#I think sometimes you really have to squint a LOT to make some reading works

[terresdebrume]

Sometimes you read a fic that's like

I can't genuinely say it's not a possible way this character (or these characters) would act but I don't think it's very likely and also I really really really don't like it

Like yes your characterization makes sense, internally, but admitting it makes my teeth ache

[xxsquiddkiddxx]

Viktor x Reader Headcanons

Pronouns for reader: Gender neutral, AFAB undertones if you squint

Relationship type: Platonic to Romantic

General Idea: Some silly little headcanons I have for Viktor because he's still my silly little princess. Even after the whole glorious evolution thing.

Content Warnings: S1 Viktor, no S2 spoilers, But there as little bit of s2 viktor's mindset, I'm projecting a little bit (a lot) but it's fine.

~☆~

I honestly see Viktor as asexual with light aromantic undertones (kinda like demiromantic, I guess??). He rarely ever developes romantic feelings. Like its a once in a blue moon thing.

Like... he has to know you for YEARS before something in his head is like "Oh... hey they kinda cute?"

However, when he DOES develop feelings that go beyond friendship, Viktor HEAVILY struggles with coming to terms with them. Not in like a "I don't DO feelings" type way, but more in a "Well... no... it could be this" type of way.

Oh, his heart rate speeds up a little bit when you two accidently brush hands? It must just be his nerves.

When he does realize that he has feelings for someone, it's kind of like that scene in Gravity Falls where Dipper is like "It's not like I stay awake at night thinking about Wendy" and it cuts to him laying awake thinking about Wendy XD

If he likes someone romantically, he talks about them a lot. Like as if trying to bring them up as much as he can. Like "Oh (Y/N) mentioned something about that book, said they really liked it" Or "(Y/N) actually said something similar about that topic" If he could yap about you for hours, he probably would.

Even if you're being PAINFULLY obvious about your romantic feelings towards Viktor, he will firmly believe you're just being friendly.

Why he does it is a mix between two things: one is that he's just not awesome with people. And second is that he firmly believes someone like you could never love someone like him back.

One night, Viktor had been constantly working without break, so you practically dragged him to his room by his ear and forced him to get some rest.

Viktor has a strong habit of having his workspace FILLED with old mugs, sometimes days old. He doesn't really mean to, just too wrapped up in Hextech to really notice.

He also struggles with meals too. Just like above, because he literally just gets too wrapped up in his work.

If Viktor actually confesses feelings, it's such an interesting experience. Because he doesn't just flat out say "Hey I have feelings for you". He stumbles over his words and rambles about something random in the middle of it. So you gotta help him out a little bit.

Viktor's love language is quality time. He'll make sure his seat is next to you when it can, he always yaps about what he's uncovered about Hextech.

Speaking of Hextech, if you just sit there and watch him work? He'd about die of happiness on the spot. If you, someone he really loved, took an interest to something he truly loved DOING? Perfect.

He used to get really flustered about physical affection. Like you held his hand one time and he about combusted. He was red in the face for hours. He got better with it overtime, of course. But for the first few months, he was pretty much bright red the whole time.

Dates are rare, neither of you have the time for it. But when you two do have dates of some kind, they're mostly stay at home type things.

You know that thing kids do? Like playing their own separate things together? Parallel play, I think it's called? Yeah you two do that a lot.

Viktor will be reading some papers and you'll be reading a book, your feet in his lap.

Speaking of, Viktor is such a reader omg He doesn't read a lot anymore due to his constant workload, but when he does, he reads a lot of like... old books. The ones with yellowing pages and smell nice? Yeah... those ones!

If you two slept in the same bed, he'd be all like... giggly and nervous the first few times. Just like affection, he'd get used to it. But it's still cute.

When you two are cuddling, run your fingers in his hair. He'll melt right into you regardless of the situation. It's like an instant relax button for him.

Him laying his head on your chest, and you running your fingers through his hair? Something about it just... works. It calms him down a lot and makes him feel at peace.

His favorite place to kiss is the crook of your neck. Especially if you're around his height (he's like... between 5'7 and 5'10. I don't remember exactly).

Or your temples. It's simple, it doesn't attract a lot of attention. And let's be real, it's underrated as hell.

He's not big on PDA, but he'll hold your hand in public. He likes holding onto just one of your fingers, like your pinkie or something like that. It, just like temple kisses, is simple and discreet.

He doesn't often say "I love you". He feels bad about it, but you don't mind. He often says I love you without saying it. Things like holding you while you sleep, kissing your forehead as you two read in each other's arms, weaving your fingers with his while he works.

He gets self-conscious a lot. He thinks you could do a lot better than him and that he's not perfect.

Please kiss this poor boy all over and tell him he's perfect as is 😭😭

~☆~

A/N:The Arcane brainrot has gotten to me... This is how I'm coping with the finale. But I've wanted to write Viktor or Sevika stuff for a HOT minute now. I've been in the Arcane fandom for YEARS (a fanfic writer even longer) but this is my first Arcane fic... wild XD

For more fics: my masterlist!

~Squeed

[mochamadeleines]

Sweethearts and Sweet Dreams <3

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.” (6.4k words)

tags!! - 18+ modern au! Husband! Joel Miller, Wife! Reader, you guys are happy and in love!, mutual obsession if u squint, lots of exposition im so freaking sorry, pervert Joel if u squint, praise kink joel if you squint, dumbification if you squint, written for those with daddy issues lowkeeyyyyy, written with game joel in mind but could be hbo joel no problem!, lowk i combined the two in my mind, mentions of shy old man joel, housewife! reader (by choice), unspecified age gap but reader is like. thirty? and joels Like...55??, talk about joel taking medication for his anxiety, p in v sex, dirty talk, public sex, outdoor sex, joel has a kink for dresses because i said so? service top joel if you squint, pet names, a pinch of jealousy and possessiveness for fun, playful banter, mentions of maria and tommy and their baby with a made up name Lol, mentions of ellie and sarah (rip), mentions of readers past abusive relationships, talk about joel struggling with substance abuse/addiction and being hospitalized.....Im sure u can theorize why </3, lots of lore ill get into in another fic MAYBE *smirks*, flip flop in perspective, sometimes showing what joel is thinking or what reader is thinking blah blah

authors notes!! - hi there!!! im mocha and this is my first joel fic ever + my first fic posted to tumblr!! im really nervous cuz i havent written anything in months and ive never written joel before so please let me know if you like it!! id love to write more of this au for u guys if theres a demand for it...Thank u for reading!! also barely proof read im ngl. ive been staring at this fic all day im sick of itttt. p.s i dont usually write smut i also kinda do idfk Is this bad or am i tweaking

You step out of the house, morning sun soaking into the roots of your hair and the driveway beneath your feet. Theres a package youve been waiting for. 

You cant contain your grin as you wiggle it out of the hot prison that is your mailbox.

“What the hell are you doin’ out there barefoot?” Joel chastises you from the front door, leaning his elbow on the frame. Joel, your lovely husband of two years. Been together for five. And because of how hard he works, you have the privilege of being a stay at home wife. Some people think that sort of life is stifling, but youve never felt so free. No more jobs you hate, no more financial struggles. Just you, Joel, and your cat, Cement. He likes to pretend it isnt a totally hilarious name for a pet.

You were his first relationship in almost a decade, so it was a lot of work helping him unpack his anxieties about dating, and a lot of work for you to feel safe and unafraid. Honestly? Youve been mistreated by enough men to land you in the psychward.

But Joel never yells at you, he never breaks things when hes angry or threatens to hurt you. He might raise his voice every now and again, but its never because of something you did. Sometimes the stress of life is just too much. 

He works hard, he loves his daughter- daughters- and he would do anything to keep you happy. Whatever you say goes, he says. Even now, you hardly argue. Of course you have disagreements, or off days thatd lead to one of you being especially moody, but the both of you do your best to communicate.

Behind that rough exterior, is someone who just wants to be needed. 

You first met Joel at a youth center you volunteered at, he taught guitar, you taught arts and crafts. Joel says it was your smile and sense of humor that charmed him. It was his singing and southern accent for you.

Your favorite thing about Joel is how soft he gets around you. He says its because you make it easy to be soft. 

Joel was a shy lover at first. He would get nervous just kissing you, or holding your hand. While most people become intimate very early on in their relationship, you and Joel didnt do anything sexual for the first five months of you dated. Sure, you almost did, plenty of times, but he would get so overwhelmed and cut things short. You broke two of your vibrators during this era of your relationship. Embarassing.

You remember your first time very vividly. Joel had worked back to back doubles trying to meet a deadline, and on the final day, after having barely spoken to you for almost a week, you had shown up to his house, unannounced. You were wringing water out of your jacket when he swung the door open. 

“How-” Joel blinks a few times, stepping forward to examine the rainfall. “How long you been out here?”

“Not that long,” You lie and pick up the container you brought off the porch chair. Part of you had a hard time mustering up the courage to even knock on the door. Droplets of water cascade down your chin. “Hi, sorry. I know youre tired.”

He shakes his head, voice soft and warm. “S’fine. Now c’mon, youre gonna get sick.”

Youre seated at the little dining table next to the kitchen now, trying to let the sound of the rainfall ease your nerves.

Joel was quick to grab you a towel, and does the honors of drying your face and hair with it. “Why didnt you jus’ call me? Woulda gotten out of the shower faster if i knew you were gettin’ soaked out there like this.”

“I dunno, sorry.”

“An’ whatd i tell you about apologizin’ all the time?”

“Sor- Uh. Right. Okay.” You tighten your jaw. No more.

Joel moves behind you, now squeezing water out the ends of your hair. “Whas’ that?”

“Oh!-” You peel back the lid, showing it to him. “Old fashion cake donuts are your favorite right? I remember you saying you liked eating them with your coffee in the mornings so…I made these. Youve been working a lot lately and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel gingerly grasps the container from your hands, looking into it. Theyre a warm golden brown, outside evenly fried, and the sweet scent of them hits his nose right away.

“I was just gonna leave them on the doorstep and call you to tell you they were there, but I wanted to see you.”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows the dryness in his throat. Youre too good for him. 

“Thank you very much.” He presses a kiss to your damp hair. “Now, lets get you into some dry clothes.”

Joel gives you a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers to keep you modest while your clothes wash and dry. 

You wait patiently on his bed for the hot chocolate he promised you before you showered. Theres nothing to watch on the tv, so you just turn it off and reach for the lamp on his nightstand instead. 

He comes in quietly, and sets the mug down beside the lamp. You finally come into focus, clear as day even under the low lighting.

“You uh.. You look nice.”

You blink. “I look nice?”

“In my shirt.”

That gets a smile out of you. 

Joel tips his head towards the mug. “S’hot so, give it a few minutes. Dont want you burnin’ your mouth.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Hes sat beside you now and the two of you sit in silence for a while. Its not awkward, just the kind of silence where both of you want to say something but just.. Cant.

Joel unravels first. “Missed you, y’know. Just been tired.”

“I know.” Your voice wobbles, and Joels jaw tightens like hearing you sound so sad stings him. “I missed you, too.” 

He slides his hand over yours, giving it a squeeze. Its okay. 

“Hey Joel...Can I stay the night?” 

“Sure. Id really like that.”

While you drink your hot chocolate, you and Joel catch up. You both talk about work, and about your new found interest in baking. Joel teases you about your lack of cooking skills, you do the same. Youre both useless. 

When its time to climb into bed, neither of you can actually fall asleep. Joel rolls onto his side, away from you and the window. You follow, curling up like a little cat against his back. The sensation is nice for the both of you.

You speak up after a little while.

“Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

He scoffs, voice thick with exhaustion. “Like I'd force you to leave after you brought me such a nice present.”

You let out a little giggle, “So if i didnt, youd kick me out?”

“Id think ‘bout it.”

You gasp, gently shoving at his back. “Thats mean…!”

“S’really not.”

“Oh yeah? And what if I poisoned them?.”

“Then itd jus' be a regular day of your cookin’ then.” Joel reminds you, lighthearted. Too many times where you left the shells in your eggs or burnt toast or left the bacon on the pan for too long.

“You cant get mad at me for my dark past when you made a perfectly good sirloin taste like horse leather.”

“Ugh. Dont remind me. That was like putting a one-hundred dollar bill into a paper shredder. How do either of us stay alive again?”

“Uh. Digiorno?”

“Digiorno.”

After a few moments, Joels rolling over again, and hes guiding your head to settle against his chest. Your arms wrap around him, and his arms around you. 

“Joel,” You whisper. He hums. “Im cold.”

“S’cause youre not wearin’ any pants.”

“And whos fault is that?”

“Still yours.”

“I was left out in the rain like a sad, sopping wet cat. One that was left in a box all alone with no family…” You pretend to sniffle. “Dont you feel bad for me?”

Joel sighs, not saying anything more except making sure the part of the comforter behind your back is tucked into your side so the cold air doesnt get in. When hes done, you do a little shimmy up his body, and throw your leg over his hip. Oh no.

Hes alert now. Very alert. Be normal. Joel hesitates, licking the dryness off his lips. “Uh. Feel better?”

“Mhm.” You push your face into his throat, cat-like, before settling down again. Hes like a radiator.

Actually scratch that, he cant be normal. 

“Darlin’.” He rasps, patting your back to get your attention.

“Mm?”

“Your leg. Move it.”

A few beats pass. “Why?”

“Because…” Wow,  he didnt think hed get this far. You shift forward and Joel lets out a quiet exhale through his nose, one that couldve been masked by the rain if you werent so close.

“Are you-”

“No! No. Its- Its not what you think-” He cant see your face in the darkness but he knows you feel the semi-hard struggling through the confines of his pants. Lame.

“Joel,” You say, soft. Your hands slide up his arm to cradle his jaw. Lightning flashes into the room, giving you a glimpse of Joels tight expression. He whispers your name back, just as soft.

“This is normal.” 

Its normal, it is! Except for the fact that you guys havent had sex yet. The stress of being intimate is too much, kills his boner in a blink. The longer he waits the worse the anxiety gets.

“I-I know.”

You place a hand on his chest, feeling it pound away like crazy through all the soft muscle.  

“Youve been taking your medication, right?”

Has he?

The silence of him thinking is proof enough. “Joel-”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes through the darkness .“I know, I know. Shoot, Im sorry. I just forget sometimes.”

“Its okay.” The pad of your thumb strokes the tops of his cheek, and you press a tender kiss to his mouth to soothe him.  “...Want me to remind you?”

The softness of your lips has him a bit dazed. “Huh?”

“I said, do you want me to remind you? I can- You know, call you before you leave work. Make sure you take them.”

“You know I wake up at five-o-clock in the mornin’ , right?”

“I know.” 

In a whisper, “Okay.”

Joels rough palms trail down your back and stop at the curve of your butt, finger tips delicately tracing the skin above your shorts. You shiver.

Barely above a whisper. “We dont have to go all the way.”

He says your name again, laced with worry. He doesnt want you to feel pressured. 

You pull your leg off his hip and push yourself up, settling your hands on either side of Joels head.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes-”

“-And you cant get all in your head about it. You stay here, with me. You stay present.”

“Okay, okay.” He nods, a bit defeated. “I will stay present.”

“When you...When you say you dont wanna have sex, what is it that youre thinking exactly? I know you said you just get really nervous but I feel like youre not being totally honest.”

Joel stays quiet, idly rubbing your sides. Maybe you are a cat. Just getting to feel any part of you is soothing. “I jus’ want you to feel good. ‘Fraid ill do somethin’ you dont like.”

“You cant assume how I feel, Joel. Being intimate.. It takes time to learn what the other person likes.”

He sighs. “I know.” Youre always right.

Adding on, “Like I said, we dont have to go all the way,” You lean further back, situating yourself on his hips. He lets out a shaky breath when he feels the pressure of your ass through his sweats.

“But, I want to start somewhere. I want to feel you.” 

“Fuck- Um-” Hes shaking now, letting you grind your hips down onto him. Joel cant seem to control the way his hips instinctively push up to meet yours. Youre both becoming of a mess of little gasps and hot breaths and tiny whimpers already.

You hunch forward, guiding his hand under your your shirt- His shirt- letting him feel up the supple skin of your stomach, then the area where your ribs are, then your-

“And I want you to feel me,”

Surprisingly, you did actually go all the way that night.

Your sex life was a bit of a rocky start, but after Joel got over most of his anxiety, you learned quickly just how goddamn insatiable he was. Five years in and he still regularly makes you sore. 

There are a couple things you learned about him and his sexual interests. He loves to take you in his truck, in your kitchen, in your bathroom, on your couch. Other, riskier places. Anywhere that isnt your bed apparently, not that he isnt fucking you there either.

Joel is handsy, so handsy infact it embarasses you to no end, especially when youre infront of others. Thats usually how it starts, too. First he kisses you, then gropes your hips and your ass, and the next thing you know, youre cumming on his fingers. Then hed bend you over, or get you on your back, or make you ride him. Is it really riding if hes just slamming up into you until your brain turns into mush?

He likes that too. Making you not think.

Youd be lying if you said its only ever him. Sleepy morning handjobs before work, whining to him over the phone and touching yourself to his voice, arching your back into him while you're washing dishes, sucking him off after hours in his office.

And while most men prefer lingerie or little costumes, Joel likes dresses. Dresses that are discreet so he can take you in the backyard when he comes home early and sees you gardening. Or when youre both at a friends house and hes had a little too much to drink and finds himself alone with you. Dresses that make it easy to play his favorite game with you. I touch you, and you make sure we dont get caught by being too loud. Joel really is the worst sometimes.

Now, you only ever wear pants when its cold, or to bed or sometimes when youre lounging, like today. Youre in some shorts and a tank top. Otherwise, its dresses all year round, usually retro styles or ones meant for spring. Joels not picky though, he loves any dress on you.

Even if you wear an extremely modest, white lacey sleep dress, looking like some kind of vintage ghost, the man would still keep you up all night. And he has. He said you looked like a princess. You guess you kind of did.

The entire thing is like an unspoken arrangement between you both. He doesnt tell you to wear them, you just do.

And he works hard to spoil you, so why not buy as many cute dresses as possible? 

You got a cute dress today too, on the same day Joel has off. You think its going to be a new favorite of his.

The big polymailer stays hidden behind your back. Be casual. “Uh- Nothing!”

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.”

“Lemme see then. Show me your hands-”

“Hey, Mrs. Miller!”

Both you and Joel turn your heads to the voice, and only one of you has the energy to fake a a smile. Your neighbor is stopping in his driveway, having come back from a jog it looks.

“Hi, Lee.” 

Joel really, really, really doesnt like Lee. You dont like him either, but youre not one to cause problems. Lee on the other hand, is. Hes a bit younger than you, and a lot younger than Joel. Hes one of those tech dudes with a massive ego, thinks that youll be swayed by his money and his “charm” and youth as if youre some sad housewife in need of saving. Gross. 

And another thing, Lee doesnt even actually live here! Hes here ever so often to visit his dad between, you dont know, tech expos? You forget. Joel believes he started showing up more often to see you. 

Youre walking towards the porch again. Joels looking especially unhappy to see him today, knuckles pulled taut into a fist. His lips stay pressed into a thin line, careful not to let anything slip out. He usually lets you do most of the talking, as much as it pains him. 

Joels really not a fan of the way Lees eyes take a trip up your bare legs. Little shit.

“Out with no shoes again, Mrs. Miller?”

“You know me, Im uh- Im weird.”

“The weird ones do it best.” He smiles, all teeth. It gives you the creeps. His attention is on Joel now. Its like watching a puppy try to one up a wolf. “Right, Joel?”

“Uh huh.” Whatever that means.

“Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, Mrs. Miller.” Lee crosses into your driveway and you glance briefly at Joel, as if to make sure he isnt going to start growling at the other to stay away. Youre clutching the package to your chest now. 

“Have you ever been to a support group for uh- you know, the spouses of addicts?  I have a friend from work and shes really struggling.” 

Lees tone is sugary sweet, but the fake kind you put in diet soda except that stuff is way better. Joel sighs from the door. You stand there, dumbfounded on the porch steps because what the fuck is he going on about. 

You clear your throat, keeping your voice firm. “No. Ive never needed to.”  

Joels voice cuts in like a knife. “Been clean for almost twenty years now.”

“Yeah but, you know,” He shrugs, squinting a bit under the morning sun. “Relapses happen.”

Joel and Lee are at a stand still, and the moment Joel lets the arm leaning on the frame drop to his side, you know youre in for a lot of trouble. You move quickly towards the door. “We have to get ready for a- uh- a thing? but Im sorry about your friend.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Miller. Im doing my best to support her.” And before he turns away, he just has to be slimy to you. “If you need someone to talk to, Im here for you.”

“No, that really wont be necess-”

Joels slinging a strong arm around you to yank you back inside before shutting the door. 

“Motherfucker,” He hisses to himself, stomping through the walkway and into the kitchen.

“How-” You rub your eyes, letting them adjust to the light inside of the house. You put the package down onto the bar counter that opens up the kitchen and follow Joel to the fridge. “How does he know?? I thought-”

“Been living in this house for decades now,” His expression is tight, brows knitted together while he chugs a bottle of water. “People talk. ‘Specially if I'm being rolled into an ambulance on more than one occasion.” Joel frowns. “Fuck- I shoulda punched him in the fuckin’ face- Do you see how hard he tries so hard to flirt with you infront’a me?”

“I know, love. I was there.” You take the bottle from his hand and set it to the side, then wrap your arms around him. “Try not to let it get to you okay?”

Joel sighs into your hair, giving your body a squeeze. “I know, I know, but jus’ hearin’ him tryin’ta use my baggage to make a pass at you…S’fuckin’ evil.”

“I agree, but I dont want his blood on the driveway.”

“So get it on his driveway instead, got it.”

You giggle and tip your head up to kiss him. The tension eases from Joels shoulders, and he cups your cheeks, letting his worries melt away into your mouth. When the pads of his fingers start to slide under your tank top, youre leaning back. Youll be here for a while if this goes any further.

Joel mindlessly chases your lips, looking a bit pouty now that its over.

“Im gonna start getting ready for the barbecue, okay?”

“This early?”

“I like being punctual.” 

“My brother wont give a damn if were late.” He noses your jaw, pressing a kiss here and there. Your knees are beginning to feel weak. The bastard is trying to distract you.

“But I do. The farmers market opened today, and I promised Maria I'd get her fresh strawberries before we got there, remember?”

“Alright, alright.” He grumbles into your shoulder.

Joel lets you go, watching you round the bar counter to get your package and disappear upstairs.

-

Ever since you came down to a freshly showered Joel, and got into the car with the gift bags you prepared for Maria and Tommy, Hes been staring at you. One wrong move and the drools gonna start pouring out of his mouth.

Your hair is in its relatively natural state, freshly washed and shiny from the oil you put in it. You put on some light makeup, and went a bit heavy handed on the blush to look sunkissed, and topped it off with a flavored lip gloss Joel especially enjoys. 

Now, the dress. Its a pink floral mid-length dress, with a low cut sweetheart neckline and a corset style backing to cinch your waist and push out your chest. The material is thick and pretty, and there are two other layers under the skirt to keep its shape. You have on a pair of little pink pumps with little bows to match. 

The drive to the farmers market is fairly peaceful, the windows are half down and theres music playing at low volume on the radio. You and Joel have different tastes in music, but one genre you can always agree on is alternative rock. 

The weathers beautiful, sun high in the sky, and its not too hot or humid. The day really is perfect. Youre gonna soak up some sun when youre at the barbecue. Hopefully, they made lemonade again too.

Joel has been mostly quiet throughout your shopping. While it would worry some, youve been with him long enough to know that he just has a lot on his mind. What hes thinking about? Maybe youll learn when you make it back home at the end of the day.

You gasp, strolling through the grass to a stand with a mountain of apples. Granny smith, Macintosh, Pink Ladys, Honeycrisp, the works. He grunts, trying to keep the things that are already in your basket steady. You came for strawberries and are going to leave with much more than that.

Joel nudges you softly. “Remember, this is quality stuff, meaning itll go bad faster. Dont get too much.”

“Okay, got it.” You beam, and then begin inspecting the Pink Lady apples first, trying to find the ones with the best color.  He keeps the basket within reach so you can drop your picks in.

"These were Sarahs favorites."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, it was funny 'cause we started arguin' over these or Red Delicious. I think Red Delicious is better."

"Thats so cute! Hmm. Should we get one for her? A Pink Lady?"

"Uh," He thinks on it for a moment, unsure, but the smile on your face helps him make a decision. "Sure, why not."

You drop two perfect Pink Ladys into the basket, moving onto the next pile.

“Hey, Joel.” You grin, holding out a wrinkled granny smith apple. “This one looks like you”

“Ha ha.” He deadpans, and grabs it from you to put back. In turn, hes reaching for the runt of the pile. A pathetically small one sitting near the bottom. “Now this one looks like you.”

“Does not!”

“Does too.” 

The next stand has golden kiwis, and youre practically dragging Joel forward to try them. You ask for one, and the man at the stand slices it into halves, giving you a plastic spoon to go with. 

You let Joel smell it first. “S’good.”

“Lets see if it tastes good.”

You sink your spoon into it, humming when you see how soft and easy it is to scoop out. In your mouth it goes!

Its tastes sweet, a bit mango-y and fucking delicious. You bounce in place, spoon feeding Joel next. “Oh yeah,” He smiles, smacking his lips a bit to really let the taste settle on his tongue. “Were takin’ some of these.”

You take one, then two, then three and four then five and as you reach for the sixth one, Joels stopping you with a gentle hand. 

“Darlin’.” 

“Right.” 

For the next few stands its just you and Joel trying various kinds of fruit. Starfruit, blueberries, some mangos, and then youre going back to the truck.

“I think my favorites were the mangos and golden kiwis. I hope Maria and Tommy have enough space in their fridge for all of this.”

“They moved into a bigger house, I reckon their fridge s’probably bigger, too.”

“What time is it?” 

You let go of Joels arm so he can switch the basket from one hand to the other. 

“‘Bout…” Hes squinting at his watch. “12:34 in the afternoon.”

“Oh! Guess we got the shopping done sooner than I expected. Hmm. Should we stop somewhere in the mean time?-" You snap your finger when you remember something. "They opened up this cafe that has cats in it! We can drink coffee and play with them for bit! The next fourty-five minutes will go by super fast."

“Youre gonna make Cement jealous.”

You bat your hand dismissively. “Hes not gonna caaare.” 

“Oh yes he will. And remind me again why we named our cat Cement?

“Uh, we were both drunk and had gotten him the day before without a name picked out?”

“A whole year later and we still kept it. Worst pet owners ever.” Joel chuckles, opening the passenger door for you like he always does. 

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

The giant basket of fruit goes into the back seat next to the gift bags before Joel slots himself into the drivers seat. 

You fumble with the radio a bit, trying to see what else is on but ultimately landing back on your preferred station. Theyve been playing a lot of Linkin Park recently. Hell yeah. Joel buckles himself in at last, and pulls out of the parking lot. 

“Marias gonna teach me how to make baked chicken,” You hum, gazing outside the window.

“You sure youre not jus’ unteachable?”

“Ha ha,” You lightly shove his shoulder, making him smile. “I thought you loved the meat sauce pasta I learned how to make.”

He settles into his seat more comfortably at the stop light, elbow rested on the window. “Got me with that one. Think I like ground turkey over beef, though.”

“Yeah? Me too. The beef tastes better but the turkey is lighter. Stops me from feeling all sick.”

“Agreed.”

Youre looking out the windshield now. Where did all the buildings go? Youre out of the city. 

“Uh, Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere to kill time.”

“Yeah but where?”

“Youll see.” 

Your brows pinch together. “I see a whole lot of nothing except for trees."

“Almost there.”

Joel makes a hasty left turn onto some campgrounds. Your stomach starts to twist into excited knots. Is he gonna show you a baby deer or something? Bunnies? He used to be a park ranger for this area, and would tell you stories about all sorts of baby animals hed run into.

The car comes to a stop, and he turns the engine off. Silence.

“So…Were out in the woods to kill time?”

“Mhm.” Joel unbuckles his seat belt and twists into the back to grab the spare jacket he usually keeps there, then gets out of the truck and comes around the back to open the door for you. 

He holds your hand to help you get down from the passenger side, and as soon as both of your shoes hit the ground Joel is on you. 

You dont know where your hands should go, youve kissed Joel a thousand times and yet you still get so flustered when he catches you by surprise. You keep your hands on his shoulders for now, letting him press wet kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“This is new right? The dress?” He gives your ass an appreciative squeeze through the fabric. “Thought you looked so pretty when you came down stairs in it.” 

Your heads spinning. Something about your dress? 

“Woulda been okay if you let me have you earlier.” He pulls away, examining your flushed face cradled by his hand. Every part of you just fits so well in his palms. “Then I thought, why not have you now? We got time to spare.”

“Joel- We- Someone could see us-” You sputter, and Joels already shaking his head with a knowing smirk. He pulls you around to the bed of the truck, popping it open, only pausing to spread open the jacket he grabbed, just having just thrown it in there when he came around to get you.

“No ones gonna come lookin’ for us.” He turns you around, pushing you down onto your front. “As long as youre quiet.” 

Fuck. You really hate this game. At least, you like to tell yourself that.

Blood rushes to your ears while Joels rough palms lift up the skirt of your dress, exposing your ass and thighs to the cool air. He whistles from behind you. 

“Red lace panties?” His fingers dont shy away from tracing along the fabric covering your cunt. “This new too?”

You crane your neck over your shoulder to look at his face. “Uh.. Surprise?”

Joels smiling now, fingers dipping under the lace. “Thas' awfully sweet of you.”

His touch slips and slides around your growing wetness, then trails down to your clit. Your voice wobbles a bit and fuck- fuck hes going too fast. “Joel- Ah-” You whimper and try to push yourself up to look at him but his hand is steady on your spine, keeping you down. 

Smug, “Go on, sweetheart. Keep sayin’ my name. Jus’ like that.”

A whine escapes you when he pulls away, “Nooo.” You push your ass back, as if to entice him. You succeed, because hes skipped his usual routine of fucking you with his hands and is now unbuckling his belt.

Joel rolls you onto your back, and peels your underwear all the way off, bunching it up and shoving it into his back pocket. Your face burns just watching him.

“Think i'll hold onto these for a lil’ while.”

His hands push the back of your knees towards your chest, exposing your heat. Youll never get used to the way he just seems so interested just watching your cunt squeeze around nothing. 

“Thats-” You swallow, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. "Joel.”

“Relax." He coos, "Seen it a thousand times already, and ill be seein' it a thousand more. Get used to it, honey.”

Your attention flickers down to where his dick is about to meet your entrance. Joels nudging you down onto your back again and pulling the top of your dress down to expose your chest. Its when youre distracted that he actually moves to push himself in.

Both of you groan together, and Joel could never get bored of fucking you, not when your cunt just pulses around him everytime hes inside you.

Joel wastes no time fucking you once he eases all the way inside. Youre trying your best to keep quiet. Shit is no easy task. Its like Joel is trying to get you guys arrested.

He props himself up with a hand near your head, and lets the other keep one of your legs pinned open. The moans start to claw out of your throat. “Joel- Joel-” 

“Shh. Thas’ enough.” He growls through his teeth, fucking you harder. “Youre gonna- Gh- Get us caught-”

Something rustles between the trees, making you both freeze. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching Joel straighten up to look around.

After a few seconds of squinting, Joel can see a few foxes moving about through the trees. Thank fuck. His shoulders visibly relax.

Hushed, “E-Everything okay?”

“Yeah, jus’ some animals.” 

And like that, hes back to it. His dick is going to make your eyes permanently stay rolled into your head. 

Joel is always just so handsome when hes pounding into you. His forehead gets shiny with sweat, and his jaw is tight from clenching his teeth, keeping himself quiet so he can focus on your moans. His face is noticeably redder against his usual farmers tan too. Really, hes just so attractive.

A flurry of yes and harder and fuck spills out of your mouth and into your palms. Not too loud, you try to remind yourself.

“Joel- S’too much-”

“Nah, thas’ not it.” He huffs, humorous. “You can take it. Y'always do. In fact, you love gettin’ your cunt bullied by me, aint that right?” As if to get his point across, he thrust in all the way to the hilt, making you keen. You forgot how to breathe, lungs drawing tight in your chest.

"Fuck," You manage to squeeze out.

Your palms push weakly at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself somehow. His head drops to the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

“You good?” He checks in, breath hot on your skin. As if your crying isnt enough.

“So g-good, Joel- Fuck- Youre so good.” 

With a little nod, Joels pushing himself up, switching to slow and deep strokes, really digging himself into you, and trying to find that spot he likes to call home.

He massages your chest, then squeezes your sides and your hips and finally, his thumb finds your clit. Immediately, you jolt. 

“Oh fuck-” 

“Quiet.” And he says it to keep the charade going, even though his favorite thing is hearing your sobs.

His thumb rubbing incessantly against your that sweet little nub of yours. You choke, and Joels chuckling, watching the way you squirm, body not knowing whether it should lean into his touch because its too good or away because its too much.

It starts with this firey feeling under the pad of his thumb, then deep inside your stuffed cunt. Youre going to cum. 

Your hands fly to your mouth again, and you get all wide eyed from the sensation. Its cute. Your muscles pull taut, legs locking around Joels hips. Youre wailing into your palm when it happens.

“Good girl,” His voice soothes you through it. “Very good.”

He pets away the fly aways sticking to your sweaty face when its over. Your eyes drop shut while you catch your breath. 

Joels moving again now. He rolls his hips a few times, and thumb is building the foundation of another orgasm in you. Youre shaking badly.

Your words slur too, “Cant- Too soon- Joel- Joel-”

“Another one.” Joel says firmly, but breathless. 

Youre gasping, not sure where to focus your eyes. The trees around you look like theyre spinning. Your attention is back on Joel, whos looking rather satisfied watching you squirm and cry. If thats how wants to play, then fine.

Your hands slide up Joels biceps, and rests on the nap of his neck to bring him down. “Juh-Joel,” You pant, cradling his face with both hands. “Youre so good- The best-”

Oh, Joel likes that one, you can tell by the way he looks away briefly. Shyness. Excitement runs up your spine. Joel loves being told hes doing well. 

“You are- Nghh-” You swallow the drool in your mouth, trying to get the words out clearly. “The best husband I could ever ask for.”

Joel wheezes, head dropping into the curve of your shoulder. “Please.”

“S’true,” You nod rapidly, fingers curling into his hair. “Youre so good to me and-and youre mine and- Joel-  Im yours.”

“Jesus-” He groans, soaking up the feeling of you pressing kisses to his face and up his jaw. 

“Hhah-  No one else can have me, okay? No one- Not even-”

The name doesnt even come out of your mouth before Joels coming to a stop to slip his arms all the way around your middle. With the new leverage he has on your body, hes drilling his way into you. You fucking squeal, rules now long forgotten. Youre a useless ragdoll in his arms and he wouldnt have it any other way.

Your lips are shiny with spit and left over lip gloss, and he can still taste the mintiness in his tongue. Every now and again your eyes drop shut, but his dick just punches into your guts a little harder. Look at me. 

Your brain is mush, just the way he likes it, and youre perfectly pliant in his arms, babbling over how good you feel. Hes kisses along the valley of your breasts now, stopping to suck the flesh of your nipples.

Youre just so pretty. Even when you have bedhead, or youre snotty from a cold, or youre all dirty from working in the garden  youre still so pretty. Including now, all sweaty with you lipgloss all smudged and your mascara starting to run. Youre perfect. 

Joel grunts loud, jaw clenched tight as he gets lost in the feeling of your insides. His perfect little wife.

When he cums, hes doubling over with a loud grunt, getting a few last thrusts in before his spent floods your cunt.

Youre blinking away your tears, now watching the clouds inch along the sky. It really is a beautiful day. You pet Joels sweaty hair, and kiss the side of his temple. Your core throbs faintly. Jesus, he did a number on you.

“Love,” You say softly, patting his back.

“Mm?”

“Get up.” Another pat. “Youre squishing me.” 

Joel backs off to buckle himself up, but you stay seated to catch your breath and adjust your dress. At least it didnt get ripped during all the… Commotion. Not like last time.

“I need my underwear back.”

“Nope,”

“Joel.”

He kisses the center of your forehead and helps you down from the bed and into the passenger seat instead.  “Told you i'm keepin’ ‘em.”

You sputter, “I cant go to barbecue commando!”

“Sure you can.” He pops open the glove compartment and gets out some tissues, hand snaking under your dress again to clean you. You sigh softly at the sensation.

“Youre the worst.”

“I am indeed the worst.” Joel pulls the seatbelt over your chest and clicks it in. “You can tell me all about it on the way to Tommys.” 

[yestrday]

— YANDERE! MALEWIFE! GENSHIN AU part one | two | three | four

⇢ alhaitham, kaveh, tighnari, cyno

introducing ! at the altar decorated by the blooming lotus flowers, your wrist is bound to your husband with a red string and a promise of togetherness. while the people dance and sing in celebration of the newlywed, his eyes are on you and you only— possessive through and through, even in parabandhana.

[ surpriseeeeeeee yea you did not expect this did you yeah neither did I. i just sat on my computer and decided to be productive. also did not include baizhu and mika for now cuz I got lazy. ]

warning ! yandere behavior, drúgging, manipulation, mentions of locking you away and múrder

— ADMONISHING INSTRUCTION. alhaitham | الهيثم

[ “sure, sure, i’ll clean up after you go. hm? i’m not being lazy at all, just enjoying my peace and quiet.”] 

⇢ my boy is living the dream life. no nosy seniors, demanding bosses, and curious co-workers. just him and his hardworking partner and the freedom to do his research at his own time. when you’re around, he tends to slack off (though he denies it) but he does his part of the chores anyway, so you don’t really have any complaints. he’d already been living the cushy life before, but now this lifestyle is more than comfortable.

⇢ he helps you out with your work when he sees you struggling, and he lets you use him as a soundboard to work out solutions. sometimes even lets you complain. keyword: sometimes. most of the time he’ll distract you with a movie or just bring you to the bed so the two of you can read a book together. unfortunately, his tolerance towards whining is very low (reminds him too much of a certain blonde), but he still loves you enough that he’s willing to let your stress out through other means.

⇢ marriage seems to have made him a bit of a romantic, though he’ll tell you that he’s stayed the same as he was when he was still your boyfriend. whenever you’re squinting at your computer screen in frustration, you’ll be caught offguard when he presses a tender kiss to your temple and sets down a mug of coffee next to you. or while you’re talking about something or another as you eat, he’ll clasp your hands in his and press a chaste kiss to each knuckle. these gestures has you blushing and stammering all the time, reverting you back to the naive student you were when you met him. this makes him a bit smug, so you often hit him in embarrassment.

⇢ he would never look down at you. marrying you means he has acknowledged you his equal, and to be fair he doesn’t really have a habit of looking down on others. however, when he sees some pesky flies fly a bit too close, he often gets too full of himself. someone trying to smooth talk you at the cafe? haitham’s not one for pda, but he’ll wrap a sturdy bicep around your waist and watch as the poor thing trembles from his gaze. 

⇢ haitham doesn’t always tell you this, but he admires you for a lot of things. but sometimes you get a bit too… irrational, and he knows that he has to be the one to bring you down sometimes. you’re not a kid, so you should know better. besides, haitham’s always been the more rational between the two of you. sometimes bordering on…heartless, but you never tell him that. you don’t have the heart to.

⇢ he’s often the decision-maker, most of the time not even asking you what you want. he says it’s not about want, he has to take the rational decision for the both of you. you’ve always been a little… dull. it’s an endearing trait, but it’s something that has to go away as you both age. he sees the hurt flash in your eyes when he tells you this, and he thinks he can make up for it with a gentle kiss between your pretty eyes. he loves you like his equal, really, but sometimes (most of the time) you need a good talking down to.

“so you’ll continue to let your brother exploit you, despite everything he’s done to you in the past?” haitham shuts his book and stares at you with a seemingly bored gaze. “you know you don’t need to give them that solicitation, right? he’s not worth it.”

“it– it’s not about him, haitham, believe me!” you plead with him. “i’m, i’m doing this for his wife, okay? she doesn’t deserve to deliver a baby in his dingy apartment with no professionals around. it’s not fair! just because my brother was a díck doesn’t mean she deserves the cold shoulder too! have some compassion for once!” he rolls his eyes and gets up, towering above some good inches. his eyes look down at you, but his hand rests heavy on your shoulder as if trying to calm you down. “it’s not about compassion, dear. it’s about being rational. once your brother sees you softening, he’ll start asking for more and more and more and well, we know what kind of person you are.” you open your mouth to retort, but he shakes his head. “you’re too soft, [y. name]. chasing around the affection of others… you don’t have to do that anymore.”

[ “this is for the both of us. i’m sure you can’t tell now, but sooner or later, you’ll thank me.” ]

— EMPYREAN REFLECTION. kaveh | کاوه

[ “you’re the — hic!— the best thing’s that ever happened to me! of– of course i’m crying! i’m not heartless!” ] 

⇢ for kaveh, your marriage was both a blessing and a cause of distress to him. a blessing, of course, because what sane man would not want to get married to you! his darling, light of his life, the one who tolerates his flaws more than any other person on teyvat! but at the same time, he can’t just let you shoulder his burdens! he can’t give you the luxury you deserve to have, you don’t deserve to be saddled with his debt, it’s– it’s just not fair!

⇢ with kaveh’s sense of aesthetics and talent for architecture, you two will have the prettiest home around! it is a must for this architect to gift you with the prettiest home you’ve ever laid eyes on. sure, he can’t give you the grandiose mansion that you deserve even with both of your savings joined, but a master architect will make the most of what he has. this is the place where he’ll make memories with you, where you’ll grow a family and your chi… children (?!??!!!!) will live. it has to be as beautiful as you.

⇢ complains like you’d never believe. he’s always been chatty, but he gets even chattier after a disagreement with a client or a run-in with a certain someone or when he hears whispers of your horrendous workplace. to anyone else, his overdramatic flair might be a bit too much to handle, but you can’t help but listen with amusement as your husband drones on and on and on and embellishing his rants with over-the-top remarks. nevertheless, in the case that you do get weary, just press a kiss on his lips— it will surely leave him an incoherent mess in no time.

⇢ a bit too eager for your praise. it’s not like people don’t praise him all the time, but it’s only your approval that he cares for. when he makes a meal that he’s proud of, he’s squirming nervously in the seat across you as he watches you take bite after bite. when he finished his part of the chores, he tends to be a bit clingy with you as he tries to fish for compliments. it’s your choice to cave in so easily or play around with him, but when you do utter a compliment, know that you’ll be left with a gooey pile of mush cuddling into you.

⇢ on the other hand, kaveh absolutely cannot handle fights with you. fighting is a normal thing between couples, but he gets so absolutely wrecked it’s unreal. your look of disappointment, the glare you gave him, the fed-up sigh when you push him away and say that you need some time away from him… they all drive him insane. he curses himself, wondering why���d he have to go and open his stupid mouth and fuck everything up. you’re not wrong, never wrong, and it should be him to take the blame. the longer the fight, the more his wellness and self-confidence cracks. it’s a common sight to see him groveling on the ground, for your forgiveness, begging for you to notice him again. the sight is so pathetic that you can’t bear to look away.

⇢ the most insecure husband to ever exist and grows even worse with every fight you two might have had in the past. anyone who approaches you has him tensing up and tightening his grip on you, but a raised brow from you has him reluctantly loosening his grip and shamefully looking away. he’s plagued with thoughts of you leaving (because why would you stay with a wreck like him?) and overthinks every friendly gesture you give towards anyone who isn’t him (is that how you smile with someone who isn’t a complete fool?). he’s a pushover and craves your love and attention the most. if you love being an asshole and having someone completely around your finger, there’s no perfect husband to get more than kaveh.

“kaveh…” you start hesitantly, brows furrowed as you put a hand on his shoulder. “kaveh… there’s really no need for you to do all this.” but despite your gentle words, it only makes kaveh flinch and bury his weeping face even more into your chest. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he keeps whispering with a voice ragged from the amount of apologies he’s repeated. “i won’t do it again. whatever i’ve done please just forgive me. i can’t, i can’t stand it!” he looks up at you and that pretty face of his is ruined with tears. “please come back to me. you don’t have to sleep at that inn anymore. i can’t handle you not being with me anymore.” your grip on his shoulder tightens, and your expression seems to twist between a grimace and guilt. the only reason you stayed at an inn was because you were a coward, and you couldn’t handle watching kaveh break down as he beats himself up for a mistake that you caused. this fight was your fault to begin with, but the only one ruined was the innocent one. “i… i forgive you, dear,” you hushedly whisper, with the audacity of a man who did nothing but take advantage. “i forgive you. no matter what you’ve done.” and when he brightens up and smiles so prettily, your heart squeezes in your chest as he pulls you into a kiss sweeter than you deserve.

[ “wh… what are you apologizing for…? there’s no need to look at me like that…! you can blame me all you like!” ]

— VERDANT STRIDER. tighnari | الطغنري

[ “once again, i told you not to eat your boss’ baking! no, i don’t care if they looked nice! they. are. poisonous!” ]

⇢ he’s more at ease now that he doesn’t have to tolerate idiots who think eating poisonous mushrooms recklessly count as experiments or co-workers who tell him stupid jokes all the time. it’s a less stressful environment now… at least, that’s what he thinks. so why do you keep coming home barely alive?! you’ll find tighnari fussing over you and nagging at your office’s poor working environment.

⇢you’ll have the prettiest garden in the whole neighborhood, if not the whole world! the research data he can acquire from the plants in his backyard is limited, so it’s mostly a hobby of his. of course, he doesn’t just grow whatever there! there’s tons of medicinal herbs growing there and there’s a shed you both built where he can experiment wherever he likes. whenn you’re off work, you like to idle the time away in the garden while tighnari is hard at work on another of his concoctions. simply admiring his focused face is enough to put the stress of work behind you, and you think it’d be prettier if you tucked a flower behind his ear. but you never learn, do you? he launches off to another lecture about why you shouldn’t pluck flowers thoughtlessly while you daydream about his pretty face.

⇢ please please please don’t bring him to any work parties, lest you want to see the entire world burn. he still has that dry sarcasm that you oh so love, but he’s ruthless when it comes to your boss and your more unpleasant co-workers. if any of them try to act chummy with you, he immediately raises a brow and gives them the side-eye. he combats whatever fake-ass comment they have with a dry retort, leaving you panicking and trying him to stop it. but no one stops tighnari in verbal combat, and before long he’s revealed your boss’ and co-workers' vulnerabilities and have them deflating like a balloon.

⇢ tighnari always knows how to make the perfect brew, his teas always the perfect blend of both taste and remedy. it’s too bad though, that you always fall asleep before you can manage to finish a single pot. whenever you awake from a tea-induced slumber, your body feels strangely heavy but you can’t complain about the sleep. your husband is always the first thing you see from these naps, his fluffy tail wrapped around your legs and his big eyes staring intently at your face.

⇢ whenever he mixes in the drugs in your food or tea, tighnari’s tail swishes back and forth as he begins thinking of your cute expressions while you’re half-sober. sometimes he doesn’t put the usual dose and instead just halves it, just to see you flailing to get a grip on your senses and reaching out to your oh-so-innocent husband for help. he often chastises himself for this… dirty behavior, but the devil in his mind gleefully reminds him that this counts as research. the test subject just happened to be his trusting partner for life.

⇢ tighnari isn’t above imprisonment. it’s less for the thought of protecting you and more for his personal benefit. he likes to tell himself this is strictly research, but he can’t deny the awestruck look on his face as he greedily eats up every expression of your drugged face. when you grasp onto his clothes and lean on him for support… it makes him shudder with delight. you’re so cute when your system is laced with drugs, and even cuter when you look at him like he’s your entire world. he wants you to rely on him… and in turn, he wants to abuse that over reliance.

“you look better like this,” he murmurs as he brushes your freshly bathed hair. your figure is slumped in your chair like a doll, which isn’t far from the truth from how he handles you like one. he holds you gently, like porcelain, but you don’t react. you are too knocked out from the dose he had slipped into your tea awhile ago. he leans into your face, tutting at the dark circles under your eyes. “look at this… clear neglect of your health. i keep telling you to sleep, but you never listen to me, do you?” he sighs before focusing his attention back to your hair. “you’re so stubborn sometimes, you know. i barely know what to do with you.” he spends the next few moments in silence, rubbing cream into and ointments into your face. you smell slightly of lemongrass now, thanks to the bath he’s given you. tomorrow when you wake up, you will marvel at the softness of your skin and the clearness of your mind, before you throw yourself into another week of overwork. like always. tighnari regrets giving you the sleeping drug now. maybe he should’ve added a dose of the aphrodisiac drug he’s just finished. with the way his feline eyes zero into your blissful face and the eager swaying of his tail, he can just barely hold himself back now.

[ “aaah, i’ve run out of your meds again. oh, don’t you worry, i’ll make you some more. it’s nice how your body is so… receptive to my medicine ♡” ]

— JUDICATOR OF SECRETS. cyno | κύων 

[ “... we’re married… …what? i honestly didn’t think i’d come this far.” ]

⇢while there’s no other man you could imagine to spend the rest of your life with, you’re inwardly groaning about the amount of dad jokes you have to put up with later on in life. sure, you love cyno’s goofy lil personality, but you think you can only take too many stupid jokes before you go crazy. you voice this concern to cyno, who just gives you a reassuring hand on your shoulder and says he can handle you just fine if you do. you’re not quite sure what this implies.

⇢ quite sulky, but he refuses to own up to the fact. sometimes you get a little distracted with one of the neighborhood children, start chatting up one of the kind neighbors, or meet one of your co-workers. you tend to get a little bit distracted by them, and while cyno believes that he’s not overly bothered by this, he admits that he is a little bit miffed about you not paying attention to them. he also gets pouty when work starts taking up of your time and you start to neglect him, so expect him to just shut the laptop close and demand you to eat dinner with him without rushing to get your job done. 

⇢ he used to scare the neighborhood kids away with just one look and you always had to comfort him and pat him on the back in sympathetic understanding. “maybe you’ll get them next time,” you had joked, handing him an ice cream as he sulked on the park’s bench. “one of your jokes should do the trick.” you really shouldn’t have suggested that, because after another trip to the park he stared those kids down with his same stoic expression and cracked one of the corniest jokes known to man. every kid looked at him like he was stupid. now no one takes him seriously. well, at least they like playing with him now???

⇢ overprotective, like over overprotective. he knows you can handle going outside the house on your own, and hell, he might have no qualms with your workplace. but the more you complain, the more paranoid he gets until he’s staking out the site for himself. touchy co-workers? cruel bosses? he could easily have their corpses fed to the dogs. he is a protector of justice, after all, and what is justice but not killing those who lay a hand on their partner?

⇢ it’s not very easy to just push him over the edge, but he can and has the will to lock you away. it’s the modern world, no one’s going to have it out for a salary worker slaving day in and out for a corporation, but still. he’s made plenty of enemies when he was still in the force and there’s a paranoia eating at him whenever you go out of the front door. when he does lock you away, he’s as gentle as he can be, even with the stench of blood all over him. this is all for your sake after all, and he couldn’t bear to see you hurt when he had the power of protecting you.

“cy,” you huff in exasperation, looking up from your laptop as he glares down at you from behind it. “what in the world are you talking about? they’re my co-worker, my superior. you can’t just tell me to stop talking to them. i need their help!” “what help could you possibly need from them when you have me?” he huffs back, crossing his arms. “i’m telling you. they’re dangerous. i… i just know it, okay?” “what could a retired general possibly know about handling excel sheets?” when his face falters, you sigh and shut the laptop closed. “look, i know you just want to protect me and i appreciate that, really. but come on, cy, don’t be unreasonable.” the pressed line of his lips tells you that he has something against being called that, but you press on. “the company does background checks on their employees. it’s safe, i promise.” you press a kiss on his cheek and smile at him. “sit here and calm yourself down, okay? i’ll handle dinner tonight.” he watches your back as you disappear into the kitchen, humming a bright tune that offsets the stormy look in his eyes. he could tell you all about his time in the workforce— the violations he’s made, the blood on his hands, and the enemies he’s made— but he won’t. not if it means breaking this beautiful life he’s created with you. but that’s okay, that’s fine. he’s been trained to adapt to the situation and to work with the shadows.

[ “even if you don’t have a care in the world… i’ll be right behind you. wherever. whenever.” ]

[idontknowreallyidontcare]

Can I get more horndog Nikto pls? Like Nikto legit wanting the reader every way emotionally and physically, becoming territorial of them, and the reader doesn't take him seriously because they don't wanna be another conquest. Sad horny boi lol

HORNDOG!NIKTO FOR MY NIKTO GIRLS.

- He is jealous, it’s pretty much in his Slavic dna to be, so once you show him a bit of affection without strings attached, he gets territorial. Nikto does a lot of questionable things to ensure the recruits know you’re off limits. From standing really close to you no matter what you’re doing at that moment, to literally pressing himself against your body like a horny dog. The creepiest thing he’s done was probably standing in a corner, intensively watching you read from afar. Recruits would get scared about coming to you for advice because he was there, awkwardly staring and they would get chills (he’s just so silly!).

- The first time Nikto got to know your sweet side was when you made biscuits for the barracks and decided to bring some to him too. He was not the type to hang around the base, so having such sweet little thing like you come and knock on his door with a bag of biscuits was very surprising and suspecting on his side. He found you hot, there was no denying, so having many other instances where you would do something for him without asking anything in exchange was starting to grow onto him. You always brushed it off, how possessive he began to be about you, thinking he was just an awkward adult that didn’t get to learn proper socialization, and well part of that was true. You kept brushing his affections off, he was like that and nothing could change him. You knew he liked women, too much for your own good, and part of you did not want to end up as another conquest.

- Many times he grew frustrated of you, because no matter how many signs he gave, you always seemed to not understand, or maybe not care at all. He would touch you, press himself into you, sweet talk to you, yet all you would do is pat his head and crack a joke, continuing with your duties and leaving him there, by himself, contemplating weather he should just give up and leave you be. And truth is he was close to leave you be many times.

- What he didn’t know was that you kinda felt the same, you always found in Nikto a safe place, from the instance you joined KorTac he was always there, sure he was as hard as a rock at the beginning, but you made your way into the small remains of his cold, broken heart. It started strangely, you’ve seen him alone once, back laid on the side of a small balcony, while his gaze was lost into nothingness. It hit you, how he was never around, he was never with the boys, never made attempts to make friends, and part of you knew he was afraid, afraid of scaring anyone. Truth is recruits always feared him, even if he never gave them a reason to. The only person he would get along with was König, and occasionally you’d see him in Horangi’s or Kreuger’s company. His mask was most of the times on, and you started to pity him. Such a poor, lonely man. God knows the last time he felt the warm touch of a woman, and not the touch you feel when the only thing you do is fuck, because he did not lack intercourse in his life, but the loving touch of a woman genuinely caring about him? That’s a whole different story.

- You started small, afraid of coming off too clingy. You brought him biscuits, you always made sure to carry a bottle of water at practice, knowing he would always drink a lot and would remain without one lot of times. You’d pass him your bottle and he’d thank you, almost shyly if you squint. You’d bring his clothes to his room from the drier, your excuse being that you were already there so why not, you’d cook for him sometimes too, well not really, it was just that you accidentally poured too much of this or too much of that and being alone on the base you didn’t want it to go to waste, excuses on excuses that were always working. You always thought he was a bit too silly to understand what you were actually doing, and you were right. He just thought you were constantly friend zoning him.

- It was difficult once he actually accepted what you were giving to him and he wanted more. Ignoring him when he got too needy, when he was too close, when he made advances and all you could do was joke or excuse yourself to another room. Truth is you were scared too because what has started as a small act of kindness towards a lonely teammate, became a lot more, and you didn’t know how to handle it.

- One particular night brought out all the hidden emotions. Coming from a mission was always the best time of the year, week, month, it was just the best time, not only because you were alive, but because you could finally rest and turn your brain off. Well for Nikto it was a yes no situation, he was happy to be alive but coming at the base where he would be ‘confined’ again due to his loneliness, was not something he was dreadful about. This time was just too much, and after what felt like hours of contemplation he just went for it. A soft knock on your door late into the night awakened you, not that you were particularly deep into sleep, since the arrival time from the mission was not long ago, but it woke you up, and you opened, for some reason finding yourself in front of who you actually expected to come. Nikto stayed still, admiring you for a bit, just for you to grab his hand and pull him into the room. You didn’t care anymore, after almost loosing him this many times of the battlefield the only thing you wanted to do was hug him. And you did, he dreamed about this moment for months, and it came so unexpected yet so sweet. The night was spent between kisses and hugs, late talks between two people that were too afraid to fall asleep because of the fear of this all being a dream.

- Actually labeling your relationship with Nikto changes many dynamics. He gets bolder definitely, he’s more secure and shows off more. Being in a relationship with him is giving him access to your privacy also, and he makes sure he takes advantage of it. He shamelessly ravages your panty drawer, sneaks up on you in the common showers, after gym becomes a gig where you’re trying to run and shower and he’s after you saying how hot you look right now and how you should let him bring you to his room first. Sex is something utterly surprising for you, you would’ve not given him half the credits he actually deserved, because he does know how to please you, and he’s avid with it. He’ll be a dog for you, waiting and begging and pleading until you give it to him.

- Ride his face he LOVES it, just use him as your personal seat and he’s cumming in his pants no lie. He’s a sucker for your pleasure, also a big voyeur, he tried to fuck you many times in the main hall, or in the showers, he once succeeded in the kitchen, and oh boy you could not look into the eyes of some of your female colleagues for a week straight. Nikto is always eager to try something new, that’s because he finally has you, his woman, and prefers to do with you all the things he never got to experience. He always told himself that he’d prefer waiting to do certain things only with the woman of his dreams, and there you were finally, ready to let him fuck you up, or the other way around.

- When I call Nikto a dog is because I mean it. The utter loyalty this man has for you is something straight out some romance movie. You’ll start to notice how his eyes are always on you, no matter the surroundings, no matter the circumstances, and the utterly look of an enamored man he gives you always succeeds to make you weak in the knees. He is avid, lustful, borderline possessive about you, like a feral dog that’s protecting the only thing that he ever got to call ‘his’. And don’t get off the birth control, because he brings to the bedroom each and every ounce of possessiveness he shows outside.

[magiccath]

Psychic paper

tenth doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which the psychic paper betrays the Doctor

A/N: The Doctor is fruity, deal with it xx

You’d been traveling with the Doctor for a while now and you loved every minute of it. In that time he had shown you all kinds of things you had priorly deemed impossible; aliens with wiggly tentacles, a spaceship that defies the laws of 3 dimensional space, a buzzing device he calls the Sonic Screwdriver, and homicidal salt shakers with toilet plungers for arms to name just a few. 

It seemed that with every adventure he showed you something new and fascinating, constantly topping himself without even trying. There was so much in all of time and space it wasn’t that hard. Anything outside of the 21st century was new to you. 

This time, the Doctor had taken you to see a mechanics factory in the 35th century, but as always the adventure didn’t end there. Aside from new experiences, the Doctor could almost always promise some kind of trouble. He claimed he didn’t go searching for it but rather that it tended to follow him. Either way, most adventures with the Doctor involved some kind of mischief and usually a lot of running.

“It’s no good, you can only get in with an ID,” you groaned, popping your head back around the corner. “There’s a security guard checking everyone going in and out is an employee.” 

You were hiding in a hallway, hoping to get inside the establishment's headquarters. The Doctor had a hunch that malicious alien forces were behind the operation, but he couldn’t be sure without poking around further. Typical Doctor, he just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“I can’t think of any legal ways to get in there,” you shrugged, turning to the Doctor for ideas. 

“I have identification,” the Doctor smirked, rummaging around in the seemingly endless pockets of his coat. 

“You’re not an employee,” you pointed out. 

The Doctor made a triumphant sound as he pulled what appeared to be a small black notebook out of the depths of his pocket. He flipped it open and you realized it wasn’t a notepad. The item was more like a police badge, minus the actual badge part.

He turned the paper towards you with a smile, clearly expecting you to be impressed 

“Aren’t I?” He grinned brightly, looking at you eagerly. “Psychic paper,” he explained, tapping the stark white paper with his finger.

You grabbed the item from him, squinting at it. You wanted to make sure you were reading it right, maybe your eyes were acting up. 

“This just says ‘I love you’?” You asked, handing the Doctor his weird paper back with a frown. 

“I think that flirting with the security guard is more of a Jack move,” you winced, not wanting to hurt his feelings. The Doctor was quite the charmer, but strategic flirting wasn’t his strong suit.

The Doctor grabbed his psychic paper from you, frowning at it aggressively. It wasn’t supposed to say that. 

“What-?” he asked, glaring at it the same way you did. Once the words registered with him he turned a dark shade of red. He should have been more careful when he handed it over to you.

“It’s not supposed to say that,” he mumbled his thoughts, trying to hide his fluster. 

“How does it work? Is it like a reusable notepad?” You asked, genuinely interested. Even if the Doctor’s tools could be finicky, they were interesting. Maybe he had just forgotten to erase the message from the last time he used it. 

“No, it’s supposed to show the reader what I want them to see,” he blushed, shaking the paper out like a Polaroid. Usually shaking the item would clear it, but those three words refused to fade from the paper. 

“Sometimes it’s a bit slow…” he said, really more to himself than to you. He was still shaking the paper, desperately trying to get the words to disappear. 

“So you were going to try and flirt with the security guard?” You frowned, now you were even more confused. The Doctor would much rather blow the whole place up than try and flirt his way through security. 

“No!” He said, almost a bit too quickly. He blushed again and averted his gaze, an anxious hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He hadn’t planned on telling you like this. He hadn’t planned on telling you at all.

“When I handed it over it was supposed to show you an employee ID,” he winced. You nodded, this much you knew. What you didn’t understand was the confession of love. 

“But I think the psychic paper picked up on my feelings instead,” he whispered. If you hadn’t been listening intently you might have missed the last few words. 

“Are you saying that you love me?” You frowned, looking at the floor with concentration, “or the security guard?” The second option seemed more viable at the moment.

For the first time in a century, the Doctor was speechless. He stared at you, wide-eyed and unblinking as you waited for his answer. If it was possible, his jaw might have fallen to the floor.

“He’s pretty handsome, I can’t blame you,” you added, peeking over the wall to look at the security guard again.

The Doctor shook himself out of it, rambling a string of incoherent words. “I- uh, wha-?” He stumbled, trying to form a sentence.

“I handed the paper to you.” He said definitively.

“It’s a really dramatic way to come out, Doctor.” You continued on, ignoring him. It’s not like you didn’t know already, he wasn’t exactly subtle about it.

“It didn’t say ‘I love men’!” He threw his hands up in distress. “It said ‘I love you’!”

You finally stopped rambling on about the security guard and turned your attention to the Doctor. His words caught up to you and tentatively you pointed at yourself as if there was any other you. The Doctor nodded exasperatedly as if to say “Yes, you!”

“You love me?” you asked, still pointing at yourself. 

“I think I’ve said it about four times now.” 

“You?” You pointed at the Doctor, “Love me?” 

“Blimey! Yes!” He shouted, frustrated now. You widened your eyes and anxiously checked around you, scared he might have given away your location. Thankfully, everyone appeared to be out of earshot. 

“Yes, I love you,” he whispered this time, his eyes boring into yours. You blinked slowly, your brain still refusing to process his confession. 

You smiled brightly, your grin taking over your entire face. The Doctor loved it when you lit up like this, your happiness radiating off of you. He felt a small smile of his own tugging at his lips just looking at you. 

“I hope that’s alright,” he whispered quietly. He would never forgive himself if he lost you over a psychic paper mishap. The embarrassment would be too much - he’d have to run away. Maybe to that planet inhabited by only rubber ducks? 

“That’s more than alright,” you grinned, a hand instinctively reaching up to his arm to comfort him. The fabric of his coat was cold against your palm, but you didn’t pull away.

The Doctor really smiled back at you now, the wild lopsided grin that was reserved just for you. The kind of smile that always made you laugh with joy. 

He wasted no time wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting your body off the ground in excitement. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your familiar scent. You laughed happily, waving your feet about slightly. 

The Doctor pulled back just enough to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle against yours. Neither of you could stop smiling, even as your lips met. You laughed against him, planting kisses across his face sloppily. Your lips brushed the tip of his nose, the arch of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, and his jawline.

“The security guard is pretty cute though,” the Doctor teased with a sly smile. 

“I knew it!” You burst out laughing, throwing your head back as you did.

[cosmicdahlias]

💖ford x reader headcanons💖

part 6

• always turns down the ac in the bedroom so it’s freezing. he likes it cold but also does it so you’ll cuddle up to him for warmth

• has very rough, calloused hands. when he rubs your back it makes you shiver

• loves to wrap his arms around you and hug you from behind while you’re cooking or working in the lab

• you once found some old photos of his days being possessed by bill. to say he was embarrassed would be an understatement

• thinks you hang the moon

• was really sick and delirious one time and all he could talk about was how beautiful you are and how much he loves you

• snores. it was kind of hard to sleep with at first but now it’s like your personal white noise machine

• you got him into ren faires. calls you his majesty

• very passionate kisser, sometimes gets carried away and forgets to breathe

• if you’re lgbt he goes to pride with you. mabel dresses him head to toe in pride merch

• anxious attachment (mostly because of bill)

• might forget to eat but always makes sure you do

• big spoon, loves feeling the warmth of you up against him

• when you’re getting ready to leave somewhere he says “are you ready to rock and roll?” like the dad he is

• teaches you self defense, sees it as a very practical skill

• loves seeing you smile

• you love his morning voice

• constantly had nightmares about bill hurting you. he’d wake up and pull you close, he wanted to protect you so much

• gives the best hugs

• recorded himself reading books before he went away on his adventures with stan so you could still fall asleep to his voice

• when you first met he fell so hard for you when you told him you read the journals

• when you and ford get married mabel and dipper call you their grauntie

• if you’re in college he helps you with your homework and studying

• writes about you in the journals. refers to you as “the most beautiful creature i have ever encountered”

• drunkenly admitted to you one night that his first crush was jackie kennedy

• plays with your hair a lot. it’s practically a stim

• if you’re having a rough day he’ll pull you onto his lap and let you vent

• when you show him a video or a meme he does that old person thing where he takes the phone out of your hand, holds it out, squints, and adjusts his glasses while asking you something like “is that your friend?”

• you guys have heated vampires vs werewolves debates

• struggled heavily with suicidal thoughts after weirdmageddon. there were nights where neither of you slept and you were honestly afraid to leave him alone. if it wasn’t for you, stan, and the kids he never would’ve made it.

[all-things-fic]

Sugar // HS

AN: This is old, but given how ol’ Harry has popped up outta nowhere, I couldn’t resist. Really sorry if the read more doesn’t work properly, I’m on mobile.

Sending love x

***

Anguilla was a special place for you both.

It had its way of drawing you back to it time and time again. Whenever you wanted that little bit of winter sun, to ease the blues that may have been drawn from you with the grey skies of England.

Anguilla had been the first real place that you and Harry had chosen to holiday. It felt like your first real couple holiday. Where you shed all worry and apprehension about being seen with him in a setting that was absolutely nothing but romantic.

Anguilla had been the place where you’d had one of your nastiest fights too. The kind that had you sat in the backseat of a taxi ride home, close together in presence but the furthest apart in mind. The threat of packing your luggage and getting the next flight home fizzling through the silent energy.

And it was because of that - the highs and lows - it was only right to also christen this place with the crown of being your first born’s babymoon.

Thinking back on fond memories as you lay along the four poster daybed, was how you’d come to find yourself most days on this holiday. Looking out on your private beach and watching your husband of just shy of two years fight his way around a paddleboard or a surfboard, whichever has taken his fancy that morning.

The Caribbean seas were known to be calm, but not this part of the island. Harry knew about that one better than you, and seeing him so active sometimes made you feel like you were being far too lazy, using the pregnancy as an excuse.

Truth was, you had been struggling. Heartburn was crazy and you’d started to swell in your hands and ankles from water retention. While Harry swore to you it was just the heat. You hadn’t forgotten how he’d said that it was probably just the flight that had caused it.

You loved that about him though. That he tried to always make you feel better. Regardless of how neglectful you felt toward him, he wouldn’t hear you utter such words. You were carrying his baby, you were nothing but beautiful to him. You knew he thought that from the way he marvelled in you every single day. Both with and without the spoken word.

It was like he was mesmerised. You were a bit of a forbidden fruit to him, especially when it came to intimacy. Being touched in your current shape made you cringe. You’d spent a lot of the past week covered up, under the four poster daybed you currently found yourself upon and felt like some lewd voyeur as you stared out into the ocean, under the guise of reading, and watched your husband leave the ocean.

Harry was every inch golden, regardless of the length of time he spent covered up by a wetsuit. His face, which had been slightly sunburnt, now turning that mixture of bronze and dirty tan where his melanocytes cells had increased unevenly in the sun, resulting in darker and lighter patches of skin.

He was every inch handsome and strong and he was aging far better than you (much to your delight and your resentment). He still smiled like he was the same twenty-six year old you had first set your eyes on, in that dingy London bar while on a night out with friends that you were so adamant you didn’t want to attend.

But boy, you were glad you had.

Both back then and so vehemently still to this day.

You looked on, watching as he stood his surfboard in the sand. Abruptly pushing it down and working on untying the board from around his ankle. A force that you knew would be heavy. Had he always been this manly or were you just having a moment?

He was drenched. Wet through. You could tell regardless of how far away he was and you found yourself wondering how salty his skin would taste against your lips. Left leg wrapping tightly over your right at the ankle to quell the feeling of emptiness between your thighs.

Eyes squinting slightly behind your sunglasses, you fought the urge you so badly felt behind your twitching hands, to lift them from your eyes and push them back into your hair. For some strange reason you didn’t want him to know you were affected by him like this.

Harry knew however. Of course he knew. He was in the same position. It was why he was taking his time. Jutting his chin up towards the cloudless blue skies and pulling slowly at the zip of his wetsuit, feeling the too tight fabric become less taut against his damp skin.

Pruney fingers pulled at the Neoprene material, hands peeling it away and ears enjoying the sound it made while doing so. You noticed he’d dropped his head with a smile now, wet tendrils falling down and obscuring your view of the way his face dipped and concaved so majestically when he was pleased with himself.

That annoyed you. You wanted to see that face.

Sinking lower into the bed, you pulled your book higher to hide your pout and felt dirtier now that nothing but your eyes were visible over the top of the book.

He seemed totally unphased but you were sure he knew you were watching him as he finished removing the top half from his body and revealing himself to you. Golden and smattered with more ink than ever. Ink now upon his skin just for you, mixed nicely in between the memories and the mistakes from before.

Seeing his feet digging into the sand, you felt a jolt of excitement course through you. Hand lifting to rest gently against your stomach, you attributed the flutter to your child. “Is that Daddy making his way back to us?”

Harry’s feet burned under the white sand as he found himself walking from the water's edge and closer to the daybed. He squinted, bringing his hand up to his forehead to try and get a better look at you as he approached.

You took great delight in the way his ring caught the sun from his action. Lips pulling into a triumphant grin at the thought and knowledge of how he was yours.

Smug didn’t even begin to cover it.

As he got closer, his eyes surveyed the scene that was in front of him. His wife laid out, relaxed, on a four poster bed. Chilled drinks and fruits off to the side ready for both of you to leisurely enjoy.

You hiding behind the book humoured him to no end. He loved it when you thought you were being clever. Just not clever enough, eh? He’d probably say it to you as well before the day was out.

His presence at the bottom of the bed was felt long before he physically arrived. You refused to look up at him, however he noticed the rounded apples of your cheeks as the pages of your book hid your smiling mouth from him.

Hands tying the loose sleeves of his wetsuit around his waist, your peripheral vision allowed you to take in the way his hands moved efficiently to tie a secure knot into the sleeves.

“Took your time,” you started. “Thought I was gonna have to start playing the Baywatch theme tune just to get you to move a little bit quicker.”

His lips quirked at that, him taking a deep breath through his nose as he felt the corners of his eyes wrinkle with joy. Laughter lines they called them, right? He knew they had only deepened from all the years he had spent laughing with you so far.

“Books tha’ interesting ‘s it,” he sarcastically acknowledged, enjoying the confirmation that you weren’t reading at all. “What chapter you on now?”

Your non-verbal response was to turn the book around for him to catch a glimpse of the pages. He cackled when the text came into focus. You hadn't moved from the page you’d opened up to that morning as he slipped off the bed, and let the ocean before his lover for a few hours.

“Stellar effort, darling. I admire your sell,” he clenched his fist and shook it once to emphasise his words. Your sell being the way you’d made it look as if you had moved further along with your novel of choice for holiday reading. “Gonna take you in the boardroom wi’me next time wi’a poker face like tha’.”

“Take me in the boardroom,” you repeated his words back to him, much slower than his delivery.

From your tone, he tilted his head up, using both of his hands to brush back his wet hair from falling around his face. He blew out a puff of air, his lips looking so much bigger and more inviting when his mouth made that shape.

“Jesus woman, give a man chance to breathe.”

His deep tone forced you to push your face into the book, trying to fight the urge to squeal like a silly little school girl. The chuckle that filled your ears was bliss. It was one of his dirty sniggers, the kind that he would do by keeping his mouth closed so that the sound left more of his nose in a breathy sound but the vibration of his throat was prominent.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, instead letting your hands fall away from the book as it remained in place from your horizontal state.

The dip to the bed was the next thing you felt, Harry placing his knees close to bottom left of the bed and pausing. It was calming silent apart from the sound of the crashing waves, and you found yourself peeking out from underneath the pages.

The sight you saw was far too soft, if a little bit intriguing. Harry was frowning lightly as he untied the knots of the tassels that held the netted white curtains framing the wooden posts of the bed.

“Unless,” he started, his voice concentrated. “You’re letting me taste you, then I’m gladly suffocating.”

Peeking out of the side of the book, you noticed how he hadn’t taken his eyes away from the way his nimble fingers were unloosening the fabric. You saw the way his facial expression changed when he triumphantly and gently tugged on the curtain to pull it across one side of the daybed.

“Don’t come near me, you’re wet-”

“‘S usually nice that way. The wetter the better, so to say.”

Usually you would’ve whacked him with the book by now, or threw a pillow at his head but all you found yourself doing was laying there and listening. Feeling a heat fill your face as your imagination was moving two steps ahead of Harry’s each time. Or so you thought, anyway.

Walking on his knees along the mattress, Harry made his way across the bed to the opposite set of net curtains.

“Why’re you shutting the curtains, I don’t want no funny business-“

Harry paused his movement, looking up at you under his drying hair thanks to the thick heat enveloping you both.

“Sure about that, darling,” he asked, fingers still against the knot. When you didn’t respond he continued to untie and pull the curtain across the opposite side of the best. “Thought so,” he mumbled.

Staying silent sometimes worked to your advantage, part of you slightly intrigued as to how he was going to play it. The book that covered your face, was gently lifted away by Harry. A soft whine leaving your lips.

“You’re gonna make me lose my place,” you made your high-pitched complaint known, only to be greeted by an amused chuckle.

“‘S the book more interesting than me is it,” he said slowly closing the item and pushing it away. “Nah. Now the fruit I can understand,” he started, feeling the way you looked up at him as he peered at the tray of healthy goodness and rubbed his hands together. “What have we got ‘ere? Cherries, strawberries, watermelon- your favourite.”

Before you could stop yourself, you reached for his hand that hung above you.

He was your favourite.

Your soft tug to his fingers had him dropping his gaze, his fingers curling around yours. His hands had changed to you lately, looking thicker and veiner. You could never bring yourself to say it out loud though, not to him directly anyway. You were sure he’d just laugh, if he didn’t already know that is.

You were positive he probably did. The amount of times you’d taken to playing with his fingers, or gently running the tips of your fingers across the dips of his knuckles and the veins on the backs of his hands. Those hands helped to make your baby, they’d help to take care of said baby in a number of months time too.

“Want summat?” He asked, eyes peering down at you behind his slowly drying tendrils. “Wha’ can I do fo’yer?”

Looking down at you, he took in the way you eyes blinked up at him.

“‘M already on m’knees for yer, wha’ more could you want? Want me closer?” He smirked, lowering himself down to lie on his side next to you thanks to your wordless nod. Head resting on his hand as he leant on his elbow, he reached up to scoop your hair out of your face and lift your lips to his. Voice lowering as his lips puckered against yours, he added, “Could do one better I s’pose? Put m’head between your legs.”

Shaky breath left your lips as he hummed. “Gonna let me do that fo’you.”

“‘S been ages since you last did,” he continued, hands smoothing down your back in circle motions, pulling you closer to his body so that you were almost flush against him.

“It’s not pretty down there,” you grimaced thinking of how your last shaving job had been harder to achieve thanks to your growing bump.

“‘S that not up to me to decide,” he asked, deeply. “Left a bit f’me to play with, yeah? ‘Ope so.”

“God Harry, stop being such a little boy,” you tried to hide your embarrassment, skin flamed for how open he was regardless of his boyish tendencies.

His snigger into the skin of your shoulder warmed you further, “‘m definitely not a little boy when I’m wanking m’self off, all over your hair.”

His comment lingered in the sexually charged air. Lips sucking gently and soft breathing barely heard over the crashing waves. Being close to him was what you craved. The sound of him coaxing you to be a little daring.

“Messy like one.”

“Messy like one,” he repeated, face amused as he looked down at you. “‘S better messy. When you can hear it, eh. All down my chin and rubbed into your thighs. Means we’ve enjoyed ourselves, don’t it.”

You found yourself opening your legs slightly at the sound of his voice and Harry took the opportunity to press his damp, wetsuit covered, thigh into the gap.

“Can feel ‘ow warm yer are for me-“ he groaned. “Let me in. Gi‘me a kiss.”

The deep inhale through his nose as he took your lips with his caused you to clench at his defined chest. He pulled off, a slight frown to his brow, “Christ nearly took a chunk of me wi’ya then.”

“Not close enough-“

“Let me in then, let me have a feast,” he hummed. “‘On your back f’me.”

Rolling to your back was easy when you had a man that weighed almost thirteen stone to guide you. Was easier when he caressed you with kisses that made you melt into him.

“You look bloody wonderful, d’ya know tha’,” he mumbled against your lips. His hand wandered as he spoke, fingers stilling at your rounded hips and dipping into your skin.

“You’re just trying to butter me up so you can get your end away,” you spoke in monotone, with your eyes closed.

“‘S it working?”

You giggled at his muffled question, his head pressed into the fabric of your beach coverup as your stomach shook lightly from your delight and laughter.

“Shift this out the way,” he gruffly spoke, pushing at the sheer item that covered your stomach. “Wan’ your belly.”

Your belly has become his kryptonite. The way it had grown and began to round out nicely. Popping into the bump that you had found yourself longing for the minute you found out that you were pregnant.

But it was also the part that you were self-conscious of. The dusting of stretch marks starting to appear, even if only light and small, among the ones that you’d experienced from when you were filling out as a teenager.

For Harry though, this was life. You were growing his son or daughter - the gender you didn’t know and weren’t going to find out either. Much to your dismay and his delight.

“One of the only surprises left in life,” he said, over a conversation around messy kisses and even messier tears from your panic of how your usual planning self wasn’t going to get a look in. “We’ve got this covered, Mommy. We don’t need to know. We’re sorted. Let us have that moment, that excitement for the entire nine months. The guessing and the little arguments over your cravings meaning that we’re definitely having a boy, or the way your shape is changing meaning we’re definitely having a girl.”

And that was a moment that you thought back on fondly now, cause he’d been right on his thinking. Those moments had been some of your best and most intimate conversations when he liked to purposely go against your guess and say the complete opposite. He loved seeing the fire in your eyes flare up as you both got friendly and competitive with each other. It was healthy to be this way and ultimately exciting and fun for you both.

You were in your thoughts so much that you almost jumped when you felt Harry’s hand get close to your belly button.

“Sensitive,” you softly whined, hearing his hushed apology against your lower body.

“‘M sorry, forgot,” he softly apologised, nose nudging gently at the underside of your bump. You felt him going lower with no desire to stop him, you intimate area letting you know that you wanted this far more than you were willing to admit.

“Had some watermelon for brunch? He mumbled into the sensitive skin of your thigh. “Saved me some?”

You whimpered in response, feeling the way the backs of his fingers rubbed gently up your clothed intimate area. His eyes were mesmerised by the turquoise blue of your bikini bottoms in contrast to your hair and softly tanned skin.

“Colour really pops, doll,” he mumbled more so to himself, watching the way your hands covered your face, elbows pointing to the sky at his words. “Love it when you show me how pink you are. Show me.”

“Stop,” you choked, lifting for him as you felt his face drop into your lower stomach and nosy along the hem of your bikini bottoms. His teeth drew up the material, pulling it away from your skin with a soft tension.

You wanted anything but him to stop.

“Can smell you from ‘ere, gagging for me,” his voice regardless of how it was muffled around fabric was the clearest thing in your mind. “Gonna give me some sugar.”

“You know I will,” you softly mewled, hands finding his at the waistband of your bikini bottoms.

“Do I?” He felt his lips tilt upward, eyes flicking upwards to see the charged expression on your face. “Help me get ‘em off you then.”

It didn’t take much from him before you started pushing the fabric down as he pulled. Hips rose of their own accord off the bed beneath you, as you let him shift and guide the bottoms down your legs, before placing them neatly to the other side of the bed.

He was close to you within a flash, his head back against your thigh this time and enjoying the way your plush skin felt pressed to his face.

“Put me where you want me,” he mumbled, hand blindly reaching for yours and placing it into his chestnut strands of hair that were beginning to form a waxy film from the sea salt.

You were shocked at how you didn’t hesitate in guiding him to your center. His groan of satisfaction caused you to scratch at his scalp as he turned his head slightly to the side against the crevice of your inner thigh, “My girl knows what she wants and what kind of man would I be ‘f I didn’t give it to her.”

Any kind of response you had fell flat into a hum, as you rolled your lips into your mouth and tried to keep as quiet as possible given the fact that you were in public.

You knew it wouldn’t last long, but you’d give it a good go.

[lucifersdickriderdotnet]

An Honest Conversation

Summary: Sometimes your dad is also your brother who you've spent your whole life hating. Sometimes your brother is also your son who you never wanted to have. 1.1k words

Disclaimer: not demoncest!! just fathersonbrothers being fathersonbrothers.

Notes: Hi. Sorry I disappeared. This was written because I had a lot of thoughts and feelings about my relationship with my own parents. Everyone is probably incredibly ooc but that's because I wrote this as catharsis. I love my parents and I hate them and I will never forgive them but they have nothing to apologize for, you know???

“I used to hate you, you know,” Satan says. He doesn’t look up from the book he’s been pretending to read for the past half hour, just like Lucifer doesn’t look up from the paperwork he’s been halfheartedly doing.

“Really?” Lucifer’s tone is dry as he says it, more out of habit than anything else. He sets his pen down and starts organizing the stack.

“Yes, really.” There’s the heavy thump of a book on the library table and Lucifer draws his gaze away from his work to his son.

It always catches him off guard, how green Satan’s eyes are. Emerald in their shine, the perfect opposite to his own ruby. He looks so much like Lucifer and yet he doesn’t at all.

“Did you stop? In recent years?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.”

The conversation lulls for a bit, both of them just staring at each other. So alike in all the wrong ways, too different in others. The same and mirror opposites.

“I know you used to hate me, too,” Satan says and Lucifer sucks in a breath.

“I did not–”

“You can’t lie to me about this, big brother. Hatred is my domain.”

“It was mine first.” Lucifer can’t resist the childish taunt.

“I do it better.” Satan vollies it back, uncharacteristically merciful.

“So you think.”

“So I know.”

There’s another silence, where Lucifer avoids eye contact with him, where he can feel Satan’s eyes boring through the meat of him into his soul.

“I have never hated you, Satan. I do not think I am capable of it. Hating one of my brothers.”

He’s not lying when he says it, but Satan squints anyway.

“You certainly didn’t have any positive feelings for me.”

“No. I did not.” Satan lets out a choked noise when Lucifer says it, like he’s not surprised but still hurt. Lucifer snorts.

“It wasn’t you. It was the situation regarding you.”

“There’s a difference?” Satan has his arms crossed over his chest and he says this derisively, like Lucifer is making no sense.

“Of course there is.” He’s vehement in his assertion of this, because it is the one thing that he’s always been sure of.

He has never in his life hated his brothers. Not the five who fell with him nor the ones he left behind. He can’t find it in him. He has hated his father, because what son doesn’t hate their father in some way, but he has never hated his brothers.

They frustrate him to no end, fill him with unimaginable grief and love but if he had to choose again, he would fall every time. He would not leave them behind. He regrets many things in his life, but choosing his family has never been one of them.

“Explain it to me then.” When Lucifer meets Satan’s eyes this time there is a cold fury radiating through them. The same one he used to see when he looked in the mirror and yet completely different in its intent.

“When you were born, Lilith had just died,” he watches Satan nod, “I had been cast from my home, and I had sold my soul and my freedom to someone I had sworn never to trust. Everything that could have gone wrong had. And in a moment of grief and desperation I lashed out. Then there was you.”

Lucifer remembers it with perfect clarity. The feeling of ripping his wings out at the root, the blood rushing down his back, the wailing baby boy that manifested in the remains of his limbs. The sharp, stabbing pain of wings growing back and the feeling of nails clawing at his chest as the screams of an infant turned to those of a man.

Most of all, he remembers looking at his own rage personified and reconciling that with the gaping hole where his wrath once sat.

It is something else, to be so full of feeling in one moment and completely devoid of it in the next.

“I had never seen myself as a father. A brother, sure, even a mentor. But never a father." Lucifer laughs slightly at himself, "I had also never seen myself as the right hand to the Prince of Hell. The life I’d had planned, the dreams I’d created, all of them tumbling down in an instant and you were the proof that my whole world had changed irrevocably.”

He’s never said this out loud before, he realizes. Not to Diavolo or Barbatos or Mammon.

“You didn’t want this life. You didn’t want me.” Satan’s voice catches on the last word and Lucifer pretends not to hear it.

“No. I didn’t.”

“And now you’re stuck.”

“Indeed.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“I’ve never expected you to.”

Satan tips backwards in his chair, balancing on two legs.

“It’s not fair, though,” he says, looking at the ornate ceiling.

“To whom?”

“To either of us.”

“You shouldn’t worry about what was fair to me.”

“But I do.” Satan sounds angry, finally. An emotion that Lucifer is used to handling from him, a reaction he knows how to counter. “You’re my brother. You’re my dad. You’re me. How could I not worry about what’s fair to you when it affects me the same?”

“It’s not the job of the son to carry the sins of the father.” It’s all he has to say in the face of Satan’s sudden emotion. He’s used to his brother being angry at him. Not with him, not for him.

“And yet here we are.” Satan’s chair falls back on all four legs with a thump and his voice loses all of the rage from before, left with just tiredness.

“Here we are,” Lucifer echoes.

There’s silence, again, for a while.

Satan rests his head on the table, arms coming up to cushion his cheek. Lucifer pretends to be engrossed in remodeling plans for the city. It’s just like it always is and it isn’t at all.

“Are you happy?” Satan asks, turning so his chin is resting on his forearms instead of his cheek.

“Yes.”

“Even with everything? There’s nothing you would go back and change?”

There are many things he would go back and change. Many situations he wishes to relieve, many moments he wants to experience one more time, if only to appreciate them better. But if he were to go back and change any one thing, none of those would be Satan’s creation.

He would not choose a happier life over his son. For better or worse.

“No. If changing one thing meant losing you, I wouldn’t entertain the idea.”

Satan smiles slightly at that, ducking his head down to hide it.

“That’s enough then, I think.” Satan nods resolutely, standing up and beginning to make his way out of the library.

“Even with everything? That’s enough?” It can’t be, Lucifer thinks. There has to be something more. More resentment, more anger, more hate. It can’t be as simple as this.

“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

[that-student-that-has-homework]

Al-Haitham Headcanons 01

All SFW Here Folks! I think? There's like one bit that's kinda suggestive. If you - no you don't need to squint. It's not vulgar though. Tumblr MasterList

I think his love language is acts of service.

Al-Haitham reads a lot, if he finds something that would be useful to you, he'd likely make note of it with sources, especially if you were going to use it in a paper.

Oh you got into an argument? Someone said something you disagree with? You struggled to support your point? He found some piece of information that supports your argument? Or maybe he found something that negates the other person's? He'll bring it to you.

Perhaps you had asked a random question: you were curious or wondering about something? If he comes across useful information again, he'll bring it to you, and explain it if you need him to.

Maybe you're stressed or struggling or your body hurts in some way? He's doing research and bringing it to you.

You've got a big daunting task? He's broken it down for you, maybe even helped you delegate and even eliminate some things too

Drapes his cape over you when you're napping and cold.

Drapes his cape over you when you're cold in general.

Someone is trying to belittle you? Let it be known that Al-Haitham has no problem silencing them, and in a truly intellectual manner.

Yeah no, he has no tolerance or anyone talking trash about his beloved.

Quality Time is another love language

As we all know: Al-Haitham dislikes having a large social circle. So if he is choosing to spend time with you, outside of work (or anything else that's necessary) nonetheless, he definitely values you.

For whatever reason I feel like he's more cuddly and probably goes for hugs more?

(For anyone reading Rationality of Emotion: when you see this appear again in that fic...well I mean I was always gonna use it there...)

I imagine his physical affections are more him holding you in some way, and mostly in private, and I mean just you and him private. Initially, when Kaveh was practically watching him like a hawk to see if he could display affection, Al-Haitham is deliberately avoiding any action that Kaveh was looking for.

That being said, if you're both reading on the sofa/couch looking thing in his house, he really enjoys kinda having you nestled into him? So you've got your back against the arm rest (you have it cushioned don't worry) with your head resting on his chest and your legs across his lap. Each of you just reading and enjoying the silence.

He usually isn't wearing his sound proof earpieces when you guys are doing this.

I can also imagine him going from mostly hugging due to requests to initiating hugs himself.

Yes he has hugged you from behind before, it was a hell of a day, he's kinda overstimulated, he's got his face in your neck, and is just leaning on you a bit. Please let him rest there for a bit, even if he's kinda heavy.

As for when he does kiss you though

I think Haitham's kisses are like cute little pecks on your temples or your head, or the juncture of your neck and shoulder. I don't think they're very common either.

If it's anywhere else he's probably got ulterior motives

But that's okay because he's your husband

(yes even when it's on your pulse)

(especially when it's on your pulse)

While he is mostly private, he will absolutely state his claim if necessary

I don't think Al-Haitham is a very jealous guy

he trusts you, he understands that for the most part you know how to handle yourself (sometimes you need help when hilichurls are involved)

however he doesn't exactly trust strangers

so if someone wants to try their luck, and can't take a hint, he will absolutely be by your side, with a hand on your lower back as he excuses the two of you and guides you along

That hand of his stays there the whole way home.

if you aren't picking up on the fact that this person is trying to hit on you: I think he'd only watch for a little bit, curious if you're going to pick up on it, before appearing to help you exit (especially if you look tired)

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 7 - I wanna be in love

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate class.

Word Count: 3.9K ish

TWs: Possessive kink, dollification if you squint, Elvis is a little dominant, praise kink, use of Daddy in a sexual context, fingering, p in v sex, erectile dysfunction, crying, self-esteem issues.

Elvis spends the rest of the week living in Tegan’s apartment, trying to do something to keep it tidy and also trying to cook them both dinner. He burns a lot of things and ends up ordering a lot of deliveries, but she finds the fact that he keeps trying to do things for her that he’s never had to do for himself incredibly endearing. Elvis likes being in the apartment. It’s harder to feel lonely in a place so much smaller than Graceland, and he looks forward to Tegan coming home from work every day. He buys her little gifts to make up for the terrible food and also for the time when he did a load of washing and somehow managed to dye all of her white clothes pale pink. He reads and sometimes he calls Jerry, who he’s been missing lately and who he wants to update on his relationship more than anyone, for some reason. Maybe he’s trying to give the other man hope for the future, as he goes through what sounds like a messy divorce. Elvis empathises, more than he thinks his friend really realises. 

It’s Friday, and Elvis hears the clunk of the door and rushes to greet Tegan.

“Hey baby. Good day at work?” 

He already has his arms around her and is kissing her neck before she’s even got her shoes off. 

She giggles. “Yes, thanks. Tiring, but good.”

“Thought ya were never comin’ home.”

“Sorry, the session dragged on longer than expected.” She looks around the apartment. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning,” he replies, proudly. “Cleaned the kitchen. Mopped the floor.”

She turns her head and puts a hand up to stroke his cheek. “You’re getting to be such a good little house husband, ‘raur,” she teases. 

He growls in her ear, squeezing her and tickling her and making her squeal and laugh at the same time. “Don’tcha go tellin’ anyone about this. I’ve gotta reputation to live up ta.”

“I promise. I’ll tell them you just laze around all day, when you’re not having sex with supermodels.”

He sniggers. “It’s not lazin’, it’s post-coital recovery time.”

“Exactly.”

They look at one another for a moment and then he leans down and kisses her thoroughly.

“Gotcha a gift, baby.” 

Letting her go, he walks over to the kitchen counter, picking up the fancy bag there and handing it to her. 

“Of course you did, it’s a day with a y in it,” she replies. He pouts and plays at looking dejected, and she kisses him again. “I’m teasing. You know I love presents.”

“Presents,” he repeats, mimicking her accent. “Presents for Queenie.”

She puts the bag down and launches herself at him, telling him off for making fun of her whilst poking and tickling him. He laughs, easily fending her off for a while, but the more she tells him to stop taking the piss out of her accent the funnier he finds it, and he ends up giggling helplessly on the sofa, with her on top of him tickling him and making it worse. 

“Please… please… ahhh... I surrender!” 

She laughs and flops down onto his chest, both of them exhausted and breathing heavily. 

“Ya gonna open them?” He asks, when he’s got his breath back.

She sits up, half on his lap and half on the sofa. “Depends. Are you going to keep taking the piss out of me?”

Elvis bites his lip, sniggering and trying really hard not to make a comment about what she’d just said. “N-no, honey. I uh… I’ll keep quiet.”

“You better.”

He grins as he watches her get up and walk over to the bag. She’s wearing one of her work outfits, a brightly patterned blouse and a form-fitting pencil skirt, and he can’t help wishing that the apartment was wider so that he could watch her walking away from him for a little longer. 

“You looking at my arse, Mr. Presley?” She asks, walking back with the bag now. 

“Guilty as charged, ma’am.”

She snorts, sitting back down next to him and pulling two large boxes out of the bag. They’re both from a fancy clothes boutique, and she opens the first one to a sea of gold material. Finding spaghetti straps she decides it’s probably a dress, and lifts it up by them to get a better look at it. 

“For ya to wear tomorrow,” he says as she stares at it. 

“I thought it was just a casual barbeque?” 

The dress looks like something a disney princess would wear, with an asymmetrical skirt made of layers of gauzy golden material. 

“Yer my Queenie, so ya have to dress like one.” He smiles and kisses her. “Ya want a crown too? I bet I could get Lowell to make ya one.”

She giggles. “I don’t need a crown. Elvis, this is too much. This is something to wear to a fancy dinner, not a barbeque with Lisa and Maria and Sonny.”

He shakes his head. “I said yer wearin’ it, so yer wearin’ it.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she replies, a teasing smile on her lips. 

His hand reaches for the necklace she’s wearing, holding the diamond-encrusted initials between his fingers. “Think ya know I am.”

She blushes, looking down at his fingers around the letters and squeezing her thighs together. He notices immediately and smirks, letting the necklace go and lightly slapping the side of her thigh. 

“C’mon. Open the other one.”

Putting the first box to the side, she pulls the lid off the second one. A gold bikini. She should’ve known. 

“Elvis it’s gorgeous, but…”

His hand, which had been resting on the outside of her thigh, shifts a little and gives her leg another firm slap. 

“Uh-uh. No. Yer wearin’ it under that dress. No arguments.”

She looks up into his bright blue eyes as they stare back at her. He looks deadly serious, but she can’t help pushing him a little. 

“I hope you’re going to be wearing something a bit nicer than this then.” She tugs at the sleeve of his tracksuit top. 

“Oooh woman! Do not test me!” He’s laughing a little at first, as he grabs her and pushes her onto the sofa cushions, rolling himself on top and pinning her beneath him. But then his face changes to complete seriousness. “I will wear whatever I goddamn please, and you will wear whatever I tell ya.” Her heart thumps in her chest and blood rushes in her ears as she stares back at him. 

The seriousness lasts for all of five seconds and then his mouth falls into that cute lopsided grin and his eyes shine with amusement. “I’m kiddin’, darlin’. But I think you’ll look damn good in that bikini and that dress. And I’ll wear somethin’ decent. Got my whole closet at home to choose from.”

She nods, her heart racing.

“You okay, baby?”

She blushes a deeper red and puts a hand over her eyes. “I kind of enjoyed that.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmmm.”

“So you’d like it if I told ya that ya had to wear those clothes? And I want yer nails painted to match?”

She nods, hand still over her eyes. “I kind of enjoyed the way you said it, too.” She bites her lip and cringes a little at her own words. He quite often played with being possessive in bed, telling her that her pussy belonged to him and he could have it whenever he wanted, but this was a bit different. This was something she didn’t know she liked.

Elvis smirks a little at how coy she’s being. He gently takes her hand off her face and gives her a reassuring kiss. Then he shifts so he can push her skirt up, briefly noticing her panties as he pushes them to the side and slides his fingers against her. She definitely had been enjoying it.

“You’re gonna wear what I tell you to,” he hisses, voice low and menacing in her ear. “No more arguments.”

His middle finger slides inside her, curling around and making her cry out. “Oh!”

“You’re gonna wear that goddamn dress tomorrow to the barbeque. I want you ta look good for me.”

His finger pumps in and out of her steadily. She whimpers.

“What’s ‘at?”

“Mmm. Yes. Yes I’m going to wear it.”

“Good girl.”

Tegan can hear her own breath coming out in little pants as she closes her eyes, feeling another finger pushing inside her alongside the first. 

“I don’t like these panties.”

Her eyes spring open again and she looks at him, nervously. “S-sorry,” she mumbles, her head spinning, trying to remember which ones she put on this morning. 

“Get rid of ‘em. I only want ya in matching sets.” His voice is low and even and his face is deadly serious, none of his usual smirking and joking and teasing. He’s enjoying himself though, watching the look on her face and feeling the way her body is reacting to him, her hips bucking into his hand. 

She closes her eyes, half-afraid of his serious expression, half turned on by it. She feels his fingers gripping her cheeks and opens them again. 

“You listenin’ ta me?” His tone is harsh and she nods quickly. 

“Y-yes. I won’t wear them again, I’ll throw them away.”

“Yes, what?” He asks, then presses his lips to her ear. “I know ya wanna call me somethin’, baby,” he murmurs, in an entirely softer tone. 

She’d nearly slipped up a couple of times when they were in bed together, responding “yes, d…Elvis…” and even murmuring “daddy” once, so quietly that he’d almost missed it. Her husband had been a little older, and she’d liked to call him that in bed sometimes. But she wasn’t sure how Elvis would feel about it, especially not after all of the stuff that had been written in the paper about their respective ages. So she’d tried to hold back, sticking to her Welsh pet names for him. But he’d obviously figured it out and now it seems like he wants her to say it. 

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispers. 

He growls, pushing her legs back and thrusting his fingers in and out of her harder and faster. She throws her head back and moans. He feels his dick hard in his pants at the same time as she is soaking wet and ready for him, and he doesn’t want to miss his opportunity. They’d fooled around a few more times since the disastrous attempt at Graceland, but she was never quite relaxed or turned on enough and he usually ended up losing his erection mid-way through. 

He hurriedly pulls his sweatpants down along with his boxer shorts, sliding his fingers back out of her as he pumps himself a few times with one hand. Her senses are still reeling, and so she doesn’t realise what’s happening until he starts to push inside her, stretching her so much it hurts a little. 

“Ow. Elvis!”

He looks up quickly, just about managing to pause what he’s doing and praying it doesn’t mean he’s about to lose his erection again. 

“Rub your dick on me, get it wetter.” Tegan knows she’s not really supposed to be telling him what to do right now, but that feels closer to penetration than anything that they’d done before, and she knows he just needs a little more lube. 

He grunts, pulling the tip back out of her and continuing his silent prayers about staying hard. Pulling her panties off and throwing them across the room, he pushes her legs back again and exposes her pussy, groaning at the way it’s glistening with her wetness. They both moan at the sensation of him rubbing himself against her, his foreskin moving back and forth on her puffy clit, desperate for stimulation. 

He huffs out a loud breath. 

“That’s enough,” he says, half to himself but also in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “Yer mine and I wanna fuck you.”

She whines at his words and then at his dick pushing inside her, this time making it past the head, the whole shaft sliding inside until his balls rest against her skin. She’s whimpering at how full she feels, and he just stays there for a moment, as the two of them stare at one another in something like disbelief. 

She props herself up on her elbows so she can look him right in the eye. 

“Please fuck me, Daddy.” 

The sofa is not the easiest place to have sex, and his knees slip every so often as he starts to thrust in and out of her. He grabs hold of the back of it for balance and although it’s deep he starts to worry a bit about falling off. Eventually she flops onto her back and holds her arms out for him, so he lays on top of her, kissing her needily as his hips jut into hers and her legs wrap around his waist. 

“Does it feel good?” He asks, between kisses. 

“Mmm. Yes. Really good. You?”

He nods, breathlessly. “Damn good.” His eyes close in pleasure and he buries his face in her neck. 

He starts to try and speed up his thrusts but the sofa cushions start sliding out, unbalancing both of them. 

“Ah, fuck.”

He pauses and they look at one another, both a little sweaty, their foreheads pressed together. 

“You think we can move to the bedroom?” She asks. 

“Think we’ll have ta try.”

They kiss a little more and then Elvis gets up, slowly pulling out, going back to his silent prayers. They shed their clothes as quickly as they can on their way to the bedroom, until they’re both naked in the bed. Elvis looks down and sighs. 

“Think that was one step too far fer the little guy.”

Tegan bursts out laughing. She finds Elvis’ tendency to talk about his dick like it’s its own person absolutely hilarious. 

“Well you laughin’ at him won’t help any, honey.” He frowns. 

“I’m laughing at you, not your dick.”

“Hmmm.” He tries to look annoyed but he can barely hold in his own amusement. 

“Let’s see if we can, er, perk him up a bit,” she says, wrapping her hand around Little Elvis and starting to work him up and down. “Think he liked it when you were kinda bossy to me, earlier.”

“Mmm.” Elvis’ hand strokes her side. “I think he did too.” He thinks for a moment. She’s naked now, so he can’t really say things about her clothes anymore, and he’s done her outfit for tomorrow. He always liked his girls to have nice hair and nails in the past though, and keep them done for him. Maybe that would work. 

“Don’t think yer keepin’ yerself lookin’ good enough fer me, are ya?” He begins.

Her eyes go wide, wondering what he means. “I-I don’t know. I try to look nice…” she trails off, a little unsure. 

He puts his hand in her hair and pulls it a little. “I want you in the salon every week so yer hair’s lookin’ real pretty for me at the weekend.”

She nods, rushing out a quick, “yes, Daddy,” when he looks stern. She feels him start to get harder in her hand again and pumps a little faster. 

“An’ no chips in yer nails,” he continues. “Can’t have ya goin’ round, lookin’ a mess.”

She can hear herself whimpering again, knowing his words are making her wet even as she worries a little that he does think she’s a mess and she’s not really pretty enough to be on his arm. 

His erection is back so he pulls her hand off his dick, knocking her onto her back and pushing her legs up. Continuing to grip her hand in his, he holds it up so he can examine her fingernails. He shakes his head, giving a low whistle and letting her hand drop back down onto the bed. 

“Ya better get those fixed fer tomorrow.”

He lines himself up and pushes inside her again, this time in one movement, making her groan and her eyes roll back in her head. 

“Ya hear me, little girl?”

She nods quickly. “Yes, Daddy. I’ll get them fixed. Ohhhh.”

He starts to move and now he’s on a mattress and not a sofa he goes hard and fast straight away. Holding onto her thigh with one hand and rubbing her clit with the other he pounds into her. Watching as her breasts bounce with every thrust and loving the feeling of her pussy hugging him tightly, he tries to pay attention to her movements, her breathing, her little tells. Wanting to know when she’s close. 

“Whose pussy is this, baby?” He asks, panting, feeling his own release starting to build as he sees her hands grasping at the bedding and balling into fists. 

“Yours, Daddy,” she moans back. 

“Good girl. Cum for Daddy.”

His thumb rubs her clit more firmly as he carries on his assault on her pussy, his orgasm right at the base of his dick now. As she arches her back she feels him hit somewhere inside her that makes her want to scream, and the combination of that and the way he’s touching her with his thumb is finally enough to trigger waves of pleasure washing over her as she cums. Feeling herself let go completely, the noises that fall from her mouth may as well be screams as her walls squeeze and squeeze and tip Elvis over the edge too, making him cum hard and deep inside her. He cries out in ecstasy, falling on top of her, and the two of them lie there together, dizzy with pleasure.

When he finally feels like he can move again, he rolls off her and pulls her into his arms. She puts an arm and a leg around him too, cuddling up close. 

“That was incredible. Baby, we did it!”

She buries her face in his chest. “I can’t believe it,” she mumbles into his skin. 

“Ya had a good time?” He asks, suddenly worried that her response isn’t quite as enthusiastic as he was expecting. 

“Mmm. Yeah, it was amazing.”

He strokes her back. “But?”

There’s a long pause, where she tries to work out what to say, how to phrase it so she doesn’t sound silly. Eventually she just looks up, shyly, and says, “do you think I look a mess?”

Elvis blinks, wondering why she’s asking, and then realises what he’d said to her earlier.

“Oh, no, honey. I think ya look beautiful, all the time,” he tells her, his hand on her face. “But I do kinda wanna show ya off…” he pauses, looking for her reaction. “I mean, I want people ta be blown away by ya.”

“Hmmmm.” She nibbles on her lower lip and digs her fingers into his chest hair. “So you meant what you said?”

He frowns. She’d definitely said she wanted him to talk like that to her, and now she seemed to be going back on it. “I’d never force ya ta do anythin’ ya didn’t want, honey. You don’t wanna wear that dress tomorrow, that’s up ta you. I was only playin’ coz ya said ya liked it. I don’t wanna upset ya.”

Tegan leans her head back down on his chest and sighs. She doesn’t know what she wants. She definitely enjoyed herself in the heat of the moment but now she’s scared again that he’s pretending she’s pretty. 

“What’s a matter, honey?” Elvis’ voice is low and gentle, and he accompanies the question with patterns traced on her back by his fingertips.

She lets out a long breath that she didn’t realise she’d been holding in. 

“You could be with someone much prettier than me. And… and now especially after…” she swallows and tries to collect herself and not cry. “...you… you’re going to find someone else.” Her shoulders shake and she finds herself crying anyway, the intensity of her orgasm and the feeling of closeness she’d shared with Elvis making her suddenly feel vulnerable and afraid. 

Elvis’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Hang on a minute…” he tips her face back up towards him and sees it streaked with tears. “What makes ya think I want anyone else? Ya think I’m gonna do yer laundry, cook yer dinners and mop yer kitchen floor and then go find someone else? Why would I do that?”

Tegan wipes her face a little. “Well let’s be honest now, you didn’t really successfully make much dinner.”

He pulls her up his body so that their foreheads are pressed together again. “I’ve never even tried ta make a woman dinner before you.”

She looks at him for a moment and then starts to cry again. 

“Oh baby,” he wraps both arms around her, holding her close. “What’s wrong?”

“Think you only wanted me because I didn’t care about your dick. And now we’ve had sex you’re just going to leave.”

She tries to roll off him again in embarrassment, but he holds onto her tightly, one hand on the back of her head and the other splayed across her back. 

“Tegan bach,” he begins, firmly. “I wanted you before I knew ya didn’t care about it, and after I knew, and I still want ya now, more than ever. It’s not like ya magically fixed me and now I’m on my way to fuck a bunch of supermodels. We’ve got somethin’ special here. Don’tcha think?”

“Y-yes. That’s why I’m a-afraid to l-lose it,” she sniffs. 

He kisses her gently on the mouth. “I’m sorry I ran away from ya so many times before, an’ fucked this up so many times, an’ ya had to wait fer me ta grow up and realise what I’ve got here. But I’m not goin’ anywhere now. I promise.”

She sniffs again and nods, although she’s still afraid. 

“Let’s dry these tears on this pretty little face, hm? See if ya can gimme a smile.” She moves so he can wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He kisses the end of her nose, making her smile slightly. 

“I went ta the store earlier,” he pauses for a minute to reflect and then changes his sentence. “Well, that’s not exactly true. Mary went ta the store fer me, an’ I asked her ta get ingredients for cottage pie.”

“Oh did you?” Tegan is smiling a little more now. “And what are you planning on doing with those then?”

“I was plannin’ on makin’ my Queenie dinner.”

“Well that sounds nice.”

She can almost see him thinking, like he desperately wants to ask her to help him, so it doesn’t end up burnt with lumpy mash, but he also really wants to save face. She decides to put him out of his misery.

“Do you want a glamorous assistant?”

He breathes a sigh of relief at her suggestion. “Fuck yes.”

They both giggle together again and Elvis looks at her lovingly. How she could think he’d want anyone else is beyond him, but he thinks he’ll have to keep showing her how much she means to him. He sits up and looks around for his clothes. The first step of that is making her an edible dinner. 

***

Part 8

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[forecast0ctopus]

Any advice on drawing McCoy? I’m not used to drawing ancient wrinkley bastards (affectionate) and it’s surprisingly tough v-v

FOR SURE lmao i made. a diagram. just a warning that i am going to be irritating and long winded because u just hit a topic i really like sorry lmao

so first off i did some traces just to show whats there vs redraws to show my interpretation

ive said this on other asks but again jsyk, tracing isnt bad!! its a tool. theres some stuff with intellectual property and whatnot but using tracing to study shapes and forms is a really valuable practice.

also just taking some time to learn facial structures and anatomy is super useful, reading what bones and muscles are where and how they interact with one another. taking this info and staring in the mirror and moving your face around and thinking about it. just really furthers understanding of how the face works. trying to sound normal about this but i love anatomy and motion and physics and whatever

anyways im going to go through all the numbered points so there's no confusion. 1. forehead lines - self explanatory. more prominent when brows are raised 2. crows feet - at the outer corners of the eyes, more prominent when smiling or squinting 3. nasolabial folds - the folds that go from the corners of the nose to the corners of the mouth. more prominent when the mouth is wide, like smiling 4. brow furrow - self explanatory, most prominent when brows are furrowed. mccoy tends to have two right next to his eyebrows, kirk has one in the middle. everyones face works different lmao 5. chin crease - caused by how the chin and lower lip interact. 6. nasojugal groove - start from the inner corners of the eye and can extent over the cheeks. everyone has these and idk why people dont like them i think theyre really cool!!!! but Society. i guess. :/ 7. eye bags - caused by the skin sagging beneath the eyes. mccoy isnt even that old in tos i think hes meant to be mid 40s by the end of the 5 year mission, hes just got really prominent eye bags lmao 8. idk what the name is for these, but when the mouth is wide and pushes the skin to the sides, these folds sometimes form outside of the nasolabial folds 9. philtrum - the groove above the upper lip. i dont usually draw this but mccoy's struck me as prominent enough that i usually draw it on him 10. masseter - the muscle that moves the jaw up and down. its a pretty rugged muscle and while i wouldnt say mccoy's is especially prominent, it kind of extends that nasojugal groove from certain angles/positions 11. orbicularis oris - mouth muscle, usually easier to see when lips are pursed or frowns are pulled. mccoy's is pretty prominent from 3/4ths or side, his mouth tends to protrude in profile 12. this isnt a muscle but more of a line defining the planes of the face, but since i drew it i felt i should explain lmao

a few points:

im an animator i tend to exaggerate and emphasize certain things so i usually make him more square.

i like to combine eyebags and crows feet for brevity/flow, same with nasojugal grooves, eyebags, and masseter lines. my approach is always subject to change based on pose, expression, reference image, etc.

i take out details that i deem redundant or cluttering and keep what details i need to make things feel Right

all this info is applicable to any character of any age, its just in how you apply it and facial proportions that willl change how old a character is perceived to be

there's a lot more with drawing a Character rather than an Actor, just because the features are there doesnt necessarily mean things will feel correct? its very much in the mannerisms and poses and expressions

i only went over my approach to his likeness but not really body type or posing or anything idk if u want that i could always try to answer that later haha

_______________

anyways all that info kind of exists nebulously in my brain while i draw its not like im sitting there thinking Must Draw. Nasolabial Fold...... i jsut do what feels right with the visual info i have. also i love specificity in faces.... i dont like to be a hater but when every character is drawn the same it pisses me off a little lmao. so

also dont take my word as The Only Way to do anything i just draw how i like to draw and no one should feel like these are things that Must be done to be a good artist or anything do whatever the hell u wanna do

[miraclewoozi]

HIGH FIDELITY, PT 2. -c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking one very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

( PART ONE )

pair ; vernon x fem!reader.  content ; strangers to lovers.  up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader.   fluff, angst, smut. (MINORS DNI). warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a big theme pretty much throughout. mentions of past relationship breakdowns. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt, reflected in self sabotage. mentions of sickness (acute). wc ; 12.2k ( ~38k total. ) disclaimer ; this fic was inspired by rob + liam in the series high fidelity and is therefore pretty influenced by the show. if you’ve watched it, you’ll probably see a lot of similarities! i just felt so drawn to vernon in this kind of role that i really wanted to try and put a spin on it. i do not claim that every idea behind this is original. notes ; been working on this one for a while. hope you enjoy it.<3

smut tags : making out. some groping. some 'first time together' shenanigans. oral (m rec) & ball sucking hehe. he has a big cock because i have an agenda to push. implied f rec oral. implied multiple rounds. PLEASE let me know if i’ve forgotten anything.

The clock on your bedside table reads somewhere between 4:00 and 5:00 in the morning when you resign from trying to fall asleep and force yourself to sit upright, fed up of tossing and turning between your now too-creased sheets, brain stuck in a foggy, hellish limbo. Your mind won’t shut down. Your body won’t rest. Birds are starting to chirp outside and you can hear them clear as whistles through the cheap window that doesn’t quite seal shut to your left. Your eyes squint in preparation as you reach for your lamp and flood the room in yellowish light, drawing your knees up to your chest. 

You’ve spent so much time in your own thoughts that you’ve begun to feel systemically unwell. Your stomach twists and aches, your eyes are so dry it hurts to even blink and there’s an ache behind them that started as an annoying throb, but has grown over the hours into a roaring flame. From the hairs on your head all the way down to your toes, you feel like you could burst. 

You wish you had it in you to cry. To let it out. Keeping this pent up is no doubt making you feel a hundred times worse, and you think it would be nice to feel something other than the endless swooping of the spiral you’re well and truly making your way down. Your alarms are going to go off in a few hours. I can’t let anyone see me like this, you think. I can’t work in this state. 

You throw ideas around in your head for a little while, thumbs tweaking over your phone as messages get typed, edited, deleted, and repeat. Part of you thinks maybe you could manage. Just tough it out and put on a brave face, because actually, what right do you have to be hiding away when you’re the one who ran out one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met? But you just know something will go wrong, even if you tell the boys that you need to camp out in the office for the day. When you need peace and quiet, you can never find it behind that creaky old door. When was the last time you got a full admin day without being called through to help with a problem or deal with a drama? And truly, the idea of facing the world right now makes you feel like you could be sick. 

Sick…

Could you—?

You’ve never enjoyed taking sick days, even on occasions where you’ve really needed them, when you’ve woken up feeling like you’re knocking at death’s door. Sometimes, you swear the guilt that it brings ends up making you feel ten times worse than whatever your ailment is doing to you in the first place. But your exhaustion lets impulse take hold and you’re already sending a message into your group chat with the boys before you can talk yourself out of it, biting the inside of your cheek as the little indicator pops up on your screen. Delivered. 

Well. You’re committed now, whether you like it or not. 

Not feeling so hot. I won’t be in today. Take it easy, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Sorry. 

You pick your comforter up off the bed and wrap it around your shoulders like an extravagant, well-padded cape, trudging your way through the apartment until you’re stood, barefoot and cold, staring into the bright light of your refrigerator. Somehow in the seconds between pulling the handle and now, you’ve managed to forget what is what that you were hoping to find. More out of spite for how the bulbs are currently bleaching your retinas than because you want it, you pull the milk from its home in the cradle of the door and fix yourself a glass to take with you and put it on the coffee table back in your living room.

Without an ounce of grace, you throw yourself onto your couch: your head rests against the arm of the seat like you’re in the apartment of a sketchy therapist, and you’re wrapped up in your duvet as if it’s a sleeping bag, treating yourself to the luxury of a slightly different ceiling pattern to stare up at. And it could be the change of the room that finally manages to drag you under, or it could be the total fatigue of the emotional rollercoaster that has been your last twenty four hours…

But your glass of milk goes completely untouched as you eventually drift off, either way. 

Of course, it’s not for nearly long enough. Barely an hour after finally managing to fall asleep, your phone starts to vibrate harshly against your chest. You tap at the screen blindly, hoping to shut off what you assume is your alarm; when it’s still buzzing a few seconds later, you reluctantly open your eyes, fighting back a sob. It’s not your alarm – it’s an incoming call. Why would it be anything else?

“Hello?” You grumble, putting the phone on speaker and resting it on the couch cushion next to your head. The energy expenditure of holding the device up to your ear feels mammoth.

“Ohh, you sound terrible.” Seungkwan’s voice sounds more taunting than it does concerned, but you pin that down to a symptom of his over-familiarity. “You’re sick?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“I heard there was something going around,” Seungkwan tells you. Great, you think. Good to know. Now go away. “Yeah – one of my cousins… ah, what did she say…”

“Hey, man, I really-...”

“That’s it. She said she was love sick.”

You sigh so hard you think it’s a miracle you don’t pass out.  

“Don’t–”

“You better make sure Vernon gives you plenty of Vitamin D, today,” he harps on. “It’s quite the disease. I heard it can really–”

“Seungkwan!” You snap, finally, grabbing your phone and barking straight into the microphone. He doesn’t need to know that you’re stretching the truth to its absolute limit, but you certainly won’t let him keep believing that you’re calling out just to get laid. “Knock it off, okay? I’ve been awake all night.” 

(You suppose you should be glad that that much really is true.)

He falls silent, and you don’t know if he totally believes you, but a few breaths later, you hear his voice through the speaker again. He’s softer, this time. Quieter.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, hesitating a moment before he goes on. “Try to get some rest, all right? I’ll swing by after work and check in with some food, and… if you need anything, just text me?”

You’re immediately overcome with guilt at the sharp change in his demeanour, and it does nothing to settle the way your insides are writhing inside you. You clear your throat and pull your duvet up to cover your face, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. 

“I will,” you mumble. “I’m sorry – thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. You can hear the front door to his own apartment slam shut and his breaths pick up as he starts to rush down the stairwell of his building. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

“Hey–” he rushes, before you can hang up the call. “Rest up. Run a bath, drink plenty. Love you.”

You cringe a little, but not enough to stop you from saying it back. Sort of. 

“Yeah. You too.”

Nobody could ever accuse Seungkwan of not being a man of his word. As irritating as he can sometimes be, as determined as he is to get on your every last nerve, you’ve never known him fail to come through on a promise. 

Not long after 6:30pm, you hear a series of knocks at the front door of your apartment. You’ve managed to squeeze in odd shifts of sleep throughout the day and though your head is still in a mess, you feel significantly less irritable than you were this morning. Cleaner, as well. One of your (several) naps took place in the bath, where you laid there and let the hot water draw some of the anxieties clean out of you to float towards the ceiling amongst the lavender-scented steam. 

In the knowledge that Seungkwan’s expectations of you are quite literally zero, you don’t bother to fix the one leg of your sweatpants that’s rolled up before you heave yourself off the couch and go to let him inside. He stands in the doorway with a bag of takeout food in each hand, all wind-flushed cheeks and that brilliant smile, and you feel like your stomach settles almost straight away when you see him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, toeing off his shoes as he comes inside and lets the door close behind him. He sets the bags down on top of the small table by your front door and cups your face in both of his hands, squeezing your cheeks and frowning down at you. “You look awful.”

“Wow, thanks,” you huff, squirming to get out of his grip. “I was going to say I feel a little better, but…”

“You look exhausted,” Seungkwan clarifies, picking up the bags once more and following you through to your living room as you start to walk away from him. “I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t realise you were actually… this bad…”

“This is doing wonders for my ego,” you grumble. “Keep it coming. Really.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“No, no. By all means, continue to kick a girl while she’s down. Super classy.”

Your best friend flops down onto your couch with an exaggerated huff at your petulance. You curl up in the armchair instead, bringing your knees up beneath you. 

“Do you think it was something you ate?” He asks, refusing to give into your bickering and changing the subject matter instead. 

You shrug your shoulders at him. “I don’t-... I mean, it was more of a head… thing?” 

He sucks his front teeth. “What, like a migraine?”

“Sort of?” 

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?” He asks. “You’ve had a migraine before. Was it that or not?”

“Well, it’s difficult to-... It wasn’t exactly…”

“Okay.” 

Seungkwan interrupts you as you hesitate again, swinging his legs off the couch and resting his elbows on his thighs, leaning as far towards you as he can while still remaining seated. He wrings his hands, plays with his fingers, lips drawn forward in a stern-looking pout. 

“I thought something was up this morning on the phone, but I didn’t wanna push it because you sounded mad. Now I know something’s wrong with you. What’s going on?”

You swallow hard and cross your arms over your chest, dropping your gaze away from Seungkwan’s very intense one. 

“Nothing,” you lie. 

“Bullshit.”

“Seungkwan!” 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, tipping his head forward and running his hands through his hair. He’s never been a coddler, always one to prefer the tough-love approach: it’s no surprise that he doesn’t appear any softer when he looks back at you. “But we both know that’s crap.”

You can feel your pulse starting to quicken the longer he stares you down. It’s as if he’s burning two great big holes into your head, laser-beams where his pupils ought to be. He’s the master of the hard stare, and you know he won’t move until he hears the truth. 

Maybe I should just tell him. Maybe it’ll help…

“Look, I don’t care how famous he thinks he’s gonna be, if Vernon upset you last night, I’ll kick his ass myself.”

And there are the alarm bells. In hindsight, maybe you should’ve seen this coming; it’s not that far of a reach, and given the few facts that he actually knows, you can’t blame Seungkwan for jumping to this conclusion. It’s quite effective in triggering you to speak up, too. (You think that maybe, this was on purpose. Attack where you’re likely to defend. He knows you like the back of his hand.) In an instant you’re sitting upright with your feet firmly on the floor and you’re shaking your head at him like a dog trying to get itself dry. 

“No, no, no, back it up,” you rush. “It’s nothing like that. He hasn’t done anyth-... God, it’s not him.”

“It better not be,” Seungkwan tells you. His voice still has that dark edge to it, and you’re not sure how exactly to stamp it out. “I’m serious. If he’s done anything-...”

“He hasn’t,” you say more firmly. After a couple slow breaths, you clasp your hands together, swallowing your pride. “The food’s gonna go cold. Go grab a couple glasses and-... whatever else from the kitchen—”

“Only if you tell me what’s happening,” he says, slowly pushing himself up to stand. 

You don’t assent with words, but you don’t have to. You look up at him and nod a couple of times and that’s all he needs. Seungkwan strides off through the doorway, leaving you to shakily exhale away the stress that is once again squeezing at your lungs.

Once the containers are laid out on the table, food is divided up, utensils are handed over and he’s poured you each out a glass of soda, Seungkwan sits back on the couch. He doesn’t prod you, or ask you again – he doesn’t need to. You know what he’s waiting for. Even so, he allows you a few mouthfuls of your dinner first: seeing as this is the first substantial thing you’ve eaten all day, you silently thank him for the generosity.

“All right,” you say, gulping down a few mouthfuls of your drink to re-lubricate your throat. “Okay. Fuck – you’re gonna wanna make yourself comfy for this.”

The only way he moves is to pick up one of the food cartons and settle it on his thigh. Oh, how you wish you were joking. But if he really doesn’t want to heed your warning…

“You know I went on that date the other week?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek. Seungkwan nods at you, lifting a helping of noodles out of the carton.

“With the hitter and quitter,” he confirms. “I remember.”

“Right,” you say. “Well – okay, wait, no. That’s a bad start. He didn’t do anything either.”

“I mean…”

“Not the time.”

He lifts his free hand up in surrender and gestures for you to continue as he slurps his food into his mouth. You clear your throat, bouncing one leg so rapidly that the decorative candle holder on your mantelpiece starts to rattle. 

“So… it was before the date. I was on my way to the bar, walking down past-... that convenient store. You know the one Chan keeps going into ‘cause he’s got the hots for the person who works there on a Friday night? Yeah, I was walking down that way. Actually running on time for once, and-...” 

You falter, sucking a breath deep into your lungs. It causes your next words to come out more strained than they ought to. 

“I ran into Jaehyun...”

Seungkwan swallows just in time to prevent himself from choking on his mouthful of food, but his eyes still shoot wide and you think his chest convulses a little bit anyway. His is a name you haven’t mentioned in a while, but he clearly hasn’t forgotten who it belongs to.

Because, well… how could he ever forget? 

Your ex-partner. Jaehyun.

The ex-love-of-your-life, Jaehyun.

The man who asked you to marry him after three and a half years of dating only to leave you, heartbroken and alone, six months later because he wanted to travel the world and there was too much that you couldn’t bring yourself to leave behind, Jaehyun. 

How could Seungkwan forget when he had been one of the people who helped drag you through what was not only the worst break-up, but one of the worst times of your entire life? 

Aside from the other week, it’s been… nearly eighteen months since you saw him last. Almost a year since you let yourself talk about him. Even sitting in your own apartment with a box full of your favourite food in your hands, a sense of dread chills you from head to toe just going so far as to say his name. But you’ve started, now, so you might as well finish.

“…right outside that stupid fucking store.”

Your voice cracks when you say it and you hurry to set your dinner down on the floor to free up your shaking hands. You cup them over your mouth, closing your eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. It helps enough for you to be able to continue, even if you still feel a bit like you’re drowning.

“I thought he…” Seungkwan starts, putting his own food down and slipping off the couch. He comes to sit on the arm of your chair and puts a hand around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “When did-...?”

“Yeah, uh… apparently he moved back a couple weeks ago,” you swallow, leaning into your friend’s embrace. 

Seungkwan looks down at you and you look up at him, all misty-eyed and drained. There’s more. He knows there is, but now he waits for you patiently, giving you all the time in the world to get through this and to let it out and to lean on him. He doesn’t butt in. The quiet feels worse than the talking. 

“He’s with someone now. They, uh— they met in Paris. Just over a year ago.”

Seungkwan finally dares to make a noise and breathes out heavily, so loud that it’s almost a groan. 

“Y/n,” he sighs, tightening his hold around you. “Shit – I’m so sorry,”

You shrug, staring across the room to where your record player sits on top of a low cabinet, lid open, table collecting dust. 

“For months, I sat here feeling… fucking, sorry for myself,” you say, barely above a whisper. You swallow around the lump in your throat and shake your head. “This whole time, refusing to get back on the horse ‘cause I thought maybe-... but he was-…”

The room goes quiet again as you lose the words you want to say and Seungkwan just rubs small circles against your arm. The problem is that you know this doesn’t explain why you called out of work today. It doesn’t explain what happened last night, and you’re not sure where to begin with that either. Especially seeing as the last time your best friends saw you and Vernon, the sparks flying between you were nigh-on visible. 

“I thought I was handling it, you know?” You sigh, leaning harder into Seungkwan’s soft sweatshirt. “Like… yeah — it hurt… but I was okay? I guess. And then Vernon fucking… kissed me last night—“

“He— what?”

“Hang on — no, he… I wanted him to.” You fumble with a thread hanging off the sleeve of your t-shirt as you talk. Why is this all so difficult? At the same time, why does it feel so juvenile to say out loud? “I just… I don’t know…”

Your wall clock tick, tick, ticks away in yet another painful fall of silence. 

“How bad was he?” Seungkwan asks when you struggle to elaborate. 

You assume this is an attempt to shatter the gloomy atmosphere and lighten your mood a tiny bit; it works, you suppose, because despite yourself, you laugh drily. Not without nudging your shoulder into his ribs, though. He deserves it, and you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that it does make you feel a little better.

“He wasn’t,” you groan. “Don’t—… you’re such an ass.” 

He pulls himself away from you at the sound of your laughter and moves to sit on the edge of your coffee table instead, careful not to disrupt any of your food while keeping himself close enough to you that he can hold both of your hands in his and soothe his thumbs over your palms.

“You freaked out on him, didn’t you?” 

He sees straight through you and truthfully, no part of you is surprised. No part of you tries to fight it, or reject his assumption, or even question why that’s the first explanation he leapt to. You just nod, looking to where your best friend’s fingers are currently the only things holding you together. 

“Ran out his apartment like the building was gonna burn down,” you sigh, still laughing but harshly now. He squeezes your hands gently, urging you to look up at him. You do, slowly. “It’s ruined everything.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Seungkwan tries, narrowing his eyes at you when you scoff your obvious disagreement. “No, seriously. Anyone can see the poor guy’s got it bad for you.”

“Even if that’s right, you didn’t see his face,” you say. “God, he isn’t gonna wanna look at me ever again.”

“Have you spoken to him today?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Maybe if you explain what happened–”

“Oh, sure,” you snort. “‘Hey, Vernon. Sorry for running out on you like a lunatic yesterday. I ran into my ex recently and when you kissed me, it reminded me of being with him and I got freaked out and had to dash. Hope you don’t mind.’ God.” 

You try to draw your hands back but Seungkwan just holds onto you tighter. “We’ll workshop it,” he says firmly. “Do you like him, or not?”

“Seungkwan–”

“That wasn’t an option.”

You scowl at him. “It’s not that easy.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“Yes,” you stress finally, groaning through it. “Yes – I do.”

Seungkwan’s face lights up for a second, his eyes sparkling, lips lifting. You’re half expecting him to say ‘I knew it’. Half expecting him to try and be all deep and philosophical and a little bit motherly, as he sometimes does, especially when you’re upset. He’s always been a sucker for a happy ending. But this isn’t a happy ending, you remind yourself, squaring your jaw. It’s past that, already. It isn’t going to happen, you just know it. 

“Stop being so fucking hard on yourself,” he tells you, squeezing your hands one last time before he lets go and moves back over to the couch so he can finish eating before his food goes cold. “If anyone can pull this off, it’s you.”

You’re not sure what’s in the air right now, but this has been one of the busiest weekends that you can remember. Both yesterday and today, almost as soon as the store opened, your first handful of customers came through. Apart from about an hour around lunchtime, you don’t think there have been any periods of time where you’ve not had someone milling around the shelves. It makes a nice change, really, from some of your weekend shifts – hours at a time where the dust starts to settle and hardly anyone disturbs the bell above the front door. But this means you’ve been in full customer-service mode basically all day, and you’re starting to feel exhausted from keeping up the persona.

Still. There’s only an hour or so left — you can push through, and when you get home, there’ll be a nice, hot bubble bath with your name written all over it.

The bell chimes again just as you finish serving a group of teenage girls. You watch them scurry away, excitedly giggling about their new albums and you look towards the door with a smile already plastered on, all ready to greet the new customer until your eyes lock with theirs.

A ‘hey, how’s it going?’ stops somewhere midway up your throat, a pathetic little ‘huh?’ sound escaping you in its place. You’re frozen all of a sudden; you and the man who just came in both stand perfectly still, staring at each other like a pair of bunnies in headlights. It takes you forever to register the strap wrapped around his fist, the purse that hangs just below his grip. My bag, you think to yourself, but the voice that narrates your thoughts is hushed for the first time ever, too. Everything in your head gets sucked away into a little vacuum. The only thing left is him.

“I-… thought you might want this back.” Vernon breaks the quiet first. Your throat runs dry. In a flash, the noise in your brain is as loud as it’s ever been and in amongst all the chaos of thoughts and questions and apologies, you can’t pick out the words you actually want to say. 

He slowly unravels the strap from around his hand and takes a few steps closer to you, inching towards the counter. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he hurries to assure you. Your heart aches for how reserved and nervous he looks. It doesn’t suit him. You hate it. “It’s okay. I’m… really sorry, about the other night. I didn’t mean to—” A deep breath. “I’ll see you around.”

Vernon lays your bag so delicately on the wooden surface that you could be forgiven for thinking he was handling an explosive. Then, he takes one, two, three steps back, before turning and heading to the exit.  

“Wait—” you call out to him, finding your voice at the most critical time, right as his fingers curl around the door handle. “Wait—, please.”

He spins back around to face you as you slip out from behind the desk. His left brow lifts higher than the right but otherwise, he gives nothing away. He doesn’t even say anything as he stands there, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. 

You swallow around the golf ball sized lump taking residence in your throat and clasp your hands together in front of you, wringing and twisting and accidentally popping one of your knuckles in the process. “I shouldn’t have run out on you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

Vernon chews this over in his mind but ultimately just shrugs his shoulders at you. What is there to say? He surely agrees, but he seems so adamant to ensure you don’t feel bad about it happening that he just… says nothing. Again. It’s kind of maddening, even if you fully get why. 

“No, I mean it,” you try again. “It wasn’t you. It’s nothing you did.”

“We really don’t have to do the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing,” Vernon offers, his cardboard-like posture softening. There’s even a little bit of a smile on his face, you think — but it’s not the kind of smile you’ve grown used to seeing on him. It doesn’t reach his eyes; he looks kind of like someone who has read their cards and accepted their fate. “Seriously. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” you stress, stepping closer to him again. You sigh deeply. There’s something almost relieving about the position you find yourself in. You suppose this really is crunch time; it’s now or never. “Can we… talk? About everything?”

“What? Here?” Vernon asks. 

You glance around the store, at the few people doing a very poor job of pretending to be minding their own business, and frown. He’s right. This isn’t the time, or the place. The problem is, you have a feeling that if you send him away, he may not decide to come back and listen to you. In his defence, why should he? He’s already done more than the decent thing and brought you back that which you abandoned in his apartment; several of your previous conquests would have shoved the bag and its contents either in the trash or the back of a closet somewhere. This is more than you could have hoped for. 

You hold a finger up to him and ask him to stay where he is, and though he looks a little bewildered at the gesture, he ultimately doesn’t move. You rush off out the back to the storeroom where you banished Chan an hour ago, on account of his raging hangover and your low tolerance for his whining about it; you’re genuinely surprised to find him working, and actually alphabetising the records you got in a few days ago like you asked him to.

“Hey. Can you do me a huge favour?” You ask, not announcing your arrival and subsequently scaring Chan out of his skin. He jolts as he hears your voice and claps a hand to his chest, exhaling hard. You don’t entertain his dramatics, though. There’s no time. “I need you to close today.”

“Huh?” He asks, still acting as if he’s trying to catch his breath. “I thought–”

“Please.” You wave him off, knowing he’s about to ask about the task you gave him. “We can look at this together tomorrow. You did great. It’s just an hour – is that okay?”

He chews the inside of his lip, almost looking disappointed. To be fair to him, he did look like he was in a groove when you appeared, but he doesn’t argue with you as he puts down the record in his hand and picks his phone up off the table to his right, silencing the catchy tune that was playing while he organised. 

“Of course it is,” he says, holding his hand out for your keys and starting to walk towards you. “Everything okay?”

“It-...” you start, faltering as you place the store keys in his waiting palm. Your default response was about to be ‘it’s fine’, but you’re trying harder these days to stop pretending, especially around him. So you swallow, nodding your head, flashing him a tight lipped smile. “I’m about to find out.”

“Oh? Is it…?”

A brief pause later, not before cringing at how predictable you’ve apparently become, you say, “yeah.”

Chan claps you on the shoulder as he skirts his way around you, leaning in to give you a sort of side-along hug on his way. You stretch your arm across his waist and pull him closer for a moment, trying to drive home how much you appreciate this. He doesn’t comment on the uncharacteristic display of affection, and you want to find out why, but Vernon isn’t going to wait around for you forever. 

“Go get him, tiger,” Chan whispers.

“I owe you, big time,” you promise. 

He winks at you before he disappears through the door and you follow him briefly, but as he does a round of checking in with your customers and making sure they don’t need any help, you hurry off to grab your jacket from the office.

Vernon is exactly where you left him when you come back out into the storefront, hands unmoved from where he stuffed them into his pockets earlier, rocking back and forth on his toes and looking around from wall to wall. You think perhaps he took your request slightly too literally and the fact that even his feet are in the same position as before you left is reminiscent of a puppy commanded to stay, but if anyone here is at liberty to start poking fun, you think that it certainly isn’t you. Instead of trying your luck, you lock the office door and walk up to him, returning his polite, yet slightly awkward smile.

“You’re not, like, super busy right now or anything, are you?” You ask him. 

His brows crease and his eyes shift side-to-side before they land back at you. He shakes his head.

“Did you maybe wanna… take a walk?” 

Vernon nods this time, still not moving or even pulling his hands out of his jeans. His elbows are locked out and the length of his arms means his shoulders are raised quite some way. He could not be more uncomfortable looking if he tried, but he doesn’t say no and nothing on his face gives away that he wants to reject your proposition, either, so you’re the one to take that tentative first step towards the door. When you do, he follows. 

You left the store at least ninety seconds ago and still, neither of you have said anything yet. Honestly, it’s taking all you’ve got not to just burst and let it all out; it’s building and building and your stomach feels tight, but it’s less of a knot and more like a tightly-coiled spring. His eyes are dipped to the ground, incredibly aware of every step he takes, in what you realise now are a gorgeous pair of platform boots tucked up beneath his baggy jeans. He’s at least an inch and a half taller than the last time you saw him. 

“Your friend,” Vernon starts finally, pausing before he continues.  “Is he always so… you know?”

“What did he say?” You ask, peeking over to him. Trust Chan to start getting —

He hurries to shake his head. “Nothing. He just… kept looking at me. In a weird way, like…”

“Like he knows something you don’t, and he’s not gonna tell you, but he wants you to know that he knows it anyway?” You supply.

“Yeah— exactly like that.”

“Mm. That’s just… Chan.”

“Huh.”

“It’s worse when they’re together,” you say. He breathes out a chuckle and you feel his elbow bump into your upper arm. The distance he put between you when you fell into step outside the store has reduced, you realise now; you’re not sure when, or if it was on purpose. Did he move closer once you started speaking? Was it just so he could hear you better? Or…

Either way, despite being side-by-side, he still feels a hundred miles away from you. This isn’t enough.

“You get used to them, though,” you add, trying to stay on track. “I swear.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Jokes aside, he still won’t look at you for longer than a few seconds, which tugs at something deep in your chest. Discomfort clings to you, and even if it does seem like you’re making some progress, you can still feel unease radiating off him. A cheap laugh at the expense of your friends who aren’t here to defend themselves won’t fix that which you took a wrecking ball to a few nights ago. This needs to be heartfelt and genuine, and more importantly it needs to come out right. 

But when you open your mouth to speak, still searching your brain for the right way to explain why you acted the way you did, there’s nothing. 

How wonderful would it be for the perfect explanation to just tumble from your lips calmly and evenly, and for it to make everything okay? But the reality is that your throat runs dry as petrol fumes make their way through your parted lips. You hold your tongue again just a second later, sighing quietly. 

You’re starting to feel like a lost cause when Vernon breaks the silence for you, again. He slows his steps to a halt when he eventually says, “so.”

“So,” you repeat, freezing mid-stride as you go completely tense. It’s like you’re staring into oblivion’s wide open mouth. “I-… don’t really know where to start. I’m sorry.”

“The beginning’s usually pretty good?” He offers.

You nod. “How much did you want to know?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with telling me.”

If anyone on this Earth deserves a medal for their patience, it’s Vernon. You still haven’t turned to face him yet, your eyes fixated on the traffic signal some fifty yards away from you and you’re pretty sure if someone poked you too hard, you’d shatter into a million tiny pieces. But, as impossible as it seems all the while you try to get your thoughts in a reasonable order, you manage to swallow your nerves. 

It’s crunch time. It’s now or never.

The explanation you give him is messy. Disjointed. But once you start, it becomes difficult to stop: you end up sparing very little detail and circle back on yourself no less than three times. You tell him about how you were engaged and about the breakup, the run-in, your shitty date, gesturing with your hands to emphasise the most important parts. When you start to move again, Vernon makes his steps bigger until he’s walking alongside you. He never interrupts you. He acknowledges every sentence when you pause for breath. Encourages you to keep going when you fall over your words. 

“… and—... I guess I just lost my head. But it wasn’t your fault.” You swallow hard before you continue, “I’m… really sorry.”

He nods slowly, taking his time to digest everything.

“Don’t be,” he says, lightly bumping into your side. It’s a very small reassurance that he’s not going to walk away, but it means much more to you than you’re sure he meant it to. “I get it.”

“I—”

“No, like. I get it.” 

“Yeah?” You ask, only understanding when you catch the very pointed look in his eyes. 

“For sure.”

Of course, it makes sense. Vernon’s young. Attractive. Nice. Talented. He must have been with people before. Hell, you think he surely leaves a trail of broken hearts everywhere he goes. He gets it. 

“We dated for like… five? Years. Her name was Nari,” he tells you. 

A few seconds later, you watch him start to shrug off his jacket on one side and expose one of his toned arms to you. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t need to air his dirty laundry out if he doesn’t want to when he twists at his elbow; you catch sight of a tattoo you remember having seen the night he wore that black singlet on stage. Two lily flowers blooming up the inside of his bicep. 

It’s so pretty. Intricate. The line work is beautiful, the petals shaded with hundreds of little dots. You wanted to ask about it that night, but you never found the right chance, and now—

Lily?

It takes you longer than you’re willing to admit to join the dots, but when the penny finally drops, so does your jaw. Vernon slides back into his sleeve with a big, entertained smile and a little shrug. 

“Mhm.”

“Oh my God?”

“I know.”

It’s not that you’re laughing, per se. This isn’t your baggage to laugh at, no matter how unbothered Vernon seems to be by what he’s just revealed. But you do rub your hand over your face and cover your lips, shaking your head in disbelief as a breath that contains the edges of a bemused chuckle escapes you. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, it appears to give him a boost to keep talking.

“I got that on our third anniversary,” he goes on to explain. “A couple years later… She called it quits. Turns out there was another guy. I thought about lasering it, but… apparently that hurts worse than getting the tattoo in the first place, so…”

“That’s…”

“It’s whatever,” Vernon says, shaking his head. “They’re my mom’s favourite flowers too. That’s what almost everyone else thinks it’s for.”

You haven’t looked back up at his face since the unveiling, not until now. When your eyes meet again, Vernon tilts his head in the direction you’re walking and continues down the street, spinning now so he’s walking backwards but still facing you. “I just mean... It’s okay. I get it.”

The moment you’ve caught up to him and you’re back by his side, he turns to face front, just in time to avoid a collision with a streetlamp. The lingering awkwardness starts to fade to nothing; you can see it in the way he holds himself, and you can feel it in the way you do, too. Everything relaxes. Your neck, your shoulders, your fists. It all ebbs away. 

“It really wasn’t anything you did,” you clarify once more. 

“So you keep telling me,” Vernon quips, tips of his ears turning pinker by the moment. “It’s okay, I swear. Do you want me to walk you home?”

You accept his offer and lead him down a side-street, picking up a completely unrelated conversation now to purify the air. Before you really know it (what was that everyone always said about time flying?), you come to a stop outside your building. Vernon’s sentence fades away when you stop moving; instead he stills, glancing sideways, and you nod confirmation at him with a lopsided smile. 

“This is me,” you say, reaching into your back pocket for your keys. “So…”

“So,” Vernon echoes, glancing around again. “Can I like, lay my cards out, real quick?”

You nod. 

“I like you.” He shrugs, now toying with the leather bracelet around his wrist. “Like, a lot. But…”

But. You feel like you should have seen this coming. But. But. Of course there’s a— 

“I’ve got some shows coming up out of town and I need to see some family, I’m not gonna be here from tomorrow for like, three weeks...”

Oh. 

Well. On one hand, it’s not what you thought. It’s not a flat-out rejection. It’s not a shut down. On the other? You bite the inside of your cheek and look at your hands, playing with your keys to keep them busy. Under any other lens, three weeks isn’t really a very long time at all. You’re pretty sure that the milk you bought yesterday is going to last longer than that. But three weeks… this early into things? 

That’s longer than you’ve even known him.  

“… and I thought, if you wanted — I could… take you out. When I get back. For real. Maybe.”

Oh.

“Like…?”

“Like… on a date,” he confirms, rubbing the back of his neck. “One where I’m not like… fresh off stage and all gross and shit.”

Relief replaces anxiety on both his face and yours when you let out a quiet laugh. 

“I’d really like that,” you say, twitching fingers suddenly still. “Yeah.”

“I’m not asking you to like, wait around, or anything,” he says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, fumbles with it, and just barely manages to soften the fall with the toe of his boot before it lands screen-up on the concrete. “We’ll just see how it goes. And it gives you some time to… deal with things. Whatever you’ve gotta do.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest as he bends low to pick his phone back up, smoothing his thumb over the small scuff on the protective case. It seems remarkably undamaged otherwise. 

“And if you’re still interested, then…”

“Interested?” You ask with a small grin. 

“Aren’t you?” Vernon asks.

“I—...” You think about playing coy, but when he’s been so open with you about where his head’s at, it feels so silly and childish to bother pretending. That playful ‘I might be’ gets swallowed back. Instead – “Yeah. I am.”

“Cool. Then we’ll figure it out. At your pace, okay?” 

“Okay.”

He grabs his earphones out of his other pocket, slides one in, and is about to step back away from you when you do something you don’t really expect yourself to. Something you’ve never done to a man you can barely even say you’re ‘seeing’. You close the space between you and, as if to lock in your words, push forward onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you,” you say when you fall back down to your heels. If he wasn’t so dumbstruck, you feel like he’d be about to ask what you were thanking him for; as it stands though, he’s frozen, blushing, and the only reason you can tell he’s still alive is because he can’t stop blinking at you. “For… giving me another chance.”

He still can’t quite find his voice, so Vernon just shakes his head, clearing his throat. (No need, he wants to say.) Alas, his lips just open and close soundlessly.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” you supply for him. He takes in a deep, mind-clearing breath and nods his head.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

You see the apples of his cheeks lift as he presses his thumb against his phone screen and restarts whatever song he was listening to when he walked into your store. A brilliant smile consumes his face. It only grows as he turns away from you and walks off down the street. 

For a second, you think it’s all very smooth. Movie-like, even.

Then, he stumbles over a crack in the pavement. When he glances back to pray you didn’t watch it happen, he catches you snickering into your fist. He shakes his head and continues on, leaving you to fumble with your key in the lock before you finally let yourself inside.

You overslept. 

Sort of. You heard your alarm go off straight away but you might have snoozed it, and when you heard it sound for a second time, you turned it off completely, telling yourself that you just needed one more minute. You just wanted to rest your eyes for a few more seconds. There wasn’t any danger of you going back to sleep.

Twenty minutes later, you practically fell off your mattress in a panic when you realised that there had, in fact, been a big fucking danger. 

You were still able to wash up well and make it to work on time, but you had to sacrifice your morning coffee stop after seeing that the queue at the register was going to take too long. For years, you’ve refused to consider yourself to be the kind of person who relies heavily on a caffeine kick first thing in the morning, but today? It’s barely ten thirty and you’re seriously flagging: like you’ve never known what energy is, like you’ll never feel it again. 

(You blame the fact that when you first looked at your phone today before rolling back over, there was no ‘good morning :)’ text to entice you out of bed. But you’re trying really hard not to think about why that is, nor why it was such a deciding factor.)

So, when the bell above your shop door jingles and you’re forced to stand upright (a change your back doesn’t thank you for when it has to readjust from the previous hunched position you had adopted over the countertop), you groan quietly. Nonetheless, your tired eyes crease at the corners as you smile at whoever it is that’s come across the threshold.

After a second, your eyes refocus; when you can finally make out their features, it’s as if someone gives you a shot of adrenaline.

“Oh my God,” You say breathlessly, brushing your hair back and moving to stand up fully unsupported. “I thought you weren’t back until Friday?”

“Change of plans,” Vernon grins, scratching the back of his neck. “We drove through the night. I got home like… an hour ago.”

This is the first time you’ve ever seen him dressed down, and hell, does he look incredible. Gone are the ripped jeans, scuffed boots, the leather jackets and chunky rings. Grey sweatpants and an oversized white hoodie (alternatively: the brightest outfit you’ve witnessed him in thus far) drown him, blurring out his usually so distinct frame. You pin both of these things as the reasons you hardly recognised him when your eyes were refusing to cooperate. Paired with what Seungkwan would call ‘dad-sneakers’ and completed by messy hair and tired, soft eyes?

If you could jump his bones right here, right now… God, you would. 

“But hey, it’s nice to see you, too,” he adds facetiously.

“Quiet down,” you groan, fighting the urge to run over and envelop him in a hug. You’re not sure that he’d mind if you did, but you also don’t quite know if you’re ‘there’, yet. “Obviously it’s good to-...”

His arms, both of which have been stuck behind his back since he arrived, now move around to the front, revealing to you a takeout cup and a little brown box from the coffee shop down the street. 

“Oh, shit. It is so good to see you.”

Vernon laughs, coming closer until he can set them both down on the counter. “If it’s wrong, Seungkwan gave me your order, so.”

You start to wonder how on Earth your employee and your… Vernon managed to have this conversation without you knowing. Does Seungkwan have his number? Did they happen across each other on one of their socials? Did Vernon call into the store while you were out in the bathroom a little while ago and ask? But whatever happened, you quickly stop caring to find out: popping the lid off your cup, the aroma of your favourite coffee immediately fills your senses. It’s so overwhelming that you think you might start to cry.

“Oh my God. You’re the best,” you sigh, wrapping your fingers around the cup and taking a long sip, eyes rolling back into your head. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Vernon laughs, rolling up his sleeves before folding his toned forearms over his chest. “I got you a-... okay, they only had those gluten free brownies in, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know if they taste the same as the normal ones but… like, he said you hadn’t eaten today and I know you said you liked brownies before, — if you don’t like those ones, it’s okay! I can go back, it’s–”

He trails off, cheeks turning pink when you tilt your head to one side and feel your brow go soft. He asks, “why… are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re so cute,” you say, putting the cup down gently so as not to splash your drink all over the counter. 

“Huh?”

“You really didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” Vernon says, shaking his head. 

You almost definitely hear a floorboard creak and quiet shushing sound from just around the corner towards the back room. You don’t call out your eavesdropping friends for trying to listen in on your conversation, though: it barely even crosses your mind. Besides... you can’t take your eyes off Vernon, even if you wanted to. He looks so soft. Like he needs to sleep for a whole twenty four hours, and he must feel like it too, but he came here first. 

“So,” he starts, tapping his right thumb against the inside of his left elbow. (The reason why he came so quickly starts to become evident. He just couldn’t wait to ask.) “You don’t have to commit to anything right now…” The silver of one of his rings glints with every tiny movement. “…but, I was just wondering–”

Smiling at him over the top of your coffee cup, it feels like your heart could burst.

“I was just… wondering… if you’d thought any more about letting me take you out?”

You’ve been texting him almost every day since he left. He’s sent you a hundred and one pictures of statues and cool buildings and nice looking food and the sky, and far more animals than you think you’ve ever actually seen in real life. You’ve spoken to him about your strange customers. What’s going on with your friends. Sent him recommendations for songs that you discovered on obscure albums that you pulled out to play over the speakers. 

One night after one of his shows, he called you. He was a little bit drunk at the time, chilling in his hotel room with a pizza as he informed you that he’d snuck out of an after-party super early but couldn’t get to sleep. With an audible pout, he went on to confess that he was feeling kind of lonely, that he just wanted to hear your voice: one thing led to another and you stayed up talking to him until he passed out at nearly 4 o’clock in the morning.

To put it simply… 

“I’d still really like that,” you say. It’s incredible to you that you can see every one of his features brighten up. 

“Okay,” he breathes, unwinding his arms and pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants now instead. “Okay, cool. I’ll… text you later? We’ll figure something out?”

“All right,” you agree. “Now go rest up, okay?”

He laughs as he swears that he’ll go back home and get some sleep, and with that, Vernon takes his leave. You’re once again alone, but this time you have a drink that could only hope to make you feel as energised as he does, and a treat nowhere near as sweet as him. 

You aren’t complaining, though, and neither are the two men that miraculously reappear the moment the door closes again. 

The smile Vernon leaves on your face doesn’t falter for the rest of your day.

You suppose a big part of the reason you haven’t dated anyone in a while is because you can’t stand the ‘talking stage’. That weird little limbo where you’re never sure if it’s too early to make certain jokes, where you’re checking and second-guessing all your texts, where you can’t figure out if someone’s really into you or if they’re just blowing up your phone to pass the time. The awkward small talk. The ‘getting to know each other’ part. The ‘why haven’t they replied yet — was it something I said?’ anxiety. 

Thankfully, with Vernon, that’s not really something you have to worry about. 

While he was away, you learned that he’s the kind of guy who just spews random facts at you in the middle of his day and then forgets to check his messages for three hours. Sometimes those facts are interesting things about himself. Other times, you’ve known him to shoot you a text just to announce [ just found out tigers have striped skin as well as fur. wild ].

(On one such occasion, Chan caught you giggling at your phone in the middle of a quiet Thursday afternoon, zooming in on a picture of Vernon’s heart shaped birthmark. This put a swift end to checking your messages while you’re at work.)

[ btw, im allergic to peanuts ], he told you one evening. Completely unprompted, just after dinner time. You spilled half of your glass of juice down your front in panic when you put two and two together and scrambled to ask him if he was okay. [ near miss, dw about it! just felt important haha ], he replied, and your response was just a picture of your newly stained t-shirt and a request for him to never do that to you again. 

He can drive — at least, he has his licence — but he doesn’t have a car. He chooses public transport, and he tells you that it’s because he likes not having to worry about fuel prices and it’s ‘healing’ to zone out of reality on the train until he reaches his stop. He tells you that he came up with the melody and two verses of one of his favourite original songs on the bus to his parents house, and one time, he dropped a giant cockroach on a class field trip to the zoo because it tickled when it crawled over his palm and he didn’t like it. 

(You later discovered that this piece of information was triggered by the appearance of a large bug in his shower.)

Last night, as you settled into bed after a whole evening of back and forth, he told you that he has all five of the top scores at the piano game in the arcade downtown, and that he has an approximate 75% success rate on claw machines. When you replied saying you hadn’t been to an arcade in about two years, he was horrified. Enough to send 7 broken heart emojis back to back, as individual messages. [ shakespeare himself couldnt write a tragedy that sad ], he said. 

But, harrowed as he was by your admission, it did give him an idea. 

That idea is exactly how you end up standing side-by-side at a basketball shootout game on Friday night. It’s how he ends up winning one of those cute reversible octopuses — true enough, on a claw machine — which he gives to you immediately. It’s how you watch him hunch over a pinball machine for twenty five minutes before he loses his ball, how you end up tied after four games of air hockey, at which point he calls it quits while citing a ‘cramping hand’.

It’s also how you deliver his ass to him in not one, but two rounds of bowling.

“All right — all right,” Vernon laughs, holding both his hands up in defeat as your final ball takes out all ten pins at the end of the alley. “You made your point. Damn.”

You shrug your shoulders as you walk back in his direction, picking up your glass from the table and sipping your soda through your straw. 

(Though the arcade has an entire menu of cocktails, some of which you’ve never even heard of, the thought of navigating an evening alone with him under the influence of alcohol was totally unappealing after last time. Thankfully, Vernon agreed. You quietly think that being stone cold sober has made tonight even more enjoyable.)

“I told you,” you say when you finally sit down. He puts an arm around your shoulders straight away. Naturally, like it’s instinct. Like it’s a position he’s adopted a few hundred times before. “I’m undefeated.”

“We’ll see,” he says, tapping out a rhythm on the ball of your shoulder. “I still think you just got lucky.”

“So,” Vernon says once your leisurely stroll back lands you outside his place, kicking the toe of his left sneaker into the concrete. “What… are the chances that I get a do-over?”

You blink at him a few times, tilting your head. “What do you mean, a do-over?” 

Does he not think this went well? Gods, it’s probably the best first date you’ve ever had, but what on Earth else could he mean by that? Did you say something earlier, and not realise? Has he not had fun? What does he m–

“I got these new coffee beans,” he says. “While I was away — and I figured something out with the-… the machine? So— ”

Ah. There he is.

You smirk at him, patting the outside of his bicep and rolling your eyes. When you glance down, Vernon is pulling out his key, thumbing over the ridges down the one side. He reaches for the door, happy to take your teasing as confirmation that yes, you’ll come up. Yes, he gets his ‘do-over’...

…but leave it to you to fall for the world’s dorkiest rockstar. 

As he slips the key into his apartment door, there’s a steady pressure against the small of your back: the same one that’s been there ever since he gestured for you to step out of the elevator before him. One of his palms rests over the fabric of your t-shirt and you feel weirdly tingly because of it. He gently guides you inside once the door falls open and doesn’t move away when it’s locked again behind him. 

With an anticipatory shiver, you turn around to face him. You make a point to leave just a matter of inches between your chests. To have your eyes soft, patiently waiting.

Vernon’s hands are - for the first time ever - cold when his fingers hesitantly come up to either side of your face, tilting your head up so that he can see you better, unobstructed by any shadows. You gasp at the contrast between them and your flushed, warm cheeks. He swallows thickly at the sound.

“Is this… okay?” he asks, gaze darting between the space separating your eyes from your lips. “We can slow it down, if you want. I just—...”

Your own hands find home against his chest in response, fingers curling into the muscle beneath them. Not harshly, definitely not so much that it could hurt — just enough that it makes him puff himself up a little bigger. Enough to make him square his shoulders as he drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth. 

“Vernon,” you say quietly, pressing him backwards. Balling his t-shirt into your fists, you send him stumbling over his own feet before his shoulders find the wood of the front door. A quiet grunt escapes him on impact, but he just holds you closer. “Shut up ‘n’ kiss me. Please.”

Clumsiness aside, the moment he obediently ducks his head and presses his smiling mouth to yours, you feel weightless. Even when you tilt forward onto your toes to meet him halfway, it’s as if you’re not even touching the ground anymore: clouds beneath your feet have you floating. Everything about it is so very different from the last time.

It’s so much easier. Not just for you, either – you can feel it from him as well. Your collective baggage has been left out in the hall, barricading the door, shutting out the hesitation and nervousness and leaving you together, wholly alone, to just… be.

Vernon gets increasingly more brave as the seconds tick by. When you separate for air, his head tilts the other way, lips a little parted, hot breaths fanning over your skin as he meets you again, and again, and again. It’s the perfect give and take. Firm one second, waiting for you to chase him the next. The soft sounds he starts to make are amplified as his tongue presses against your bottom lip: he tests the waters, groaning into the heat of your mouth when you so happily invite him into it. He drinks you up for all you’re worth. 

One of your hands uncurls from his chest and moves up to his head instead, threading into his hair at the top of his neck. It feels just as soft as it’s always looked, sliding through your fingers. A gentle pull makes him whine. He draws away from you. His lips are pink and shine with the gloss you touched up in the elevator’s mirror, his lids are heavy, his pupils blown, and looking up at him feels like staring into the sun; you physically can’t keep your eyes open, but it’s so hard to look away. 

You tuck yourself into his neck as a compromise, laying gentle pecks everywhere you can reach. His aftershave leaves a bitter taste on your tongue as you touch the tip to a stretch of skin just beneath the harsh cut of his jawline, but the way he shudders and drops his hold down to your waist makes the sting in the back of your mouth all worth it. You only stop when one of his hands sinks lower still and he squeezes at your ass, making your eyes roll back.

He mistakes your surprise for hesitation, though.

“Is this… okay?” he asks, tipping his head back and pressing his crown into the door. Though he doesn’t withdraw his palm from your backside, he also doesn’t pinch at you again. You press your hips backwards, pushing into his touch to encourage him, with this green light he starts to knead at your cheek over the top of your skirt.

“You have no idea how hard it is to keep my hands to myself around you, do you?” You say, slipping one up the hem of his t-shirt as if to prove your point, splaying your fingers out over his stomach. 

He takes a shallow breath, hovering with it in his lungs, holding back from saying something. You get there before he can.

“I want you,” you say certainly, pulling back from where you’ve been nestled into his shoulder so that you can look him in the eyes again. He releases that breath and his face flushes when his eyes find yours, moving both of his hands back up to your waist, tightly gripping at you as if his life depends on it as he nods. 

“I just… I really don’t wanna mess this up,” he adds quietly. “I—”

When you kiss him again, hoping to further assure that you’re just as into this as he is, he reciprocates, sure. You can tell straight away that there’s a little less bite though — a stiffness to him. He doesn’t relax into you the same way he did a few minutes ago. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, falling back onto your heels. Is this because of the way things went last time, or are you going too fast for him? Selfishly, you hadn’t considered that could be a barrier. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want, you know that right? It’s okay.”

You make to step away from Vernon, unwinding your arms from around him to give him some space but he refuses to let you go too far. His hold on you is just as firm as ever.

“Trust me, I want to,” he says. “It’s just–...”

You stay silent, waiting for him to finish. He chews at his bottom lip, his blush deepening right in front of your eyes. To try and steady him, you lay one of your palms over each of his biceps, saying, “Whatever it is – it’s all right.”

“I just… haven’t been with anyone since…”

And when you laugh, it’s not at him (at least, not for the reason a fly on the wall might initially assume). You drop your forehead down onto the muscle of his chest, feeling his heart’s erratic rhythm underneath his clothes as you loop one arm back up around his neck.

“I thought you were about to tell me something awful,” you chide him through your giggles, lightly swatting at his shoulder. He starts to loosen up beneath you, his own body beginning to shake with laughter too. Those strong arms pull you flush against him, the gentle shift of his weight from one foot to another rocking you both side-to-side. “Like– like you were secretly married or you realised you didn’t actually like me, or something. Jesus.”

He stays quiet for another few seconds, but even without speaking, you can feel how he shakes his head above you. You look back up at his face and brush his hair out of his eyes, fingers lingering on his brow when you’re done.

“It’s okay,” you tell him for the third time. The last wisps of anxiety start to fade from his eyes, replaced with the same look he’s been wearing since he showed up at your apartment door earlier this evening. “I don’t care — I promise, I’ll go easy on you.”

The kiss that follows lands hard and with it, Vernon succeeds in wiping your brain empty. You can barely remember what you were even giggling about a few seconds later. 

“Don’t want you to go easy,” he insists against your lips. Then, he’s wallowing up your breathy sighs as he licks into your mouth again, pressing your tongue with his own, reminding you that he’s absolutely not incompetent, just rusty. 

When you make it into his bedroom, confessions and various articles of your clothing forgotten out in the hallway, you separate from each other long enough for you to be able to to lay one hand on his bare chest and push him down onto the mattress. He bounces on the foam and pushes up on one elbow, watching as you sink down to your knees and press kisses down his stomach while your hands deftly take care of the button on his jeans. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” You say to him as he lifts his hips up and lets you pull both his jeans and his boxers down in one sharp movement. 

“M’not gonna want you to,” he laughs breathlessly, pushing a hand through his hair as he kicks the remainder of his clothes all the way off and nudges them away to the side. “But yeah. Okay.”

He looks so pretty like this and you can’t help but think he’s even prettier when the first time you curl your fingers around his length, his jaw falls slack and his fingers curl into the bedding underneath him. You drink him in and he watches you do it; your mouth is watering, desperate to feel him press down on your tongue, and you feel a pull towards him that you’ve never felt towards anyone before. 

“God,” you whisper, shuffling on your knees to get a little closer. 

“Okay?” Vernon asks. He tilts his head to the side and you nod up at him.

“Just… had a feeling you’d be…” you trail off, tugging a few times to feel its thickness in your fingers. Why are you mesmerised by it, a little? What the hell has gotten into you? “But it’s actually bigger, and—”

He laughs quietly and falls back onto the bed, crossing an arm over his eyes. “Shut up,” he groans. 

“Yes, sir.”

You lean towards him and gather saliva on your tongue, dragging it from base to tip before closing your lips around the head. He gasps softly and holds onto his next breath, angling his head back further; you give a satisfied hum and slide a little further down. 

The glide is made smoother by the spit your tongue left behind and that which mixes with his pre-cum in your mouth. As you start to bob up and down, some dribbles out past your lips so you start to move your hand, too, smearing the mess all over his cock. When it bumps the back of your throat — and on assessment, you realise there’s daylight between your lips and your fist — you squeeze your eyes closed and whimper softly, holding him in place while you adjust before you can take him deeper. 

“Fuck— just like that,” he gasps out in a shattered groan when you start to move a little more fluidly, no longer too intimidated by your gag reflex preventing him from slipping down your throat. Your hand and your mouth work in tandem to get him riled. Every sound he makes feels like someone injects lust straight into your veins. When you look up at him from between your dewy lashes, you ponder that you’d watch him fall apart from this angle a hundred times a night forever and still not get bored. 

Your jaw starts to ache from the thickness of having him in your mouth and the way he’s restraining himself from fucking his hips up to meet you tells you that he’s too polite to ask you for more. You suck harshly one last time before pulling away with a ‘pop’, using only your hand to pump his length as you shift down to gently suck one of his balls into your mouth. 

The sound he makes is so fucking melodic. You think he’s made a similar one before when he lifts into a falsetto, and you’ve never felt more powerful than you do right now. Knowing you have someone with such a commanding presence eating out of your palm could really do something dangerous to your ego. It’s a bit of a miracle, therefore, that you recognise his desperate tapping at your shoulder, but the second you feel it you settle back from him, looking up at his impossibly tense abs and his blissed-out face.

You catch on quickly and feel your features split into a grin at the realisation. When it takes him a second, you know it’s because he’s still trying to remember the mechanisms it takes to breathe. Bless his heart. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, pushing himself to sit upright and running a hand through his hair. “It-… fuck, that was so…”

“What happened to ‘I don’t want you to go easy’ huh?” you tease, resting your chin on the top of his left thigh, grinning up at him. 

“I’m gonna come if you keep going like that,” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief at himself. “And trust me — I want to, but…” He swallows hard. “Not yet.”

You nod slowly up at him, starting to get up off the floor. You stop in your tracks when he says, “I’ve gotta taste you first. Please.”

Maybe it speaks too much to the quality of some of your previous lovers, but his desperation takes you a bit by surprise. You blink at him, ignoring how your thighs burn with the position you’ve frozen in. 

“If— that’s okay?” He adds. “I’ve… been thinking about it? A lot. Especially since-”

“Shut up,” you breathe, finally standing all the way up. He shuffles back further onto the bed and you quickly move to straddle across his hips, one hand coming up to hold his jaw in place when you’re in place. “Of course it’s okay.”

You lean in for an impossibly needy kiss, only breaking away when you physically can’t breathe anymore. Vernon’s eyes flutter open at the same time as yours do and as you reach behind yourself with one hand to unclasp your bra, he looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.  

(He tells you that you are no fewer than three times before you fall asleep a few hours later.)

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated. there's approx a scene and a half left for part 3 and then we're all done with this baby! stay tuned for that, coming soon.<3 p.s. no i will not apologise to jaehyun, this is what he gets for making me feel insane. thanks !

[strongheartneteyam]

Realize where you belong.

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!dreamwalker!reader/female!human!reader

Chapter 4

CW: jealous neteyam, angst, restless neteyam, obsessive and toxic behavior, mentions of violence, neteyam's current mental health is not the best out there (let's put it that way), the word "bloody" being mentioned in someone's thoughts, TRIGGER WARNING for dubious consent and slight NON CON, angry thoughts, melancholic reader, hints of depression on reader, anxious reader, mentions of breeding kink, reader thinking a lot about neteyam, reader finds out she's crushing on neteyam, reader is afraid of neteyam + attracted to him, neteyam stepping over reader's boundaries, creepy yandere vibes, slight nudity, sexual tension, neteyam almost trying to have sex with reader (if you squint)

Not proofread… as always 😂 I'm so sorry PLS don't give up on me, my babies! My readers are my lil rays of sunshine! No false praising here, I'm way too much of an honest, and sometimes blunt bih to do that! Ahaha you guys have changed my life. Having you guys reading my stories, appreciating my art… I'm still speechless. I love y'all until the end! 🥲🥺🫀💕 when I'm sad, you guys cheer me up with your comments, reblogs, asks, likes… I'm forever thankful ✨ I'm sending A BIG KITH to everyone that commented on the other chapters! I didn't have enough time and mental/physical health to answer everyone bc I've been going through some tough things in my personal life lately. Like, REAL tough. But I always do my best to try and show my gratitude to all of you <3 hope you enjoy this chapter. Leave comments below if u wanna I LOOOOVE READING YOUR COMMENTS 🥰💕💕💕

Chapter 3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Watching me, wanting me

I can feel you pull me down

Fearing you, loving you

I won't let you pull me down

Haunted (Evanescence)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Hours had passed since Neteyam Suli had appeared to you in the window of the kitchen you worked in.

It was late at night already and you should be sleeping but, you just could not stop thinking about what had happened. How weird it had been to see a real na'vi - not an Avatar - real close. How odd he looked in your eyes, massive in size and so, so blue...

You laughed alone in your small room in the back of the laboratory after taking a quarter of a second to realize that the thought you just had was actually really funny.

Neteyam looked like a huge and thick brushstroke of sky blue paint. Still, he was… incredibly beautiful. He was eerie, weird looking compared to the human guys you're used to, but… something about him made his face linger on your mind.

You did not know how it was possible that you were finally having to admit to yourself that you felt attracted to Neteyam Suli, even after he appeared to you only once and, let's not forget, he appeared completely unanticipated, saying he had seen you before, multiple times.

You knew that raised like a billion red flags. Yet still, even though you did not feel safe enough to trust him or let your hair down when he was around, he intrigued you immensely.

༊⁀➷

You woke up the next morning feeling anxious. You did not know what it was exactly, but, lately, you had not only been depressed, but anxious too. You knew you probably would be diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety if you cared to go to the mental health department of the laboratory, but the thing was… you did not care to. You did not want to. The real reason for your lingering sadness was already so familiar to you: you did not like the life you were living.

You looked to be free like the na'vi. To not have deadly boring obligations everyday, to not have to care so much about so many strict rules of what was socially acceptable and what was not. You thought your own race to be too complicated. Humans don't really say what they mean just so many times. Humans care too much about money and power when, in reality, deep down, we all know that's not what's gonna make us happy, what's gonna keep us warm in a cold night.

But you were never really like that.

Not to pretend you were a golden, precious jewel, so incredibly hard to find, so utterly different from everybody else but, in all honesty, as much as you did care about money and having a comfortable life - to some extent - you were never a greedy for riches kind of person. You had always felt perfectly happy and content to just have a few things to keep you cozy, like your earbuds, a good book, your favorite sweet treat… You liked it simple. Calm. Balanced.

You believed that everything needs to be balanced to work well.

Chaos and light. Pain and happiness.

People need all of it to learn, grow and live a good life, that doesn't get painfully boring and unbearable with time.

But humans lacked balance.

Too much greed, too little contentment. Too much hate, too little compassion. Too much selfishness, too little altruism. That's why your kind was, as unfortunate as it was, doomed to misery. The human race dug their own grave. God, they couldn't even respect and take care of their own planet, their own home, the place that kept them literally safe and steady in the middle of the immense galaxy, let alone being able to take care of each other, to consider other's feelings before their own because, sometimes, we all need to do it.

And that's one of the reasons why you admired the na'vi so much. They were so much more wise than your own race.

How many times you had wished, talking to yourself in the dark of the night, that you could have been born na'vi. Why was fate so cruel to you? You did not even believe in fate. But it is only an expression, anyway.

༊⁀➷

Neteyam was tossing around on his mat since he went back home from training.

Yesterday he was way too busy to try and go see you or at least watch you from afar.

Sometimes he truly felt exhausted from his hectic routine and just wished he could be like Lo'ak and the other Omatikaya young men and just be able to relax more, to have more free time to engage in hobbies or, Eywa... to have more time to sleep... Sometimes he went back home all sore. He was as athletic as one can be but it did not mean he could not feel jaded after pushing himself too hard.

But Neteyam tried to always keep in mind the noble, sacred reason why he did all that. He was going to be the next leader of his clan, a privileged position, blessed by the Great Mother. A position that so many wished to have and he was lucky enough to be waiting to take on.

He was the current Olo'eyktan's son. It was a gift, he should not be ungrateful. He felt bad for thinking that was exactly what he was being... His father, Jake, was Toruk Makto. He was brave enough to earn that title. Neteyam felt it was his duty to be as brave and fearless as his father, to honor him and all his efforts to defend their tribe from any danger, specially from the Sky People.

Everything was going as usual, if it was not for only one thing: Lo'ak seemed to be suspicious of the fact that Neteyam was out for so many hours, almost everyday (meaning, every time he was free to just do whatever he wanted and not training to become the next Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya) and nobody had a clue of where he was.

His parents seemed to be too busy being the Olo'eyktan and the Tsahìk to notice something seemed off about Neteyam's behavior lately. And it is understandable. It was anything but easy to be the clan leader and the clan healer and spiritual leader. Mo'at was getting old and had passed the position of Tsahìk to Neytiri a while ago. So, Jake and Neytiri already were making such a huge effort to be able to live up to their duties, be parents of a little girl, Tuktirey, three teenagers and still keep their sanity. It was a lot, indeed. But they tried as hard as they could to still be good enough for their clan, their family and for each other, as a mated couple.

Neteyam decided he was way too restless to be able to sleep that night. He could not stop thinking about the way that human male talked to you, looked at you... He wondered if he really was your mate. He was not sure but if what he thought when he saw you two together was true, he knew it would not be a problem. He hated to get violent, his natural self was calm and composed. But he was going to fight for you, and, if it needed to get bloody, then so be it.

He decided to go outside his and his family's home, to breathe some cold, fresh eclipse air. It helped him to calm down a bit but it was not enough. He missed you. Like crazy. Deeply. He craved your scent… your delicious human scent. He did not even believe he was saying that about the way a human smelled. But he would always insist in saying you were different. You had a na'vi heart. Just like his father, back when he was still all pink and small.

He decided he wanted… no, he needed to see you. And it could not wait. It had to be now. He craved you and that craving would not go away like that. It was stronger than his rational brain. You woke up his animal side more than anything else did. He wanted to mate with you as soon as possible. He dreamt about the day he would be able to breed you, have you carrying his offspring on your womb. He would make you so happy, give you everything you've ever wanted, everything you need. And while you were still not permanently living inside your Avatar body, he still wanted to have you, even if it meant having you in your demon form. You were a pretty, lovely demon. His cute, sweet demon girl. His yawntutsyìp. (little loved one)

༊⁀➷

You just could not believe it was really happening, how the hell you got into those circumstances.

Right before that moment, you were almost sleeping peacefully, finally (you know that state when you're not awake nor asleep?), after having been awake, tossing around on your bed for hours for the most ridiculous reason you could ever think of: you were undeniably crushing on that weird alien boy. Neteyam Suli.

Yes, he acted like a creep when he tapped on your window. You knew it was pathetic but… he just would not leave your mind. He was shamelessly living rent free in your brain. All cozy there.

But the worst and craziest part was: you were still afraid of him.

Ok, the na'vi were a peaceful, highly intelligent (arguably much more smart, interesting and wiser than humans) alien race but he was still almost 10 feet tall and was so freaking intimidating. You shivered at the thought that he could ever hurt you, even by accident, one day.

Still, you were now here with him. Outside the laboratory. Because he put his goddamn eerie but cute (the guy is a complete paradox) looking ocean colored fingers through the tiny gap you left open in your bedroom window - a passage you left for air to come in when it was really hot and dry, like it was that night - and that made a strange noise, enough to put you in alert mode.

Damn, what a bad habit… Leaving the window open, even slightly, was not even permitted by the people who took care of the lab's security norms. That could be dangerous. But you had always been a stubborn little thing.

You were now regretting your decisions, though. 

Neteyam approached your window being what he could be like a pro: a crazy stalker.

How you were still attracted to him… even though you were fearful of his na'vi build and strength… that was a question that maybe a mental health professional could answer. It was weird and problematic and you knew it. But you never imagined you would feel like this about Neteyam Suli. You really did not. When you first saw him, he seemed cute and handsome in your eyes, but he was still an alien. You had never considered being attracted to one. But now… nothing made sense anymore, things were getting weird.

Stupidity took over you when you were so sleepy and groggy and you saw it was his huge hand on the wooden window, so, you wanted to ask him why he ran away the last time you two spoke. You know when you're so sleepy, you make the most unimaginably silly mistakes? So… there you go. You dragged your heavy with slumber body out of your bed, grabbed your oxygen mask that was kept inside your closet and opened the window.

But why, though?

In the beginning, you two were having a trivial talk about mundane stuff, like how he learned the English language (his father, of course), he started to ask how and why you got an Avatar etc 

He acted suspicious but still normal-ish, for a na'vi. They always looked mysterious when interacting with humans. But then, when he was telling you about his little sister, Tuktirey, and your eyes were slowly falling shut, your body begging for some hours of sleep… you felt a change in the atmosphere around you.

Your eyes had closed for a while, on their own, and suddenly, you knew Neteyam was really close to you, now. He had been keeping a respectful distance in the beginning. But now… now he was inches away from your body. He had moved closer, his fleshy but toned blue thigh almost rubbing against your leg, as you were sitting sideways on the window frame, your legs hanging in the air, making you feel a bit cold because of the nighttime Pandoran air.

You woke up from your 5 seconds long involuntary nap really startled.

"Hey! Why are you… so close?" You looked at him, dazed and nervous, visibly shaken

"Sorry… Is it too much? You're just… so pretty…" Neteyam says, looking at you like he's looking at a graceful, otherworldly being.

"Yeah. It is." You warn him "Can you… step away a bit, please?" You said, looking into his eyes. Your gaze serious but amiable.

Neteyam respected your request and did what was decent. But you did not expect that he would soon change his demeanor, just like something was taking over him.

You were so distracted with your chat with Neteyam but so utterly sleepy too that you did not notice when your nightgown's thin strap slipped through your right shoulder, leaving your breast exposed, your nipple out for Neteyam to see.

It was like a beast had replaced that nice-but-weird-vibes guy you were previously talking to.

Neteyam had just lifted you off of the window with amazing ease, your feet now touching the ground and he got closer to you again. He had you with your back against the lab's outer wall, keeping you there just by being in front of you, looking at you.

His size was enough to keep you still. You did not want him to maybe get mad at you if you tried to run away. That could become terrifying in a heartbeat. You were brave since a child, but you were also realistic. Your height and body strength was nothing compared to Neteyam's.

He looked at your exposed breast with such desire, you felt like his amber gaze was scorching your sensitive skin.

"Neteyam! What-?"

"You're so… perfect." His breath was labored while he stared down at your nipple, hardened by the cold temperature of the eclipse air "Sevin…" (pretty)

"I'm so afraid of you, Neteyam... You're too big and honestly...scary. I'm so sorry. I'm always trying to pick up signals that may indicate you're gonna hurt me. I don't feel comfortable at all right now. Please, let me go" You said as your cold, anxious hands took your nightgown strap back to where it belonged, covering your boob again, feeling ashamed of the vulnerable way you had just been seen by Neteyam, ashamed of the fact that he, a boy you barely knew, had just seen your naked breast, even if it was only for a brief period of time

"My cute little 'emyu…" (cook, cooker) "You don't need to be afraid of me." He smiles at you in such a sincere way, trying to show you he means no harm whatsoever. 

Though Neteyam felt his heart tightening way too much inside his chest, hurting so much it was like you had crushed it when you said you're afraid of him, he was carefully trying to make you see he would never in a billion years harm you, his precious little yawne (loved one).

He wished so hard, even prayed to Eywa, in a millisecond, inside his mind, that you would soon realize he loved you so much he would kill anyone who ever hurt your precious, frail human body. He could not understand how you could think he himself would do such a horrible thing towards you.

When Neteyam saw you did not show any sign that you were beginning to trust him more, he said:

"Hì'i," (little, small in size) "please... I need you... I love your scent so much. I miss it everytime I'm away from you. I love the way your human skin smells. I do. I dream about you at night... " He gets closer to you slowly and carefully, caging you between the wall and his broad, crazily tall blue body, leaving no way for you to get away from him "C-can I touch you? Touch your skin?" Neteyam breathes, begging for you with his wide eyed gaze "Just for a little while, please..." He kneels down at the ground to be as close as he possibly can to your height "See? I'm not so tall anymore. Am I a little less scary now?" He smiles faintly, trying to cover his pain with a fake demonstration of joy.

Neteyam feels so insecure, without any guarantee that you will eventually let him in. But he will never give up on trying to be worthy of your love.

"You're always gonna be scary to me. Even when I'm in my Avatar, I think." Using a sharp na'vi knife to stab Neteyam's heart repeatedly would have hurt him less than that statement "I'm not as skilled as you are or experienced as you are when it comes to using a bow or anything like that. God, I can't even work a bow right. If you'd ever hurt me, even by accident I-"

"I can teach you." He interrupted "I will teach you everything I know about archery. I'm a great archer, you know? I like to call myself "Mighty Warrior". " He smiles, frowning a bit, trying to make a joke to make the situation a little lighter.

You seemed so afraid he was starting to not know what to do anymore to try to make you see you were safe with him. That he would defend you from any danger without any hesitation and not be the danger himself.

༊⁀➷

Taglist:

@kitsunefirewail

@tumblingdevils

@a-blog-name-2003

@xylobee

@nerdybouquetofkittens-blog

@henhouse-horrors

@lala-1516

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@lik0

@crazy4books1

@explosiongamora

@your-girl-mj

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@sereisstuff

@yeosxxx

@die4niyahhh

@iman-lu

@manumanulau

@im-in-a-pansexual-panik

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@melllinaa

@annaibansworld

@siriuslysmoking

@avatar4eva

[yyuangss-main]

❝MOTHER LANGUAGES — SPIDERVERSE HCS

summary ; pavitr with a hispanic girlfriend who teaches him some spanish and he teaches her some hindi.

pairing ; pavitr prabhakar x hispanic fem!reader (no specific race stated)

note ; teehee i was so excited to show off the new layout 🤭 i literally have so much fun writing for pavitr. this concept was so cute, i started working on it immediately so thank you to the anon who requested it <3 mwah 🫶

• — pavitr prabhakar !

about three months into dating, pavitr started practicing some spanish on his own. went about his way to get a dictionary that took forever for him to find. he starts writing the words out and takes his time to pronounce them. he takes note that he’s extremely great at reading spanish just a little troubled on the way to say the words.

the very first phrase he ever told you in spanish, he had a slip of paper with the sentence written down. pavitr wanted to make it sweet and maybe tell you right after kissing you but poor boy forgot the phrase. so he had to squint and read off the torn paper.

“tu eres la chica de mis sueños.” (t: you are the girl of my dreams) the second he finished saying it you jumped on him, kissing all over his face, telling him how cute and adorable he is.

you told him that you were practicing hindi in secret to surprise him as well, but you were having a lot of trouble. it makes a big smile spread on his face to know you both had the same intentions.

it’s where he offers to teach you how to speak, read, and write hindi if you can do the same for him with spanish. you agree and then he goes, “hehe >:) and teach me the bad words too muhehehe” you’re just like “pavitr 😭”

pavitr really excited when you’re teaching him spanish. he’s listening intently and repeating each word after you. he doesn’t think it’s hard, but it’s definitely good to have a native speaker helping you out and giving tips.

keeps a separate notebook filled with words and phrases he wants to tell you. of course, they’re all him telling how much he loves you. you also have a separate notebook with hindi written in it and it’s mostly you practicing to write ‘i love you’ and memorize it.

he knows it might take you a while to fully understand hindi and he’s okay with that. you’re the making the effort and that’s what he loves the most about you. finds your confused face cute when he starts rambling in hindi.

you two practice by only having conversations in each others language. he finds it super helpful and you both will correct a word if needed. text messages will sometimes shift from spanish to hindi to spanish again.

his heart and feelings grow for you even more when he sees you talking to his aunt in hindi. she thinks it’s so sweet that the two of you are learning each others languages and don’t find the barrier to be a bother. she even starts to help you too in secret. she wants you to surprise pavitr with what you learned.

i cannot stress this enough. loves to introduce you as his girlfriend in spanish. “esta es mi novia, ella es mi novia”. mi novia this, mi novia that. he gets like a schoolboy when he says it. if he gives you gifts, pavitr always writes a little note that says “para mi querida novia” (t: for my dear girlfriend) or something along those lines.

whenever he meets someone who is either hispanic or speaks spanish too, he’ll speak to them in spanish just so they can ask where he learned. all because he can’t stop saying how his girlfriend taught him how to speak spanish.

he starts picking up on the expressions too. accidentally let “tch, no mames miguel!” slip out when he was getting sent on a new mission. miguel’s head whipped over so fast and just looked at him so shocked like, wtf did you say to me?

“no mames? no mames?! como que no mames miguel?! who taught you that huh?!”

“mi novia teehee :)”

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Action AUs (Giveaway Winner Post)

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hi @onboardsorasora thank you SO MUCH for your request, and congratulations again for winning the giveaway ❤️ we are so sorry that this took such a long time to get to you... unfortunately the mod team have been rather busy with all sorts of things: wedding planning and driving lessons and travelling abroad and writing copious amounts of smut. we hope this was worth the wait ❤️

Daniel/Max

nsfw: I struck a match and blew your mind by @33max | Not Rated | 4.1k

Max is a getaway driver and starts to work with Daniel on jobs. I loved the pacing of this fic. There's so much detail and progress within this and the author really did a great job of picking which parts to highlight for the plot progression. I loved Max's commitment to Daniel.

“I am, I promise. I think it’s just a broken rib or two.” Daniel says, and his hand comes up to squeeze Max’s shoulder from the backseat. There is blood on his knuckles. “C’mon Maxy, be a good boy and get us out of here.” So Max does. He gets them out of there, but he feels sick. Not because they almost got caught, but because he knows that if Daniel really had needed to go to the hospital he would not have been able to leave him there. He would have let them both get caught over leaving Daniel alone and hurt on a hospital doorstep.

nsfw: strangers by bloodmoonforme | E | 37.9k

Daniel, a detective, is on a not-quite-dead-end murder case when they bring in Max from out of state to help him solve it. They have history and havent seen each other in four years. I loved the tone in this so much. The author has a very coherent narrative that build just right, its really intriguing. I also love how the reader almost solves the case too. Not only the murder case, but the /what happened to Max and Daniel/ case that gets revealed throughout. Its a truly well written fic with a lot of action and feelings!

He gets up, his stomach feeling heavier and colder by the second. There's something creeping all the way from his fingers, up his arms and to his belly, a prickly sick thing. Then he looks towards the center of the room, marked by a well-worn rug. Daniel stands there, alone in Esther’s bedroom, standing in the half-light. He's there, and suddenly he’s not.

nsfw: Bite Down and Taste Red by @mysticalbreadcollective | E | 46.5k

Max works in a bar, and Daniel is the Mafia Boss who keeps buying drinks. This story is absolutely captivating - from beginning to end, it is so beautifully written and paced, with just enough angst to make things truly delicious. Daniel is so much fun here - hot and charismatic and so very head over heels for his bartender!

He finds out that Max speaks several languages, and he’s from a place called Hasselt, which means absolutely nothing to Daniel. He’d looked it up later, on the map on his phone, squinting at it. Compared with the US, its miniscule. He can’t imagine Max being born in a place so small. When Max is so – much.

Carlos/Lando & Daniel/Max

i'll race you for pinks by @chubbydinosaur | M | 30k

Lando is brought on to a heist by professional criminal, Carlos. Sparks fly. This story is such a fun ride - as always, this author perfectly balances humour, emotion, and high stakes action, and it makes for a thrilling read. Lando is so disarmingly charming in this - I adored him!

Daniel/Lando

til the bone crush by @clementiaes | T | 19k

Pacific Rim is perfect for Formula 1 AUs, and this is one of my favourite examples. Daniel and Lando are paired as Jaeger pilots. Both are coming off of other drift partners with baggage - Daniel from Max after Max’s career ending injury, and Lando from something that could have been a relationship with Carlos, had Lando’s insecurities not buried it before it started. Lando is prickly, closed-off and miserable at the start of this story, convinced he is unlovable. This story is about him gently and gradually being opened up to the realisation that people love him, and that he deserves to be loved.

The point is, no one is getting tired of you any time soon,” Daniel says. “Seriously, who even told you that?” Lando looks down at his hands, picking at a hangnail. “No one. I just — I know I’m not easy to get along with.” Daniel frowns. “You deserve to be happy,” he says, finally. “You know that, right?” Lando looks down at his knees. “Look at me, Lando,” Daniel says, but Lando doesn’t. His shoulders are starting to creep back up near his ears again. Daniel’s moving before he quite knows what he’s doing. He gets one hand on Lando’s shoulder and one on his chin, turning his face so that he’ll look at him. Lando sucks in a sharp breath, eyes wide, but to Daniel’s surprise, he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t know how you got it into your head that you’re like, unlovable, or something, but it’s not true,” Daniel says. “Really. You think you can believe that for me?”

Charles/Sebastian

He Is All, And He Is More by @effervescentdragon | M | 15k

In this AU of The Old Guard, Sebastian and Charles are immortals that meet on the battlefield during the Crusades. They kill one another over and over, until they reach a tentative understanding. Their relationship deepens over the centuries. It can be difficult to write characters as ancient and make them feel ancient, and Akira really does. I love the tentative way they negotiate one another, and the understanding they gradually come to. Battlefield enemies to lovers is quite the relationship arc.

"And if we only met a thousand of years from now, you would still be wearing red.” “Why?” Sebastian shrugs, a grin evident in the dark. “Your red string dictates it. Fate, or something. Destiny. Red suits you. You look good in red.” Charles bites his tongue. “So do you.”

Lewis/Nico/Sebastian

on golden sands by sionisjaune | T | 6.2k

Lewis Hamilton is planning the heist of the century and he wants Sebastian Vettel on his team. The target - Baron Nico Rosbergs car collection. Sounds simple on paper but reality never is. Oceans Eleven heist!au. Who doesnt love a good heist!au? This author writes some of my favourite sebcedes, the characterisations are spot on and the vibes are at turns wholesome and rancid. Perfection in a fic!

Rosberg greets Seb at the gate, behind the windshield of a pale blue Bentley. The paint job sparkles in the golden sunlight, and the hood ornament gleams chrome. The gates roll open at his whim with an ear-splitting, metallic sound. Rosberg beckons animatedly from behind the wheel, and Seb gets the message that he should leave his car and join Rosberg in the Bentley for the ride up to the house. […] Before Seb can slide into the passenger's side of the Bentley, Rosberg has to shoo a pudgy English bulldog into the backseat. It clambers, ungainly, over the console and waddles into the back, collapsing in a happy, wrinkly lump on the leather seats. “Who’s this?” Seb asks, watching long strings of drool ooze from the dog’s flabby mouth onto the pristine interior of Rosberg’s classic Bentley. Seb once saw an R-type Bentley much like this one go for two and a half million at auction. “This is Roscoe,” says Rosberg, long-sufferingly. “The result of an unfortunate affair.”

Charles/Pierre

Hic Svnt Leones by @cerona10 | M | 32.6k

Charles is different to how Pierre remembers him. The world-building in this fic is second to none - it’s absolutely stunning! The world feels so full and alive, and it’s easy to get completely sucked in. The way they build in exposition is so clever and natural feeling, and the action is exhilirating and fun to read. Perfect!

His shadow isn’t his own, not anymore. It shakes and shimmers, fighting against its own shape. His shadow’s head twists and breaks before mending itself into that of a horse, neighing and trashing, a single horn jutting out from its forehead. Its jaw unhinges and it begins breathing heavily, drool escaping its mouth like a waterfall.

Fernando/Lance

nsfw: Venus Flytrap by @pitconfirm | E | 25.7k (wip)

Professional criminal Fernando Alonso is recruited for a job. His mission: seduce Lance Stroll. This fic is RED HOT. From the very first few sentences, Fernando exudes this confidence that is so much fun to read. Contrasted with Lance - pouty, privileged, and surprisingly vulnerable - the dynamics are gorgeous. This author is so fantastic at dialogue and pacing, and this fic flows so beautifully. I can't wait to read more!

Once they reach the games room, it’s easy to spot him among the crowd. For the past few days, Fernando has been memorising every freckle on Lance’s skin. He could recognise him from just the curl of hair on his tender nape, but the most striking thing about Lance is his demeanour—elbows rested on the roulette table while he boredly holds his head in his hands, huffing in disappointment when he loses again. His carelessness stands out starkly against the opulent golden trims and old paintings covering every wall. A boy like Lance doesn’t belong in a place like this, but money talks.

nsfw: green light, red wine (and i don't feel fine) by @vicsy | E | 18.8k (wip)

Fernando is the Mafia boss who owns the club that Lance Stroll - son of his biggest rival - wanders into. This story is SO HOT. The tension between them is palpable, and they bounce off each other so well. You get the feeling that both of them are underestimating each other, and it makes for so much delicious tension. Amazing!

There aren’t many opportunities Fernando deliberately missed in his life. He wouldn’t be on top if he did. Right next to him, clad in a tight white t-shirt, sits an opportunity for a power move, the one Fernando would take all the way.