holds me in his gaze as he removes my cardigan, leaving me in only the dress beneath it. He rubs one thin strap between two fingers.

"Is this okay?"

I nod, looking at him intently.

He pushes the strap down. The other one comes next until my sun dress falls to the wooden floor. There’s nothing under it except my panties. My arms fling to my chest in a sudden urge to cover myself up.

"Let me see you."

I allow him to guide my arms down back to my sides.

"It's not right," he mutters to himself as his eyes roam over my almost completely naked body.

I frown, suddenly insecure at his bizarre statement.

"It's not right that you're so beautiful, so sweet."

My cheeks warm at his praise.

"Lie down."

I back up until I reach the bed and allow him to push me back onto its softness. He props himself up on an elbow and continues to kiss me until I can't take it anymore. His hand lingers over my breasts- pinching, squeezing. Finally, he travels downward. He slips his hand underneath my panties, brushing over one spot in particular. When he removes his hand too soon, I softly groan in protest.

"Please," I gasp.

"I know what you want, Isabel, but you're not gonna rush me."

He moves then, leaving soft kisses down my abdomen until he's settled between my thighs. He doesn't waste time, pulling down my panties until their off and taking me into his mouth. When his tongue brushes against me the first time, my hands fly to my mouth. He breaks contact to look back up at me, and pulls my hands away.

"No," he says firmly, "I want to hear you."

He resumes his torture until the sensation becomes almost painful. His tongue moves against the sensitive area, faster then slow, bringing me closer and closer but never quite all the way. My hips writhe against him but he grabs hold of them, forcing me to stay still. The sounds that come from me are vulgar and if I were at all able, I would try and hide the moans escaping my lips. He doesn't stop until I practically beg him to.

"Javi, please. I can't- ," I manage to get out.

He lingers a few more seconds before crawling back up to me, his body hovering over my smaller frame.

He studies me, relishing my blushed and breathless state.

"I wasn't done yet, hermosa. I'll remember that later."

He kisses my mouth slowly. The obscenity of it makes our previous kisses seem ridiculously tame in comparison. As he deepens the kiss, he drops his hand once again. He brushes against the overly sensitive spot with his thumb and then eases a finger inside. As I moan into his mouth, I hear a groan escape him.

"You're so wet, Isabel."

My cheeks instantly heat as he says what is already obvious.

As he moves his finger slightly out and back in, the movements of his thumb slow, becoming even more tortuous. Once I'm nearly over the edge, he withdraws his hand and pushes off the bed, standing up.

He unfastens his pants and removes the rest of his clothing until he's completely bare. He stares down at me until my whole body is on fire.

“You’re beautiful like this, Isabel,” he says as his eyes take me in, ready and waiting for him.

His sheer manliness would terrify me if I didn't crave it so desperately. I let my eyes roam, ignoring my embarrassment. For as restrained as he's kept himself, it's clear he's been just as affected as I have.

He once again joins me on the bed, holding himself above  me.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

I nod, but he's not satisfied.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

He shifts his body until I feel his erection right between my thighs. I part my legs as he slowly glides into me. The feeling is almost too much at first. Sensing it, he stops, but I urge him on.

"No- don't stop," I whisper breathlessly.

Once he's all the way inside I lift my hips off the bed to meet his. We set a rhythm against each other and the tension continues to build within me.  

I'm so close but can't quite seem to get there. He reaches his hand between our bodies to touch me, finally giving me the release I crave. I come undone around him, and he swallows my moans with his mouth.

Javier continues moving against me, his thrusts becoming more erratic. All at once, whatever control he had before just... snaps. He grabs hold of me, keeping me still, as he thrusts into me with unrestrained desperation. His groans become feral as he comes inside me.

He drops his head to the crook of my neck, catching his breath. Once he pieces himself back together, his hand grips the side of my face. His lips fumble around my cheeks until he kisses my mouth, then my nose.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... I think so."

He laughs softly, leaning over me and onto his side. He brushes wisps of hair back from my face with his hand.

"Stay here, I'll be right back."

Javier escapes to the bathroom and while he's gone, I pull back the covers. They feel impossibly cool against my heated skin. He returns and joins me once again on the bed. My eyelids begin to droop from exhaustion.

"I'm so sleepy," I say absent mindedly.

"Come here."

He pulls me to him, cushioning my head with one arm and draping the other around my side. The blissful aftermath of our night together lulls me to sleep almost instantly.

Just as I'm drifting off, Javier whispers something in my ear. I struggle to make out the words, but they escape along with my last thread of consciousness.

[papcr-rlngs]

"It would be night classes, so I'd only really have to dip out from the shop for an hour or two at the end. Having Audrey helps, she's done really well at closing the shop up, and I can always do the books and what I normally do at closing the following mornings. That won't be too much of a shift in my routine." Matías got up from his seat across the dinner table to go and kneel in front of Gabriel. He wanted to be closer to his husband, the distance of their small table stretching the distance too far between them.

He took both of Gabriel's hands in his, placing kisses on both palms before he looked back up at him. "Your support means the world to me. If it becomes too much? I'll stop. And maybe it's just something silly to learn a few new skills. But could you imagine it? In the future a join flower shop and bakery? A little cafe where patrons could work surrounded by flowers? Maybe a used library that doubled as a bookstore as well?" He shook his head, pulling away a bit. "I'm getting ahead of myself. It's a silly dream. Something that won't come true. But it's fun to dream, isn't it?"

tw: child abuse/neglect

gabriel always felt guilty whenever they brought up their childhood. he knew he never should have put that burden on nine year old matias, but maybe his parents shouldn’t have put him through nearly 90% of the things they did to him. years of beatings, bruises, black eyes, and broken bones all explained away by saying “he’s a boy, you know how rough they play” to his peers’ parents and his teachers. he never had a single adult on his side, but he always had matias. gabriel gave three squeezes to matias’ hand, looking him in the eyes to let him know he meant it. i. love. you.

“if i’m spending too much time in the shop, just tell me-” he cut himself off, knowing that it was probably for the better to shut up for once and listen to his husband talk.

matias was right, baking and cooking together got them through some of their worst times together. he remembered the time when he turned ten and his parents didn’t even acknowledge him for the entire day. he’d snuck off down the street to matias’ house around dinner time, climbing into the house through the unlocked window, and hid himself away in his best friend’s bed until he came back to his room.“do it,” he said confidently

“cut down your hours at the shop and go back to school for something you want to do. you went to school for something pertaining to me, matias. you never got to figure out who you were or what you liked. you’re so selfless, you’ve always been focused on me.” the pit in the bottom of his stomach was somewhat lightening up, but he could still feel the residual nerves. “but i’m okay now. i’m safe and i’m somewhere where i’m loved, papi. i’ll support you every step of the way, my love. i don’t think you’ll hate it, think of all the new techniques you’ll learn. i’m so proud of you for wanting to branch out and do something for yourself.”

[veterveter]

Soulmates au pls!

send me a (horribly cliched) au + a pairing for a drabble/ficlet/fic!

Martín’s heavy sigh dramatically commands Andrés’s attention, and Andrés turns to look at him.

He finds Martín perched on the edge of the sofa, a half-drunk beer by his knee, a solemn look on his face, his tie loose around his neck. Debauchery. He looks like he belongs in the era where gay men died for their illicit love.

Andrés has painted him many times, but he wants to do it again, now. The shadows his body paints provide magnificent contrasts, full of emotion. His posture is effortlessly beautiful, and the lines he’s made out of are the perfect mixture of sharp and soft. Andrés could steal any painting from any gallery and replace it with Martín, and no one would mind. They would simply look at him and marvel.

“This is going to be stupid,” Martín starts in a quiet drawl, the alcohol having done its work in loosening his tongue.

Andrés nods, to show he’s listening, but says nothing. Allows Martín space to say his piece.

Martín waits a few beats before continuing. “I just… Wonder, sometimes. I have a soulmate, right?” He demonstratively gestures at his left wrist. He never covers it, doesn’t seem to believe it’s anything clandestine. Often, he rubs a thumb across the letters. Sorry, they read, written in Andrés’s sloppy and slanted handwriting, not the careful cursive he has come to favour since meeting Martín. The first thing he said to Martín, cautiously chosen to conceal its weight. “That’s why I have this. Right?”

“Of course you have a soulmate,” Andrés reassures him languidly, gesturing with his own beer.

Everyone has one, he doesn’t say.

And I just so happen to be yours, he certainly doesn’t confess.

Martín rarely brings this up, seldom complains. He clearly thinks about it often, but he doesn’t allow that uncertainty and sorrow to define him, and Andrés appreciates that. He appreciates his soulmate.

“I mean, many people have said this to me, first thing. Mostly people I’ve never seen again, but a couple of friends as well. Matías, from my engineering course.” He grimaces. “Oh, and Mirko.”

Something about Martín’s previous roommate irritates Andrés, but he doesn’t allow himself to comment.

“And, well, you.”

The way Martín doesn’t even allow himself to entertain that thought, it makes Andrés want to make mistakes. It makes him want to not only paint Martín, but also dip his fingers in ink and trace Martín’s every muscle, tendon and ligament.

“But nothing’s ever…” Martín sighs, “Maybe I’ll say something so mundane that neither of us will ever even know.”

Well, that’s not a worry Martín should be having.

Andrés’s own soulmark is… different from Martín’s, to say the least.

La concha de tu madre, hijo de puta, honestly what the fucking fuck is this, you fucker, puta madre; words that stubbornly refuse to wrap around his wrist, but rather spread down his forearm, covering more than half of it in a hurried, sharp scrawl. Martín’s. Andrés has stolen so many of his notes over the years, just to look at them and admire that thought. This is his soulmate.

When Andrés first met Martín, who had just crashed his bike and would earn seven stitches down the length of his arm, Andrés felt… caught off guard. Exposed, somehow. He used to always wonder what kind of a woman would curse like this, but he never even stopped to consider the full implications of those thoughts.

Him and Martín have slotted into place, since that day. Martín seems to never have even questioned it; one moment he was yelling at Andrés in the middle of a crowded street, and the next they had struck a fast friendship on their way to the hospital, Martín’s blood all over both of their clothes. Ever since then, Andrés has always been able to trust his companionship, his loyalty.

It’s such an obvious match that it feels laughable, to imagine someone else by his side. No one else is Martín, after all. To be made whole by someone else? Blasphemy.

“He’ll be drawn to you, regardless of what you say.”

“I suppose,” Martín agrees, nodding to himself. Trying to make it so, he turns his wrist over to inspect his soulmark. Every time he does this, something in Andrés soars. That one word, which Martín has always turned to, in times of uncertainty. Andrés has always been such a fundamental part of his life, even before they met. “I hope we’ll get along. I can’t imagine…” he trails off, looks at Andrés.

The implication is as clear as it is flattering, and Andrés smirks at him.

“Shut up,” Martín huffs, like he hadn’t just been making quite a statement, takes a swig of his beer. “I just mean, I can’t imagine what they’re like. My soulmate.”

That’s a sentiment Andrés gets. He has come to understand, in hindsight, that it would have been impossible to imagine everything Martín is, every single way in which they complement each other. It’s impossible to imagine anyone else taking that place, either.

Andrés wasn’t ready, when he first met Martín. And he’s still not ready now.

But he’s starting to feel like soon he will be.

“You’ll meet him,” Andrés says, reaching out to trace his own handwriting on Martín’s skin with careful fingertips. Martín lets him. Martín has never stopped him from doing this, no matter how private, how intimate. “And he will worship the ground you walk upon. I have no doubts about it.”

Martín draws a deep breath, closes his eyes, opens them again. “I’m not sure I want them,” he confesses suddenly, entrusting Andrés with this enormous weight he has been carrying. The doubts that must have plagued him at night.

Andrés doesn’t know how to answer that; a declaration of love, one of such weight. Martín thinking he’s destined to be with someone else, and choosing to tell Andrés this regardless.

Andrés is not ready yet.

But soon, he will be.

“Of course you will want him,” he reiterates, because he wants Martín to think back to this conversation, once all the cards are finally on the table. “You’ll be a perfect match.”