#Wall Oven Market

[postmoe]

In the Next Moment:

Yandere/Alpha Gojo Satoru x Omega Reader

I can't even tell you how long ago I started this. I had no idea how to end it and I took away and added a bunch of things haha. Here is your alpha Gojo Satoru, here to save the day and take you for himself!

omegas are lesser creatures, familial abuse, self-deprecation, like your father in this is literal scum

.

What kind of God deals a life like this? Where status is given the moment you’re born. Where you can be cast away at birth and shoved into a home just for having the wrong scent. It used to be that families would wait until puberty before they knew what breed their child would be. Now? Now they have the technology to make accurate guesses. Not one hundred percent, but, accurate enough.

              In your case, call it lucky or not, your family didn’t send you away to a home. Omega’s aren’t completely useless, and can fetch quite a high penny on the market. Every day you were reminded of your failures as their daughter, that being bred by them should have produced an alpha.

              “This is all your fault,” your mother would say to your father, “Your cousin is an omega, it runs in your bloodline!”

              “How was I supposed to know?! No one ever spoke of them I had no idea until we did the test!” He would shout back.

              It’s a common argument you heard growing up. One that would seep into the marrow of your bones and claw its way into your dreams. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Even though they argued with each other, at the end of the day it came out to you being wrong. You were a curse.

              Eventually, your mother left. Being an alpha with you in the home, it was irredeemable. She had not bonded with an omega like her DNA screamed, your father a Beta and those relationships were never to last if an Omega came into the picture. Just an example of the homewrecker in your genes.

              He would drink and smoke on the couch all day and night. “We had such a happy family, such high hopes for you…” Another swig of the bottle in his hand, “It’s your job to take care of us now. Your mother did everything. Go make some money and bring it back home.”

              Quivering, afraid to even speak in front of him, you had to ask, “B-But what if people find out I’m a- AH!”

              You cower as the bottle smashes against the brick wall next to your head, glass and liquor breaking around while your father stands and screams, “You stupid bitch! Go get blockers, fuck! How hard is it to come up with things on your own? You’re so fucking pathetic, stupid fucking omega,” he continues to grumble as he storms past you, “Clean up this fucking mess.”

              Of course, you’ve thought about running away, thought about life outside of your home. The realism of it is not pretty, though. You’ve seen how omegas are treated on the streets if they get caught, they’re not allowed in the city because their scent can be such a disturbance. You have to be really taken care of to live amongst others. If you weren’t so rare then it wouldn’t be an issue, but unfortunately omegas can’t be shared around to every alpha.

              Getting blockers is probably the hardest job. Most doctors don’t want to sell them to you unless you have a good reason for being an omega, ie; rich spouse, breeding bitch, selling, etc. Anything on the black market is a gamble between being really good or really shit. Eventually, another omega you came across in passing had recommended a ‘hole in the wall’ doctor. They hide down an alleyway in the slums of the city but are open to helping omegas. When you went there it had ignited your fear and you started releasing poor, omega pheromones. Many, hungry looks your way were cast, though thankfully you made it out in one piece.

              Now you were left to try and survive in the wild.

.

“Yo!” Your head shoots up from the stall oven, seeing a familiar head of white hair and blindfolded head.

              Honestly, you were shocked, once people found out the ‘lovely’ attendant at the crepe stall was an omega, they generally never returned. “Ah,” you try not to gape at him, “You’re back. You didn’t come with your, um, students?”

              It’s been a little over a year now that you’ve manned the crepe stall in a deserted park. You think that’s why your boss put you here, because not many people came by so business wasn’t that great; it also gave him a good excuse to berate you when you didn’t meet income quota. Earlier this week you were met with a unique set of customers, one of them being this man and then two younger boys and a girl to whom he introduced as his students – very proud of them. In that same interaction, whilst the students were enjoying each other’s crepes and you were making his, he had suddenly leaned in and inhaled a few times, sniffing you and grinning cheekily, “You’re an omega, aren’t ya?” It shocked you because you shouldn’t be smelling like anything right now, the sugary crepes usually enough to hide and scent that seems to waft from you. Now, he had returned alone, acting as if you were buddies, “My dear students are in a fierce battle! I have made some time to see my favourite crepe omega.”

              His words were too loud, you had to look around in fear that maybe he was trying to let others know, trying to get you boycott. However, no one was there. Was he trying to bait you? Maybe you should just go along with it, “Did you really like them that much?”

              He perked up, arms open in a welcoming stance, “Of course! The food, the chef, both are a delicious snack~.”

              Flirting?! Definitely a joke.

              Your shocked expression must’ve spoke volumes as he laughed at you, wiping a faux tear from his blindfolded eyes, “Don’t be so unsure of yourself. Surely a treat like you gets hit on all the time.”

              “Are you hearing yourself,” you blurt out without thinking. How could he be so casual about this if he weren’t planning something sinister. All the memories of manipulation and abuse from strangers in your life come flooding back, your body subconsciously recoiling in on itself in defence. Your voice is meeker now, “Please, if you’re going to do something just get over with it.”

              The man’s footsteps sound calm as he strides towards you, his hand reaching forward. You cringe in on yourself, awaiting a slap or a hit, only for your body to be taken over by surprise when he speaks, his index finger pointing towards the flat stove-surface of the kiosk, “Your crepe is burning.”

              “Oh no!” You squeal, quickly going to flip it off the surface and onto a serviette. Tears start to collect in your eyes as you think of all the different ways you’ll be punished, “Shit shit shit. He’s going to know! He always knows and I can’t hide it, I’m screwed-“

              Silence engulfs you as you watch, stunned, at the man who picks up the hot and charred crepe, worms out his tongue and opens his mouth, before scoffing it down in a single gulp. He pulls out a few bills and sets them on the kiosk counter, “Whew! In hindsight I should have put cream or something on it. Definitely not as good as the first one I had.” Honestly… What was his deal? He didn’t question your shocked expression, only smiling and reaching out his finger to wipe at a stray tear, using the kiosk to lean over and reach you, “Name’s Satoru. Or, well, Gojo is my last name and tends to be what others go by. For you, cutie, I’d rather be addressed by something more to heart. So, you free after this? I know a great restaurant near here.”

              Your mouth opens and closes, gaping like a dehydrated fish. You didn’t need to look down to see his arms begin to sizzle on the pan, the sound and smell enough to alert you both. Ven so, you informed him with ghostly words, “Your arm is cooking.”

              “Not gonna move it ‘til you say yes!”

              … You couldn’t believe what your day has come to, “Okay.”

.

The restaurant he had decided to take you to was something way out of your budget, and just as you were about to voice your concerns for it, he quickly put his finger to your lips and spoke, “Shh, I know what you’re going to say and don’t worry. I’ve got us covered.”

              Neither of you were particularly dressed for this place, he wearing a black uniform with the neck of it covering his chin, and you in your small, ripped (not by design) shorts and oversized t-shirt. Even with this, the waiter at the front smiled widely at Satoru, “Gojo-sama! What a pleasant surprise. Table for two?”

              You were thankful that the waiter didn’t acknowledge you. No greeting yet no glare or scowl either. Satoru flicked his fingers into guns and pointed at him, “You betch’ya! One of those cosy, independent booths, please.”

              “Of course, right this way.” The waiter lead you through the open area of the restaurant, many patrons idly enjoying their dinner with their loved ones by quiet candlelight, whilst the ones you walked slightly too close to were able to smell you and tell just what breed you were, some even trying to complain to their designated waiter. You just hung your head in shame until you got to the booth, following Satoru’s lead until you heard a door being slid shut.

              Quickly, you turned to face him, seeing that he had shut you both in a secluded area with a table, the walls made of a deep coloured screen that didn’t quite go to the ceiling, yet provided all the privacy one could need in a place like this. “Don’t worry,” he says, walking around to pull out a chair for you, “The owner and I get along real well. I’ve helped them out a few times.”

              He slides the seat in as you sit, and you still can’t get over the fact that he hasn’t done anything bad to you yet. This man has singlehandedly given you the most kindness you have received in your entire life. Perhaps he wants to break your heart in the end, at least you might get a free meal out of it. “I see… Are you a chef? Is that why your hair is up like that and you didn’t flinch when you got burnt?” You knew some chefs were godly in the kitchen and a little stove sizzle wouldn’t quit them.

              Satoru laughed, bringing his hands up to act as a resting spot for his chin, “Nooo~ Not a chef, and my hair just sits this way with the blindfold.”

              Which brings you on to your next question, “Why do you wear a blindfold? How can you navigate like that?”

              His cheeky grin only widens, his hands now moving to sit flat on the table so he can lean forward and whisper, “Would you believe I have… Special powers?”

              This made you quirk your eyebrow, now you were unintentionally leaning in as well, “Huh? Behind your blindfold?”

              Satoru chuckled, leaning back again in his chair as he nonchalantly waves the discussion away in the air, “Ah, I don’t think you can handle this conversation just yet. Oh! I know, how about this,” he holds his hand up, five fingers pointing towards the sky. Using his other hand, brings down his thumb so he was only showing four fingers, “Four more dates and I’ll reveal my eyes to you.”

              Another flustered expression overcame you. You hadn’t even finished this date – this is a date?! – and yet he was already planning more. Subconsciously, you tilt your head away from him, shoulders coming inwards as you mutter, “I don’t have anything to offer you, Satoru.”

              “I just,” he falters, and for the first time he sounds a little unsure of how to say something. Easily, his motions fluid and controlled, like he knows exactly what he wants to do, he reaches for your upper arms and pulls them forward, sliding down the length of your arms until he can comfortably hold your hands, “I just need you to be there. That’s all I want.”

              You swallow thickly, thinking it over. It wouldn’t hurt to see how tonight turned out, and even if you said no, he knows where you work. You suppose you can see where this takes you, until it falls flat like it should for an omega.

.

That night, you managed to tip toe back into your home, your father snoring on the couch. It was a miracle you weren’t berated, at least you had thought so until the morning.

              Cooking breakfast for him, he had decided now was prime time to slam his fist into the archway of the room, making you flinch as he roared, “You stupid bitch, don’t think I didn’t notice you not home last night. Where the fuck were you?”

              What to say… Could you lie? You’d have to lie, he would accuse you of trying to do something shady if you said you had a date. No omega would get a date, especially you, and so that would mean you were planning something bad. Or maybe it was your catastrophising thoughts that made you see it this way, a defence mechanism, if you will. “I was working late,” you tell him, quietly, “My boss is trying to extend the crepe business into later hours for couples on dates.”

              To this, your father scoffs, planting his body at the table as he awaits his meal, “No couple would want an omega to serve them, you might try to make off with their mate.”

              You really did try to hold your tongue, but maybe Satoru’s easy-going behaviour had mellowed you out a bit, “I just thought you might want the extra money.” It wasn’t a smart-ass comment, but no matter what you’d say he would take it as one.

              This morning, he seemed to have had a bad hangover, as he could only growl out, “What was that, you runt? Know your place.”

              Oh, how you desired to spit in his food. You gazed longingly at the bacon and eggs you were making, such a simple meal. Last night you had come home to see new pizza boxes laid around. Honestly, you felt a sort of betterment from that. You had dined like royalty, and he was stuck here eating shit from a sole. If only for last night, you were better than him.

…

“A curse?” You questioned, your wide eyes looking over your teacup. It was an authentic, British set, Satoru had taken you out to a little garden café on the other side of the city. It was amongst some of the historic temples around, the trees making you seem far away from the city and the food a kind of exquisite you had never been privy of knowing.

              He grinned at you, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling from behind his dark glasses, “That’s right! Kind of like a ghost or a monster. They feast on collective, negative energy and such, I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

              You tried to keep an open mind, “And you… Hunt them?”

              “Yeah! See, now you’re getting it,” he grins, excitedly.

              With a smile, you set your cup down and ask, “Are you an author, Satoru?”

              He waved his hand dramatically in the air, “Oh, you flatterer, you. I’m not that creative, it’s just my job.”

              As much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t help the creeping feeling that he was lying to you. Like, this was your third ‘date’ together and he still had yet to bully you or do something horrible. This wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to make you scared and freak out. Maybe he wants to laugh at the weak, little omega and her fear smell. Is that why you were in a crowded café?

              “Hey, hey,” he reaches over, holding your hands in his, “I can sense you’re troubled but not for the reason I’d think. You still don’t trust me, do you, (Y/n)?”

              Your mouth opens and closes, unsure how to word your thoughts. You were caught in a predicament you didn’t want to be in. Of course you still didn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust him after everything you’ve been through. Would he take such offense to that?

              Satoru seems to take your shock as his answer, smiling sincerely at you, “I don’t blame you, it’s okay. That’s why we’re doing these dates! Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from now on.”

              Flaming heat erupts on your cheeks, the feeling of his thumbs caressing your skin feeling like an iron, “How can you just say that? You don’t know me and I’m-“ you stop suddenly, looking around you to notice the faces of disgust, you really didn’t need to finish that sentence. Your blockers had grown thin, so now you were cutting them in half to try and spread it out since your doctor was on holiday. Unfortunately, they didn’t prevent the smell of your pheromones enough, it was painfully obvious everywhere you went.

              “Ah, my darling omega, you truly are sweet,” he inhales, smiling contentedly, “Once you realise the world is your playground, nothing else matters. I could kill everyone here and take you away, and as long as no one can stop me – and trust me, they can’t -, anything is possible, and your dreams really can come true.”

              You didn’t know what to say to that, his words always bordering on genuine and humour. Even with the knowledge of Satoru’s like to play, the undeniable dark truth of a true alpha manages to waft in the air.

              Like a switch, he grins widely, all teeth and charisma, “That’s not saying I will, but it’s such a nice feeling, don’t you think?”

              It’s quiet as his words sink in. You think about your life so far, how you couldn’t even get away with greeting someone without a knife to your throat and spitting words of how an omega doesn’t get to speak without their alpha allowing them to do so. As much as you’d like to punch them in the gut, you don’t think you’d really want to kill them, everyone growing under their own circumstance. Instead of getting into political debates, you think you don’t want anymore stares and judgement for today, deciding that even if Satoru is okay to talk to, you’re still uncomfortable, “I suppose so, it must be nice having such strength, and being able to see… Curses.”

The rest of the date was enjoyable, and he even answered some of your questions about the creatures he hunts. Apparently, omegas are prime suspects, easy to feast upon and no one questions when they go crazy, the second lot of victims being alphas that had an omega as a child. You’re honestly surprised you and your father haven’t been attacked yet if that’s the case.

              Satoru drives you home and it’s relatively quiet in the car, the thrumming of the almost noiseless engine enough to fill the silence. You go back to what Satoru says during your date, and now you’re memorising the smells he emitted during your conversation. Before, it was hard to really tell since you were stressing, and the restaurant was full of blooming alphas and betas. However, now it was lingering through the car. He had spoken so easily about death and killing, like it was second nature to him next to breathing. Some curses were sentient, able to talk and think, and then there was the comment about killing everyone else in the restaurant, who were definitely not curses. He was happy, proud even, to have that kind of strength and show it off to you. Tonka bean and vetiver… Perhaps even an orange blossom. It was nice, even if the reason behind it was a little morbid, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and indulge.

              The scent got stronger, and suddenly you were startled by a low chuckle, your eyes flashing open to see you were leaning towards him. Satoru had slowed down in front of your house and turned the car off, his cheeks a flush in the dim light, “Having you relax around me like that feels so nice. I can’t tell you enough how happy you’ve just made me.”

              You open your mouth immediately to say sorry, only to close it after a moment’s thought. He doesn’t smell like he’s trying to bully you or mad that you thought you could get so close to him without repercussions. How much longer can you hold out from someone who is being so kind to you?

              “You don’t have to reply to that,” he tells you, saving you from thinking of an acceptable response. Satoru gets out first, hurrying to your side while you unbuckle yourself to let you out. You smile at him and let him take your hand, holding you close as he closes the door and pushes you against the car. A small gasp is pushed from you, surprised at his boldness. You’re lucky that this neighbourhood was relatively quiet, no one being awake at this hour to see you with anyone. “I really want to kiss you,” he says, face inching closer to you, “You have no idea how hard it was for me to hold back in the car.”

              Your eyes shift in nervousness, hands coming to press to Satoru’s chest, “W-wait, s’too soon-“

              “It’s fine,” he cuts, not letting you get another word out, smashing his lips to yours in a frenzied kiss. Your eyes dilate, his scent and taste making your heart jump with a certain anxiety – excitement – you’re letting your shoulders relax and clenching the front of his shirt as he takes the lead. Maybe… Maybe this isn’t so bad… His leg finds its way between the both of yours and gently grinds down, a small moan slipping from your mouth at the electric feeling. Next, he starts to slowly introduce his tongue to your mouth, the wet muscle a new sensation to you.

              Suddenly, you’re hit with an overwhelming pain, your gut tightening and your eyes watering as you double over into his chest. Your body is hot, panting, you lean into him and can hardly hear anything. Satoru is speaking, saying something, ‘sorry’ and ‘test’ are two words you think you understand but you can’t focus on sounds. What does help you, though, is the gentle caress his hand brings to your head. He holds you tight, safe, his pheromones echoing security and comfort through your mind. You mumble into his clothes once you feel you’re able to talk again, “Wh-what was that? That hurt so much…”          

              Satoru hums, both hands coming to your face which he cradles and regards you with loving eyes, “Have you ever been in heat, (Y/n)?”

              You sniffle, shaking your head, “No, I’ve taken suppressants since the day they found out what I was. It made puberty really difficult…”

              Satoru’s lips curl into a frown, “I imagine it would. It seems your body jumped into overdrive, the stimulation from kissing alone too much for you.”

              Your arms curled around yourself for some comfort, “My suppressants, they’re running low so I’ve been halving them to spread them out but they’re just making me feel sick.”

              “When did you start halving them?” He asks, eyes now wide with worry.

              “Uhm, I think about a few days ago? But I can’t get a hold of my doctor and it’s hard to find anyone that will willingly prescribe suppressants.” Your head falls into his chest, a feeling of defeat washing over you.

              Satoru pets your head, quiet in thought before he says, “Why not just stop taking them?”

              You have to laugh at that, tilting your head to look up at him, “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

              “I’m not,” he closes his eyes, burying his nose in your neck and holding you close, “You’ve got me now, I’ll look after you. Fuck, you smell so good.”

              “Satoru-“ Your wrists are caught in his as he stares you down.

              Or, at least that is what he appears to be doing. You’re stuck in his grasp as you wait for him to make his statement, which he does once your lips smacks shut, “You don’t need to hide who you are anymore. Just think about it, ‘kay?”

              To get him off your back you give an exhale of defeat, rolling your eyes to the side and complying, “Fine. I’ll think about it. Cool?”

              His charming grin is almost enough to even fool you into thinking it was okay to relinquish your omega self to him, “Cool.”

.

Things were not cool. Not long after getting inside, your father had waited to pounce once the car Satoru drove was out of sight. Your vision had waned with the punch he threw at you, your body colliding with the hallway wall. “Disgusting!” He had spat, literally, his saliva landing on your cheek and barely missing your eye. His foot was next to make contact, kicking you hard enough in the stomach that you threw up a little of your dinner, “You reek of a fucking omega! I see you whoring yourself out, slut. Tryna hide the money from me, eh?”

              Another kick had you crying out, this one on your bicep and knocking you back to the ground. You wailed as he bent down and held your hair in a tight and painful grasp, “I’m not! I swear, I have no money!”

              He ignored you, his breath badly stained with alcohol, however, you were certain even without the influence he wouldn’t hold back, “Tryna seduce me? Hm? Your own father? You fucking wretch. If you don’t stop that smell right now I swear to whatever fucking God is out there…”

              You were bawling now, you could only assume your hormones were worse, your own senses dull to the smell of you. It hurt internally as well, your omega working overdrive as you try in vain to calm down so you didn’t have to endure the full impact of emitting such helpless hormones. It may not have worked the way you wanted it to, but, your father seemed to calm down with a sneer.

He threw your head to the floor and began walking away, “If you don’t get back on those fucking meds by tomorrow then I will kill you. I promise you that.”

You didn’t dare reply to that, thankful that he decided to walk away while you were still breathing tonight.

..

How fitting the weather is today, the clouds a dark grey and the skies pouring with rain. You had one umbrella with a hole between two of the spines but it was better than nothing. This morning you left the house with a bag packed and a small suitcase, only the essentials.

              You were on a bus ride to the other side of town to see your doctor. If they weren’t going to pick up the phone then you’d have to arrive suddenly. If he didn’t have the suppressors then you weren’t going to go home, in fact, you weren’t entirely sure if you were going to go back anyway. Perhaps a life on the street was better than this. A woman’s shelter wouldn’t take you in for the fact that you were an omega, and an omega shelter had an 80% chance of being a front for something worse than illegal.

              The bus stops where you need to be, the passengers loudly exclaiming that they’re happy you’re finally leaving. It doesn’t hurt so much today, you just have one thing on your mind.

              ‘Why not just kill yourself?’

              You stop at the thought, in the middle of opening your umbrella, standing in the rain. It was a thought, right? Ending it was always a nice joke but holy shit that voice sounded like it was right by your ear and… genuine. You weren’t exactly scared, a little shocked, sure but, maybe you should bring that up with your doctor, too.

              However, as you got closer and closer to the clinic, you began to think they weren’t open. Though there was the receptionist’s and the doctor’s cars outside, the curtains were drawn, the lights were off and the sign, once you got close enough to read, was saying ‘Closed’.

              Your hand reaches to your heart as you feel it thumping hard in anxiety, your pheromones beginning to linger around you as a thick, steady aura. Thank goodness this place was off the city boarder, not many people around to subject you to bullying and hatred. You look back to the cars again, both of them parked neatly in the small lot. Even if it’s closed, you need to push past your nervousness and gently demand your medication. If you didn’t… Well, he knows just as well as you do.

              You knock on the glass with a firm hit, calling out for good measure, “Dr. Kodoka, it’s me, (Y/n).”

              Silence.

              You knock again, if they don’t want to be disturbed then the earlier they open up to you the better. “Dr. Kodoka, please, I really need to talk to you. It’s an emergency,” you plead, hoping he could tell by the sound of your voice how desperate you were.

              Your gut drops as more silence is your only response. You probably should have tried this first, grabbing the long handle of the door and trying to open it. No surprise, it’s locked. Perhaps there’s a back entrance? Oh, you feel so seedy scrounging around a doctor’s office.

              Past the skip bins there’s a narrow entrance just wide enough for one person between the building and a wired fence. You’re not sure why the wired fence is even here, it’s not attached to anything and only separates a portion of the office from an open wheat field. Luck smiles upon you as you try this door, the entrance clicking open and allowing you to step into the darkness.

              One deep breath before you call out has you positively gagging at the disgusting scent that assaults you nose and mouth. It’s unavoidable, the little bit of vomit that works its way up your throat is involuntarily spat out onto the linoleum floor. What. The. Fuck.

              This has to be the worst experience you’ve ever been through, the tears in your eyes falling freely as you persevere through the smell. You know you need to call the police, you know something like this isn’t normal. However, if you do, and they find out you’re an omega here to purchase suppressants then there’s a good chance you’ll both be dead. It’s happened before, police getting trigger happy or beating up omegas and any allies. Of course, society doesn’t care. More filth off the streets.

              There’s a sound towards the entrance, something being knocked over, as well as some sort of ‘sludging’ noise. Could it be one of them trying to get to the door? Someone must be alive! You quietly move towards the entrance, past the main office, the break room, and peak through the broken door of the reception. It’s horrendous.

              All the gore has been maintained in this area. Limbs, a spine, half a head that has been poorly cut from the top of their skull through their chin- and that’s only the background. In the middle of it all, this giant, wrinkly, slug-like creature appears to be waking up. It has an amass of arms and hands over it’s back and sides, and one twitching on the tip of its tail. The stalks that would be its eyes slowly raise, turning in all directions as if looking around.

              You fall against the door, your entire being freezing up in a shock mode. The thud of your body hitting the floor alerts it to you, and you notice now that instead of eyes, it was wearing the distraught faces of the doctor and receptionist. The receptionist still had one of her eyes hanging from their socket, whilst the doctor was completely eyeless, with only a couple of teeth and the tip of his tongue drooping from the gaping mouth.

              It hones in on your position and starts charging at an alarming pace, the only thing you can do is scream your throat raw as your end nears. It’s too horrifying, too real to be a dream you can escape. The creature splits its mouth with human-like teeth in mismatched rows and thrashing hands over its body and you can’t look away from your demise.

              You don’t blink, and because you don’t blink it’s hard to believe anything happened.

              As fast as light itself, a man appears and slashes the slug in half, horizontally through its open mouth with a light so white there’s a tint of blue to it. The guttural scream it lets out is so closely related to a human’s that you are only filled with more fear. The man, who turns to give you a cocky wink and that you can now see is Satoru Gojo, makes a crude display of holding his index and middle finger in front of his face and slowly licking his digits with the flat of his tongue; before slicing the creature up into smaller pieces until it bursts into sprays of blood and nothingness.

              Your hearing was skewed, you barely recognise his footsteps as he walks towards you and bends down to hold his hand out. You tell your mind to grab it, to accept his kindness after saving you but you’re caught in your own sense of dread and confusion as not a speck of blood is seen on Satoru or his white hair, or his devilish smile, or that black coat with the collar sticking around his neck.

              Satoru’s smile softens and he’s sure you can’t hear him when speaks to you, “Ah, I see we’ll have to cut our deal short. That’s okay, we’re only one date off anyway.” He reaches for your hands, placing them both in one of his and stroking the backs with his thumb. He then slowly removes his blindfold and tilts your chin with his free hand to force you to meet his silvery gaze, “(Y/n), sweetheart, look at me. Everything is okay now.”

              His eyes are so blue… White… Silver… They’re like crystals or diamonds or two pools of galaxies – they’re out of this world. His lashes are gorgeous too, and for some reason you feel a ping of jealousy amongst all this chaos because how can a man be so beautiful just by taking off his blindfold. Like a character taking off their glasses to reveal they were beautiful all along. Wait, what are these thoughts? In this horrible situation you suddenly feel like giggling.

              Satoru chuckles, keeping your focus solely on him as he lifts you in his arms to carry you out. People in suits run past you but neither of you pay them no mind as he keeps talking, “What silly thoughts are going through that omega mind of yours?” You laugh incredulously, feeling your body fall heavier in his arms he adjusts you, “There it is, there’s that adrenaline leaving you. I gotcha, sweetheart.”

.

You’re sat on the back of an ambulance with a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water wedged between your legs. A few feet away is Satoru, talking to someone so casually you wouldn’t think he just killed a monster with his own hands; literally. You watch as he dismisses the person and walks back over to you with a smile, his blindfold back on and his hands coming from his pockets to bring you into a side embrace, “How are you feeling? That was quite an experience, huh?”

              Trauma makes people react differently to things, so if this was his job then it makes sense he wouldn’t be so distressed. “I smell of decay,” you sigh, though you weren’t covered in filth you definitely had some stains. Even without the mess, the stale air in the clinic was enough to cling to you. You squeeze the blanket tighter around you, “How could something like this happen? They were generous people. Kind; caring.”

              Satoru seemed to think for a moment, as if deciding what the best thing to say right now would be. Whether it was helpful or not, he opted for the truth, placing one of his large hands below your neck for comfort, “They were helping omegas, and regardless of their personality, a lot of stigma comes from there. Constant stress to keep a secret, harsh words from the few friends and family that know, it all adds up and creates the perfect scent for a curse to trail.”

              “I remember you saying you that they are attracted to negative energy. So, rather than feeding off the energy itself they eat the humans?” You ask, though you already know the answer to that. You just can’t wrap your head around how this is even possible. You recall his eyes, how pretty they are beneath the blindfold, “Is that why your eyes are so striking, because you have the power to fight them?”

              A laugh bubbles from his chest, his hand squeezing your back, “Sort of. Not everyone is like me, though. In fact, no one is like me.” He steps back, arms open wide and head tilted towards the sky, “I’m the most powerful sorcerer to exist! Killing that creature used nothing but a flick of my wrist.” When he looks back to you there is a strange, powerful feeling that emanates from him, even some of the detectives around you seem to tense, “Nothing can touch me. In turn, nothing will ever touch you.”

              What he says should be something kind, words of protection and safety. However, as his gaze burns through the blindfold and into your own, you feel like your breath has been whisked away and your body is being pulled to the ground, trapping you in place for him. It only lets up when your phone begins to ring, and to get out of this awkward feeling of a situation you answer it, “Hello, this is (Y/n).”

              The voice on the other side of the phone makes you almost vomit, your father sounding almost melancholic, “(Y/n)… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that. Come home.”

              You’re at a loss for words. He wants you home? No, that’s a lie, you can’t understand what is going on with him. Something tickles your ear and you jump to see Satoru leaning close so he can listen to your conversation. He smiles at you and nods, whispering, “Say yes.”

              Satoru saved you and promised to protect you. He wouldn’t be telling you to agree if you were going to get hurt, you’d like to believe. So, swallowing your hesitation you reply, “O-Okay, dad. I’ll come home.”

              He breathes a huge sigh of relief, “Thank god, thank you, (Y/n). Thank you so much.”

              You hang up and look to Satoru with worry, “Do you think he’s going to kill me?”

              “Nah, I won’t let him,” Satoru says, confidently. You think you can trust him, especially since you watched him take down a strong monster, your angry alpha of a father would be no match for him. He sees you’re still worried, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand and his smile doing its best to calm you, “Let’s finish up here.”

.

By the time you two are at your house the sun was low in the sky. Satoru had parked down the street this time, the two of you walking slowly down footpath to avoid suspicion. You were already on edge, however, when Satoru told you he wanted you to go in alone, you froze up completely.

              He just stood there, allowing you to process what he said. You started by shaking your head, grabbing onto his hand, “No. No, please, you said-“

              “-I said I’d protect you and I will. I’m going to go around the back, you just walk up like everything is hunky-dory, ‘kay?”

              With a squeeze of your shoulder, he skips around, his carefree attitude not exactly lifting your anxiety. One thing is for certain, though, and that’s that you’ve seen him kill the other curse before. You know he can do it. You trust him. Alpha status aside, if you have any friend in this world then it’s Satoru Gojo.

              You take your time going up to the front door, hand trembling as you reach for the knob. It’s unlocked, the door creaking open ominously. You get a cold rush through your body, the inside at freezing temperatures. It’s unnatural, making you step back in shock and shivering in what you could only describe as unease.

              But it’s okay, because Satoru is here. He said he would protect you and the prospect has you feeling your cheeks flush. He’s like… your alpha.

              The inside is quiet, save for the humming of electricity coming from the fridge. You walk slowly in and look around, spying your father in lounge room on his recliner, hands intertwined as he leans forward. You don’t shut the door, feeling just a tad easier with the escape route.

              It isn’t until you’re standing before him that a whistling of wind causes the door to slam shut on its own, the locks clicking in place unnaturally. Your confused look in that direction has him huffing a laugh. Your father doesn’t give you the courtesy of eye contact, “You know that on the day you were born, your mother and I were at our happiest?”

              It’s an odd way to start a conversation, and though you were certain this was a trap of some kind, you don’t know what else to do except respond meekly, “I didn’t know that no.”

              A humourless laugh accompanies the way he sits up, shoulders slumped, and eyes dazed behind you, “No, of course you don’t. We only told you once when you were just a newborn. Once you got your status in life, well… It was too shameful to ever bring up again. We were completely embarrassed we every felt that way about an omega.”

              He’s not just staring off into nothing, you notice the way his eyes look specifically behind you. Is it Satoru, did he come inside? You turn your head, only to go rigid and fall back in fear. Not another one… Not another curse.

              It was too tall for the ceiling, curving over like a hook with its head twisted to be partially upright. Tiny mouths were strewn over its face and down its neck, human teeth in all sorts of odd places like the lips and cheeks of the creature. The main mouth was skewed to the side and grinning openly down at you, and the eyes that are sunken, almost giving a hollow effect, were as dark as a black hole; though you knew instantly that it had its gaze locked on you. Four lanky arms reach from its shoulders, the body a crooked mass of black and its fingers twitching in all the wrong directions with painful cracks of possible bone.

              The worst part that solidified its presence was when it spoke, his voice raspy and words barely tangible, “Dau…ght…er… Path..et..ic ome…gck.a. Delectabblle—dinn….eerrr.”

              You jumped at the firm hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place as the curse limped forwards. Your father spoke in a neutral tone, “It appeared not long after your mother left. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, who to contact or what to do. Eventually, I started nurturing it. It grew with every argument we had, relished in my anger and pain. I let it feed off me and now it wants more. Now it wants you. You’ll do this, right? It’s the only good thing you’re for, after all. It’ll save me, your family.”

              Tears streamed down your face, head shaking as you shifted back. Even with the bit of adrenaline you were able to muster, you were no match for your father, forced to endure the visual of this creature’s fingers itching to get a hold of your flesh. You could only sob, no words coming out, not even to call for Satoru.

              Thankfully, you didn’t have to. Your saviour appears once more, and as though the curse is nothing but a guy on the street, he places his hand on its back and gives a low whistle, “Low blow, dad. And here I was excited to finally meet my father-in-law.”

              There’s a pressure now in the air, one that has you curling in on yourself, and causing the curse’s open smile to turn into a low hanging frown. Its head spins on its neck, trying to get a look at the man that has it. Your father is more concerned about the words Satoru spoke, though, the tips of his fingers digging painfully into your skin, “’Father-in-law’? You whore. I knew you were out selling yourself. Looks like even to the end, you’re nothing but an embarrassment. That’s all going to change, though. Now you and your boy toy can die together.”

              Satoru laughs, and before you can even blink, he appears behind your father and grabs his wrist, easily shattering the bones and causing him to let go of you. You shift to the side, away from both him and the curse as he screams. Satoru tuts at him, waggling his finger nonchalantly in the air, “Parents should protect their children, not sacrifice them. Honestly…” His voice lowers into something almost sad, though you’re wondering if Gojo Satoru was actually privy to that emotion in the first place or if he was just a really good actor, “People like you disgust me.”

              A bright light that radiates such an intense heat envelops the lounge room. Your arm comes up to cover your face, eyes squinting, all you can hear are the pained cries of your father and the garbled curse. It sends fear coursing through your body, even if Satoru is on your side, just what sort of power does he control? The carnage you expect to see once your eyes adjust isn’t anywhere. The light is gone, everyone else in the room is gone, thin burn marks are left where your father and the curse once was.

              You jump at the hand on your shoulder, your saviour appearing once again out of nowhere. He smirks, acting a little flustered, “Sorry, are your eyes okay? I just wanted to show off a little bit.”

              Again, he’s able to treat this like it’s any other menial task. You ask him, voice quiet, “Where are they?”

              He tilts his head at you, a little pouty that your first concern was them and not the praise you should be heaping on your hero. He squeezes your shoulder, comfortingly, “What do you mean? They’re gone, does it really matter where?”

              It takes a few goes on shaky legs, but, you’re able to stand and face him, “I’m just a little concerned what even happened. Watching you fight the other one, I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and now this- … Are they…?”

              “Dead? Yes.”

              You exhale at his blatant response. Is this something you should blame yourself for, the killing of your father and that… thing? Or is that just your life-long need to put any negative responsibility on you for merely being born an omega.

              Satoru wraps his arm around you and leads you out of the lounge room to help your overclocked mind, "Here’s what would have happened if I didn’t do that: The curse would eat you, devour your father, and then go on a rampage hunting primarily other poor omegas. It’s happened before, baby. Besides,” he cups your face in his hands, making you look up at him, “He was a horrible man. No loss. Can you really say you loved him?”

              The only love you had for your father was before your scent kicked in. After that, he was worse than a stranger to you. You fiddle with your fingers, abashedly looking away, “What happens now?”

              “Now,” he excitedly jostles you, the smile on his face huge, “You come with me!”

              Your eyebrows furrow, his goofy attitude somehow lessening the severity of the situation for you, “I can’t just do that.”

              “Sure you can! Where else are you gonna go?” He questions, awaiting an answer he knows you won’t be able to think of. He takes your hands in his and gets down on one knee, “(Y/n), I know it hasn’t been very long, but when I say I’ve finally found the love of my life-“

              Cheeks burning, you push away from him, trying to cover up his teasing laugh with your hands to your ears, “Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop. Fine, I’ll come along with you.” You don’t think you can ever get used to being flirted with, especially in the unique ways that Satoru comes up with.

              He gives you a gentle push, “Go grab some valuables, baby. We’ll leave once you’re ready.”

              Satoru watches as you move up the stairs, grumbling about the sudden use of ‘baby’ he’s started getting attached to. Hah, how he really does love you. His hand comes to the straining of his cock in his pants, palming the ache that’s been prevalent for a while now. Not long now, he can’t way to absolutely ruin you. An omega that’s never had a proper heat, and he gets to be your first toy, just as much as you are his. His luck truly is divine, if anyone deserves it, it’s definitely him.

[furiousgoldfish]

To all of you who are feeling behind on survival skills, worried you won't be able to succeed in life because you're not allowed to learn/not able to learn, I want you to know that some basics are extremely easy to get once you're able to try it on your own, or even just have one person explain it to you.

When I ran away from home, I didn't know how to cook, I wasn't allowed to learn, and first month or so, I was preoccupied with just learning how to cook. What I learned was that it was far more easy than my parents ever made it seem. If you're trying to cook just for proper nutrition and not make some fancy meals, most of what you have to do is heat the groceries, and salt them. If you cut up some vegetables and put them in water an add salt, you will have a soup. If you lay them on a tray and put them in the oven, you've made food. You can put stuff in a pan with some oil and stir it on heat and you have a meal. For basic eating, it can be really that simple. I also was able to pick stuff up just from my roommates, who would happily answer my questions, and a lot of people out there will happily explain to you how they make a certain food, and of course, there's video tutorials for specific meals, if you want to make something more complex. Once you have absolute freedom in the kitchen, you will pick this up rapidly.

I have never used a washing machine prior to running away, and then one person showed me once how to use one, and that was that. I was washing-machine certified after that. I gained extra knowledge about cleaning it on the internet, and some people randomly had tips for me about it. I learned to handwash later as well, and that works good too.

I've struggled at the beginning, to find easy and cheap ways to get stuff; the most common way to get things is to go to the store, but I didn't have a lot of money, and buying things was too expensive for me. I've since discovered just where to find the second-hand markets, how to get people to give me their old clothing so I never have to buy any, how to temper with stuff I have so I wouldn't have to buy anything, at this point I even know how to fix shoes and sew my own stuff. I've fixed blinds on almost every window in here, without even knowing how, I just dismantled everything and figured it out. I've put together closets and lamps. I've learned to open up my own laptop and change the parts inside, I've even changed the screen on my own, by watching a video on how it's done. I've learned how to repaint walls, how to tend to plants, how to maintain a living space. Often I'd see someone else who is able to do these things, and just ask. People who are not parents have no reason to gatekeep this information, and they proudly told me how they do it.

I've learned to organize my stuff to the point where I'm able to easily clean a big mess, and I don't get overwhelmed with things anymore. I've had to do some reading on the internet to figure out the situation with finances and economy, and I also asked some people, got wildly different answers from every person. When I have the opportunity to chat with someone who has a specific job, I ask them about what they do, and have them describe to me how that field of work functions. It gave me insight into a lot of inner workings of society that were previously a mystery to me.

I was able to figure this all out while having zero faith in myself; I believed I was stupid, incapable of survival, honestly thought I would be dead within few months. I was reading army survival guides so I could survive in the wild if I ever got homeless. I was learning even without believing that all of this would help me, it's only now looking back at everything that I understand how much knowledge I gained just from trying it and doing it in every possible way until it clicked.

The most complex for me, were the social skills, since I'm still easily scared of people. But I am slowly making progress on that and finding better ways to deal with people's behaviours. Being curious works well because people love when someone is curious about them and shows interest in what they do. It's been a revelation that outside of my home, I really can just ask any question I am interested about, and will usually get some kind of an answer, and not 'how do you not know this already'. Outside of abusive homes, you're not expected to know everything, without ever being told.

While survival skills and independence are deeply forbidden in an abusive situation, being out of one will practically guarantee you that you'll get them. Sometimes you'll be forced to learn some stuff like cleaning and cooking and you'll have no choice but to learn, and it will become easier the more you do it. But nobody will make you feel bad for not doing it right the first time, there will be no punishment, no berating, you're free mess it up any amount of times, without any consequences. I would say that maybe you wasted some time and effort, but no time or effort is truly wasted when you're learning something; rather it takes that time and effort to learn. But it's not painful, it's not shameful, it's not forbidden anymore. You can learn a lot of things at your own ease and convenience, without worrying about someone's opinion on what you're doing. You can also learn dumb things and never be criticized or called out on it, you can do absolutely ridiculous stuff that brings you joy and no harm is done.

I know feeling behind sucks, and it feels shameful and horrible, but the good news is that you can catch up very quickly, and not only that. If you really want to have a lot of survival skills under your belt, and you keep learning, you will soon know more than most people do. You can out-do any person out there if you have a passion for it. I had people who were telling me how to do basic stuff, surprised at me knowing more than they knew, just months later. It's a great feeling!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

My beautiful pink house post has been on the market for 210 days and no sale. If I had $865K, I'd buy the 1972 architecturally interesting home in Pass Christian, MS. It has 4bds, 3ba, and is perfect inside. Take another look.

Open concept living in the round. It's freshly painted white, waiting for me to paint it shades of pink. Note that the roof shape is also the ceiling.

Large window to place the dining table in front of. I would change out the dated door.

Check out the cool kitchen. Well, clearly, they painted the dated oak cabinetry (I can spot those damned oak cabinets a mile away) in a kind of bright green, but okay. The glass block island/counter is cool. And, I like the industrial light fixture. I think that I would have to repaint the cabinets black or gray, though.

It's a bright, spacious kitchen- love that oven and the open shelving above. I would have to put in a backsplash, though.

It has 2 more ovens. Note that the back of the glass block island has useful storage.

The primary bedroom has a blue feature wall, those great ceilings, and glass block.

Nice big shower en-suite. And, it has sliding doors to the deck, so you don't have to trek thru the house when you come in from the pool.

Pretty sky blue bedroom.

They painted the oak cabinets in the en-suite to match the kitchen. The other bath looks so much nicer w/black cabinets.

And, this bedroom has a sunny yellow wall with sliders to the terrace.

Beautiful rec room with stone floor and kitchenette. I would love to have this house.

This room goes right out to the pool.

The 4th bd. is down here with a guest powder room. Love that sink.

Very nice pool and patio.

.44 acre lot is a few blocks from the Gulf of Mexico.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/101-Hayden-Ave-Pass-Christian-MS-39571/77976221_zpid/?

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C6)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (8.8K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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06: O-live-You And Other Things That Could've Been Said

The moment we stepped outside, the heat hit us like a solid wall. The sun was already high in the sky, radiating a fierce, unrelenting intensity that made the air shimmer like a mirage. It felt like stepping into an oven, the kind where the heat clings to your skin and settles in your bones, refusing to let go. The cobblestones beneath our feet were warm to the touch, and the faint breeze that occasionally swept by offered little relief, more like a faint exhale of hot air than anything truly cooling.

Mae immediately fanned herself with her hand, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun. “Oh my god, it’s not even ten yet and I’m already melting. I swear, this island is trying to roast us alive.”

Edie tugged at the collar of her tank top, flapping it to get some air. “I don’t know how people live like this. I can feel my makeup sliding off my face. At this rate, I’m going to look like a Picasso painting by noon.”

Hattie pulled her hair into a messy bun, beads of sweat already forming at her temples. “We’re officially in a sauna. A beautiful, picturesque sauna that’s actively trying to kill us with heatstroke.”

Oscar wiped his brow with the back of his hand, his shirt clinging to his back. “You guys are such drama queens,” he said, though his own forehead was glistening with sweat. “It’s not that bad. Just… extremely, painfully hot.”

Mae shot him an incredulous look, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not that bad? I can practically see the soles of my shoes melting into the pavement. If I pass out, just drag me to the nearest air-conditioned place and leave me there.”

Oscar chuckled, glancing over at me. “You holding up okay, or should we start taking bets on who drops first?”

I fanned myself with my hand, feeling the heat radiate off the ground in waves. “I’m fine, but I might have to invest in one of those little handheld fans soon. Or, you know, a personal ice bath.”

Oscar shot me a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling despite the beads of sweat gathering at his temples. “An ice bath, huh? That’s my kind of recovery. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve when it comes to cooling down after a race. Maybe I could show you how it’s done—F1 style.”

I rolled my eyes, but the smile on my face was impossible to hide. “Oh, so what, we’re going to do some pit stops for hydration and tire changes along the way too?”

Oscar laughed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Only if you’re up for it. I can be your personal pit crew. We’ll keep it professional, of course… until we get to the ice bath part.”

Mae groaned loudly, rolling her eyes as she overheard. “Please, Oscar. Save the flirting for after I’ve downed a liter of water and found some shade. We’re all dying here, and you’re still trying to turn this into a date.”

Oscar just shrugged, unbothered, and shot me a wink. “What can I say? I’m dedicated to the full experience. And hey, if it involves ice baths and a little friendly competition, I’m all in.”

I nudged him playfully, feeling a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the weather. “Well, if you can handle the heat on the track, I’m sure you can handle a little morning market stroll. But I’m holding you to that ice bath promise—I might just need it after this.”

Oscar smirked, leaning in closer. “You got it. I’ll even make sure it’s got all the F1 essentials—like speed, precision, and just enough flirtation to keep things interesting.”

His teasing sent a shiver down my spine despite the scorching heat, and for a moment, I almost forgot about the sun beating down on us. But then another wave of hot air hit, reminding us all just how relentless the day was going to be.

Hattie, overhearing our exchange, fanned herself dramatically and shook her head. “Alright, you two, keep it cool… literally. We’re about five minutes away from turning into human puddles, and I’m not prepared to deal with that kind of meltdown.”

We all laughed, the tension easing as we continued down the path, our steps a little lighter despite the oppressive heat. And as Oscar’s playful banter echoed in my ears, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, a little F1-style cool-down wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Edie let out a groan, shielding her eyes with her hand. “At this point, I’d settle for a bucket of ice water to the face. I don’t care about looking cute; I just want to survive.”

As we trudged along, the heat wrapped around us like a heavy blanket, every breath feeling thick and labored. The chatter continued, but now it was peppered with complaints and exaggerated groans, each of us trying to find some humor in the absurdity of the oppressive sun. The market couldn’t come soon enough, and as we walked, we silently vowed to find the nearest shade—or, even better, a cold drink—before any of us truly combusted under the relentless summer blaze.

Oscar fell into step beside me, close enough that our arms brushed as we walked. “Bet you five euros Mae buys something completely useless within the first ten minutes.”

I grinned, nudging him lightly with my shoulder. “I’ll take that bet. But I think it’s going to be Edie who cracks first. She’s got that look in her eye—like she’s on a mission to buy something she doesn’t need.”

Oscar laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re on. This might be the easiest money I’ve ever made.”

We continued down the winding path, the sun already blazing above us and making every surface shimmer with heat. The air was so thick and warm, it felt like walking through a giant hairdryer, and every step seemed to bring a fresh wave of stickiness that clung to our skin. The occasional shade from an overhanging tree felt like a blessed oasis, but those moments were fleeting, and soon we were back in the relentless glare.

Mae groaned dramatically, pulling her hair up into a messy bun as she fanned her neck with her hand. “I swear, this is how people end up in documentaries about survival. If I faint, just drag me to the nearest gelato stand.”

Edie, already looking flushed and slightly disheveled, tugged at her tank top. “Forget gelato; I’m about two minutes away from dunking my head in the nearest fountain. I can’t believe people live like this.”

Hattie chimed in, her voice laced with mock despair. “I feel like I’m being slow-cooked. If this is a test of endurance, I’m failing spectacularly. Someone tell me why we thought coming out in this heat was a good idea?”

Oscar glanced at me, his smile wicked. “Don’t worry, everyone. I’ve got it all under control. We’ll get to the market, find some shade, and then maybe I’ll set up an ice bath demo right there in the middle of the square. I’m sure it’ll be the highlight of everyone’s day.”

I laughed, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. “Oh yeah, nothing says local culture like a makeshift ice bath. You’ll have an audience in no time, and I’m pretty sure they’d crown you the king of market day.”

Oscar flashed me a grin, his hand brushing mine as we walked. “As long as you’re there to cheer me on, I’m ready to make it happen. We can call it ‘Beat the Heat: The Oscar Edition.’”

Mae, overhearing us, rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “I’m not paying to see that, but I’ll definitely take a video. It’s going viral, for sure.”

Oscar shot her a mock glare. “Only if you promise to catch my good side. And for the record, I’m pretty sure this ice bath idea is going to save lives today.”

Edie snorted, already scanning the stalls in the distance as the market came into view. “Oscar, you’re not saving lives. You’re just trying to impress your new audience,” she teased, giving him a playful nudge. “But hey, if it gets us a cold drink faster, I’m all for it.”

The market was a sensory overload in the best possible way—vibrant stalls overflowing with fresh fruits, handmade trinkets, and colorful textiles flapping in the light breeze. The mingling aromas of spices, fresh bread, and grilling meats filled the air, and every few steps, a vendor would call out to us, trying to lure us in with their wares. The place was alive with people—locals haggling with vendors, tourists snapping photos, and children darting between stalls with sticky fingers and delighted grins.

Oscar and I wandered through the aisles, pausing occasionally to admire a particularly colorful display of woven baskets or to sample a piece of sweet, juicy melon that a vendor insisted we try. It was a chaotic, joyful atmosphere, and despite the heat, I found myself genuinely enjoying the experience.

That is, until we reached a stall filled with every kind of olive you could imagine. From glossy black olives marinated in herbs to bright green ones stuffed with garlic, the selection was endless. Oscar, with his usual mischievous glint, picked up a toothpick and speared an olive, holding it out to me.

“Come on, try this one. I promise, it’s the best thing you’ll ever taste,” he said, his voice dripping with the confidence of someone who’d already decided the outcome.

I eyed the olive suspiciously, but the look on his face was so hopeful and endearing that I couldn’t refuse. I took the olive, popped it into my mouth, and almost immediately regretted my decision. The taste hit me like a freight train—intensely salty, bitter, and pungent, with a weirdly spicy kick that felt like it was attacking my taste buds from all sides.

I gagged, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was no use. My eyes watered, and I felt the immediate, burning need to spit it out. But before I could, I accidentally inhaled, choking on the olive’s briny juice in the most unattractive way possible. I doubled over, coughing and sputtering, as the taste continued to assault my senses.

Oscar, realizing what had happened, tried to help by patting me on the back, but his well-meaning thumps only made things worse. I stumbled forward, knocking into a rack of precariously balanced jars filled with pickled vegetables. The entire display wobbled ominously before tipping over with a loud crash, sending jars shattering to the ground and splattering their contents all over my sandals.

“Bloody fuck!” Oscar yelped, jumping back as brine and pickled peppers splashed up around us. He reached out, grabbing my arm to steady me, but we were both already slipping in the mess.

I finally managed to spit out the offending olive, doubling over in laughter as I wiped tears from my eyes. “Oh my god, that was—what the hell was in that olive? I think I just tasted hell!”

Oscar, trying to suppress his own laughter, looked down at the mess we’d made. “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t think it would be that bad! You looked like you were being possessed by some ancient demon.”

“Note to self,” I managed between gasps, “never, ever take an olive recommendation from you again.”

Oscar grinned sheepishly, still holding onto my arm to keep us both from slipping. “Deal. But hey, at least it’s a market memory we won’t forget anytime soon.”

We worked together to gather the scattered jars, our hands brushing occasionally, sending small electric jolts through my already flustered system. The vendor, a grumpy old man with a thick mustache and a fierce scowl, continued muttering under his breath, clearly unimpressed with our attempts to make amends. I offered him a sheepish smile, trying not to slip on the brine-soaked pavement, while Oscar dug into his wallet, pulling out a few euros to cover the damage.

As we finished up, Oscar turned to me with that infuriatingly charming grin of his. “Well, that’s one way to make an impression. I’d say we’re officially banned from the olive section.”

I laughed, wiping my hands on my dress, which was now speckled with flecks of pickling spices. “At this rate, we’re going to get banned from the whole market. I mean, who knew olives could be so dangerous?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Dangerous? I’d say they were just misunderstood. But hey, if you want to blame me for this epic disaster, I’ll take the fall.” He struck a dramatic pose, hand over his heart, like a martyr taking the blame for a noble cause. “I, Oscar from Australia, solemnly swear to never force-feed you another olive as long as we both shall live.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress my grin. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re apologizing. Otherwise, I’d still be gagging over that monstrosity you made me eat.”

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a mock whisper. “Lucky? I think you’re just softening up to me, olive incident and all.”

I pushed him lightly, but the warmth in his gaze didn’t falter, and I found myself caught in the easy rhythm of his teasing. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head. But you’re definitely going to owe me an ice cream after this.”

Oscar smirked, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Ice cream? Please, we’re in Greece. You mean gelato,” he corrected, his voice dripping with playful mockery. He stepped closer, his tone teasing but his proximity making my heart skip a beat. “And trust me, I know the best place. Only the finest for my olive-battle buddy.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “Alright, Mr. Gelato Expert. Lead the way.”

A few minutes later, we were standing at a small gelato stand, the sweet, creamy scent wafting through the air, instantly making me forget the earlier chaos. Oscar handed me a scoop of hazelnut gelato, then grabbed his own, a vibrant pistachio. As he took a triumphant bite, a dollop of green gelato smeared right onto his nose, turning the flirty moment into an adorably ridiculous one.

I stifled a laugh, trying to keep my composure as he continued to talk, completely unaware of the green splotch on his face. “See? This is real dessert. None of that commercialized stuff—”

I burst out laughing, and he paused, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Uh, you’ve got a little… something,” I said, pointing to my own nose as a hint.

He tried to swipe at it but missed, smearing it even more. “This?”

I shook my head, biting my lip to keep from laughing too hard. “Here, let me.” Without thinking, I reached up, my fingers gently brushing his nose as I wiped away the sticky gelato. The touch was brief, but it was enough to make my pulse quicken.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like the busy market around us had faded away, leaving just the two of us in a little bubble of shared laughter and unspoken tension. Oscar’s gaze softened, the playful glint giving way to something deeper as he leaned in slightly, our faces close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “I think I’m going to have to spill gelato on myself more often if it gets you this close.”

I laughed softly, still feeling the tingling of where his nose had brushed against my fingertips. “You’re ridiculous,” I said, but there was no hiding the smile on my face. “But if that’s your plan, maybe try keeping it on your gelato next time.”

Oscar chuckled, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief as he leaned in just a little closer, closing the already narrow gap between us. “Can’t make any promises,” he said, his voice dipping into that teasingly low, flirtatious tone that sent a familiar thrill coursing through me. “Besides, I’m not sure gelato is half as fun without a little mess.”

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth spreading through my chest made it impossible to hide the grin tugging at my lips. “I’m starting to think you do it on purpose,” I said, trying to sound exasperated but failing miserably as Oscar’s thumb grazed a stray bit of gelato from the corner of my mouth, his touch lingering just a beat longer than necessary.

He shrugged, still impossibly close, his grin broadening. “What can I say? Keeps things interesting.” His voice softened, and for a brief moment, his gaze flickered to my lips before meeting my eyes again, his expression a mix of playfulness and something deeper that made my heart skip. “But I have to admit, I’ve got pretty good taste.”

I felt my cheeks flush under his steady gaze, the space between us charged with an almost tangible electricity. The casualness of his words belied the underlying tension simmering just beneath the surface, each flirty remark and lingering touch a dare to step closer, to push the boundaries just a little more.

“Yeah?” I challenged, tilting my head slightly, unable to resist the pull of the moment. “Well, just so you know, you’re not the only one with good taste.”

Oscar's eyes darkened with a mix of intrigue and something more playful, his smile never wavering as he scooted closer, his thigh brushing against mine on the impossibly narrow bench. The space between us was almost nonexistent now, our legs tangled in a way that felt intimate, unspoken, and thrillingly reckless. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the brush of his arm against mine sending little jolts of electricity through me.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he said, his voice low and edged with that teasing drawl that made my pulse quicken. He leaned in closer, so close that I could feel his breath, warm and sweet, grazing my cheek. “But I think I like hearing you admit it.”

The proximity, the way his eyes held mine without flinching, had my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I tried to play it cool, but the intensity of his gaze, the closeness of his body, made every breath feel charged with possibility.

“You’re really pushing your luck,” I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended, almost breathless. His knee nudged mine, a playful, subtle reminder of how little space was left between us.

Oscar smirked, scooting even closer, his leg pressing against mine with a deliberate pressure that sent my nerves into overdrive. “Maybe,” he whispered, his lips barely an inch away from my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “But something tells me you’re not exactly complaining.”

The words hung between us, laced with a flirty challenge that dared me to push back, to match his game. I tried to muster a witty comeback, but all I could focus on was the feel of his thigh against mine, his shoulder brushing my arm, the intoxicating closeness that made the world around us blur.

“Bold assumption,” I managed to say, but my voice wavered, betraying the flutter of excitement thrumming beneath my calm facade. “What makes you think you’re so irresistible?”

Oscar grinned, his confidence unwavering as he leaned in, closing the gap until his lips were just a breath away from mine, close enough that I could feel the heat of his smile. “Call it a hunch,” he murmured, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. “Or maybe it’s just that look you give me every time I get this close.”

My breath hitched, and I found myself leaning in without meaning to, drawn to the warmth of his presence, the challenge in his eyes. His teasing was relentless, but it was the way he looked at me—like this was all just foreplay for something much bigger—that left me breathless, my heart racing as if daring me to make the next move.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” I said, my voice a shaky whisper, half accusation, half something else entirely.

Oscar’s grin widened, his thumb brushing my wrist in a touch so light it sent a ripple of warmth through my whole body. “And you love it,” he said simply, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for doubt. And maybe, just maybe, he was right.

My heart pounded in my chest, the air between us thick with unspoken tension, and for a split second, I thought he might kiss me. But just as the moment reached its peak, a loud honk blasted through the air, startling us both.

We jerked apart, whipping our heads around to see a vendor on a tiny motorbike, zigzagging through the crowded market with a basket of fresh bread strapped precariously to the back. He shouted something in Greek that I couldn’t quite catch, but the tone made it clear—get out of the way or risk getting run over by a man determined to deliver his breakfast goods.

Oscar laughed, breaking the spell as he scooted back just enough to avoid a collision. “Well, that’s one way to ruin the mood,” he said, still chuckling as he raked a hand through his hair, his confidence momentarily deflated by the absurdity of the scene.

I couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the tension between us dissolving into sheer ridiculousness. “Guess the universe decided you needed to cool it,” I teased, nudging him lightly with my shoulder. “Pretty sure you just got cockblocked by a bread guy.”

Oscar held up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Alright, alright. I get it. Even the universe thinks I’m too much to handle.” He leaned back against the bench, shaking his head as he watched the motorbike weave away into the crowd. “Who knew my biggest competition would be a guy delivering carbs?”

I snorted, trying to stifle my laughter. “Hey, everyone’s gotta eat. Maybe take it as a sign to slow your roll.”

Before Oscar could respond with another flirty comeback, the sound of hurried footsteps approached, followed by a burst of laughter. Suddenly, Mae leaped onto Oscar’s back, her arms flailing as she yelled, “Revenge is sweet!” Oscar staggered forward, caught completely off guard, and nearly dropped his gelato.

“What the—Mae!” Oscar exclaimed, half-laughing, half-groaning as he tried to regain his balance. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Mae grinned wickedly, clinging to his shoulders like a monkey. “Just evening the score for this morning’s stealth attack, big brother. You’re not the only one who can sneak up on people.”

Hattie and Edie appeared behind them, both wearing matching amused smirks. Hattie folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve been looking for you two all over. Thought you’d ditched us for some secret gelato rendezvous.”

Edie nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, Mae said you were probably off flirting somewhere. Turns out she was right.”

I could feel my cheeks flush as I glanced at Oscar, who was still trying to pry Mae off his back without spilling his gelato. “Us? Flirting?” I said, feigning innocence. “We were just… enjoying our ice cream. Totally innocent.”

Mae finally hopped off Oscar’s back, adjusting her shirt with a triumphant smile. “Sure, sure. We believe you. But don’t think we didn’t see that little moment just now. If you’re gonna get all cute and flirty, at least invite us next time so we can take notes.”

Oscar rubbed his shoulder, shaking his head at Mae’s antics. “You’re all just jealous of my natural charm. Can’t a guy enjoy gelato in peace?”

Hattie smirked, nudging Edie. “Or maybe we just like keeping you on your toes. After all, someone’s gotta make sure you’re not too distracted by… certain distractions.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile. “Don’t worry, girls. I’ve got it all under control. And besides, someone’s gotta keep him from knocking over gelato carts.”

Oscar shot me a look of mock betrayal, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “Great, now I’ve got all of you ganging up on me. But hey, if it gets Mae off my back—literally—I’ll take it.”

Mae patted his shoulder, still grinning. “Aw, don’t be such a baby. We’re just here to keep you grounded. And if that means ambushing you from time to time, then so be it.”

Oscar shook his head, laughing under his breath. “You all have too much fun at my expense.”

Hattie, always ready with a quick retort, smirked as she picked up a napkin to wipe some melted gelato off the bench. “Hey, it’s only fair. You spent the entire morning trying to charm the life out of everyone. We’re just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

Edie leaned against the bench, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “And let’s be real, Oscar—keeping you grounded is practically a full-time job. It’s like herding a cat with a God complex.”

Oscar threw his hands up in mock defeat. “Alright, alright. I get it—I’m officially outnumbered.”

Mae grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, definitely. But you love it. You wouldn’t know what to do without us.”

Oscar glanced at me, his grin widening. “Yeah, well, I think I’ve got some backup now. Someone’s gotta be on my side.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Don’t look at me. I’m just here for the gelato and entertainment. You’re on your own.”

The sisters burst into laughter, and Oscar let out an exaggerated sigh. “See? This is my life now—betrayed by everyone I care about.”

“Hey,” Mae said, elbowing him in the side. “That’s the price you pay for being charming and annoyingly persistent.”

Oscar slung an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into a playful side hug. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s a small price to pay for being this irresistible.”

Edie rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with mock exasperation. “There he goes again. We can’t take you anywhere.”

I glanced at the bags the sisters were carrying, each one bursting with colorful trinkets, snacks, and what looked like the most random assortment of souvenirs imaginable. “So, what did you guys get? Anything worth bragging about?”

Hattie held up a woven fan, waving it dramatically in front of her face. “Essential survival gear,” she declared. “If I have to hear Mae complain about the heat one more time, this thing’s getting thrown at her.”

Mae shot her a look, then pulled out a tiny carved wooden turtle with a goofy grin etched into its face. “I got this little guy. He’s the new mascot of our misadventures. And don’t you dare say he’s useless, because I’m emotionally attached now.”

Edie, not to be outdone, produced a pair of wildly patterned sunglasses that looked like they’d been pulled straight out of a 1980s music video. “And I got these. They were practically begging to be bought.”

I grinned, exchanging a knowing look with Oscar. “Well, well, looks like I win the bet. Edie cracked first.” I held out my hand toward Oscar, palm up. “That’ll be five euros, please.”

Oscar sighed dramatically, fishing the crumpled bill out of his pocket. “I should’ve known better than to bet against your instincts.” He slapped the money into my hand, feigning disappointment. “Enjoy your winnings.”

Mae’s jaw dropped, her eyes darting between us. “Wait, wait, wait. You guys bet on us?”

Oscar shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s all in good fun. I just had a feeling Edie wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of something ridiculous.”

Edie clutched her sunglasses to her chest in mock outrage. “You bet on us? What are we, a reality show now? Next thing I know, there’ll be a scoreboard tracking all our bad decisions.”

Hattie laughed, shaking her head. “Honestly, I feel betrayed, but also kinda proud. At least you guys know us well enough to make accurate predictions.”

Mae crossed her arms, a mock pout on her lips. “I would’ve bet on Edie too, though. She can’t go five minutes without buying something weird.”

I smirked, pocketing my euros. “Don’t worry, it’s all out of love. And hey, at least now I’m five euros richer.”

Oscar slung his arm around my shoulders, grinning. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But I’m coming back for that money, just you wait.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the easy camaraderie between us all. “Well, you’re welcome to try, but I think I’ll keep my winning streak going.”

As the playful energy buzzed between us, we decided to split up again—Mae and Edie darting off towards a stall selling handcrafted jewelry, and Hattie wandering towards a display of local ceramics. Oscar nudged me, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward a boutique nestled at the end of the market. “Let’s check out that shop. Looks like your kind of place.”

I followed his gaze to a quaint little boutique tucked into a narrow alley, its entrance framed by delicate vines of bougainvillea spilling over the roof. The shop’s exterior was painted in soft pastels, and a whimsical, hand-painted sign above the door read Marina’s Closet in elegant, looping script. The glass windows were filled with a curated display of dresses, sun hats, and accessories, each item carefully arranged to catch the eye. Through the window, I could see racks of brightly colored clothes, twinkling with the promise of a well-spent afternoon.

As we stepped inside, the cool air was a welcome relief from the heat outside. The shop was small but charming, filled with an eclectic mix of elegant summer dresses, flowy skirts, and delicate blouses in fabrics that ranged from soft linens to airy silks. The walls were painted a soft blush pink, and the space was filled with carefully arranged plants, their green leaves trailing down the walls and adding to the shop’s intimate, garden-like feel. Soft music played overhead—a mix of gentle acoustic and soft pop that set a relaxing, dreamy mood.

Antique mirrors lined the walls, their ornate, gold-gilded frames reflecting the soft light of the hanging lanterns that gave the boutique a warm, cozy glow. Shelves displayed colorful accessories—scarves, statement necklaces, and wide-brimmed hats, each one more elegant than the last. The floor was a mix of polished wood and a plush rug in the center, creating a sense of luxury and comfort all at once.

Oscar’s eyes sparkled as he glanced over the selection, his smile widening as he pulled out a flowing dress in a delicate shade of dusty rose. “This place is pretty cool. It’s got that ‘I know I’m expensive’ vibe,” he joked, running his thumb over the soft fabric. “But hey, nothing wrong with dreaming a little, right?”

I nodded, trailing behind him as he moved down the aisle. My fingers brushed against a rack of silk blouses and embroidered tops, each more intricate than the last. I picked up a dress—a light blue number with delicate floral patterns stitched along the hem—and flipped the tag over, my eyes widening at the price. “Yeah, it’s definitely out of my usual budget. I mean, I love window shopping, but this stuff? This is like, ‘Do I need to sell a kidney?’ territory.”

Oscar glanced at me, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he gently took the dress from my hand, holding it up against me. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of seriousness. “And besides, it looks amazing. You should try it on.”

I hesitated, looking around at the boutique’s carefully curated atmosphere, every detail screaming exclusivity. “I don’t know, Oscar. This isn’t exactly my kind of place. I’m more of a ‘sale rack at Zara’ kind of girl. And these prices? Let’s just say they’re a bit much.”

But Oscar didn’t seem to care about the price tags or my hesitations. He found another dress—a soft lavender one with a cinched waist and delicate lace detailing at the shoulders—and held it out to me, his grin never faltering. “Just try it on. What’s the harm? It’s not every day you get to play dress-up in a fancy place like this.” he said, his voice casual but sincere. “Try it on. What’s the harm in that?”

I hesitated, glancing at the price tag again. “Oscar, this stuff is like... ridiculously overpriced. I don’t think trying on a dress I can’t afford is gonna make me feel better.”

He grinned, nudging me gently. “Come on, it’s just for fun. And besides, you never know—maybe you’ll fall in love with something, and I’ll just have to figure out how to make it yours.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “Fine, but only because you’re annoyingly convincing.” I took the dress from his hands and headed toward the fitting room, the soft fabric cool against my skin.

Inside the fitting room, I slipped into the dress, feeling the way the light material draped elegantly over my figure. It was simple yet stunning, with delicate lace detailing along the neckline and a flowing skirt that brushed just above my ankles. I smoothed my hands over the fabric, feeling unexpectedly confident as I stepped out to show Oscar.

His eyes lit up as he saw me, and he leaned back against one of the mirrored walls, his gaze roaming appreciatively. “Wow,” he said, the word coming out in a breathless sort of way that made my cheeks warm. “You look... amazing.”

I twirled slightly, watching the dress flare out around me. “Yeah? You don’t think it’s too much?”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Not at all. It’s perfect. But let’s see more—you’re not done yet.”

Encouraged by his reaction, I tried on a few more dresses—a pastel blue sundress with delicate embroidery that hugged my waist and a soft, buttery yellow wrap dress with fluttery sleeves. Each time I stepped out, Oscar’s praise came easy, his eyes bright with genuine admiration that left me feeling both flattered and slightly overwhelmed.

I stood before the mirror, dressed in the last outfit—a bold, deep green dress with a plunging neckline and an effortlessly elegant cut that made me feel like I was stepping into another world. I turned slightly, admiring the way the color brought out the warmth in my skin. “I can’t decide,” I admitted, biting my lip as I looked at the three dresses hanging beside me. “They’re all so beautiful, but...”

Oscar stepped closer, his reflection appearing beside mine in the mirror. “Why choose?” he said lightly, his hand brushing my shoulder as he gazed at the dresses. “You look incredible in all of them.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Oscar, that’s not how this works. These dresses are... well, let’s just say they’re not in my usual shopping cart. I have to pick one, and even that feels like a splurge.”

But Oscar just shrugged, his smile turning teasing. “Or you could let me handle it. Consider it my treat.”

I blinked, turning to face him fully. “No way. Oscar, you can’t just—”

He cut me off with a playful roll of his eyes, already reaching for his wallet. “I can and I will. Besides, you’re the one who’s been keeping me entertained all day. It’s the least I can do.”

I watched, half in shock, half in admiration as he took all three dresses to the counter, handing over his card with a charming smile. The shopkeeper, a kindly older woman with a twinkle in her eye, rang up the total, her knowing smile suggesting she’d seen this kind of gesture before.

“Oscar, you’re ridiculous,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice light but unable to fully hide how touched I was. “But... thank you.”

He handed me the bags with a wink, his fingers lingering against mine for just a second longer than necessary. “You’re welcome. And besides, now I get to see you in all three. Totally worth it.”

I laughed, feeling the weight of the dresses in my hands and the warmth of Oscar’s gesture settle in my chest. It was more than just a shopping trip—it was another shared moment, another flirty, unplanned adventure that made everything feel a little more magical.

“You really are something else, you know that?” I said, shaking my head but smiling all the same.

Oscar grinned, stepping closer as we made our way out of the boutique. “Yeah, but I’m your something else. And I think that’s working out pretty well.”

As we stepped out of the boutique and back into the bustling market, I felt the weight of Oscar’s generosity with every step, the boutique bags brushing against my legs. It was more than just the dresses; it was the way he effortlessly turned a simple shopping trip into something memorable, something that lingered in the air between us like an unspoken promise.

I tried to brush off the fluttery feeling that had settled in my chest, but it was no use. This thing with Oscar—it was different from anything I’d ever known. I’d had my share of flings before, little sparks that fizzled out as quickly as they began. Those past connections had always felt manageable, easy to keep at arm’s length. But with Oscar, nothing felt sensible anymore. The boundaries I’d set for myself, the rules I used to follow, they all seemed to blur in his presence.

Every time I looked at him, it was like the ground had shifted beneath me.

The truth of it all was incomprehensible, a quiet realization that settled in as we strolled through the market together.

I glanced at him, watching the way he moved with such easy confidence, the way he could make a simple afternoon feel like an adventure. It was unsettling, exhilarating, and it was all him.

Oscar’s eyes sparkled with a playful intensity, his voice dipping into that teasing, confident tone that always sent my heart racing. “Just so you know,” he murmured, leaning in closer, “if you keep looking at me like that, I won’t have a choice but to make you lay all your love on me.”

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, caught between the thrill of his words and the undeniable pull that kept drawing us closer. “Is that a challenge?” I shot back, my smile betraying the flutter of excitement I couldn’t quite hide.

Oscar’s grin widened, his thumb tracing a light, teasing line along my wrist. “Not a challenge, sweetheart—just a promise.”

I stood there, momentarily stunned by the warmth of his words, feeling the electricity of the moment crackle between us. Before I could even think to respond, Oscar reached out casually and took the shopping bags from my hands, his movements smooth and effortless. It was such a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes—his natural ease, the way he so confidently stepped in without asking, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Hey,” I protested lightly, reaching to take them back, but he just shook his head, flashing me that boyish, infuriatingly charming smile.

“I’ve got it,” he said, his tone light but firm, like there was no room for argument. “Besides, it’s only fair. You did all the hard work trying them on. I’m just here to look pretty and carry the bags.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress the grin tugging at my lips. “Yeah, sure. Because that was so exhausting for you.”

Oscar shrugged, adjusting the bags in his hands as if they weighed nothing. “Hey, I’m just doing my part. You get to rock the dresses, and I get to be the guy who made you smile today. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

Oscar glanced over, catching my gaze, and his smile softened. “I mean it, you know. You look amazing. And I’m glad you let me do this,” he said, giving the bags a little lift as if to emphasize his point.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, the sincerity in my voice matching the look in his eyes. “Not just for the dresses, but… for today.”

He winked, nudging me lightly with his shoulder as we continued down the cobblestone street. “Anytime. And hey, just remember—you don’t have to lay all your love on me. But I’m here, just in case you feel like it.”

We regrouped with the rest of the crew at a quaint, sun-soaked café nestled on a side street, its tiny tables spilling out onto the cobblestones under the shade of a vine-draped pergola. The café looked like it had been plucked straight from a movie set—warm, rustic, and effortlessly charming, with mismatched chairs and handwritten chalkboard menus propped against the stone walls. Mae, Hattie, and Edie were already seated, chattering animatedly over a pitcher of iced tea, the condensation pooling lazily on the table in the afternoon heat.

“There you are,” Mae called out, waving dramatically as we approached. “We were about to send out a search party. Or, you know, just assume you two were off kissing ass and making out somewhere.”

Oscar chuckled, pulling out a chair for me with a gallant flourish before dropping into the seat next to mine. “Who, us? We’d never. Just two innocent tourists enjoying the sights,” he said with mock innocence, shooting me a playful side-eye that made my heart do a little flip.

Hattie leaned forward, smirking as she sipped her drink. “Innocent, huh? I don’t know, Oscar. The way you two keep disappearing, it’s so suspicious from my point of view.”

Edie snorted, pushing a basket of fresh bread toward us. “Yeah, and we’re all just here for the free show. So, did you buy out the whole boutique, or was it just a private shopping spree for two?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide my grin. “Very funny. It was strictly a ‘window shopping with a side of unsolicited fashion advice’ kind of trip.” I shot Oscar a look, remembering how he’d nudged me into trying on almost everything in the shop.

Oscar leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head, looking far too pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’ve got a knack for knowing what looks good. And hey, she made it easy.”

Mae scoffed, breaking off a piece of bread and popping it into her mouth. “Easy? Oscar, the way you two were eyeing each other, I’m surprised we didn’t walk in on a full-blown fashion montage. Music and all.”

Oscar raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? She makes everything look good.”

I felt my cheeks warm under his praise, and I tried to keep my composure as I reached for a glass of water. “Don’t encourage him,” I said, trying to sound exasperated but failing as a smile crept onto my lips. “He’s already got enough of an ego without you guys cheering him on.”

Edie chuckled, nudging Mae. “See? I told you. They’re basically one flirty comment away from starring in their own rom-com.”

Oscar shot Edie a mock glare, then turned back to me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, if this is a rom-com, then I guess that makes you the leading lady,” he said, his voice dipping into that teasing, flirty tone that never failed to make my heart skip.

"Your shit is so corny dude, lighten the fuck up," Edie sighed, burying her head in her palms. Mae slapped her head, giggling furiously.

I snorted, grabbing a menu and pretending to study it intently. “Great, then I demand script approval. No more surprise elbow attacks, and definitely no scenes where I have to chase you down a street.”

As I pretended to study the menu, Oscar leaned in, trying to catch a glimpse of my choices. “You know, I’d recommend the moussaka. It’s practically a work of art on a plate.”

“Artful moussaka? Really?” I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’ll stick to the classic spanakopita. At least it can’t judge me.”

“Spanakopita it is, then,” he said, chuckling. “I’ll get the same. Mae, Hattie, Edie, what are you guys having?”

“Just the usual—some dolmas and a slice of that legendary baklava,” Mae said, looking gleeful. “I’m here for dessert first.”

“I’ll do the baklava too!” Edie piped up. “We can share a slice and get a second for later—strategic planning, you know.”

As Hattie scrolled through the menu, her expression turned mischievous. “I’ll have the chef’s special, but only if you promise to steal a bite of mine, Oscar.”

“Only if you promise to share the secret recipe,” he replied with a wink.

Just as we were about to place our order, a waiter approached our table. “Ready to order?”

We all chimed in, each person stating their choices. I noticed a sudden flurry of confusion on the waiter’s face as he scribbled down our orders.

“Uh, so that’s two spanakopita, one moussaka, two baklava, and… the chef’s special?” he recapped, looking uncertain.

“Right!” Mae said enthusiastically.

As I pretended to study the menu, Oscar leaned in, trying to catch a glimpse of my choices. “You know, I’d recommend the moussaka. It’s practically a work of art on a plate.”

“Artful moussaka? Really?” I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’ll stick to the classic spanakopita. At least it can’t judge me.”

“Spanakopita it is, then,” he said, chuckling. “I’ll get the same. Mae, Hattie, Edie, what are you guys having?”

“Just the usual—some dolmas and a slice of that legendary baklava,” Mae said, looking gleeful. “I’m here for dessert first.”

“I’ll do the baklava too!” Edie piped up. “We can share a slice and get a second for later—strategic planning, you know.”

As Hattie scrolled through the menu, her expression turned mischievous. “I’ll have the chef’s special, but only if you promise to steal a bite of mine, Oscar.”

“Only if you promise to share the secret recipe,” he replied with a wink.

Just as we were about to place our order, a waiter approached our table. “Ready to order?”

We all chimed in, each person stating their choices. I noticed a sudden flurry of confusion on the waiter’s face as he scribbled down our orders.

“Uh, so that’s two spanakopita, one moussaka, two baklava, and… the chef’s special?” he recapped, looking uncertain.

“Right!” Mae said enthusiastically.

But then the waiter’s expression shifted to one of realization. “Um, we actually ran out of the chef’s special a few minutes ago. Would you like to choose something else?”

Hattie’s face fell. “Oh no! That was the one thing I was really looking forward to!”

Oscar glanced at Hattie, his brow furrowing as he sensed her disappointment. “Hey, how about we order a few extra baklava? They’ll definitely lift your spirits, and we can make a little baklava party.”

“Yeah, and I’ll swap you half my spanakopita if you want,” I offered, trying to ease the mood.

“See? Look at that! A culinary compromise,” Oscar said, grinning as he turned back to the waiter. “So, that’s two spanakopita, three baklava, and Hattie, what would you like instead of the special?”

“Uh… I’ll take the Greek salad,” Hattie said, her smile returning. “And I’ll make sure to save a bite for you, Oscar.”

“Perfect!” Oscar declared, a playful glint in his eye. “Just be sure it’s not the size of a small planet.”

Just then, Mae reached for the pitcher of iced tea but knocked over her cup of water instead, sending it cascading across the table. “Oh no! I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, grabbing napkins in a panic.

“Mae!” Edie laughed, trying to help. “You just wanted a splash of drama, didn’t you?”

Hattie giggled as she handed Mae more napkins. “Looks like you’re creating your own little water feature over here.”

Oscar, ever the quick thinker, grabbed a few napkins and leaned in, grinning. “Don’t worry, Mae. You’re not the first one to bring a bit of chaos to the table. Just think of it as adding a little flavor to our meal.”

"Oscar don't even," Mae rolled her eyes. "You're so bloody pasty and white you even if I added seasoning to your water you wouldn't taste any difference."

The group erupted into laughter, and Oscar feigned shock, putting a hand over his heart. “Pasty? I’ll have you know I’m just ‘lightly seasoned,’ thank you very much.”

At that moment, I took a sip of water, and his ridiculous remark caught me off guard. I choked on the cool liquid, my eyes widening in surprise. The refreshing taste turned into a near disaster as I fought to keep it all down. I felt the water bubble up in my throat, and for a split second, I was convinced I might just spray it all over the table.

My cheeks flushed as I quickly covered my mouth with my hand, stifling the urge to burst into laughter or worse, make a total mess. I managed to swallow just in time, but I couldn't help the splutter that escaped, sending a small splash of water onto the table.

“Whoa! Are you alright?” Edie leaned forward, her eyes wide with concern and amusement.

“Yeah, just… almost became a fountain,” I gasped, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Thanks to you, Oscar.”

He leaned back, hands up in mock surrender, clearly enjoying the chaos. “I’m just here for the entertainment! Didn’t mean to turn you into a water feature.”

“To be fair Osc, you're more like ‘extra bland,’” Edie chimed in, grinning as she took a sip of her tea. “You’re practically a walking Greek salad without the dressing.”

“I think that just made it worse,” I added, trying to contain my giggles.

Oscar laughed along, clearly unfazed. “Well, someone has to be the contrast in this colorful group. I’m here to balance out all this vibrant energy.”

“Right, because we definitely need someone to remind us of a plain piece of pita bread,” Hattie teased.

“Hey, I’m the life of the party!” Oscar shot back, leaning in closer to me. “And let’s be honest, without my charisma, who would keep the chaos in check? You all would be lost.”

As the laughter faded, we savored the last bites of our meal. The moussaka was rich and savory, the spanakopita perfectly flaky, and the baklava—a sweet ending that left us all satisfied. I leaned back in my chair, a contented sigh escaping my lips. “That was honestly one of the best meals I’ve had in ages.”

“Agreed!” Mae chimed in, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “I could eat Greek food every day.”

Oscar grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Speaking of keeping the fun going, I heard there’s a great nightclub nearby. We should totally check it out!”

Hattie perked up, clearly intrigued. “Oh, that could be fun! I’m in!”

Mae’s expression shifted, disappointment washing over her. “I can’t go,” she said, her voice dropping. “I’m still underage.”

Edie looked at Mae sympathetically. “That really sucks. But hey, we can still hang out! I’ll stay with you.”

Mae’s frown softened slightly at Edie’s reassurance. “Yeah, that could be nice. Thanks, Edie.”

Oscar turned to me, his grin widening. “So, what do you say? A little nighttime adventure? Just you, me, and Hattie tearing up the dance floor?”

I met his gaze, the thrill of spontaneity igniting in my chest. “Count me in.”

“Alright, then! Let’s make this night unforgettable!” he declared, excitement bubbling in his voice.

“Ain’t nobody wants to see you dance, white boy,” Edie rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Oscar feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart. “Excuse me? My moves are legendary!”

“Legendary at what? Scaring away everyone on the dance floor?” Edie shot back, laughter lighting up her eyes.

“Hey, I’ll have you know my dancing is an art form!” Oscar retorted, grinning widely. “I just need the right audience.”

"I can never argue with you Osc," Edie shook her head.

As we stood up to leave, I glanced back at Mae and Edie, who exchanged a knowing smile. It was clear they would have their own fun together. I felt a mix of anticipation and nerves as I stepped outside, the warm evening air wrapping around us like a promise of adventure.

With Oscar and Hattie by my side, I felt ready to dive into whatever the night had in store.

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author's note: a double update for my lovelies, so sorry i didn't update on sunday <3, i hope you enjoy chapters 5 and 6!!

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09 @fix5idiots

[red-dead-sakharine]

Tickles - Part 8

Raphael x Tav, RaphaelPOV, soft!raphael, gn!tav, fluff, hurt/comfort, body worship, conflicted!cambion, bath time Loooots of body worship both ways, bathing. This one's long. Grab a snack. (5066 words)

Part 1 | P 2 | P 3 & 4 | P 5 | P 6 | P 7 | P 8

It was truly a sight to behold. His little mouse gutting the Slayer - Bhaal's chosen. Orin had bitten off more than she could chew, when she decided to provoke the mouse. Kidnapping one of their companions was possibly the worst decision she could have made. Raphael knew his favorite mortal. Tav had a fierce protective instinct towards their friends that was not to be underestimated. While they were ultimately a kind soul, they were also uncompromising when wronged. Something that reminded Raphael of himself; he also knew no forgiveness for those who wronged him.

He smiled at the thought. Oh, how well he and his mouse fit together. It was hard to believe that his mouse could be so soft when with him, and yet so vicious on the battlefield. Perhaps, he mused, perhaps he should see it as an example. He had always tried to hide and suffocate his mortal side. The part of him that enjoyed Tav's softness. But if his mouse was anything to go by, soft and viscous could go hand in hand. He ran a clawed finger across his chin, deep in thought.

A sudden movement and swift motion pulled him out of it though. Of course, Raphael himself was safe in the House of Hope, lounging on a bench in his boudoir. With his eyes closed, he was using his patronage of Korrilla, to see through her eyes, as she watched the ongoings in the Bhaal temple. One of the cultists had found her lurking in the shadows, but she swiftly dispatched him. Raphael frowned - he didn't care to watch some useless cultist be taken out, he wanted to watch his mouse!

Thankfully, just a moment later Korrilla turned her attention back to the battle. Just in time for Raphael to watch Tav deliver the final blow to Orin's monstrous form. The beast collapsed before them; his mouse drenched in the enemy's blood. What a sight they were. Raphael contemplated calling Haarlep to tend to him, so he could get rid of his excitement, but ultimately decided against it. He didn't need the incubus' nagging and teasing comments to ruin this moment. He preferred to watch his mouse alone. It was something he enjoyed immensely, and something he refused to share. His mouse was his, and his alone.

As the battle at the temple slowly died down and the remaining cultists dispersed, Raphael watched the tadpoled adventurers claim Orin's netherstone, and free their shackled companion. He knew they would make their way back to the tavern now to rest and clean themselves up. Between the sewer stench and the gore, they surely needed it. Raphael smirked to himself. He knew just what to do...

By the time the tadpoled adventurers arrived back at the elfsong, Raphael had made himself comfortable on Tav's bed. Sitting leisurely, with his back against the wall and his legs crossed, while reading the book he had noticed on Tav's bedside table the first time he was here. Not that "The Hells Unleashed" was a particularly enlightening read for him. He was more interested in the annotations his little mouse had written all over it. The chapter about Avernus was littered with comments like "Karlach mentioned this place. Hard to get to?" and "Avoid!", "Safe?", "Sightseeing - ask R." Then there was Dis, dotted with comments like "Bring earplugs", and "Bring oven mittens". In a chapter about the Fetters, there was a notation Raphael found particularly entertaining: "Market? Find gift for R." "Never mind, AVOID!"

The fact his mouse was thinking so much about him gave Raphael no small degree of pleasure. He smirked to himself as he flipped to the next page, looking forward to seeing more of his favorite mortal's thoughts. But just in that moment, the doors opened and the merry band of mortals started filing in. Wyll was the first to notice Raphael and froze, causing the others to bump into him. "What's the hold up?" he heard the tiefling ask. "It seems we have a guest." the warlock responded.

Raphael just smirked at them, waiting for Tav to push their way in, "What? Who?" Their eyes met his and they froze. His smirk grew a bit wider. He closed the book and put it in his lap, "Hello, little mouse." It took a moment for the shock to wear off, before Tav finally managed to respond, "Raphael!" They came over to him, as if his presence were the most normal thing in the world. A sentiment their companions didn't seem to share. Some kept staring at him, as if they expected him to attack them at any moment. A few others were busy fussing over their recently kidnapped friend. "What are you doing here-- hey, is that my book?" Tav pointed at his lap. "Mh, yes." he lifted the book and regarded it, "A fascinating read." He smirked at Tav. "Oh gods!" they groaned and snatched the book from his hand, "How... how much did you read?" "Enough." his smirk grew even more. A groan and a furious blush was all he got in response, as his little mouse turned away, smacking the book into their face. "Now now, no reason to bruise that pretty face even more." Raphael cooed, enjoying their reaction immensely, "I found the read quite... entertaining." More groaning. He enjoyed the teasing. Though a small part of him wanted to also express that he felt flattered, that his mouse expended such effort on his behalf, but he wasn't sure how to do so without making it sound like he was mocking them. At best it would sound as if he was belittling their efforts. So he just said nothing on the topic. Instead, he got up, snatched the book back out of Tav's hands and put it on the table. "Little mouse," he said softly and moved closer to them, invading their space. He lowered his voice to a seductive purr, "You look ravishing covered in entrails. But I imagine you would prefer to get the sewer stench washed off." He paused to see their reaction. They looked at him - first with caution, then with curiosity and a raised brow. "You need not squabble with the other mortals over that pitiful little bathtub over there." He flicked his head in the direction of the wooden tub, then offered a hand with the slightest of bows, "Come."

A smile grew on their face, and they took his hand. His heart soared and he snapped his fingers, teleporting them both to the House of Hope.

They materialized in the entryway of his home. Raphael kept Tav's hand in his and turned to them, "I will gladly help you scrub off those guts, chosen-slayer, if you let me." He placed another kiss on Tav's hand. "Will you bathe with me?"

He could see his mouse chew their lower lip. It was an undeniable step forward in the level of intimacy between the two of them, he knew that; and the longer his mouse took to respond, the more anxious he grew. Had he gone too far? Was this too much for them. He didn't want to scare them off! He felt like he was trying to gain the trust of a shy animal that could flee at any moment. He felt incredibly insecure all of a sudden. He knew how to seduce someone, to get what he wanted, and he had put on some of that charm. But now it quickly crumpled away. Tav was different. He wanted to be honest with them. He trusted them to see who he really was, and he trusted them to understand his damned mortal feelings. But he didn't always know how to express himself. He had spent too much time pretending his mortal half was a mere footnote, unworthy of mention. He lost track of time as he waited. It could have been seconds or minutes - his thoughts were racing now, spiraling into the abyss. He was about to say something, anything to try and save the situation, when Tav responded: "If you'll respect my boundaries, I'd love nothing more." His stomach made cartwheels, and it took a great deal of effort for him not to sigh and cheer in relief. He kept his composure and instead kissed the mortal's hand again, "Always." They smiled at him, exhausted from the fighting, but with such happiness in their eyes - his heart joined his stomach in doing cartwheels, and had he been an entirely different person, he'd have bounced his way to the boudoir. He beamed back at them and kissed their knuckles a third time, before putting their hand on his arm and leading the blood-drenched mouse towards his room. They didn't leave their hand on his arm, they grabbed it elegantly but greedily with both hands and pulled closer to him as they walked. It made his heart soar. The mouse's affection was the best gift he had ever been given. It was like a drug that made his head spin.

"I know, you must be exhausted. But the water will help, I promise." he filled the silence on their way. "Haarlep isn't going to be there, is he?" Tav asked with some trepidation. "Certainly not! I would never share you." he said immediately. They gave an amused snort, "You make it sound like I'm a bottle of whiskey." "Oh if anything, only the most expensive of wines, my dear." They laughed. He smiled. He was proud and happy. He made them laugh. "I don't mind Haarlep in general," Tav added back on topic, "but I don't quite trust an incubus around me naked." He smirked at them, "And you shouldn't. I knew you were a smart one." They grinned back, "If you ask my companions, they'll tell you I'm the biggest idiot in Faerûn, for being with you." He gave an amused smile back, unsure of what to say to that. Maybe they were right. It was certainly foolish for a mortal to get this close to a devil, even if he himself knew that they could trust him. He was a rare exception to the rest of his kind. It certainly took a degree of either boldness or stupidity to be with him. He chose to believe the former of his mouse. They were far from stupid, after all.

As they entered the boudoir, Raphael raised his voice, "Out!" which was quickly followed by movement from the direction of his bed. Haarlep stalked over, all smiles and seductive walk, "I see you brought your favorite guest." they cooed on their way past them, "Is the cat finally going to eat the mouse?" "I'm going to eat your liver if you're not gone in two seconds." Raphael snarled, and Haarlep grinned impishly as they slunk out of the boudoir.

[mood music]

Tav watched them go, then looked at Raphael as he sealed the door. He looked back at them and cupped their face with one hand. He wasn't sure what to say, and they looked at him with such expectation. Expecting what? He didn't quite know, so he just leaned in and offered a kiss. Pressing his lips cautiously and gently against theirs. His mouse kissed back, and he could feel them smile. He could taste blood; though he didn't know if it was Orin's or that of his mouse. He gently ran his tongue over their lips, tasting, checking for injuries. He couldn't find any. Orin's blood. The thought was arousing. Almost a shame he would wash the gore off soon. His mouse looked so, so delicious covered in the blood of their enemies. It was a testament to their prowess in battle. He gently started tugging on the straps, holding Tav's armor together, and they didn't complain about it. On the contrary. Their arms snaked their way up his chest and began unbuttoning his doublet while never breaking the soft kiss. Only when he had to pull their chest armor over their head, did the two of them step apart for a moment, but their lips met again right after. It took longer to undress this way. Raphael had to feel for all the straps and buckles; and he thought more than once that this armor had way too many of them. Slowly but surely the armor came off, piece by piece. As did his doublet and shirt. He knelt down to take off Tav's boots and legplates. Their hands ran through his hair as he did. He almost purred.

He got back up, gently putting his hands on Tav's shirt. He looked his mouse in the eyes, they smiled at him. The shirt came off. Hands on his belt. He smiled back. His pants came off. Then Tav's pants. He kissed them again - more passionately this time. They reciprocated. Hands roamed his chest, gently ruffled the fluff of hair there. He smiled into the kiss. His hands explored the mortal's waist - up and down. Their shape was perfect. A thumb brushed his nipple. Two thumbs brushed both his nipples. He could feel the mouse smile into the kiss. Mischievous little thing. He reciprocated. They sighed. He swallowed the sound with his kiss and wrapped his arms around the mouse, pulling them close. They grunted, and he broke the kiss for a moment to look at them. They smiled apologetically and looked down, so did he. Only now did he realize how bruised his little mouse was from all the fighting they had done today. He looked back into their eyes, feeling his brows knitting together into a frown. He didn't like the thought of someone - anyone - hurting his mouse. He knelt down and gently kissed one of the larger bruises on their ribs, gently brushed his thumb along another. He looked up to them, concerned. It suddenly hit him (again) how fragile their life was. How mortal the mouse was. He got back up and took their hands to lead Tav into the pool. The water was warm, and the healing qualities would get rid of the unsightly bruises and any other injuries they might have that he hasn't discovered yet. His mouse sighed as they submerged their body in the water, undoubtedly feeling the pain diminish and their strength slowly replenish. He moved around them, his hands never leaving them. He didn't want to let go - as if they'd vanish into thin air, if he did - so he gently kept a hold of the mouse's waist as he moved behind them. He started trailing kisses along their shoulder, across their neck and onto the other shoulder. A hand reached back and found his hip. He pressed a long kiss into the nape of Tav's neck, and he heard them sigh deeply. "Feeling better?" he whispered next to their ear. They hummed a positive response. "Good. Then let me scrub those pieces of bhaalspawn off you." he added with a low voice. "Eugh," Tav chuckled, "that makes it sound more disgusting than it should be." "On the contrary, my dear," he corrected them, as he glided to the side of the pool to pick up a soft sponge, "You're covered in the blood of a god. You should revel in it." He arrived back at their side and lustfully licked their neck, "Because I surely do, chosen-slayer." he purred in their ear, and he could feel them shiver. But he stepped back, soaking the sponge in the water before bringing it up to Tav's shoulders. Gently scrubbing the grime, blood and sweat away.

"I suppose I did kill the chosen of two gods..." Tav mused, "Though honestly, I regarded both Ketheric and Orin as just one more cruel monster who chose to be in my way." Raphael moved on to scrub their back, "I'll make sure to step aside when you walk down the hallway." He joked. They laughed, "As if!" He grinned at their back, not saying more on the matter. They knew him well. Of course, he expected everyone to get out of his way, but that would've ruined the joke. He gently lifted one of Tav's arms and started scrubbing it down. He did so in silence for a bit, until the mouse spoke up again, "I'd make people get out of your way." He paused and looked at them. They stared at the water. He stared at them. The sudden silence dragged out, only interrupted by the gentle splashing of the faucets. He was still holding Tav's arm up, the sponge frozen in place. It sounded like a scenario for the future. After the netherbrain is dead. Did the mouse mean to say, they wanted to stick with him? Stay with him? Be at his side? He didn't know what to say. Though he had told himself, that of course they would stay with him, he had his doubts. He certainly had dreamt of them joining him after they dealt with the netherbrain. He did not want a future without his mouse, so he had not entertained any other scenario. But in the back of his head he knew, it wasn't set in stone. He longed for his mouse to come willingly. Willing was the important part. He could make them stay, but that would just turn them into another Hope. But for the mouse to imply... He didn't dare believe that this was what they meant. He didn't dare ask either. He didn't know what he would do, if his mouse refused to join him. Somewhere in the very far back of his mind, he heard Hope's voice refuse him over and over, even though he knew his mouse was different. After a long pause that felt as if time had lost its meaning, he just continued scrubbing Tav's arm without saying anything. Too afraid to ask for clarification.

He moved on to their other arm in silence. Gently scrubbing every inch of their beautiful limbs. As he washed off the soap, he couldn't help but to press another long kiss on Tav's knuckles. Their other hand came up around his neck, pulling him in, and kissing him lovingly on the lips. Long and gentle. They smiled at him, but there was something... a spark of uncertainty in their eyes. He smiled back with adoration, not understanding the doubt in their expression. It seemed to vanish slowly as they looked at each other. He kissed them again. Whatever was on his mouse's mind, he'd make it go away ...he hoped. When he pulled away again, he saw success. They just smiled now; happiness the only thing he could see.

His eyes wandered up to Tav's hair, sticky with blood. He looked back down into their eyes, and they seemed to know what he was thinking. Putting one hand above their collar bones and one behind their head, he gently made them lean back. They let him. They trusted him. He gently submerged their head until all the hair was in the water; making sure that their face remained above the surface. It was a slow and delicate motion, and his mouse closed their eyes and seemed to enjoy the feeling. Being in the hands of a devil. He gently ran his hand through their hair, to make sure the water could get to all of it, before he eventually pushed them back upright. Then he put the soap to it. Orin's blood - Bhaal's blood was all over the little mouse's head. They had stabbed at the larger beast, and the Slayer's blood had rained down on them like a gory shower. Raphael had relished the sight. But he also relished this. Cleaning his mouse. Touching them everywhere. Gently and softly. He began to understand soft. He liked it. The devil blood inside him screamed at the softness. Would prefer to rip and tear and torture. But when he was with his mouse, his mortal half was emboldened. Given strength by his sweetling. It strangled the fiend in him and allowed him to be soft. And enjoy it. He admitted it to himself, as he spread the soap through Tav's hair: He enjoyed it. He had suppressed his mortal desires for a long time, and he had always felt like something was missing to make him truly happy. He thought it to be power, as a fiend would. The crown would fill that hole, he had decided. But right now - as he took his mouses head gently in his hand to lean them back into the water again - right now he realized, the hole he tried to fill was mouse-shaped.

He flared his nostrils as his mind reached that conclusion, his fiend blood screaming at his weakness. Thankfully the mortal in his hands could not see the turmoil inside him. They had their eyes closed and enjoyed his touch, as he gently rinsed the soap out of their hair. It would be all to easy to drown them now. Push them under and end them. They would have no chance to react or to escape. Something in him conjured up an image of them struggling, splashing, flailing helplessly, as he held them effortlessly under water. He wrinkled his nose at the unbidden thought and pushed it aside. He'd never do that. Never! He pushed the mouse back upright and pulled them in, claiming their lips greedily. Kissing them. Drowning the fiend inside him in a wave of love and gentleness. Tav seemed to be taken by surprise but swiftly recovered and reciprocated. His father's blood quieted down, unable to oppose the intensity of his affection for this damned mortal.

When he eventually broke the kiss, three words were on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't say them. Could not manage to spit them out, for a multitude of reasons. So he just looked at Tav and tried to say it with his eyes. They smiled back at him. He didn't think they understood.

"Now you." He blinked, startled. Ripped out of his thoughts, and his brows rose in surprise. The mouse must've noticed, for they leaned in and kissed him again, before taking the soap out of his hands. He let them, and just looked at them wordlessly. Tav picked the sponge from the water, where he had let it drift off, and wrung it a little, before they moved behind him and started soaping up his back. His surprised confusion gave way to a warm pleasant feeling, as he felt them pay special attention to the base of his wings. It felt sublime and he couldn't suppress a soft sigh. It made him realize that it was an area he had trouble to reach himself, and all he ever felt there were Haarlep's rough and greedy claws raking over his back. Until his mouse came along. Thousands of years, and only now did he find out that he liked his wings touched. Touched by his mouse, he corrected himself. How could he have found out earlier, when he had to wait all this time for his mouse to even exist!

Tav began rinsing the soap off with hands and sponge, finishing with a kiss between his wings. He sighed deeply, and he knew his mouse heard and knew. Knew exactly, what they did to him. Knew he liked it. They gently pushed him backwards into the shallower part of the pool to gain more access, but then paused suddenly.

"You have... little swirly ridges on your thighs." they commented with a delighted expression. He looked at them confused. "...yes? Don't say you didn't notice them before." he wrinkled his brow. "I actually didn't," they leaned in closer and whispered, "I guess I was too distracted by your beautiful butt." He couldn't help but crack a smile. "Which also has ridges. Right.... here," and as they said it, Tav ran a finger along the lines on his lower rear end. Raphael automatically closed his eyes. "Mhm," he hummed, "I have a lot more of those all over." he stated, as if it wasn't obvious. He could hear Tav's smile as they responded, "Yes, I've noticed. Here..." A hand trailed along the ridges on his lower back. "...here..." another hand ran over the ridges on his legs. "...here..." fingers gently ghosted towards his wings. "...here..." kisses on his sides. He hummed with every gesture, his eyes still closed. "...and here." a whisper, and the soft touch of a hand running down his arms. "Mhm." He couldn't say anything more than that, kisses on his shoulders, and hands roaming his body distracted him too much. "And scales like armor here," soft fingertips traced over the base of his tail and a soft moan escaped him. They lifted the rest of it out of the water and kissed it gently. It took effort, to not let his knees buckle under him and collapse into the water. They gently lowered his tail back down and let it go. A moment later the soapy sponge was back, trailing circles over his thighs. "I love these swirls," he heard his mouse say, as they paid them special attention. His eyes were still closed, and he lost himself in the sensation of their gentle touches. "Glad you do," he replied, "You may admire them anytime you like." After he said it, the full extent of his own words hit him, and judging by how Tav froze, it hit them too. His mind started racing. Should he clarify? Retract? Should he-- "I just might take you up on that." The mortal's voice interrupted his spinning thoughts, and he could hear the impish smirk in their voice. His mind quieted down. "Within reason," he added more sternly. "Of course."

Back to soaping. They stayed behind him, taking care of his thighs, his butt - paying that special attention, too. They soaped the base of his tail, causing him to moan again. So sensitive, and he never knew - never knew the gentle pleasure this world had to offer. The wonder of soft touches and loving caresses. It overwhelmed him. His mind was still learning to cope with being loved like this.

Tav's hands lifted his tail again, soaping and scrubbing gently along its length. Then they dunked it underwater to remove the soap, lifted it back up and gently kissed it once more before letting go for good.

A moment's pause, then he felt a gentle tug on his wing. He looked over and acquiesced, lowering it so his mouse could reach it better. They began at the outer spine, gently spreading the soap with the sponge from the tip up to the joint. Then down the next spine. They moved away, pulling his wing along to spread it out, so they could take care of the leathery membrane in between. He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back slightly. The soft touches and scrubs sent tingles down his spine, all the way to the tip of his tail. He wished he were in bed, so he could clutch at the sheets. Clutch at anything. It was good. Too good. The sponge gently scrubbed around the claw at the top joint; squeezed into the creases along the veins. He felt light-headed. His wing was pulled lower, dipped underwater. A gentle hand brushed over it to rid it of soap. His brows knit together, and he had to realize that this part of his body has been thoroughly neglected throughout his entire life. Bar the occasional scrub when he washed himself, nobody had ever touched them like this. Cared for them. Of course, nobody had ever been this gentle with him in general. Sex, he knew. But it was always wild and untamed. Rough and possessive. A means to a quick release of pent-up energy. This... this was... His wing was moved out of the water again, and his train of thought snapped. A frown snuck on his face. He wished Tav would do the entire thing again. Didn't matter if he was already clean or not. The frown dissipated as his other wing was pulled into a spread. It received the same loving care. His mouse knew no hurry, and every touch and every rub was just as good and gentle, as it had been on the other wing. He sighed deeply in contentment. Another tingle ran down his spine, as if the mortal's touch had some magical quality to it. He balled his fists. He felt like he needed to hold onto something; unable to handle these wonderful feelings. Now this wing was submerged, rinsed of soap. As Tav pulled it back out of the water, they placed a kiss on the outer spine. Raphael moaned. He couldn't help it. He'd scream in bliss, would he not feel so weak and light-headed. The mouse took note, and trailed more kisses along his wing. His entire world was reduced to a pair of hands and soft lips of a little mouse roaming over him.

He felt the disturbance and gentle burble of the water as Tav moved in front of him. Hands took his, and he was pulled forward. He opened his eyes, looked at his mouse and complied. Going back into the deeper parts again. They kissed him while their hands fished the sponge from the water again. Then they pulled back and started soaping up his chest. He watched them; watched their expression as they took such gentle care of him. The smile never leaving their face. It even grew wider as they took care of his chest hair. Tracing it with soap and sponge all the way down below his belly button. They bit their lower lip before they returned their attention to his chest, rinsing now. They watched the water trickle down the fluff of hair as if mesmerized by it, and they followed up with a hand gently running through it. He couldn't help himself and caught it, placing a gentle kiss on their knuckles.

He smiled at them and they smiled back. A sudden urge overcame him, and he pulled them into a gentle and loving kiss. His arms wrapped around their form, holding them tight, and pressing them against him. Feeling their skin against his.

He wanted never to let go again. Keep them forever in the devil's den.

[primaviva]

gingerbread; gwen stacy

featuring. gwen stacy x fem!reader

synopsis. making gingerbread with your girlfriend—gwen stacy.

warnings. none, just fluff! one suggestive joke and intense kiss description

gingerbread—a cherished christmas classic that invokes a symphony of senses, whisking you away to a world of holiday enchantment. as much as you would hate to admit it to someone who is passionate about christmas, the art of constructing a gingerbread house has eluded you. well, perhaps there was a time in your youth when you attempted such a creation, but it never truly became an integral part of your holiday traditions. sure, you delighted in the occasional indulgence of premade gingerbread cookie snacks found at the local market, striving to awaken the spirit of the season. however, those moments were akin to coloring within the lines of gingerbread-themed books from your childhood—a fleeting taste of the magic.

but today, it seemed that this would change.

gwen, surprising a fervent advocate of all things christmas, extended an invitation to her home while her dad was out working late. the purpose? to make gingerbread.

as you stepped into gwen's apartment, a winter wonderland unfolded before you. the air was infused with the delicate fragrance of freshly cut pine, mingling harmoniously with the nostalgic scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. not to mention the little festive touches to the apartment like the wreath that was in your face as you knocked on the door.

in the heart of gwen's kitchen, a tableau of culinary goodness awaited. the ingredients for gingerbread lay scattered across the countertop, more than enough boxes than there should be of premade mix. the scent of ginger mingled with the warmth of the earthy undertones of almond, blending into a fragrant melody that coated the room in an irresistible aroma.

the room buzzed with excitement as you and gwen meticulously measured, combined ingredients, and kneaded the dough. the rhythmic sound of the wooden spoon swirling through the mixture created a rough cadence, accompanied by the gentle clinking of utensils against the mixing bowl.

time seemed to both pass by and stand still at the start of things. with each roll of the pin, the dough spread out, its surface becoming a blank canvas waiting to be shaped into something deliciously beautiful for you to destroyed. gingerbread walls, roofs, windows, and doors emerged from the malleable dough, ready to be transformed into a festive yet architectural masterpiece.

as the premade gingerbread pieces were placed in the oven, the minutes stretched out like taffy, building an air of suspense. the addictive scent of freshly baked gingerbread wafted through the kitchen, enveloping you in its warm embrace.

finally, with a melodious ding, the timer announced the completion of the baking process—a moment that marked the birth of something truly extraordinary.

impatience tinged your words as you exclaimed, "goddamn, i could practically feel my toenails growing in place while waiting for that damn timer!" your frustration evident, you turned your head to the side, seeking any distraction from the anticipation that had reached its peak. with a determined stride, you made your way to the oven, bending down to peer inside. the radiant light within the oven cast a mesmerizing glow upon the smooth, golden-brown texture of the gingerbread, causing your mouth to almost involuntarily salivate.

as you stood there, captivated by the sight before you, gwen playfully observed your expression and couldn't help but chuckle. "take it easy," she teased, joining you by the oven. "even as your girlfriend, i don't think i want to eat gingerbread covered with frosting and... saliva."

her playful remark lightened the moment, allowing a smile to grace your face. the warmth of her presence, coupled with the tantalizing aroma filling the air, intensified the feeling of holiday joy. with a deliberate grace, gwen adorned the oven mitts, preparing to retrieve the gingerbread from its warm haven. as she carefully lifted the tray and placed it on the countertop, the sweet fragrance enveloped the room, an atmosphere of festive delight. it was as if the very essence of christmas had materialized in that humble batch of gingerbread.

"voilà!" gwen declared, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "our gingerbread base is ready for some serious decorating." the prospect of adorning the freshly baked canvas with a burst of color and creativity brought a renewed sense of excitement, infusing the air with a contagious energy.

gwen's eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned to face you, a playful grin spreading across her face. "so, my creative partner in crime, any design in mind for our masterpiece?" her words inviting your imagination to run wild. "i was thinking a haunted gingerbread house, complete with gummy worms and licorice spiders. but i'm open to suggestions, of course." a sigh left your lips, of course spiders.

you couldn't help but wear a sly smirk on your face as you locked eyes with gwen, indulging in the banter between you. "y’know, you sound so corny right now," you jest, a hint of truth lacing your words, eliciting a dry laugh.

gwen couldn't help but laugh at your reaction. "alright, alright, no more cringey names, got it," she replied, feigning seriousness.

sauntering toward the countertop, you leaned on it, peering closely at the freshly baked gingerbread, contemplating the possibilities. "how about we recreate your apartment? a cute lil’ surprise for mister stacy when he returns home."

the thought of transforming the gingerbread canvas into a miniature replica of her own living space definitely excited gwen, even if it was up to debate if she had the skill to execute that.

“i would love for my dad to come home to see a miniature gingerbread version of our apartment,” she put it simply. gwen leaned against the countertop next to you, examining the gingerbread pieces. "we'll need to get creative with the decorations. maybe some pretzel stick furniture, and we can use icing to make tiny portraits of us hanging on the gingerbread walls," she suggested, eyes sparkling with excitement.

gwen walked off to her cabinets and grabbed an array of things ranging from sprinkles, pretzels and cookies, to gumdrops she had stored all the way in the back where you swore you could’ve seen some cobwebs. "so, how's it feel to be in the presence of a master gingerbread architect? i hope you can keep up with my design skills, babe,” gwen smirked playfully, raising an eyebrow at you.

you couldn’t help but let a laugh escape from your throat. “master gingerbread architect? please, if you can’t make your webs stick to the side of a building for more than fifteen seconds i can only imagine how you think you’ll be able to stick two gingerbread walls together with some frosting,” you tease, playfully bumping her hip.

gwen couldn't help but burst into laughter at your remark, pretending to be offended. "hey now, my web-slinging skills may not translate perfectly to gingerbread construction, but i'll have you know i've got a few tricks up my sleeve," she quipped, winking at you.

as she picked up the box of icing, she playfully flicked a bit of it in your direction. "watch out, or i might just stick you to the gingerbread walls too," gwen teased, sticking her tongue out at you.

but in all seriousness, she was grateful for moments like these, where you could just be yourselves and have fun together. as you focused on decorating the gingerbread pieces, she couldn't help but steal glances at you, a soft smile playing on her lips. it was moments like these that made her appreciate how lucky she is to be in your presence.

you chuckled lowly at her little threat. “i think you should watch out then, cus’ who said i wouldn’t enjoy being webbed to the wall by you?” you questioned, making a bold comment to the tall blonde.

you watched as she got together the frosting, mixing it before putting it in baggies. you began copying her movements, helping her mix the already selected holiday colors such as red, green, and white and put them in their respective baggie before cutting the tip of it so it can dispense the frosting.

gwen couldn't help but blush at your daring response, her pale skin transitioning to a pretty rose while feeling a rush of affection toward you. "oh, you’d enjoy it, huh?" she replied, voice laced with amusement. "well, maybe i'll have to put that to the test sometime."

as you worked together to mix the frosting and fill the baggies, she admired the way you effortlessly picked up on the process. it was one of the reasons she loved being with you—you always embraced new challenges with determination and a willingness to learn.

or at least get through those said challenges… if anything.

gwen grabbed a decorative plate, seemingly a fancy traditional plate that looked irish, probably a gift from her grandparents to her dad. once the frosting was ready, she grabbed one of the gingerbread walls and the floor from the parchment and put a dollop to the plate to make it act as glue for stability. then, she began piping a decorative trim along the edges, using the red frosting. gwen delicately squeezed the baggie, letting the smooth, creamy texture glide onto the cookie. the scent of the sugary frosting mixed with the warm gingerbread, creating an intoxicating aroma.

she glanced over at you, noticing your focused expression as you worked on your own piece. "looking good over there," gwen complimented with a grin, playfully nudging your shoulder. “gingerbread, not you, well you are but- i’m talking about your lovely art right there.”

you let out a choked laugh as your hand faltered from piping the frosting down the side of one of the big gingerbread squares for the apartment. it wasn’t too difficult, but for someone who doesn’t do this annually you clearly struggled with some things. “all i've done so far is stick the back wall to the other side that you did,” you state plainly. “if this is art to you then i would hate to hear what you think of picasso.”

gwen couldn't help but let out a boisterous laugh at your self-deprecating comment. "hey, don't sell yourself short! i’m sure picasso would be so proud to see your one singular gingerbread wall," she reassured you, trying to suppress her giggles.

gwen put her piping bag down and walked over to your direction. you felt her chest hit your back as both her arms snaked from behind your waist to your arms. she reached over and gently took your hand, guiding it back to the frosting baggie. "here, let me show you a little trick. just apply a little pressure and let the frosting flow out smoothly all on its own. you got it," she encouraged, setting an example for you.

you tried to pay attention, but it was hard when her smooth yet raspy voice was whispering in your ear, so close you felt her breath tickling your cheek.

you both continued decorating the gingerbread walls, adding intricate details and personal touches. gwen used the white frosting to create a snow-like effect on the roof, while you expertly piped green frosting to resemble a wreath on the front door.

as you worked side by side, the room filled with laughter and the sweet scent of gingerbread and frosting. it was moments like these, where both of you could be silly and enjoy each other's company, that truly made gwen's heart flutter.

you carefully spread a layer of frosting inside the gingerbread house, creating a smooth carpet-like surface. a mischievous grin plays on your lips as an idea takes hold. secretly, you squeeze a dollop of frosting onto your pointer finger, ready to execute your playful plan. "gwen, come see the carpet i did," you command, diverting her attention from the oh so important and intricate task of assembling miniature furniture out of cookies, pretzels, and other random yet surprisingly edible materials. she turns towards you, her gaze fixed on your direction, unsuspecting of what's about to happen.

swiftly, you rise onto the balls of your feet, reaching her height, and with a quick and unexpected motion, you press the frosting onto the tip of her nose, smudging it up towards the bridge. a mischievous giggle escapes your lips as you revel in the spontaneous act, marveling at the frosting adorning gwen's nose.

gwen's eyes widen in surprise, a gasp escaping her lips as her fingertips touch the sticky yet velvety texture of the vibrant green frosting adorning her nose. its hue is so vivid, it could rival even the grinch himself. her eyes widened in mock shock, but a mischievous grin quickly spread across her face. "oh, it's on now!" the blonde exclaimed, playfully narrowing her eyes at you.

without missing a beat, she grabbed a dollop of frosting from the table and quickly retaliated, smearing it on your cheek. "oops, looks like you've got a little something on your face," gwen teased, unable to contain her laughter.

the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, frosting-covered fingers and all. you couldn’t take each other seriously. as the frosting war continued, you both ended up with streaks of frosting on your faces, looking more like abstract art than gingerbread decorators. but it didn't matter—you were having fun, and that's all that truly mattered in that moment.

“hey, i put a lil’ dot on you and not this fat ass blob,” you defend, wiping some of the frosting from the pile she planted on your nose and adding it to her nose. “cute nose job, rudolph. not lookin’ botched at all,” you teased.

gwen couldn't help but laugh at your quick retort, wiping off some of the frosting from her nose and smearing it on your lower jaw. "oh, so you're a critic now, huh?" she playfully responded, a smirk as clear as a snow globe. "well, i'm just gonna add some extra flair to your already sexy nose. rudolph will have nothing on you."

your laughter filled the room as we continued the frosting battle, merrily colorful streaks on each other's faces. no matter how silly or ridiculous you two might look, you were always able to find joy and laughter together.

but amidst the chaos, gwen couldn't help but steal a moment to appreciate your playful spirit and the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. you were truly her partner in crime, and she wouldn't want it any other way. or how she would put it, her “creative partner in gingerbread crime.” well, whatever that means.

the frosting war continued, we eventually ran out of ammunition, leaving you both covered in frosting from head to shoulder. you and your girlfriend stood there, breathless from laughter, and she couldn't resist pulling you into a tight, frosting-covered hug. "you're the best, you know that?" gwen whispered, her voice filled with genuine affection as raspy as it came.

you instinctively step back from the hug, finding yourself nose-deep in gwen's sweater. the thick frosting that had made its way into your nostrils tickles uncomfortably, and you valiantly suppress the urge to let out a loud sneeze. hastily grabbing a napkin, you wipe away the frosting, finally lifting your gaze to meet gwen's as her words register in your mind.

in that moment, clarity dawns upon you, and you realize what she said. the initial distraction of the frosting mishap fades away as you comprehend the deeper meaning behind her innocent words.

“what?” you questioned, urging her to repeat it.

gwen quickly snapped out of her daze, realizing that she had been staring at you. a slight blush crept up on the blonde’s cheeks as she realized that she had been caught. "oh, uh, sorry," gwen stammered, sounding a bit softer than usual. "i was just… admiring how cute you look, even covered in frosting."

a nervous chuckle escapes gwen's lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she finds herself feeling more embarrassed than that one time her headphones failed her during class, blaring my chemical romance for an unplanned five seconds. "i guess i got lost in the moment there. but hey, you're always a sight to see, whether you're covered in frosting or not," she stated, trying to play it off like her hands still don’t falter to shake when you make her nervous. gwen reached out and gently wiped a bit of frosting off your cheek with my thumb, her touch lingering for a moment. "you’re my favorite mess," gwen added.

a warmth spreads across your cheeks in response to gwen's comment. "oh, really?" you retort, secretly wanting to hear more from her. however, you quickly regain your composure, reminding yourselves of the task at hand. "enough, we still have shit to do," you interject, trying to steer the focus back to the gingerbread house.

gwen raised an eyebrow at your response, but couldn't help but notice the underlying hint of vulnerability in your tone. “learn to take a compliment,” she comments.

but gwen's soft smile tugs at your heartstrings, drawing you closer to her. she leans in, her gaze fixed on your eyes, as if she's searching for something deeper within you. in a surprising move, she uses her thumb, still adorned with the frosting she had wiped off you, and gently smears it across your lips. her voice carries innocence as she remarks, "looks like you've got a little something."

the touch of gwen's thumb against your lips sends a subtle jolt of electricity through your body, leaving you momentarily breathless.

but as she stepped closer to you, faces mere inches apart, gwen couldn't resist the magnetic pull between you.

as you close the remaining distance between you, gwen's lips meet yours with a gentle, lingering pressure, initiating a tender kiss. the sensation of her lips against yours sends a shiver of delight down your spine. the world around you seems to dissolve into a hazy blur, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a moment of pure connection.

your lips move in perfect synchronization with gwen's, their dance a delicate and intimate rhythm. each brush and caress of her soft lips against yours ignites a cascade of sensations to your skin—subtle yet electrifying. the taste of the frosting lingers on your tongues, a delectable blend of sweetness merging with the warmth of her own unique lip balm, a hint of vanilla intertwined with the minty sweetness.

lost in the tender embrace, you become acutely aware of every detail—the velvety texture of her lips, the way they meet and meld with yours in the most gentle and affectionate manner in which she moves. it's a moment where time stands still, where nothing else matters except the intoxicating closeness and shared intimacy between the two of you.

as you gently pull away from the kiss, your eyes instinctively rise to meet gwen's gaze. her lips, now adorned with a generous coating of green frosting, seem to attract even more of the sticky sweetness due to the presence of her lip balm. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, betraying your flustered state, while gwen smirks knowingly at you. a dry scoff escapes her lips, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on you, clearly surprised by the effect she has on you.

your attention is captivated as gwen's tongue emerges, delicately gliding along her lower lip, collecting the frosting in a deliberate and tantalizing manner. the sight of her tongue ascending to her upper lip, methodically removing the sweet coating, holds you in a mesmerized state. you watch with unwavering focus, afraid to tear your gaze away, as she withdraws her tongue back into her mouth, savoring the taste once more.

gwen, fully aware of the effect her actions have on you, wears an expression of both satisfaction and amusement. it becomes evident that she takes pleasure in being the sole catalyst for such a reaction from you, relishing in the power she holds over your senses.

as gwen finished licking off the frosting from her lips, she let out another low laugh. "mmm, still tastes as good as ever," she commented, her voice tauntingly husky. "you’re right, enough is enough. let’s get back to work, shall we?"

with a playful wink directed your way, gwen swiftly turns around, retrieving a towel and extending it towards you. you accept it, grateful for the gesture, as she grabs another towel for herself. without missing a beat, she proceeds to wipe her face clean, the remnants of frosting vanishing from her lips and leaving behind a pristine canvas. with a determined focus, she resumes her position, ready to dive back into the task at hand.

as you and gwen huddle together, the gingerbread apartment sprawled out before you, a wave of excitement washing over you both. the gingerbread walls, perfectly baked and golden brown, stand tall and sturdy, ready to be transformed. with nimble fingers, you take the lead, carefully applying royal icing along the seams of the rest of the walls, joining them together to form the structure. gwen follows suit, her touch deft and precise, ensuring the stability of the gingerbread apartment. the icing, a pristine white, resembles freshly fallen snow, enhancing the enchanting charm of the scene.

together, you meticulously construct the details—a miniature door, adorned with candy cane stripes, opens up to reveal a sugary haven within. the windows, crafted from translucent sugar sheets, allow glimpses into the home.

inside the gingerbread apartment, you and gwen become masterful decorators, so much so even the hgtv channel overlords would envy you two. tiny tinsel garlands, carefully woven together, drape along the walls, reflecting the glow of imaginary holiday lights. delicate icicle-shaped ornaments, made from crystallized sugar, hang from the ceilings, shimmering with a frosted sparkle. the living room area boasts a miniature christmas tree, painstakingly fashioned from piped green icing and dressed with tiny edible baubles, crafted from old halloween candies. a crackling fireplace, created by using chocolate shavings and red m&ms, casts a false warmth to the empty room. moving into the kitchen, a gingerbread dining table, complete with intricate icing lacework, holds a feast of miniature treats. tiny gingerbread cookies, iced with intricate designs, sit in a bowl, waiting to be enjoyed by you and your girlfriend. plates of assorted candies and chocolates are arranged, slowly dwindling as your hands continue to dig into the bowl for more material.

the two of you continued working on the gingerbread house, your playful banter and teasing gradually fading into a comfortable silence. as you placed the final touches, the gingerbread apartment began to take shape, looking like a cozy little abode.

both of you stepped back, admiring your handiwork. the walls were neatly decorated with frosting trim, the roof had a snowy white frosting coating, and the windows were outlined with colorful candies. it was painfully over-stimulating to the eyes of anyone who hates christmas, but also beautiful.

gwen reached out and took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "look at that! we make quite the dynamic duo, don't we?" she remarked, a bit too prideful of her mediocre work. "our gingerbread house is the envy of all gingerbread houses.”

you continue to stare at it, finally realizing why it bothered you. “it’s missing something,” you put simply. “we need to add the little people who will live in this apartment.”

gwen nodded in agreement, leaning a bit onto your shoulder to see from your perspective. "you're right, it needs some little residents to bring it to life," she replied, her mind already racing with ideas.

she reached for the bowl of extra gingerbread dough and started rolling it out. gwen looked over at you, a soft yet evident grin on her face. "how about we make gingerbread versions of ourselves? it'll be like a little homage to us," she suggested, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

gwen began cutting out the shapes, carefully crafting miniature versions of the both of you with the dough. as she added the details, gwen couldn't help but chuckle at the tiny gingerbread drum set she included for her miniature self.

once the dough was baked and cooled, you set to work on decorating our gingerbread doppelgangers.

as gwen rummages through her cabinets, retrieving an array of icing tubes, a flicker of suspicion tugs at the corners of your mind. the sheer variety she has in her possession leaves you slightly amazed, as well as curious and a bit concerned. nonetheless, you set aside your intrigue and begin piping the features of your gingerbread creation, starting with your own skin tone, meticulously crafting every detail.

glancing over at gwen's side, a knowing smirk graces your lips as you catch a glimpse of her artistic endeavors. with precision and flair, she expertly pipes her iconic half-shaved hairstyle onto the gingerbread figure. the piercing blue eyes she possesses, which sometimes give you the creeps, are replicated with remarkable accuracy. the adorable ensemble of wide-legged jeans, converse shoes, and a shirt adorned with a hand-drawn heart catches your attention. squinting slightly, you can read word for word what it says.

"i heart my girlfriend?" you repeat aloud, surprise evident in your voice.

gwen's laughter rings out, full and infectious. "you took the words out of my mouth," she playfully teases, reveling in the shared sentiment.

unable to resist the warmth that spreads across your face, you steal a glance to your right, discovering that gwen has already crafted a little gingerbread man of her father. turning your attention back to your own mini-you, you work diligently, not wanting to fall behind the swift pace set by your girlfriend.

as you finished and placed the gingerbread versions of yourselves inside the gingerbread house, it truly came to life.

you stepped back, taking in the sight of your creation one final time. "perfect," you declared, a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction filling you.

"it’s so perfect,” gwen adds, mimicking what you said.

you let out an exaggerated eye-roll, your playful annoyance evident. "well, thanks for that," you quip, though your words are tinged with a hint of amusement. but then, as a mischievous thought strikes you, you freeze in mock disbelief, placing your hands dramatically on your head.

in a sarcastically shocked tone, you inquire, "but wait... who will protect them from harm?" your voice drips with playful melodrama, heightening the comedic effect of your question.

slowly turning towards her, you meet her gaze, awaiting her response. with a mischievous grin, she finally breaks her silence.

"i'm so glad you asked," she declares.

in one swift motion, gwen lifts her mini gingerbread representation of herself and playfully makes it leap onto the roof of the gingerbread apartment. as she rotates it, a delightful surprise is revealed—the infamous ghost spider suit, meticulously piped onto the other side down to the mask to the teal ballet slippers.

"don't worry," gwen reassures you with a touch of theatrical flair, "i'll be there to save my damsel in distress."

you try to maintain an unamused expression, your face fighting back a smile as you struggle not to burst into laughter.

gwen couldn't help but break into uncontrollable laughs at your reaction, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

"surprise!" she exclaimed, unable to contain her amusement. "you didn’t think i would add the one and only spider woman of new york? you had to have seen this coming."

gwen playfully made her mini gingerbread ghost spider do a little victory dance on the roof of the gingerbread apartment, reveling in the silliness of it all. but beneath the lightheartedness, there was a hint of truth to her words.

she walked over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist, laughter subsiding into a warm smile. "but y’know, i don't need a superhero suit to be your hero," she whispered.

gwen couldn't help but lean in again, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, the taste of frosting still lingering.

both of you erupted into laughter, unable to contain your amusement at gwen's joke. the joyful sound filled the room until it was cut short as the door knob turned and the door abruptly swung open, revealing gwen's father returning home from his shift at the station.

"how's it going, girls..." his voice trailed off, his steps slowing as he took in the unexpected scene before him.

the air was thick with the scent of frosting, and the room bore witness to a delightful chaos of flour, candies, and scattered decorations. but amidst the mess, the most prominent sight was your meticulously crafted miniature replica of the apartment.

you both froze in place as her dad's voice filled the room, a mix of embarrassment and panic coursing through your girlfriend's veins. she turned to face him, cheeks burning with a bright shade of red she usually rocked when embarrassed. "uh... hey, dad," gwen stammered, trying to sound casual despite the chaos surrounding you both.

gwen quickly glanced at you, hoping to find some solace in the situation, but it seemed like you were just as caught off guard as her. she could practically hear the gears turning in her dad's head as he tried to make sense of the scene before him.

before he could say anything, gwen took a deep breath and mustered up all the confidence she could. "surprise, dad! we made a gingerbread apartment!" she blurted out, gesturing towards your creation. "and, uh, we may have gotten a little carried away with the frosting and...stuff.”

“stuff?” george repeated, stepping closer to the counter to get an even better look at the creation. you could see her dad's expression soften as he took in the sight, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile. "well, it certainly looks like you two had a blast," he chuckled, shaking his head. "just make sure to clean up after yourselves, alright?"

in perfect synchrony, your voices blend seamlessly as you both respond simultaneously with the words "of course, mr. stacy" and "yes, dad.”

relief washed over you both as you realized her dad wasn't angry or upset. he understood that sometimes you both could get a little carried away with our antics. you both nodded vigorously, already planning on how to tackle the mess.

as her dad left the kitchen, she turned to you with a sheepish smile. "well, that could have gone worse," gwen affirmed, relief evident in the way her chest exhaled. "looks like we'll have a lot of cleaning up to do, huh?"

“a lot seems like an oversimplification of it,” you groan, looking around at the absolute mess you both made of the kitchen. “and here i thought we was finally gonna eat the damn thing”

gwen grabbed a nearby towel and started wiping the frosting off the table, motioning for you to join her. "but you know what they say, babe. teamwork makes the dream work," she added, causing you to instinctually roll your eyes yet again.

as you diligently sweep the floor, meticulously wash down the counters, and even kneel down to scrub away any lingering evidence of your reckless baking, your eyes continue to wander back to the oh so enchanting gingerbread house. its intricate details and sugary allure beckon you, tempting your senses to just skip the cleaning and go straight to dessert. from a distance, gwen chuckles playfully as she attentively wipes down the inside of the stove.

"ahem," she interrupts. "i must kindly request that you refrain from placing your little grimy hands on our masterpiece," gwen mockingly asserts.

she pauses, allowing a moment for her words to sink in. "please, let it exist in its full glory for at least thirty more minutes," she pleads, a hint of jest coloring her voice. "or, if you can't resist, at least capture its beauty on your phone before you rip it apart."

a deep sigh escaped from your lips as you surrender to your girlfriend, continuing to guide the broom across the floor.

- comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[hanniebaeee]

Moonlit

Traveling artist Lee Minho x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: Strangers to lovers (Minho belongs to a clan of traveling musicians)

Summary: A music festival hosted by your little seaside town brings in a caravan of traveling musicians and performers. That's how you meet Minho, a dancer who steals the show, and your heart.

You step out of your little bed and breakfast that you run with your mum. It's a beautiful sunny morning and you were on the way to your friend's flower shop to buy some flowers for the guest rooms.

Your quaint seaside town shines like a beautiful gem with the salty breeze and the sound of crashing waves echoing through the air. The scent of freshly baked bread wafts from the kitchen and you poke your head in through the window to let your mother know that you'll be gone for a while.

The bed and breakfast was actually your mother's old family home. With it's whitewashed walls, blue shutters and breathtaking views of the ocean, it was such a cosy and homely space for the visitors in your town.

You walk to the town center, where businesses were starting to open for the day. Jisoo was arranging some flowers in the display carts outside the shop when you arrive, and she waves at you excitedly.

'Y/N!' She said with a wide smile.

'Good morning, Jisoo.' You say, hugging her before you both step into the shop.

'I have your usual ready.' Jisoo said, handing it over the counter and you pay her before noticing a flyer lying on one of the crates near door.

You pick it up and say, 'Moonlit Music Festival?'

'Someone slipped it under the door, I think? Saw it when I opened this morning.' Jisoo said, giving you your change.

'Wow. It's been ages since we had something like this.' You said, excited to see something new in your otherwise monotonous life.

You loved it here. You were'nt complaining, really. You loved helping your mother with the bed and breakfast. From preparing hearty breakfasts for your guests to doing everything to see that they're happily looked after, you enjoyed it all. But your town was all about routine. It was just the same thing everyday, day after day. You never saw a change. And you craved change.

You were happy about the opportunity to actually have some fun. Putting the flyer back on the crate, you bid Jisoo goodbye before returning home.

You step into the kitchen after putting the flowers in place. The warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla welcomed you, making you smile. Your mum asked if everything was ready for the breakfast rush, and you nod. She tells you something about bringing the bread out of the oven, but you're so lost in thought, you don't hear her. She sighs before asking one of the kitchen helpers to do it.

You were at the market the next morning, when the you first heard the flute music. Turning around quickly, you see the most beautiful and colourful sight - a caravan. You mouth hangs open as you realize they are here for the festival. And in the days that followed, they set up camp at the edge of the town. Beautiful tents, teeming with singers, dancers, and performers, who brought with them a spirit of their nomadic lifestyle.

The town buzzed with excitement for the festival. You and Jisoo went dress shopping, wanting to wear the most exquisite attire for the show. There was an air of mystery surrounding the vibrant tents and you were eagerly waiting for a chance to witness their magic.

A day before the festival started, a makeshift stage was set up, against the backdrop of the ocean. Colourful banners and streamers adorned the arch that led to the venue. Many of the townspeople had set up their own refreshments and souvenir stalls too.

Your mother watched in interest as you and Jisoo fussed over each other, doing your make up and hair. You never really got a chance for this, so you made the best of it. Dressed and ready, you leave for the show with your mother and best friend.

The performers wore vibrant, flowing costumes adorned with intricate embroidery and shimmering beads. The riot of colors and textures had you captivated the minute you had stepped into the venue. You found a good spot for the show, close to the stage, thankfully, and was looking at everything in awe when your eyes fell on a particular man, dressed in a red outfit studded with black stones. His dark hair and the playful smile on his face had you ogling at him.

You watch him as he speaks to his fellow artists and they get around arranging things for their act. Your eyes follow him around, to a point where Jisoo clears her throat teasingly.

'You're staring, Y/N!' She sniggers and you blush, looking away quickly.

The show begins with your own local singers and artists and then he gets on the stage. Your heartbeats are wild as he sings and dances. His movements are so fluid and mesmerizing, you are totally lost in him. The dancers clear the way for a lead singer to enter the stage and your heart skips a beat as your eyes meet his.

He holds your gaze, mouth slightly open as he pants, but the intensity of his gaze was enough to make you pant without even doing anything. You try to look away (you wanted to), but it was almost impossible. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and you thought you would faint. Looking down at your hand quickly, you feel your cheeks grow warmer and warmer.

After the key performances of the day were over, the festival continued with music, dancing and food. You stuck with Jisoo as your mothers went to try some of the food stalls set up by the elders of the music clan.

Jisoo brought some cotton candy which you were both eating, when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You turn around to see a young girl, who gave you a wide smile.

'Hello. Did you have a good time?' She asked, tilting her head cutely. She was also dressed in a red stone studded attire, which meant that she had performed with him.

You smile and say, 'Of course we did. You were amazing!'

'Thank you, we're glad you enjoyed it.' The voice that answered wasn't the girl's. You gulp and look up to lock eyes with him again.

He gives you a warm smile and says, 'I'm Minho and this is my sister, Hana.'

Minho looks at you expectantly and you say, 'I'm Y/N and this is Jisoo.'

Jisoo pitches in with her praises for their act and they smile sweetly at you both.

'May I ask you to have dinner with us, if that is ok?' Minho asked, his eyes not leaving you.

You and Jisoo exchange glances before nodding yes with excited smiles. Minho and Hana introduced you and Jisoo to delicious meat stews, spicy soups, mooncakes, stuffed peppers, and rice puddings, which you two gobble up. You also bring your own traditional food to the table, which the siblings wolf down eagerly.

You feel such heartwarming joy as you watch them eat with the biggest smiles on their faces. Minho looks at you and you could see that he felt the same connection that you did. The four of you talked for hours before finally your parents wanted to leave.

Minho and Hana shake your hand as you leave, with him not letting go as you try to step away. You glance at your mum, who was busy talking to an elderly lady and turn back to Minho.

'Do you have to leave?' He asked in a small voice.

'My mother...um... ' You weren't sure what to say.

His eyes drifted over your shoulder to your mother and then to you.

'Ok.' He said, looking dejected.

'Come visit my flower shop, tomorrow.' Jisoo said quickly. 'Both of you.'

Hana giggled, and Minho looks between you and Jisoo, before nodding with a smile.

'Good, we have to go now.' Jisoo was pulling you away. 'See you tomorrow!'

The next morning, you walk towards Jisoo's shop, excited and anxious. You didn't know what you were doing, exactly. When you are near the shop, you find Minho by the display, looking at some orchids. You stop walking and he turns to look at the same time, as if he could sense you. The smile he gives you is so gorgeous, it makes your knees weak.

'Hi.' He says, his sweet voice giving you butterflies in your tummy.

'Hi Minho.' You say and the two of you step into Jisoo's shop. Jisoo and Hana are talking, and they both smile as they see you.

Jisoo starts a conversation, thankfully, since you couldn't even remember your name at this point. You didn't know what was happening to you. Your town had enough lovely men (not to brag), but none of them had ever made you feel like this. And Minho wouldn't stop giving those looks, like he was addicted to you.

Before they left, you couldn't bear to see the sadness on his face, so you ask Minho to meet you at the beach near your house after midnight. You didn't know where you got the courage to even suggest such a thing, but Minho was smiling again, and for now, that's all that mattered.

Jisoo was surprised and she said she will go to keep watch. You told her not to take a risk, but she waved you off and said, 'Better for them to catch me with you than you and Minho.'

As the night wore on, you were jittery and scared to death. What if your mum woke up and saw that you were gone? But the thrill of actually sneaking out to meet Minho was far too delicious to give up.

You find Minho sitting on the sandy beach, watching the waves as you walk towards him slowly. Jisoo waves at you from far and you feel at ease. Minho turned to find you approaching him and he held his hand out for you. The touch of your fingers to his sent shivers down your spine. You sit, gazing at the moonlit beach, relishing Minho's company.

He told you all about the close-knit community he came from and how hard it was sometimes to have any dream of his own. You tell him how similar you were, because your town held some of the most strict rules - not set in stone, just some things that has been followed over generations.

'I've never felt like this before.' He said, watching you dig your fingers into the sand, holding some in your palm. 'No one has ever affected me this way.'

Then he placed his hand on top of yours, lacing his fingers with yours, tightly.

'I am afraid to think of what will happen when it's time for me to leave.' He continued.

'Minho, I don't know what this is, but I feel the same way. I don't want you to leave.'

Your eyes meet and he sees unshed tears in them. He reached forward to wipe a tear using his thumb. You hold his hand to your cheek before bringing it to your lips, placing a soft kiss on it.

He swallows, looking conflicted. You look away, wiping your tears away quickly.

You found yourself meeting Minho in secret in the days that followed. Sweet moments with the man who had managed to steal your heart in such a short time. One night, he kissed you while you sat at the beach. His lips were so soft yet hungry for you. You held on to his strong shoulders as he pulled you closer with his arms around your waist.

You loved the taste of his mouth and the feeling of his tongue against yours. It was a bit messy, but you loved it. You couldn't get enough of him - every time you met after that, your kisses grew more needy and rough.

One evening, Minho snuck you into their camp, and into his tent. It was late, so everyone were fast asleep. You loved how simple everything was. You smile as you run your fingers through the black stones of the red outfit he had worn the first time you saw him, which was hung on a rope in his room.

Minho watched you lovingly as you took in your surroundings. He knew that he was risking everything by loving you, as his clan had strict rules about marrying within their own. But he couldn’t deny his feelings for you. Every time he kissed you, it became harder and harder for him to see you walk away.

'Y/N, I have something for you.'

Turning around, you look at him, as he brings out a small velvet pouch from his pocket. Inside was an emerald ring, its deep green stone shimmering under the light of the lantern.

'I want you to have this, Y/N. As a symbol of my love and my promise to you. I want to marry you, at any cost, because I cannot think about a future without you in it.' Minho said and you are so shocked, you couldn't move.

You stare at him, your heart racing.

'I love you, Y/N. I want you to be mine forever.' He whispered, and his tension seemed to dissipate as you let him put the pretty ring on your finger.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you look at the ring. You felt so much love for this man, yet the fear consumed you.

'I love you too, Minho. But what if our families never accept us?' You say, and Minho shook his head.

'We’ll face it together, my love. No matter what, I will fight for us.' He said, hugging you close.

You nod, and he kissed you. His lips were warm and desperate. You found yourself raising you arms for him to lift your dress over your head, and you watch as he strips before he pulls you into his bed. He shows you how much he wants you, as his mouth and fingers reached every inch of your body.

You suck in a breath as he kissed you softly against your warm core, before closing his lips around your sensitive bud. You've never experienced this before, so you are shocked when he draws an orgasm out of you with just his lips, leaving you shaking and crying, tears running down your cheeks. His lips wreck more havoc as they find your nipples and suck on them.

'Minho!' You place a hand over your mouth, so that you don't cry out. He his hovering over you with a fond smile on his face.

'Can I?' He asked softly and you nod, holding on to his arms. He pushed his length into you slowly, to help you adjust to him. The sting had you crying all over again. But he talked you through it. You are breathing heavily as he takes a minute to gather himself, and then as you nod, he moves. He sets a slow rhythm at first, and then picks up speed. You bite your lip as the pleasure hits you.

Minho smiles as he sees your sweet expressions. And then you came again, gasping as you did, and Minho captures your lips in his before he came, filling you up.

'I love you so much, my princess.' He mumbled, and you hum, way too tired to speak.

He cleans you up with a wet cloth before he helps you dress up again. He kissed you again and again before he snuck you out and walked you to the beach near your house.

As dawn broke, casting a golden glow over the town, you knew you had to speak up fast, before Minho had to leave. You and Minho bring your families to the little secluded beach at the back of your bed and breakfast, declaring your love and intention to marry.

Your mother broke out into a fit of sobs, crying out about how this would create a scandal and your simple life would be destroyed forever. Minho's parents were outraged too, and they lash out at him for threatening their traditions. The elders demanded you two to end things then and there.

You couldn't stop crying as your mother forced you to give up Minho's ring. He looked at you with such pain in his eyes as your mother hurled insults at you for being so selfish.

'Please, please, mother.' You whimpered, holding your hand over your heart as she threatened to disown you and told you how Minho's family didn't want you and you'll be left to fend for yourself.

Minho spoke up, saying, 'That would never happen, because I promise to be there for her. Always. And my people, we always keep our promises. We don't abandon our own, no matter what.'

Your mother gave him a tearful look.

'She's not your own, son. Your people won't accept her.'

'She is mine, from the moment I gave her that ring and told her that I wanted to marry her. I will marry her. With or without anyone's support.' Minho said firmly. 'We wanted our families to be a part of our love, but if you cannot see the beauty of it, then it's better if you don't linger to portray it as something ugly.'

Your mother let's go of your arm, falling silent. Minho helps you up to your feet and hold you close to him.

'I'm sorry.' He whispered, rubbing your back gently. 'I promise, you will never regret being with me. I promise.'

You nod, already sure of that.

There was silence, then murmurs, and finally, Minho's family starts walking away. You mother sets off too, leaving the two of you in your embrace. He promises to make every thing right and then you are left on your own, hoping and praying that he will.

Hana watched in silence as Minho packed his belongings.

'What are you going to do, Minnie? Where will you two go?' She asked, worried.

'I don't know, I will figure it out.' Minho said, shaking his head. He saw his father approach his tent, worry etched on the old man's face.

'Minho, son, this is very reckless of you. You know how we are. How could you even think of bringing an outsider amidst us?' He asked.

'I'm sorry, father. I'm not bringing her here. I'll take her somewhere.... somewhere it's not a crime to be in love.' Minho said, not looking at the man. 'I know I'm honouring the values taught to me. I will keep my word and love and protect her until I die and beyond.'

Minho's grandmother entered the tent at that moment and said, 'You should be proud of your son. Our culture must be protected, but not be separating lovers, but by imparting it to anyone who wishes to join us and keeping it alive. With love.'

Minho's father is shocked.

'I accept your decision, my dear boy. I wish you all the happiness in the world. I hope you will teach your children the right ways of our life.' She continued, and his father left, head hung.

You were in your room, trying to think of what to do next, when your mother came came in, with a little package in her hand.

'I want you to have this. It's not much, but your father and I had saved up some money so you could leave here when the opportunity came. And I think, this is it.' She gave it you with a small smile. 'I want you to be happy, child. I'm sorry I said all those things. I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. But I'm with you, if you're sure this is what you want.'

You hug your mother and cry, totally at a loss of words.

Jisoo appears at your door just them, panting.

'They're here. They're here!' She said, face bright with excitement.

'What?'

You and your mother are on your feet. You find Minho's family at your front porch, with Minho smiling, face pink with happiness.

His grandmother, the woman whom you had seen speaking to your mother on the first day of the festival, stepped forward to ask for forgiveness. And then everything was a blur.

Though there was an initial confusion about the whole thing, the townspeople and the visitors all got together to celebrate your wedding. Your bed and breakfast was transformed with garlands of flowers, tables decorated with the best linens and laden with dishes from both cultures: fresh seafood, roasted meats, puddings, dumplings, cakes and wines. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the sea.

You wore a flowing white dress, simple yet elegant. An emerald pendant, a gift from Minho's grandmother adorned your neck. And Minho was dressed in his traditional vest and breeches. The emerald ring he had given you shone brightly on your finger, as you placed your hand in his.

Minho's grandmother came forward and held both your hands as you exchange your vows by the sea, with some tears, but lots of excitement for the future. Surrounded by your family and friends, you knew you could face anything in the world, long as you had each other.

[e-vay]

The Sonnet of Domino & Phlox - Ch1

[A/N: In game canon, we’ve never learned who Sonic’s parents are or what they were like. I decided to make my own interpretation for Sonic’s mother and father. This is the story of their brief but significant meeting.]

-----

It’s only a couple of days. 

A teal colored hedgehog took in a deep breath. The morning air was crisp in her lungs, a sure sign of the autumnal equinox. If she had any hope of making it through the next two seasons out in the wilderness, she’d need to stock up on supplies. Her thin tank top and patched slacks wouldn’t be enough to warm her fur against the icy winter breeze and scavenging for food in the desolate snow would be nearly impossible. She had to stock up now and that meant a trip to the nearest town.

Domino let out a puff of air before adjusting the backpack on her shoulders and marching through the entry gates. The young woman didn’t care much for cities. But, strapped for cash, there was no better place to look for odd jobs and errands to earn enough dough to purchase the winter gear she’d need. Her first stop would be to find the village square and look for a board with job postings, but that meant a trek through the marketplace…

Despite the early morning hour, the dirt path was bustling with locals and travelers alike. Merchants shouted praises of their wares, dueling for the attention of potential customers that filled the street and bounced from vendor to vendor. Children tugged at their parents’ hems and screamed for the shiny new toys that decorated several booths. “Ugh,” Domino thought to herself, “Markets are the worst.”

The blue teen shoved her hands in her pockets and pinned her arms to her sides to make her petite frame even smaller, better to weave through pedestrians and get through the market making as little eye contact as possible. She hardly ever had any money on her and what little she might have was always saved for the absolute necessities. Shopping only served to annoy and embarrass her. Domino could only turn down the constant barrage of salespeople with so many polite “nothankyous” before she found herself grinding her teeth. Worse than the merchants were the shoppers themselves. She could physically feel their eyes burning holes into her skin, sneering at her tattered clothes and remarking the ragged shoes bound to her feet with tape. Some would even pull their bags tighter to their bodies as if the girl were planning to snatch it away from them. That hurt the most. 

It was better for herself and everyone else if she stayed where she belonged: out in the wild. 

It’s only a couple of days. 

A scent lofted through the air that made Domino’s mouth curve into a smile. Not everything about city life was awful. In fact, there was one thing that she was always guaranteed to love, no matter which village she wound up in: the food!

She lifted her snout and took in the different aromas that danced through the air. Spices mixed with warm smoke as chefs expertly cooked their meats to a sizzling perfection. Warm, almost sour notes were sure signs of a baker pulling freshly baked bread from a hot oven. Domino began to salivate. She knew she had to get to the job board, but it wouldn’t be smart to work on an empty stomach, right? She might have just enough cash for a slice of-

“Whu-!”

She yelped in surprise as she stumbled into a wall of purple fur and quills and heard the unmistakable sound of something fragile – and likely expensive – crashing against the earth. 

“Oh Gaia!” Domino shrieked. She darted to the front of the person she had just bumped into and grabbed his shoulders. “So sorry! I wasn’t lookin’!”

The boy, a fellow hedgehog with wild, indigo fur, didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, his eyes were narrowed onto a spot on the ground. His mouth gaped but the only sound to escape his lips could best be described as the high-pitched squeak of air being released from a balloon.

Domino’s eyes followed the trail of his stare that led to a film camera laying in the dirt. His hands remained open and frozen in place from where the camera had just leaped. 

“Oh boy,” Domino muttered. She crouched down to survey the damage. The shell of the device was cracked in several places. Some pieces completely snapped off and lay about like thick, plastic confetti. She gingerly picked up the camera and her shoulders sank with relief to see that the lens hadn’t fractured. “Oh, this is nothin’!”

The girl rested the camera on her lap and spun her backpack around to search for tools. Once her hand made purchase of the required items, she thrust it into the air with pride. Her arm was threaded through a roll of duct tape, wearing it much like a bracelet, while she held up a heavily used bottle of super glue. 

“I don’t think that’s going to-”

Just as soon as the male had found his voice, he was once again rendered speechless by the blue hedgehog as she seemed to perform rapid-fire surgery on the device. Her hands moved too quickly for him to understand what all she was doing, expertly switching from tape to glue and back, pinching here and ripping there. In what could only have been a matter of seconds, Domino sprang up to her feet and held out a perfectly in-tact camera. “Here ya go!”

The boy slowly took the camera from her hands and carefully inspected it. It was nearly pristine! 

“Wh-? Hu-? How?!” he stammered, turning the camera over and gasping as he noticed she had even managed to repair some of the damage he had done to it by extended use. “It’s like it’s brand new!”

Domino returned her tools to their home in her bag and slung it over her back. “I try to leave things better than I found ‘em.”

Something about that motto resonated with the male and a grin made its way across his face. His inspection finally shifted from the camera to the peculiar person in front of him and his breath caught in his throat. 

The young woman’s eyes were a striking cyan color, as vibrant as an afternoon’s sky. Her long, wild quills were the same teal hue, just a shade darker. She was waif-like for sure, but despite her small stature she had a strong presence about her that told him she could handle herself. The sweet, almost demure smile on her caramel muzzle was in direct contrast with the rough appearance of her clothes and a noticeable tear in one of her ears. This girl had clearly been through a lot. Despite that – or perhaps because of that – he found her stunning.

Domino was also rendered speechless, a rare occurrence for her. The fellow hedgehog looked to be about her age with quills as windswept as hers, though shorter and rich indigo in color. He had a larger frame– or was it the fullness of his fur that made him appear bigger? His coat was longer, scruffy and rugged, particularly in the sand-colored patches that adorned his chest and muzzle. It was so unlike her short, sleek pelt. He wore a pair of denim jeans—another oddity as male Mobians often didn’t wear clothes. And his eyes! So many different shades of green with hints of amber… like sunlight filtering through the canopy leaves onto the forest floor. 

She realized she was staring and hoped that the tufts of fur that framed her cheeks would help to mask the blush that quickly made its way up her neck. 

“Uh. Still, I’m sorry about breakin’ it in the first place,” Domino muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. 

“No, no need to apologize,” the male assured. His voice had a melodic cadence to it, bouncing around from soothing lows to confident highs. It was unusual but very pleasing to her ears. “If anything, I’m just as much to blame. I was the one standing in the middle of a busy street.”

Like a flip of a switch, Domino suddenly became aware of the dozens of people who were squeezing by and muttering curses at the two teenagers who were blocking their path. How odd, just a moment ago it felt like the two were the only people on the planet. 

“Oh yeah…” Domino said slowly, turning her head either way to confirm that they were indeed obstructing the center of the path. “We oughtta get outta the way. Can’t have that camera breaking again!” She turned back to the boy and pushed on his chest, startling him and making him walk backwards until they reached the side of the road. She swiftly weaved and navigated them through the crowd with expertise. It was a wonder she had bumped into him in the first place. The lissome girl likely would have slipped right by him without him ever realizing she was there. Hmm, he didn’t like the thought of that.

“What’s your name?” he asked, those green eyes searching hers. 

“Uh,” Domino paused for a moment. People at best ignored her; at worst went out of their way to avoid her. This wasn’t a question she was used to answering. “Domino. And you are?”

“Phlox.”

“‘Flocks’?!” She couldn’t help but blurt out. Sometimes her mouth worked faster than her brain. “Like… like a bunch of Flickies?”

The male’s eyes went wide and he snickered. “Flickies?! No, ‘Phlox’ like the flower!”

“Well hey, I dunno! Maybe your parents are really into bird watching.”

Phlox suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. Domino’s ears sprang upwards. That chuckle was so silly and boyish and… mischievous, so unlike his speaking voice. She couldn’t help but beam with playful delight just from hearing it.

“By that logic,” Phlox managed once his laughing settled down, “that would mean your parents love board games?”

Oh now this would be too fun to pass up!

“Ah, so you’re familiar with my lineage!” Domino asked impishly. “I’m the heiress to a very wealthy game manufacturing company. It’s a family-owned business started by my great-great grandparents. It’s basically required that everyone in the family be named after classic games, lest you want to give up your claim to the family biz.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes,” she smirked. “You should’ve seen the look on my grandparents face when my Uncle Chess named his son-”

Her story was interrupted by an embarrassingly loud gurgle coming from her empty stomach. She froze in place, her face instantly growing beet red. Did he hear that? Of course he heard that. The whole world just heard it. Oh Gaia, why?! “Err..” 

“I… was just on my way to breakfast,” Phlox said, a lilt in his voice. “I heard some of the locals raving about this restaurant. ‘Supposed to have omelets like you wouldn’t believe. Would you… wanna join me?”

“A... restaurant…?” Domino whispered with dread. Her skin grew even hotter with anxiety. She barely had enough cash on her for some bread. A restaurant was out of the question! She had to think of an excuse but whether it was brain fog from hunger or delirium from this cute guy’s smile, she was coming up with nothing! “Um…”

Phlox sensed the girl’s dilemma and saw her subconsciously rummaging in her pockets. He pretended not to notice and looked towards his next destination. 

“I hope you won’t mind-” he leaned his shoulder towards her as if sharing a secret. “I know we live in a modern era but I was raised to always foot the bill when asking a lady on a date.”

“I-I don’t need handouts!” Domino said defensively, hoping her voice overpowered the growling of her stomach. 

“Easy there, heiress! I’d never suggest such a thing,” he waved his hands while he laughed, hoping to ease some of the tension. Phlox extended an open hand. “Besides, you’ll be repaying me by telling me all about this prestigious gaming monarchy you’re a part of.” 

He gave her a wink and with that, she was done for. 

Domino took his hand and together the two teens were off to the eatery.  

—

“-and that’s why the hippos are eating marbles! Oh! That reminds me. Did you ever wonder-”

Despite her constant rambling, Domino had scarfed down her entire meal with impressive speed. Phlox’s eyes flickered to her empty plate before inconspicuously sliding his untouched side of hash browns across the table. Domino began tearing into them as well, too focused on her current story to realize the plate didn’t belong to her. 

Phlox rested his cheek in his palm, smiling as he listened to the teal young woman paint another wild tale. It was immediately clear that these stories were fabricated. Each one was more extreme and nonsensical than the last, but still, the young man found himself hanging on every word. It wasn't so much the stories that he enjoyed, but the enthusiasm with which Domino told them. The way her sky-blue eyes lit up and how her thin little arms swung about wildly as she gestured with her hands, as if her petite body couldn’t contain all of the energy that was trapped inside.

“-so I’m passing through here before I’m off for my next big business venture.”

“Oh? This is a short visit?”

“Ya,” Domino finished up her last bite of hash browns before unceremoniously letting her fork clatter against the ceramic. She was unable to remember the last time she’d ever felt this full. “I never stay in one city long.”

“Why’s that?”

“Towns are… complicated,” she averted her gaze, suddenly interested in a spot of the tablecloth that she began to pick at. “Everything’s all ‘property-lines’ and ‘who-belongs-where’. It’s all about what ya own and how much of it ya got, and what you can take from someone else.” She sank back into her chair with a sigh and looked up at the clouds. Phlox leaned in. Even if momentarily, he was getting a glimpse into the real Domino. He wanted to know more about the girl who felt the need to hide behind tall tales. “It’s not like that out in the wild. Nothing belongs to anybody. It all belongs to the planet, ya know? No judgements. No hurting each other for the sake of hurting… I only come into town when I-” 

She stopped herself short, realizing she’d revealed a little too much. 

“Wait you’re just passing through too, yeah?”

“Huh?” Phlox blinked. He could get whiplash from how abruptly she’d redirected the conversation. “Oh. Yeah.”

“How long’re you stickin’ around?”

“Hmm, not sure yet.”

Domino laced her fingers together and used them to balance her chin. “You don’t talk much,” she observed with amusement. 

Phlox chuckled. “I’m more of a listener.”

“That’s a shame. You’ve got such a nice voice, like music,” she admitted. “I’d love to hear ya talk more.”

It was possible she was just trying to divert his attention from the previous topic, but the compliment made him blush nonetheless. He rubbed the back of his neck and tittered bashfully. 

“Well, what would you like me to talk about?”

Domino pointed at the newly repaired camera that sat amongst the empty stacks of plates. “What’s this all about?”

Phlox smiled and rested a caring hand on the device. 

“This here’s… my dream. My pride and joy.” He looked up at Domino and she just about wiggled in her seat, excited to hear more. It wasn’t like him to talk much, especially about himself, but if the pretty lady asked… “I spent an entire year putting in extra hours at my steel working job, covering shifts when others called out, never taking time off, all so I could save up for this baby! When I first told my family I wanted to switch careers to become a photographer… Let’s just say they were not so enthusiastic. Especially my dad…” he chuckled ruefully. “He’s not one for… sentimentality. But I always have been.”

Those bright green eyes looked up to meet Domino’s and her heart leaped in her chest when she caught sight of the fervor behind them. 

“There’s beauty in everything, you just have to open your eyes to see it! The world is full of so many remarkable things that we take for granted. So many magnificent little moments that will slip right by if we don’t bother to notice them. I want everyone to see what I see. I want to give these wonderful, fleeting seconds the opportunity to live on forever.” Phlox found himself surprised at how boldly he was speaking. It was a nice change, something he had been hoping to improve upon himself. It somehow came naturally in this girl’s presence. “...Photography lets me do that.”

Domino swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping her cheeks didn’t look as warm as they felt. 

“W-wow. I didn’t realize I was talking to an artist this whole time.”

Phlox laughed, that mischievous, boyish chuckle erupting from him again. “Don’t get too excited just yet, Minnie. I’ve still got a long way to go and a lot to learn.” 

Minnie? She’d never had a nickname before, never knew anyone long enough to have one. But this guy gave her one so casually, like they’d been friends forever. Minnie. She liked it…

“But I’ll let you in on a secret. Something the pros don’t want you to know.” He suddenly leaned across the table, making Domino’s eyes widen even more. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Sure composition and lighting and all that’s important, but really? A lot of it is being at the right place at the right time.”

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms with a smirk. “And I just so happen to have a knack for being in the right place at the right time. A talent, if you will.”

Domino scoffed out the breath she’d been holding. “I’m not so sure about that!” She challenged him with a playful grin. “If that were true, I wouldn’t have busted your camera in the first place!”

Phlox winked and pointed a finger at her. “Ah, but that’s direct proof my gift is the real deal. How else would I have met you?”

The lady hedgehog was once again uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry, too dry! She grasped for her drinking glass and quickly took several long gulps of water. Unsure how to respond and certain her signature teal and caramel fur were now every shade of red, she thought of a question to direct attention from her. 

“So,” her voice cracked through feigned nonchalance. “What brings a budding photographer like you to this quaint little town hmm?”

Phlox snickered, pleased that he could make the pretty lady blush just as much as she’d made him. “You might not think much of this place, but I’ve heard it has plenty of little hidden treasures. For one, I’ve been told of this grotto tucked away in the surrounding forest that’s supposed to be spectacular, especially if you catch sight of it at just the right time. I’m going to head out later today and try to find it.”

Domino sat up with excitement. She loved exploring and being out amongst the greenery would likely be a much needed respite after the odd jobs she’d be doing in town. It was only a couple of days, why not make the most of it?

“I’d like to see! Can I come?”

Phlox’s smile grew wider. “Y-yeah, yes!”

“Oh! Speaking of spectacular," there she went again, her mind already on to the next thing. "Have you ever been to South Island?”

“No, but it’s on my list.”

“PHLOX!” Domino drummed her hands on the table with enthusiasm. “You’re gonna love it! Just about every possible type of landscape and flora you can imagine all on one island. It’s crazy! Green Hill was my favorite. Flowers bigger than me— bigger than you! Waterfalls taller than the sky!”

“Hold on.”

Phlox stood up from his seat to pull out a small, weathered notepad from his back pocket. He flipped to a blank page and hurriedly scribbled down notes while murmuring. “South Island… Green… Hill…” 

He marked a large star next to the text before standing once again to return the notebook to his pocket. He glanced up and caught the girl giggling at him. 

“What?” He asked, the corner of his own mouth turning upwards into a smile. 

“I’m sorry, it has to be said…” Domino used a hand to gesture towards Phlox’s legs. “… the pants.”

Phlox smirked and placed his hands on his hips. He pretended to be offended, but mirth was evident in his tone. “I don’t get what’s so funny about my jeans. After all, you’re wearing pants.” 

“Yeah but not many men wear ‘em.”

The young man counted on his fingers with each point he made. “They’re stylish. They’re practical. How else can I store my things?”

Domino pointed her thumb towards the pack on her back. 

“Nah,” Phlox hooked his thumbs on his belt loops. “Backpack’ll never look this cool.”

“Ooookay, if you say so!” Domino laughed, waving her hands in defeat.

The tolling of bells from the town church broke the two from their lighthearted argument. Domino counted the chimes and realized more time had passed than she originally thought. As much fun as she was having, she had to get back to her priorities. She had a lot of work to do and not much time to do it. 

“Well, Mr. Cool Guy,” she dusted the crumbs from her clothes as she rose up from her seat. “Thank you very much for breakfast but I’ve got some very important duties that need attendin’.”

Phlox caught her hand just before she was out of reach. His voice was soft but determined. “I’ll see you later? At the town entrance, at 4. Yes?”

Domino noticed a tangible spark as their fingers met. The feel of her hand in his and the passion in his eyes made her heart race. 

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

[CHAPTER 2]

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 8 - Just Dinner

It's time for the tour... You & Sylus finally meet and begin your partnership to find the mysterious protocore. But is it a business dinner or a date? Even you can't tell anymore...

Visuals: https://shorturl.at/3XOoh 

Sylus shows you the house, going into detail about every room. Stopping at every painting in the entryway to tell you about the artist and which pieces were custom made. Every vase has a story. Stories of the countries Sylus visited where he went to a night market and bought a piece from a local artist as a souvenir. Even the chandelier was made by a glass maker in Linkon who never takes new clients. But they dropped everything to make a single chandelier for this house.  

The kitchen was fit for custom marble countertops. Two huge ovens and a massive walk-in freezer. There is even a wine cellar, and Sylus’ collection is impressive. Right off the kitchen is a dining room with a table that could seat 20, easily. 

Up the stairs Sylus shows you a bathroom with a huge round tub with a waterfall shower head above it. His and hers vanities line the walls with matching walk-in closets on each side. 

The bedroom has a massive bed with a mountain of pillows. A small sitting area in the corner facing the floor to ceiling windows. A peculiar stand sits next to a fireplace across from the bed. You hear the familiar CAW behind you and you duck to avoid Mephisto hitting you in the back of the head. Mephisto lands on the stand and flaps his wings enthusiastically. Sylus enters pets Mephisto affectionately. Sylus motions for you to come in. You hesitate but enter and join him next to the fireplace. 

“Open the door to the left.” Sylus motions to a door past the bed. 

You slowly approach the door and open carefully. Beyond the door is a walk-in closet that has been transformed into a small arsenal. Guns of all sizes, most are missing pieces or are broken. You look over your shoulder to Sylus with a grin.

“Impressive.” You enter the room and look through the gun displays. You run your finger along an impressive rifle. Even though the metal is rusted you can tell it is cleaned regularly to avoid dust building up. 

“These are my favorites. A reminder that just because something’s broken doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful.” He leans on the door frame and watches while you examine the guns. You look over your shoulder and give him a warm smile. Was anything he said real? Or was he just trying to butter you up?

“They are. Beautiful, I mean.” You sip your wine slowly, maintaining eye contact. He backs up to let you pass him and re-enter the bedroom. Your eyes linger on the bed. Professional. Remain professional.

There are multiple guest bedrooms, an office, a gym and a fucking library. The house is amazing. From the design choices to quality of the build, this house does not belong in the N109 Zone. Yet here it is. And it’s so cozy. 

Sylus leads you back to the dining room where the first course of your dinner is already set on the table. Like a gentleman out of a storybook, Sylus pulls your chair out for you. You sit and take in the food before you. The chef refills your wine glass while introducing the first course, an Autumn Fritto Misto. The scent of the mushrooms and apples blend perfectly together. The taste is even better.

Before you knew it, the chef brought in the main course, a fragrant Lobster Risotto swimming in butter. Then the dessert, a Coconut Panna Cotta with Passion Fruit. The wine paired perfectly with every dish. Not to mention the conversation was effortless. Sylus asked about your hobbies and favorite things. You returned the favor. The questions may be relatively surface level, but now Sylus wasn’t just a pretty face. And you had more in common than you care to admit.

“When you’re not running an empire, what do you like to do to relax?” Sylus keeps his eyes on you. Watching you swirl the wine in your glass as you think of your response.

“I’m a fan of baking. I wish I had more time to do it, but like you said, my empire awaits.” Sylus smiles and nods his head toward the kitchen.

“Maybe you can bake here? Take one of these nights to indulge. Put me on clean up duty.” Your cheeks are starting to hurt from the smile plastered on your face.

“I noticed you prefer vintage guns and your music tastes are… old school. Is there a reason you prefer vintage over modern?” Sylus wipes his mouth with his napkin. The slow methodical swipe across his lips… They look so soft. No, stop… focus.

“Modern weaponry and music is only what it is today because of how the ‘old school’ styles forged a path. And I appreciate timeless beauty.” He stares at you intently as he says the last sentence. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I see what you mean. Does that preference for vintage carry over to movies too?” 

“I keep up-to-date with new films, but yes, older movies tend to be more straight-forward. Bad guys are bad, good guys are good, lovers… They don’t play games. They say what they feel. I appreciate that.” Your stomach tightens, is he hinting at something? 

The chef brought coffee and began clearing the plates. Sylus looks at his watch and sighs. 

“I’m guessing Luke and Kieran didn’t find anything in the shipment?” 

“I don’t believe they did.” 

“I’m sorry.” Sylus looks up at you with a smile, clearly trying to mask his disappointment.

“It’s a good thing there’s an event coming up that might have a better outcome.” He pushes his chair back and crosses his legs keeping his eyes on you. You lean back, raising an eyebrow.

“An event?” You have a feeling he brought this up on purpose.

“An event I would very much like you to attend with me.” And there it is.

“Is this an addendum to our original deal?” Sylus chuckles before finishing his coffee in one sip.

“No. It can count as next month’s meeting.” You lean forward, placing your elbows on the table. You can’t deny your curiosity has peaked. 

“What kind of event?”

“A charity masquerade. There’ll be an auction, well, two auctions. One official and one not so much.”

“And you think this rare protocore will be available at the not so official auction?” Sylus nods.

“It’s next week. So, will you go with me?” You sip your coffee and stare at him for a long time. 

“I’d love to.” 

Sylus has been very composed tonight. In fact, he has very rarely faltered during any interaction you’ve had with him. But when you tell him you’ll attend this event with him, the smile on his face is undeniable. He couldn’t even keep eye contact with you. He looked down at his now empty coffee cup.

“I’ll send you the details.” 

Ding

Your phone buzzes and you look from your phone to Sylus. 

“That was fast.” Sylus chuckles at your joke. You turn your phone over and see messages from Dorian.

(Dorian) Out front. Ready when you are. (Dorian) Unless you’re having too much fun on your “date”.

You scoff and flip your phone back over. Sylus looks at you, his brows raised.

“What’s wrong?” You stand. Sylus follows suit. 

“My rides here.” 

You look up at Sylus. His eyes burrow into you and you don’t turn away, even when your cheeks feel flush. You know Dorian was just trying to rile you up. This was not a date. It was enjoyable and, sure, you wish Dorian had gotten stuck in traffic or gotten pulled over for driving like an asshole. Just a little more time with Sylus would have been nice. But this was NOT a date. 

Keep trying to convince yourself of that. 

Sylus walks you to the door and you stand in the doorway together, illuminated by the moonlight. You see Dorian in the car, staring at you once again. You turn back to Sylus and realize he is much closer than a second ago. He takes your hand and brings it to his mouth, touching a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, kitten.” You hold his stare. 

The distance between you continues to close until your forehead almost touches his. That smile. That goddamn smile. You bite your tongue and your breath catches. Sylus leans in and you close your eyes. His lips press the whisper of a kiss to your cheek. Not at all what you were expecting. Your eyes fly open and you pull back slightly so you can see him better. You might be seeing things, but it definitely looks like his cheeks are just slightly flushed. You’re probably seeing things. 

“Speak soon.” He releases your hand and steps back into the doorway. You nod at him and flash a small smile before heading to the car.

You’re not even in the car fully before Dorian is peppering you with questions. 

“Did he just fucking kiss you? You can’t say this wasn’t a date after he pulled a stunt like that. Are you going to call off the deal? Did he even find the protocore he was looking for? Or did he tell you anything else about what he is looking for? Are you going to answer me or just sit there looking like a smitten teenager?” That last one hurt a bit.

“Dorian, shut up. For one fucking minute. Okay?” You lean your head back on the headrest. 

“I’m sorry. I just… I want to know if all this is worth it.”

“Do you remember what I told you when we made our first deal and solidified Himitsu in the zone?” After Dorian doesn’t reply you continue.

“We spent four months building a connection and forging a relationship, we secured a partnership that set Himitsu apart. That client is still loyal to us 5 years later. You were just as impatient then as you are now. You tried to rush me and you nearly lost us that contract. So do not rush me now. Understood?” Dorian leaned back in his seat, slightly surprised by your tone. He nods. 

The ride home was silent, which you were grateful for. Dorian was right and you finally admit it to yourself. It was more like a date than a business dinner. But you weren’t upset about that. You are genuinely excited for next Saturday. Maybe things don’t have to be so complicated after all.

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1: https://shorturl.at/Bx95C Chapter 2: https://shorturl.at/3PwTi Chapter 3: https://shorturl.at/a7xnF Chapter 4: https://shorturl.at/fKYgX Chapter 5: https://shorturl.at/7YtTh Chapter 6: https://shorturl.at/cMCj7

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Rating: E

There hadn’t been much time to talk. There is never much time to talk. She had accumulated so many mostly-empty decades with too much time to talk that surely she could re-distribute them now – gut the words from the straw stuffing in Pâté’s taxidermy stomach and grind it between mill stones and bake it in shrapnelled-belly into bread, share that time in Fresh Cut pillowy slices and buttered toast and sandwiches with the Hells, though certainly what would be regurgitated would be of less use than manure, not even bone-meal, and Imogen deserves more than thirty years of grey monologue slop - nutritious as the influence of time-rot isolation on her own accent, acknowledgeable in a short amount of time bloomed further in how Imogen’s diminished within her own company and fleeing home, causing Imogen’s inflection to soften, dull, slowly, over their nearly-three-years, over and under the time Laudna offered, burnt oven loaves and skillet-fried flatbreads -

and Imogen had taken. There could never be enough time when it was willingly shared.

That had been the case from the beginning. Their beginning – it always will remain that, despite- despite later…developments. Names. Formalities. Definitions. Uncertainties. The bed was always theirs - perhaps always made. Destined. What a small corner of the world to find herself in! To find herself with basket underarm – with butter, bacon fat, eggs, and tea. And Imogen, with a loaf of bread! She shared it – tore crusts to dip in market-egg golden yolks and holster-dagger-cut slices folded and mimicking the grab of hands around butter-fried foraged mushrooms. Nutritious. Nourishing. Enriching. She shared it! Saviour. Special. Laudna must Support her. She must support her because Imogen found her, followed her from the market into the forest and shared her loaf of bread and so for their nearly-three-years she followed Imogen.

She follows Imogen. She followed Imogen as she fell into pace behind Ludinus – she must support her because she shared her loaf of bread, she must support her because she is tied to the fate of the Gods, and more importantly by extension, Exandria. She follows Imogen now, back in Zadash, teleportation-messed and mead-warmed, follows Imogen up the tavern stairs varnished with decades of spilt liquor and projected vomit and buffed with the worn leather soles of travellers and drunkards-

and otherwise, she is witness to suppose – to support.

Imogen's boots land out of syncopation with Laudna's short heels (she used to do a much better job of playing her shadow), their steps map the architecture of the building under the hollow staircase, wooden rafter meeting stone wall, perhaps pots and pans for the kitchen or other metal instruments hanging in storage under the stairs, perhaps torture devices, shackles and chains bolted to alabaster stone-

There’s a slight sway to Imogen’s hips - there always is, always was - divine feminine being, (un)holy vessel, muscle and fat and sinew and skin and magic scars intercepted by worldly stretchmarks gate only interrupted by ankles twisted on desert boulders and more-than-earned more thoroughly-deserved rest, sway resumed in sweat and salt and sex arousal rolled intentionally against Laudna’s own and there hasn’t been much time for that

Hadn’t…?

Developments. Definitions. Uncertainties.

She woke up and Imogen was holding her hand-

How many steps are there to the next floor?

Imogen stumbles slightly in the dark bottom-of-the-whisky-bottle amber lighting, no windows facing the stairwell – now hallway, as there had been none in the frozen underground ruins too, and Laudna was following her there, followed the lilac dancing sparks that she has been following for nearly three years now.

Laudna almost crashes into her back, almost crumbles and creases around Imogen like that wagon they saw in ruin, the one that had left tracks veering off of the dirt path of a mountain trail, flora flattened by wheel and chassis footprints to reveal the wagon folded in splinters around the majestic trunk of a red pine at the base of the incline.

Sorry, just gotta wrestle with the key…

the rattling of key to lock – a discernibly different sound to that of Imogen's footsteps causing the unidentified metal assumedly hanging from hooks under the stairs to jostle.

Don’t mind me- Laudna responds, and it is a pretty hilarious statement to make between the two of them-

three of them-

The door groans (four) as if it had been animated and was reacting to her distasteful pun.

Imogen takes Laudna by the hand before she has time to berate it. (you can read the rest here)

[bluelancess]

Untouchable | Elriel fic part 1/3

Summary: The inner circle is having one of their usual dinner parties, during which Azriel can't help but shoot death glares to Lucien across the table, Elain is the only one who manages to calm him down.

Tags: secret meetings, forbidden love, secret relationship

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Read on AO3.

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Chapter 1: This is falling in love in the cruelest way

The Townhouse was exceptionally quiet today, the only sound filling its empty walls came from Elain’s soft humming in the kitchen. It was a melody she had heard a couple of days back while strolling along Velaris’ farmer’s market. She thought it was sweet, sounded almost a little magical to her ears, she had stopped on her tracks to give her full attention to the street performers, marveling at the way their expert fingers played the instruments, and at how they could attract a large crowd after  only playing a single enchanting note. She was most definitely not doing the song justice, but humming helped her keep her mind away from dangerous black holes that always threatened to swallow her whole, the same way baking and gardening did. 

She was adamant on never letting her mind take her away again. 

Ever.

Elain put the final touches to the delicious meal she was cooking for dinner, and cleaned the palms of her hands on the front part of her light-blue apron. Roasted rosemary potatoes, grilled chicken with lemon zest, honey and mustard, various vegetables she had seasoned earlier; broccoli, peas, a tomato salad with basil and olive oil. 

Cooking kept her busy and occupied most of the time. And it filled her with joy to be able to be helpful in any way she could. Besides, today was one of the Inner Circle’s weekly dinner meeting. Rhysand made it almost mandatory, and considering everyone was busy doing their own thing nowadays, having an afternoon where they could catch up on everything else other than work-related subjects, was a refreshing change. 

Elain had dessert finishing baking in the oven, a blueberry crust pie she was going to  serve alongside some vanilla ice-cream and whipped cream, when Nuala and Cerridwen entered the kitchen, both walked as silently as a ghost would. It used to perturbe Elain at the beginning, them being so silent, but with time she had gotten used to their presence, their company. 

“The table is set,” Nuala said. “We can finish up here.” 

“Thank you,” Elain smiled at her, and slowly removed her apron. Cerridwen extended her hand towards her, so Elain could hand her the clothing item covered in flower. “Is Feyre still asleep?” 

Nuala nodded softly. “She and the babe, both.” 

Elain chewed on her lower lip, concealing the smile that had formed after picturing the image in her head. Feyre lying on her bed, Nyx resting on top on her chest, the tiny wings tucked in, his little chubby hands holding onto Feyre’s gown like he used to do when he slept in that position as if scared Feyre might put him in his crib as soon as he fell asleep. 

“I’ll go change,” Elain told them both, “then I can check up on them.” 

“We’ll clean up here.”

“Thank you.” 

With that, Elain exited the kitchen, and took slow, soft steps towards the stairs. She had already chosen the gown she would wear for dinner. A lavender satiny dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, with hug shoulders, long slit sleeves and a cirde skirt that reached a little under her ankles that flowed when she walked, making her her feel like a real-life fairytale princess. It was her favorite dress as of late. She hadn’t worn it for other people yet, she was waiting for an special occasion. 

This seemed like the right time. 

Considering Az would be here any minute. 

Just thinking about the Shadowsinger brought a wave of unbearable heat cursing through her, warming up her cheeks, her neck, her ears. She needed to learn to control herself, if she wanted whatever was going on between them to remain private. 

Any time she stopped to remember they way Az had looked that one night he came knocking on her window at three in the morning, her whole body shivered, the memory carefully stored in a special place in her heart. It had been the night everything shifted, everything changed, for her. For Azriel. 

No one knew about it. 

No one could. 

Elain had been awake twisting and turning on the sheets, as per usual since their moment at the Winter Solstice, that cursed night that some days, the bad days, she wanted to desperately forget. Forget the way he had touched her and made her light up with so much want, so much need… She had never felt so alive before. Only to end with him pushing her away, such a regretful look in his eyes, telling her that it had been a mistake. But then… there were the good days, those days were she thought about him and hoped, prayed to whatever had interest in hearing her pleas, to have a second chance. To ask him all the questions roaming her head. All the doubts eating at her. 

She never imagined he was feeling the same way. 

But then, as if he were almost as desperate as her, he’d come in the middle of the night, looking like he’d also had been tossing and turning, so many sleepless night catching up to him. She opened the window with her heart on her throat, and he whispered to her to come with him. Only for a moment. He begged with his eyes, a desperation that was so painfully palpable, Elain’s whole chest squeezed at the sight of it. 

Breathless, she took his hand that night. 

It was the first time he took her flying, just for the fun of it. They had made it a habit now. He would knock on her window, she would open it, and he would scoop her in his arms, kiss her brow and marvel at her laughs when he would take off, holding her close to him, showing her the sky. It was those moments, that made Elain feel like she was actually free. 

Elain opened the door to her bedroom, and froze at the threshold, her brown eyes going wide, her traitorous heart beating so fast it reverberated in her ears. 

Azriel brought his index fingers to his lips and it was pure luck she didn't scream when she saw him; sprawled on her bed, boots still on, his wings so big they barely fit the mattress. She licked her lower lip, feet glued to the floor. He looked at her like he wanted to eat her alive, and Elain’s cheeks warmed up. He chuckled, darkly, softly and motioned for her to come forward with his hand, she shook her head like she couldn't believe what he was doing. 

After taking a deep breath, Elain quickly looked over her shoulder before closing the door behind her. She didn’t have time to give a single step, before Azriel got to his feet, and closed the space between them in two exact and calculated steps. 

“You’re insane,” she breathed, lifting her head to look at him in the eyes, he was so tall, it never stoped amazing her, so tall, and so beautiful. Azriel hands went to her cheeks, holding her so gently as if he were scared to hurt her. 

“I missed you,” he simply replied, lifting a shoulder, one of his thumbs caressing her lower lip, his face getting nearer to hers, she could almost taste him. After a couple of weeks meeting in secret, delighting herself with his company, Elain had realized that Azriel liked to tease her. So much. He liked to take things so painfully slow, until she was barely breathing and begging him to touch her, to kiss her, to give her everything. “Just thinking about the fact that I have to sit on that dinner table, unable to touch you for hours, was driving me crazy.” 

Azriel left a phantom kiss on her right cheekbone, then moved to the bridge of her nose. Elain closed her eyes at the contact, savoring the feel of him. Her hands roaming him from his shoulders, down to the muscles of his chest. She loved the way his Illyrian leathers felt under her fingertips. She dreamed of the day she finally would have the opportunity to peel them off of him.

But she couldn’t. They couldn’t. 

Not yet. 

It was too risky, everyone would to know they had been together, their scents would mix, there would be no denying it. And although Azriel was usually cocky and confident when it came to the fact the he most definitely would win a blood duel against Lucien, she couldn't even fathom the idea of Az risking his life in that matter for her. Az kept distributing tiny kisses along her face, like he wanted to pain it all with his lips. It was certainly torture having to wait until they were finally free to fall into the lust consuming their bodies, their souls. But she was completely sure it’d be worth the wait. 

“So you decided to cheat and get a little taste before dinner?” She asked, and he hummed, as he kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the right corner of her mouth. So soft, so gentle. 

“Hmm,” he muttered, “I was actually hoping you wanted to skip dinner altogether.” 

“Because that wouldn’t be suspicious.” He kissed the left corner of her mouth now, and a groan left Elain’s throat, Azriel ignored it and moved down to her jaw. “How long have you been here anyway?” 

“About half an hour,” he replied, voice low, no more than a rumble, but she heard it perfectly, felt it everywhere. He kissed right under her earlobe and Elain bit her lower lip hard, tying to conceal the moan escaping her. “You smell so good.” 

She melted against him the the words, reality crashing into her like a hard wave. Remembering where they were, who that house belonged to. 

“Rhys could get home any minute,” she breathed, he groaned at the name of another male leaving her mouth when he was licking up the column of her neck, her hands grasping his uniform as if she needed it to remain standing. Cauldron, he was killing her. 

“I don’t care,” Azriel replied, sucking gently at the sensitive, pale skin, his hands angling her head, exposing her neck just the way he wanted, the way he needed. “Maybe I should just leave a mark right here,” he whispered, and gently kissed right under her jaw. “Everyone can come to their own conclusions.”

“You wouldn’t.” She teased him, somehow, for some reason, the idea sparked something in her, something feral. She wanted him to claim her, to show everyone that she was his and he was hers. 

That they had chosen one another. 

Damn the consequences. 

 “Someday I will.” He told her, making it sound like a threat. He couldn’t hide the smile of surprise when she let out a breathy moan, as if she could just picture the idea in her head and loved it. 

Elain was about to just grab his beautiful face, get on her tippy toes, and steal a long kiss from his lips, when Azriel stepped away from her, so fast she almost lost her balance. A knock on the door had her spine straightening, her heart jumping. 

“El, are you there?” Feyre. It was her sister’s voice, still sleepy from the nap she had been taking with Nyx. 

She turned around, the door was behind her, she had been pressed against the wood by Azriel's solid body. She swallowed hard, running her fingers through her hair, her face, her neck, she could still feel Azriel lips on her skin, the wet strokes of his tongue, the little painless bites. She was definitely flushed. 

She looked over her shoulder, Azriel was nowhere to be seen, but in the corner of the room, right under the door that connected to her dressing room, a little shadow was peaking, sharp like a knife, as if getting ready to attack if she needed it to. 

“Elain?” Feyre knocked again, and Elain forced herself to take one, two long breaths before turning the knob and opening the door. 

“Sorry,” she told her sister. “I was about to change my clothes. They’re covered in food... you know, from cooking and all that.” 

Feyre yawned, her eyes were glassy and her cheeks rosy from sleep, Elain tried to block the view of the inside of her rooms, just to be sure. But Feyre ignored it, putting one of her hands on her sister’s shoulders and going inside, to lay face first on the bed. 

“Dinner smells so good,” Feyre murmured. “I’m so hungry the smell woke me up. Also, Nyx started to cry. He was hungry too.” 

“You had a good nap?” Elain asked, her voice sounded strange even to herself, but Feyre didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

“Yes, I needed it.” After a beat, Feyre sat on the bed and looked at Elain, the relaxed look on her face from the last couple of seconds going away in a blink. “Actually, I came to talk to you about something.” 

Elain took a couple steps towards her sister, sitting beside her on the side of the bed. “What happened?”

“I just spoke with Rhys, mainly to asked him what time he was coming home for dinner, and he mentioned to me Lucien is in the city. He came because he has some reports he need to give Rhys, and …” Feyre grimaced, she looked worried, almost guilty. “I know it makes you uncomfortable, so I told him to not even think about bringing him tonight before asking you.” 

Elain couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t breathe. 

She hated this. Hated that cursed mating bond so much. 

All she wanted was to be free of that male, but it was like he didn’t know when to give up. No matter how many hints she sent his way, or the fact that she made it her mission to stay as far away from him as possible. He wouldn’t budge. 

She couldn’t understand how he could continue to pursue her, knowing that it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Lucien couldn’t be so naive to believe she’d change her mind with a couple of expensive gifts and awkward dinner parties where he didn’t even make the effort to see her, understand her. 

But, even if she wanted to say no, this wasn’t her house. Not really. 

It was her sister’s, and her mate’s. She was living there because they were kind enough to let her. Because they cared about her, yes, but that didn’t mean that sometimes, she wished she could have something that was entirely hers. 

Just hers. 

“Lucien is your friend, I don’t want you to not invite him because of me,” the words tasted wrong on the mouth, and the shadows slowly started gathering in the corners of the room, like steam from a boiling pot. 

“Are you sure?” Feyre’s face changed, glowing, “You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to, I don’t want to ruin your night.” 

“You won’t. It’s fine.” She tried to give her sister a smile. The truth was, at this point, after everything Feyre had done for her and their family, Elain was willing to do, to endure, absolutely anything for her sister. It was the least she could do. 

No sacrifice seemed great enough. Not after everything Feyre had lost, suffered through for them. For her. 

She could be an adult and enjoy one evening with Lucien. Put on a smile, pretend everything was perfect and delicious, and she was happy. Because she was happy. More than ever. She just had to remind herself that once the dinner party was over, and the guests went home, she could return to her little room, and maybe, just maybe, Azriel would be waiting for her. 

And if he was, she’d ask him to take her flying. 

Feyre threw her arms around her sister and kissed her temple. 

“Everyone is getting here in fifteen minutes.” Feyre stood up from the bed and walked towards the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.” 

Elain closed the door as soon as her sister left, and rested her forehead on the cool wood. She felt the spymaster presence at her back, his eyes piercing, his shadows surrounding the four walls of her rooms like he wanted to keep her there, all to himself.

“Did you know he was on the city?” She asked softly, turning around to see him standing right outside her dressing room. 

Azriel shook his head. 

“Rhys ordered me to take care of other business today,” he replied, his voice lethal, scarred hands curling into tight balls, shoulders tense. She approached him, and softly put the pads on her fingers in his hands, willing them to relax, to open up for her and let her in, hold her. 

“It’ll be okay.” 

“I can’t stand it,” he groaned. “I can’t stand the way he looks at you. The smell—“ Azriel took her hands into his, closing his fingers around hers tight, the muscle on his jaw flexing. 

“It’s not easy for me either.” 

“Then let’s not go,” he looked at her like he wanted to whisk her away, show her everything, run and run until no one knew who they were. "Let's go somewhere else, just you and me."

“Az…” His name sounded so charged coming from her lips, like a prayer, a promise, the sweetest of secrets, something she only said when it was the two of them, alone. “We can’t.” 

He let out a long sigh, and rested his chin on top of her head. 

“Don’t ask me to be nice, then,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to.” 

“Good.” 

————————————

this is going to be a 3 part little one shot so enjoy &lt;3

[maitadori]

WEAK WILLED CLOUD KNIGHT pt 4 (?) sfw blade x fem!cloud knight!reader

word count : 2.6k

masterlist

summary : blade is indulging in your affection like usual before a certain general decides to come in and ruin his entire day, he contemplates panting the wall in his blood.

content / cw : suggestive, blade is insatiable, ok i tried not to make smut and i succeeded but there are a few nsfw things in here, but it’s mostly blades thoughts ok guys plz forgive me, fluff, blade is whipped and in love.

a/n : in honor of hitting 500 followers already almost 600 i made part 4. also this is shorter than i thought damn

ALSO IF U ASKED TO BE ADDED TO THE CLOUD KNIGHT TAGLIST AND I DIDNT ADD U PLZ LET ME KNOW

DARK CONTENT BLOGS PLZ DNI !!!

blade had made it ritual to visit whenever he could. which were few in between due to his work. it required him to travel to extensive lengths of time. luckily, he wasn't deployed on every mission so he took those as opportunities to come and see you.

it was a joyful horny experience everytime. maybe you couldn't go out on public dates due to luofu's people still seeing blade as a criminal, but blade liked to think he was a homebody.

blade indulged you and your silly activities, just to see that glittering smile on your face.

though there were definitely moments for other activities too. blade couldn't help the fact that you were so attractive and his. he was insatiable. not to mention the fact that sometimes you'd spend weeks if not a month without seeing each other.

texting was nice, but it was nothing compared to the sweet sound of your voice and the soft feel of your touch.

just seeing you and that stupid, sweet smile of yours had him wanting to rip your clothes to shreds and ravage you. but now you insisted that he bake with you for the moment, and you'd let him do whatever he wanted with you later.

"please! i've been meaning to make brownies this week, but i've been swept up with my knight duties, and it’s perfect because we can do it together!”

blade wanted to protest and take you to the bed, but you complained that sex was all he wanted from you and he was determined to prove you wrong (he couldn't help that you looked so sexy just breathing, he was truly and exceptionally wrapped around your finger). he also couldn't deny how cute you looked in your apron.

"if you insist."

at his defeat you bounced on the balls of your feet, and eyes shining as you say, "wear an apron with me?"

"don't push it."

you could only giggle at the perturbed look on his face.

"please? i'll even wear only this in bed later," your lips curled slyly as you caught the intrigued expression he adorned.

he sighed, grabbing the spare apron you offered, "you drive a hard bargain."

“i knew you’d be convinced by that, perv,” your expression is angry, but blade notices you trying to fight off a smile.

you got started and he could only follow you around the kitchen like a lost puppy, something he usually did when he had no idea how to go about something.

you took out ingredients required for the brownies, and it looked like you were going simple style with the boxed brownies.

when he eyed it you perked up, “sushang recommended this to me. said it might make me consider never making homemade brownies ever again— which i highly doubt,” you muttered, setting everything on the counter.

“she also suggested adding caramel, i forgot to grab it at the market so we’ll have to go homemade. can you help me with it?” you smiled guiltily, as if he didn’t willingly agree to give his hand in the kitchen.

although he nods, he still says, “but i don’t know how to make it.”

“it’s okay, i’ll help!”

the next twenty minutes fly by as you put the brownies in the oven and help blade stir the warm caramel. he has a wooden spoon in his grip as he slowly stirs like you advised, he’s holding it oddly but it’s so endearing that you don’t mention it.

“taste test!” you exclaim. for the past fifteen minutes you put your hand over blade’s to lift the wooden spoon from the pan and swipe a stripe of caramel to taste for yourself, saying it’s to review its quality.

but this time blade swipes some up for himself, holding his finger to your lips and opening his mouth in an “ah” to gesture you to do the same.

you open your mouth with little hesitation, tongue somewhat hanging out past your lips as his finger nears your lips.

you suck on his finger to assure that all of the sticky sweetness transfers to your tongue, unaware of his dark gaze leering on you. blade has half the mind to bend you over the counter but is reminded of your earlier words.

so he lets you look up at him through your lashes, watches you pull away with a sweet smile as you compliment the taste, and praise him for his work. he lets all of it occur with thoughts that a priest would combust at.

your lips look plump and glossy from your saliva, he’s sure he can get away with taking just your lips for now. so he puts a hand to your cheek, rubbing your face delicately with his thumb— a stark contrast to his desires— and he leans in.

your pupils shrink a bit at the decrease in proximity but then you remember how much blade must be holding back and happily think that this can be his little reward.

but a sudden knocking on the door has you both pulling apart. you turn towards the door with a mutter of, i wonder who would come by at this time… before you turn to blade with a sympathetic smile.

“watch the caramel for me while i answer?”

he nods in affirmation and you’re off. his focus goes back to the pot with an angry grumble towards whoever decided to interrupt him.

“who is it?” you ask, scolding your house for not having a peephole.

“might i come in?” a familiar baritone voice comes muffled from behind the door.

“general?” you don’t ask anything more, opening the door to see his tall figure standing over you, a smile on his lips.

“what’re you doing here?”

“just thought i’d come visit, we haven’t had a conversation as just friends in awhile, hm?”

“i mean yeah but, today? i’m kind of busy.”

“blade won’t mind, right? mind if i come in?”

you’re stunned. how does he… you barely process anything before you’re instinctually stepping to the side as he walks in without waiting for your approval.

he surveys you, smiling at your stunned face.

“baking?”

“uh- oh! yeah… brownies,” you blink, still confused. “uhm are you here about work? did i not do something right or—”

jing yuan lifts his hand and cuts you off as he says, “nothing like that. i can’t miss a close friend? i promise that’s all this is, mere catching up. whenever i see you it’s always knight duties. don’t worry, i don’t intend on ruining your little date.”

he gets close and sets a heavy hand on the top of your head, rubbing slowly. you’re shocked at the sudden display of affection. but before you can question it, blade walks in, apron pristine— unlike yours— and wooden spoon dripping with caramel in hand. the sight of it has your mouth dry.

how can such a scary man be so cute?

everyone in the room is still and quiet, reasons all differing. you’re admiring, blade is questioning, and jing yuan is amused. and it isn’t long before blade’s expression turns dark, eyes glued to the hand on your head.

“blade? is the caramel done?”

“yeah, but you were taking awhile so i wanted to see what the hold up was. sorry for interrupting.” his tone is dripping with venom and you can’t help the shock that blankets your face.

“uh? what do you mean?”

but your question is answered when jing yuan takes his hand off your head and blade’s eyes follow the motion with dangerous intensity.

“oh! it’s not what you think!” you wave your hands, panicked, “i actually had no idea why he did that. uhm..” seeing as blade decided to have a one-sided glaring contest with jing yuan instead of listening, you don’t dare elaborate further, simply approaching blade to grab his hand.

“let’s go to the kitchen shall we? i’m sure general would love a brownie.” your tone is sheepish, looking at blade as your try dragging him to the kitchen.

under the scrutiny of your gaze, blade relents, making sure to let go of your hand in favor of placing it on your back. such a possessive action that he prays jing yuan takes note of.

luckily he does, but unfortunately, it’s not in the way blade wants. instead, jing yuan smirks.

blade holds back the bloodlust bubbling inside him and instead pulls you closer to him.

you get back to work on your goodies instantly, either unaware of the tense atmosphere or just ignoring it. whatever the reason, blade pays jing yuan no mind, watching you with rapt attention.

you’re carefully pouring the caramel into a glass measuring cup, or trying to.

“uh..” you struggle a bit balancing the hold of the pan and your hold on the cup. “can i get a little help over here please.”

blade sits up to make his way to you but stands back at the sight of jing yuan at your beck and call immediately. bile is rising up his throat at the sight of you both, and he can’t tell if the feeling in his chest comes from the pain of seeing you two so close or the terrifying urge to coat jing yuan in his own blood.

“ah i’m kind of embarrassed, i struggled so much with that little task and i’m a cloud knight,” you sighed pitifully, expression flustered.

jing yuan is quick to reassure you. “not to fret, a simple bump in the road, really. this has no correlation to your talent on the battlefield.”

your cheeks warm and you smile bashfully. “thank you, general.” hearing praise from someone you admired so gratefully was always nice.

“hey, we’re not working, no need to be so formal.”

“oh, if you say so… jing yuan.”

his smile is mischievous, something you don’t notice, but blade does. “that’s better.” his voice is suave and his eyes are full of amusement, even more so when his eyes clash with blade’s and he witnesses the fury that contorts his face.

“let’s check on the brownies, shall we? they should be about done.”

you agree, putting on your oven mitts to grab the pan from the oven. once they’re on a steady platform ready to cool, you turn to blade. you noticed his lack of presence near you, which was odd since he took any opportunity to be around you.

“blade?”

he looks up from the ground to stare at you and there’s something in his eyes that make you hesitate. is he upset with you? usually you’d ask but there was a guest and now wasn’t really the time.

“decorate the brownies with me?”

he mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch. his face looks upset and you’re afraid it might be directed towards you. “o-or not,” you stammer, scratching your cheek nervously but blade isn’t having it.

“i’ll decorate with you.” he notices the fall in your expression immediately and approaches you, admiring the glow in your eyes as you smile at him in relief.

blade shoves jing yuan away from you just for peace of mind, it wasn’t necessary but it quelled the pang in blade’s stomach just a little.

both you and jing yuan’s eyes are wide with shock, but you blink and brush it off, knowing now wasn’t an appropriate time to confront blade. jing yuan smirks, something neither you or blade catch.

blade cuts the brownies into equal squares before you’re plating in a neat way them and drizzling the caramel on top. jing yuan notices the fondness in blade’s eyes as he watches you work and ramble at the same time. and watches as you bring a brownie to blade’s lips, mimicking the “ah” with your lips as you feed him. you’re giggling and talking about something that doesn’t really require attention, but blade’s expression is open and intrigued, listening and watching you with his all.

jing yuan crosses his arms and leans against the counter, smiling at the absolute love for you that drips off of blade. he was so insanely whipped that jing yuan almost felt bad for his teasing.

but he just loved the anger that would cross blade’s expression, and the struggle he goes through as he questions saying anything.

his thoughts are cut off as you call his name, “do you want to try one?”

“of course, you made it after all.”

you flushed, unsure of where all these sudden compliments were coming from. you weren’t opposed to it per se, but it was unusual and definitely odd for him.

blade’s face twitched.

you picked a brownie from the plate, careful to not let the caramel touch your fingers.

“you’ll feed me too, right?”

huh!?

you stop in shock, brownie in hand, ready to approach him. your eyes trail to blade hoping to make eye contact with him, only to see him glaring at jing yuan with an anger you’ve never seen before.

“t-that’s not…” appropriate, would’ve been your words, but your general assured you, “i’m only kidding.”

you smile sheepishly, unsure how to go about his joke. so you try to let go of his words as you approach him. but the world must be forsaking you, for your foot catches on blade’s shoe and before you know it you’re falling to the ground extremely fast.

jing yuan’s reflexes has him catching you quickly, arm secured around you to ensure your safety.

“careful now.”

“thank you so much, jing yuan. that would’ve been humiliating, aha..”

you both don’t notice the veins that pop on blade’s forehead as he clutches his hands into fists with a strength that has his knuckles paling.

blade eyes the hand on your waist with disdain.

he has to convince his conscience that he rather you not fall.

blade survives the last ten minutes of jing yuan’s visit to the best of his abilities. watching him approach the door with a relief that is unfamiliar to him. jing yuan turns the knob, looking at you to try and spark one last conversation.

but blade’s decided that he’s had enough as he opens the door wider and shoves jing yuan out with hostility.

“you’ve overstayed your welcome. don’t come back,” are the words that leave his lips before he’s slamming the door in jing yuan’s face. once that’s over, his shoulders sag and he finally looks calm.

you blink up at him, confused and shocked, “blade? is there something wrong? you’ve been off since the general arrived.” you don’t mention what just happened.

instead of answering you directly, he wraps his arms around you, shoving his face in your neck as he breathes you in.

“never invite him over again.” he whispers, grip strong and warm.

“what’s wrong? i’ve never seen you look so angry.”

“that damned general.”

you’re still confused. but as you sift through the events of today in your head and remember all of the expressions blade directed towards your general, it’s like a light bulb pops off in your head.

“were you jealous?” you’re smirking, and blade decides this is an expression he doesn’t like.

“why wouldn’t i be? you wouldn’t like it if a woman offered to feed me and rub and pat my head while she compliments me, would you?”

you blink, placing yourself in blade’s position as you reenact the scenes in your head.

“y-you’re right..” you stammer, “i would not like that, but,” you turn your head towards blade with a soft, lovely heart stopping smile, “you don’t have to worry about other people. i’m yours, aren’t i?”

his eyes widen and he can’t deny the increase of his heart pace. a small red colors his cheeks and you revel in the fact that you made him of all people blush.

“you are. and i’m yours.” his lips are caressing your face, nearing your lips as he whispers.

“i’m never indulging you like that again…” your voice is quiet as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“are you sure? because i know of other ways you can indulge me,” he’s kissing your cheek, hand playing with the seams of your shirt as his fingers peek under with the promise of more.

you mimic his words from earlier and say, “you drive a hard bargain.” and he smirks.

taglist : @annathea-annoona @caesadele @justgiulia @yur1a @strawberry1894 @shrimp-anon @heartswonder @hunnie-lily (hi i saw ur ask and i promise i’m writing it, in the meantime here u go pooka)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Fans Confused After Alison Victoria Lists ‘Dream Home’ For Sale. Wait. Her GA loft didn't sell, and she was supposed to be selling that to finance a new place in the Cabbagetown section of Chicago. Now, I'm confused, too. Anyway, this is an ugly ass building. The 4bd, 3.5ba, property is listed for $3.5M. Let's have a look (if you recall, Alison is the designer who did the "Ugliest House" I posted yesterday.)

Victoria worked to transform her office space into a residential home, which she envisioned as “the biggest, the baddest, the sexiest live-work dream home I could ever imagine.”

Although she’s called it her “Dream Home” home for several months now, fans online noticed that Victoria is quietly planning to part ways with her live-work space. What is going on?

She has posted photos from her dream home as recently as April 9, just before the building hit the real estate market. Well, I like the muted green chairs and planters. The floor is reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland.

One fan brought the home’s listing to an HGTV fan community on Reddit, where other users chimed in with their thoughts about the sale. (I'm an avid Redditor.)

“I thought she was building this to be her dream home/workspace? Or was this always to sell right away?” one fan wondered, with another guessing in response, “In reality it was always just content for her show.”

So, that's just a mantel with candles, then.

“I don’t think many people would be interested in buying this but it might work for someone who has a business and can live on the premises like what she claimed it was intended for," said another fan.

"I think more than likely it would be an event space esp for a wedding w/the option to stay overnight," said a 3rd fan.

Interesting wall with the big niche for decor, oven and 2 wine fridges.

One user pointed out in the comments, “There are no windows! I’d go crazy ! No, the sky lights not enough." Yeah, it's like an underground house.

Shoot, no matter how nice it is, I like the lighted shelving, no windows is a deal breaker. I'd feel imprisoned.

Interesting en-suite.

“The closets are full of clothes and shoes. Not staged stuff, real stuff," said a fan.

Nice little home theater lobby with a snack counter.

This is it? I was expecting a home theater, not a TV room.

Interesting light strand in the powder room.

Long hall to the wide industrial stairs.

One of the other bedrooms. I can't deal with just skylights, I gotta see what the weather's like and all.

One of the other baths. My love of floating sinks is kind of leery of something this big. I feel like it would break loose eventually.

"The mudroom looks like it has a little kid's jackets or maybe they’re just tiny women’s jackets. regardless, it looks like Alison or a family is living there. Interesting,” another fan pointed out.

Exercise depresses me enough, let alone doing it in this room.

I'm gonna say that this is the work area, where the team gathers to discuss design. Interesting that this is the area that has the windows.

The garages in the back of the building.

I'm no designer, but this building wouldn't have appealed to me as a home/work space. I would look for an end unit with more windows.

https://heavy.com/entertainment/hgtv/alison-victoria-lists-dream-home-sale/

https://www.coldwellbankerhomes.com/il/chicago/2733-n-pulaski-rd/pid_58881660/

[kiatheinsomniac]

──── 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: a commission from the wonderful @magical-warlock who is always a pleasure to work with!! 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Kassandra of Sparta x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: canon-typical depictions of violence and injury

You check on the bread in the fire oven to watch it steadily rise, seeing how it bubbles up towards the sky and begins to toast golden, covered in some aromatic herbs that you know will go excellently with the dips that you have already prepared in the kitchen, covered by a cloth to protect them from any stray insects that might find their way into your home while your attention is elsewhere. The weather has warmed significantly as of late and so you don’t really have it in you to work over a hot stove for long and cook with whatever meal you would have going in the pot or pan. Today, dinner would just be bread with an assortment of meats, cheeses and fruits - you had not the energy for much else with the hot weather making the air hang heavily all about you, making your moves slower, sluggish, sweat glistening upon your skin. 

You make your way over to the basin in order to dip your hands into the water, rubbing its coolness over your wrists, chest and the back of your neck in an attempt to cool your body. Oh, how you couldn’t wait for this heatwave to pass over so that the weather can return to its habitual state. You could only pray to Apollo and Helios that they would soon show mercy but in the meantime you praise Artemis and Selene for the kindness and reprieve of their feminine and silvery moonlight as opposed to their counterparts whose sunlight beat down on you like the brunt of a mighty warrior’s shield. 

You hum a little tune to yourself as you work around the kitchen, preparing food for when you know your sweetheart will be done with her contracts. You used to worry for her safety but Kassandra is the toughest woman you know: she stands for no disrespect, she’s built like an Olympic champion. You hope that her skills will one day get the two of you off this island once she has saved up the money or made the right connections. The two of you whisper about it at night beneath Nyx’s blanket of stars, the glittering stars of her creations the only witnesses to the fantasies that you share between your lips. She promises that she will give you the life you deserve, beyond the limited borders of Kephallonia, that she will get a boat large enough for the two of you to sail to the mainland on. She will buy land and you will tend to it while she works on contract to bring home money to you, eager always to come home to her beloved wife; for she promises the two of you will marry and all the Gods shall bear witness and drink to your union. 

You smile fondly to yourself as you recall the memory, the sounds of crickets chirping in the nearby foliage, the soft crashing of waves on the local shore of the island, the salt carried in the breeze. You wonder if you will one day live so far inland with your love that you will smell the spring blossoms more so than sea salt, that Persephone’s return will fill the air more than Posideon’s rule. 

Kephallonia’s statue of Zeus is mighty but you have heard travelling merchants talk of temples upon great mountains; to Athena, to Aphrodite, to Apollo. You gaze upon the blue sails of Athenian ships and you wonder just how busy the city of scholars may be, you wonder what Sparta’s wall-free borders must look like from a distance. You think of exploring markets with your love, with Kassandra, knowing that no matter where you are, no matter where you go, you will feel hope so long as you can hold her hand, feel your fingertips caress her callouses as she squeezes your palm and fingers in return. So long as she is by your side, you know that she and her glinting, broken spear shall defend your life.

You have known that spear for as long as you have known Kassandra as the two of them are inseparable – she even sleeps with it upon the bedside table. You have joked time and time again that it will soon fuse with her palm if she does not allow herself a break from time to time. That is something you often worry about when it comes to the woman who has possessed your heart: Kassandra is an incredible fighter, the best you have ever seen – you’d put drachmae on it – but she didn’t know when to rest at times. You do not worry that she will be outmatched but you do worry that she will walk into a fight disadvantaged by fatigue, thirst or hunger. It is why you do your best to assure that you keep her well-fed and rested whenever you can, to entice her to stay longer with food, gifts, open arms and the warm embraces they can give. She is determined to leave and create a better future for the two of you but that future cannot exist if she works herself to death before it can be realised. 

Once more, you wander over to the oven in order to check on the bread, covered in aromatic herbs and turning a beautiful gold beneath the fire. Everything else is ready and waiting in the kitchen, as are you, for Kassandra’s return. You close your eyes and a smile dances gently upon your lips as you think of your love, of the lives ahead of you beyond the shores of this little island. It’s always wonderful when your misthios comes home. She always has a smile on her face as she shows you the drachma she’s made. You both pour over how it brings you a little closer to the mainland, a little further from Kephallonia and you’d enjoy seeing her muscles unwind and relax as she sat down and ate with her. This is the image you have in your mind when you hear footsteps approaching the door. 

But the little fantasy of your habitual domestic life is shattered when she’s leaning on the doorframe for support and there’s blood all over her.

“Kass!” You lunge forwards to help catch her, looking over her shoulder to assure that she hasn’t been followed; though, deep down, you know that she never would have come home if she knew that she had enemies on her tail, even if she were in a worse condition than she already is. It had happened only once and she swore to you that she would ascertain it would never ever happen again. “What happened?! Come, sit!” You find yourself panicking but try to get a hold of yourself. Your other half is the one who’s strong for you all the time but now it’s your turn to be strong for her. 

“They brought a lot more friends with them than I had thought.” She winces as she takes a seat. You could wash up the pillows later but for now you had to stop the healing and get her cleaned up. You keep a box of medical supplies for the instance in which this very situation comes to be. You take out strips of fabric to use as bandages and add pressure and you bring the basin over to the table nearby Kassandra so that you can begin cleaning away some of the half-dried blood in order to get a better look at what you’re working with. 

But her armour was in the way and so you began to pull at the straps and buckles methodically to cast it all aside. The metal rattles against the hard surface of the floor as it piles up; like the pillows, it too will need to be cleaned later. “So eager to undress me, γλυκιά μου (my sweet)~” She flirts and you can only return her bloodied smile with a half-hearted glare. How can she joke in a time like this when you’re fretting over her health? She only gives a little laugh at your sharp look and, as much as you had been angry a moment before, it calms you down. If she’s alright enough to make jokes then you don’t need to worry so much and, instead of panicking, you can carefully focus on tending to the misthios who has stolen your heart.

The faintest of smiles ghosts across your lips that had previously been curled down in an anxious frown, quivering with worry for Kassandra. She knows you better than anyone else who walks the world – she knew that some humour would make you relax, would make you realise that you could calm down and approach this with a much more level-headed manner. She trusts you with her life, she trusts you to nurse her back to health so long as she can drag herself to your doorstep. You endeavour to prove that her trust in you and your abilities is not misplaced. 

You begin by wetting a clean cloth and trying to wipe away the dried blood from her olive skin, already littered with scars that spoke of her history like the etching of legends upon stone tablets. Her muscles glimmer with the water-thinned blood as you diligently clean her up. Once you determine that her wounds are no longer bleeding as much as they initially must have been, you set to mixing up a balm with some ingredients that you have on hand in order to help the healing process. You apply the sticky honey mixture to her wounds and then wrap them in bandages to keep them clean. 

Your anxiety completely dissolves as you walk through this process with her and she looks at you with the warmest brown eyes you have ever bore witness to. As you kneel by her side, wrapping her bicep in bandages, your head dips down to sweetly kiss a large scar that runs over her shoulder. As you tie off the bandage, you lift her forearm to your lips to kiss yet another scar there. You reach for another bandage but are stopped by Kassandra’s alloused and worn palm upon your soft cheek, turning your head so that she can take in your face. 

You must be her very own Hellen of Troy, she decided long ago when she first met you. Kassandra sees you as a blessing from Aphrodite herself who surely must have sculpted you in her image so that you can walk this world as a testament to the existence of the goddess of beauty, only able to exist thanks to her divine hands. Now, the roughened pad of her thumb tugs gently at your pillowy bottom lip, feeling the warmth of the mouth that had just pressed the tenderest kisses to her peach-coloured scars. 

What did she do to deserve such a thing as sweet and beautiful as you in her life? What had she done that the gods had decided to usher you into her life as a gift of the divine, a sample of ambrosia in this mortal world? The corner of her scarred lips quirk up into a smile and your eyes flit between hers as you try to figure out what’s going on in her head. Kassandra then leans in and kisses you lightly, almost experimentally. She treats you like you could crumble to dust should she be too harsh on you. But once her anxieties seem to quell, she pressed her mouth to yours with much more surety and kisses you in a way that gives you just the briefest glimpse of the bottomless well of passion she harbours in her heart for you. 

You pull away by only a few inches afterwards, your warm breaths mingling, Kassandra’s eyes glued still to your mouth, wanting your lips swollen gently with her kisses so that she can leave a lasting part of herself upon you if only to be able to say that she was lucky enough to be born in the same era of one so brilliant as you who had stolen her heart right from the vault of her chest. You can’t help the soft giggle that slips past those very lips her eyes are fixed upon. You will yourself to pull away so that you can continue to patch up your lover. 

When you are done securing her in honeyed balm and clean bandages, you strip the pillows of their cases and begin heating up water in the kitchen so that you can clean them. Her armour can be cleaned and polished in the morning, you haven’t the energy to do that tonight too. 

“Come, I was preparing dinner before you arrived.” You beckon your misthios into the kitchen where the bread is finished baking and has now cooled and you have a variety of cured meats and some cheese with sliced fruits and a salad prepared. Again, it is not the most extravagant meal but the heat of the season has made you more lethargic than usual and so you didn’t have it in you to cook over the searing heat of a fire. 

Kassandra sits right by your side, her toned thigh pressed to yours beneath the table as she begins picking at the food you’ve prepared. It might not be a full-on meal but she’s beyond thankful for anything you make for her, especially after the day she’s had and how incredibly you’ve just handled patching her up after she stumbled through the door so wounded. You’re the beat in her heart, the breath in her lungs, the very electricity dancing through her every nerve and she might survive without you but she knows she could never live. 

She recounts her day to you and your heart stutters as she gets to where she suddenly realised how outnumbered she was. She managed to get away – as you know with having her sitting and telling her tale to you over dinner – but she hadn’t got rid of them all and so she wanted to see you on your guard when she is to go out in the days to come in order to eradicate the loose ends of her contract so that she can collect her money, your money, she insists as everything of hers is yours. 

She watches you with enamoured eyes as you clean up after the two of you, like you so often do. She rises from her seat as you finish up and tucks some hair behind your ear, pressing her lips to your forehead. 

“Go relax for a while, γλυκιά μου (my sweet).” She insists, her words mumbled against your brow as her nose nudges against you and her hands gently caress the swells of your hips beneath her palms. “I’ll run you a bath, you deserve it. Let me look after you now, alright?” Your brow furrows slightly as she pulls away a little to look down at you part your lips to protest – Kassandra is the wounded one, not you. Her finger presses to your mouth. “Shh. Let me pamper you? It’ll make me happy to care for you as you’ve done for me; as you’ve always done for me.” You release the softest of sighs. 

“Very well. Don’t strain yourself though, ok?” She affirms your condition with a nod of her head and you go to relax in bed for a while, curling up on your side. You can hear Kassandra moving around to prepare your bath for you, water sloshing and drowning out the more distant sound of the waves crashing upon the nearby coastline of the island. The scent of lavender faintly wafts into your nostrils as you lay with your head upon the plush pillow, your arms tucked under it to cradle it around your head as you lay on your belly with your body turned slightly to one side. You face the door so that you can watch your lover when she walks through it to fetch you. 

You had been terribly worried when you saw her covered in half-dried blood as she staggered through the door and, in the moment, you hadn’t realised just how much you were panicking until you looked back on it now. But you have patched her up, shared a meal with her, are now relaxing in the bed you share while she returns the favour and draws a bath for you. After a short while, you hear her footsteps patter into the room and she perches on the edge of the bed next to you, her weight making the mattress sink down. 

The misthios leans down over you and presses her lips tenderly to your forehead, beginning to pepper kisses in trails like waterfalls from your temples down to your cheeks, keeping an even balance on either side of your face: first the left and then the right. The corners of your mouth tug up into a smile as your eyes slip closed and you simply enjoy the feeling of her soft, scar-dissected lips pressing to your skin, her breath fanning over your face in gentle exhales. Her fingertips dance across the curve of your jaw, so gentle it almost tickles and you feel one of her arms slide behind your knees. Her other strong arm works its way beneath your shoulders and you let out a breathy laugh as she hoists you up in her arms. 

Kassandra knows you’re strong and capable enough to manage yourself but she always loved to show you that you should never need to use those capabilities of yours, that she will always be there for you. Never again would she allow a situation to come to be wherein you need to defend herself without her there standing in front of you to protect you. Her hands glide over your body to unfasten your clothes, letting them pool in a puddle around your feet. She spends a moment grazing her fingers across your skin as though it were the finest foreign silk or velvet that she had ever been given the privilege of feeling. Her lips graze across the slopes of your shoulders as her hands caress the plains of your waist. You feel the warmth of her muscular body press to your back for a while and her nose nudges against your neck, her breath and eyelashes tickling you slightly. 

“I love you…” She breathes out, unsure what else to say. The words cannot quite carry the weight of her emotions, taking only a small portion of them and carrying them over to you but she cannot find a single comprehensible way of phrasing just what you stir up in her. She does not think that any set of words in her vocabulary can possibly be strung together in a way that can contain her love for you. 

She pulls a stool up beside the bathtub and helps you ease into the warm water. The heat soothes your muscles and melts away much of the tension that you hadn’t realised you were still carrying in your body. Kassandra coaxes you to lay back in the water, hair fanning about in tendrils around your head and framing you like a halo. The word ‘smitten’ does not quite describe how she looks at you. She looks as though you are the sun Helios pulls across the sky, the moon Selene draws across the night, the stars Nyx cast into the sky, the Spring beauty announcing Persephone’s return to her mother. She cannot picture a greater beauty for her mortal eyes to lay upon in this realm. 

Delicately, she wets your hair and caresses her fingers across your scalp, massaging in nourishing oils and layering your hair in soaps. Consistently, she plants kisses across your face and smiles down at you. Kassandra leads a life that is full of action and violence; so long as she has a contract, her days are fast-paced and with little rest. That is, right up until she comes home to you. The moment you are in her vicinity, life slows right down and it seems she is finally able to catch up and catch her breath. You are her sanctuary and should anything fatal ever befall you, the Greek world shall see Kassandra possessed by Nemesis herself to see that your justice is realised. 

Her calloused fingers smooth over wet, scarred skin just beneath your right collarbone. It was the sort of scar that would never fade, that would persistently push the misthios to assure your safety. She was careful today in making sure she would not be followed home but it was a behaviour she had learned as a result of her past mistake. Once in the past, she had not been so careful and as you tried to assess her wounds, the door had been broken in by those who had harmed Kassandra. She had watched in awe as you took up a spear and shield that your lover had previously only thought of as being for display right up until those men were sent running, stumbling over their feet due to their injuries. It was the one time that you had defended Kassandra against danger and not the other way around and she would never forget it. 

Her throat tightens slightly as she recalls how the spear sank into your chest and in that split second when she couldn’t quite see where you had been hit, she worried that your heart had been pierced, her heart, the one you had given her. Thankfully, you had managed to put enough distance between yourself and the assailant that it didn’t go right through you but the scar was deep, prominent and the wound had wept with great amounts of blood. Kassandra could not recall a time in her life that the coppery smell had ever made her feel as ill as it did when she worried she was about to lose you, her other half. 

Now, she leans down and presses her lips to the wound in the most passionate of kisses, her soft mouth pouring her love over your marred skin. She swallows hard as she withdraws slowly, so overwhelmed by the feelings you stir up within her that she’s beyond sure Eros has shot arrow upon arrow into her back in order to possess her with the profoundest love she has for you. 

“So many legends are full of lovesick fools,” She begins in a quiet but sincere voice, “and I once sneered at them for their stupidity. But now I understand. I’d go to the Underworld for you, I’d launch a thousand ships for you, I’d face the trials of Psyche. I could say I’d die for you but I’d rather live for you.” A smile and a little giggle plays upon your lips as she pours her heart out to you like this. You reach your fingers out of the water and stroke some of her hair behind her ear, wetting it in the process just so you can get a better look at her sun kissed face. 

“When did you become a poet, hm?” You muse. 

“You bring it out in me.” She returns your smile and leans in so that your breaths mingle once more. Your other hand reaches out of the water so that you cup her jaw in one palm while the other rests at the nape of her neck, keeping her close to you. Meanwhile her palm has pressed over your scar from the spear while the other is cupping your cheek, the pad of her roughened thumb caressing over your soft skin in the tenderest of touches. 

“I love you.” Your words fall out on a breath, barely above the volume of a whisper. 

“I love you doesn’t even begin to cover it.” She flashes you that smile which makes your heart stutter and your belly fill with butterflies every time as she pulls you in closer and your lips melt into a warm and sweet kiss. You yearn for this moment to last forever and yet you cannot wait to tend to her all day tomorrow so that she can heal and the two of you, hand in hand, can take another step closer to the life that you will have beyond the borders of this island. 

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[oh-saints]

sweetest devotion (p.4)

mason really should've listened what his sister had been saying all this time, that not everyone is what they seem...

playboy!mason x princess!OC

tw: as mentioned in the masterlist only, but particularly extramarital affair to a marriage of convenience AND VIOLENCE in this chapter

wc: 2.1k

note: as i've promised previously, here's some happ(ier) stuff for you guys! hope you like them! but as usual, i happen to write at dawn so this is not beta-read yet.

tags: @pingyu-in-wonderland @ironmaiden1313 @myreveriie<3 (lmk if you wanna be added!)

part 3 - part 5

sweetest devotion masterlist here

please don’t be late for the banquet.

was the last thing elena saw flashing from mason’s phone.

mason had never voiced out his inner frustration towards this whole one big mess they—including serena—were involved in, but elena knew better than the deep, resigned sighs mason let out just now. or every time he’d gotten a glimpse of serena’s name from his phone, which was rather often due to her tenacity to keep posting about her whereabout. or whenever someone brought up the sore topic of his (faux) marriage.

it still irked her that she still couldn’t have mason entirely, body and soul, despite living together for almost a season now. despite having him physically by her side almost 24/7, except on days he had to leave for practices and matches. now she had to have him apart for the formal banquet at the embassy of eldorra, as a consequence of marrying the country’s only princess.

I know, I know, elena groaned inwardly. it was only a night, but elena had to see pictures of mason and serena being a couple everyone dreams of plastered all over the news and social media posts by tomorrow morning. it might not be the married couple’s intention but surely the palace would love to blast how wonderful their marriage turned out to be, fanning the “ridiculous” gossips of the couple nobody saw coming. aka the bun in the oven.

elena couldn’t take it—heck, she never could. she would always play hard to get, yes, but it was solely for mason’s eyes. she’d never guess it’d backfire on herself, playing the jealousy card.

the mere thoughts of people fawning over their visuals would already drive her insane because she knew—god, did she know—that elena and mason would’ve smashed every other visual couples. she was a model, for god’s sake, and he was the teenage-heartthrob footballer.

the temptation to just wreck the banquet was already sitting on top of elena’s head, if it wasn’t for the fact that her career she’d so hard been building was at stake. because no matter what, she was up against a princess, a monarchy figure loved by her people, a respectable woman in the eyes of the world. of course elena would be the one everyone would throw tomatoes at, should she come out and expose the real deal.

heck, she couldn’t even tell a single soul because of it. no matter how supportive her friends are, elena would be on the short end of the sticks. they’d call out elena a crazy lady and tell her to stop deluding herself because her ex—from their point of view—was no longer available in the market. that elena was taking her grief and regret of losing mason way too harsh.

“don’t go,” elena would always beg him to stay behind, whenever mason was walking out of the door towards serena’s direction. be it picking up his fresh set of clothes—for whatever reason elena could never understand because he could’ve moved in all his stuffs—or be it for his monthly baby check-up.

tonight was no exception.

and mason would always answer, “you know I’ll be back soon, baby.”

but what if he never did? would elena still be able to stand time and place in this lifetime?

fuck’s sake, elena sobbed in frustration that she almost threw mason’s favourite choice of liquor from her hand to the nearest wall. what did she do to deserve this?

right, you broke mason’s heart and led him to serena.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

mason would be lying if he said his jaw didn’t fall onto the floor the moment serena stepped out of her room—his old guest room, mostly occupied by ben chilwell whenever he was over at mason’s—wearing a floor length tulle gown. one he’d recognised from the latest collection of the palace’s favourite designer, ellie saab.

serena, magically without even touching him, had no problem making his acting job tonight go smooth as silk.

call him shallow for all he cared, mason could feel his withstanding great wall of china he’d built around himself crumbling apart at the sight. and that should only mean a big fat red flag for him because he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. especially after the insane stunt she pulled weeks ago, endangering herself, the baby, and the identity of their fake marriage the moment she went down to Portsmouth to be by his mother’s side.

but how could he, when the room’s attention shifted to wherever serena went, that he had no choice but to aggravate his own towards his wife, who was now talking to the eldorran ambassador for the UK like they were good friends and not a princess and one of her subjects?

how could he not feel all these supposedly forbidden things when he watched her effortlessly forced everyone else in the room to keep up with her knowledge?

how could he not feel all these supposedly prohibited things when he watched her interacting with several little eldorrans like they were her own children, while looking so magnificently striking without even trying?

a total 180 degrees contrast to her usual garb of either smart pants or loungewear with cardigan wrapped around her. her hair was now clipped neatly into an updo, her make up was rather clean for a formal banquet but still had a dramatic effect around her eyes. her jewelleries could also be considered simple for the title she was bearing.

despite his description on serena going rather humble for her extravagant upbringing, mason had never seen someone who exuded an aura so… composedly dignified. regal. royal. despite his proud acclamation that he had always loved it when a woman knows how to carry herself well, no one was a worthy match to serena thermopolis of eldorra.

it was only then did he realise—again—that he had, indeed, married a princess all along.

the person who was usually silent while busily writing down her recipes and diaries colourfully on his kitchen counter—only talking whenever he asked her a question or whenever she wanted to report her whereabouts or whenever the baby’s concerned. even then, she’d cut down her replies to no more than 10 words in a sentence—was no more than an exterior she’d only put up whenever she was around.

slowly things dawned on him, especially scenes from weeks ago at the hospital. she certainly wasn’t silent if she could get along with his family.

“how are you settling into the married life, your highness?”

her smile was still plastered in her face prettily, albeit the strained edges of her eyes. “I have a wonderful husband right here,” as if on cue, mason stepped in closer to her and held her gently by the waist. they weren’t supposed to show affections in public but for some unbeknownst reason, mason wanted to. “I think it’s rather how he’s settling into the married life with me.”

was this how serena had always been, witty underneath the cold, calm beauty?

“we can’t actually believe it at first, the calm princess got married before her brothers,” another one spoke up, and mason could feel serena tensing at the implied gossip around the ton. in some fucked up way, it reminded him of the time they shared a ride home from Portsmouth, when she was left frozen at the sight mason losing his head.

was she scared of him?

“when you know a princess loves you with all her heart,” mason instinctively took the wheel, silently thanking heavens he paid attention to the short course on media play and handling Chelsea had prepared for their players. “what’s stopping you to marry her?”

while mason titled his head down to spare serena a glance, the woman’s vision remained locked to the honourable guests in front of her, a smaller smile etched on her face this time.

was he that blind to her being afraid of him?

or was it something else that he did?

who is serena thermapolis, anyway?

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

mason couldn’t sleep afterwards. he’d trashed left and right to find a comfortable position or a cold surface of his sheet, he’d woken up every one or two hours on top of that.

unfortunately, mason knew it was not because of the ethereal sight of his wife cascading throughout the ballroom, impressing and charming everyone else while also impressing mason at her ability to divert the guests’ piqued curiosity of their marriage.

it was because it had been a while since the last time he’d occupied his bed. funny how he said his bed this time around, as if he’d gone back to Portsmouth and his mother told him his old bedroom was still available for him.

but as extreme urgent poundings grazed his door before he could drift himself to sleep, mason had never felt so lucky to be sleepless.

he immediately jumped off the bed, thinking nothing but grabbing his phone to call the police. he’d pressed the device already to his ear, ready to rant off about the intruder to his house. “serena?”

he called for his wife-on-paper not to make sure if it was her crazy antics, but it was because he wanted to make sure she was safe instead. and when his calls were only met by silence, he’d never dashed off for the stairs faster than that instance.

however, it turned out it was rather mason’s problem not catching on her voice. firstly because her room was downstairs, secondly because it slipped his mind that serena had never been brought up to raise her voice. because she was already standing at the doorframe, facing whoever had the lunatic guts to disturb his home so late into the night.

mason ran faster towards her direction because there was no way she was facing a criminal on her own, without protection or safety gears or whatsoever, as if it was her friends coming over to surprise her at midnight. “serena!”

but before he could reach her, serena had flown all the way across the porch from a well-placed, strong punch. before he could process what was happening, serena had sat up, holding her face with a hand while her other hand was holding her weight.

“what else do you want?”

before he could ask what she meant by that, a familiar figure launched herself towards serena like a tiger pouncing on her prey. “I told you before to leave mase alone!”

elena?

“and I will tell you over and over again to leave mase alone!”

mason couldn’t believe the scene unravelling before his very own eyes. like soap operas, the hidden lover kept hitting on the wife set up for him—grabbing the pregnant woman by the hair, launching slaps on her face, shoved her to the ground brutally while throwing cuss words at here every time the mistress relented her anger towards her.

was this what it felt like, when his favourite actor played out a scene where he died out other noises and people and surroundings because he couldn’t think anymore?

after what felt like an eternity, the scene where elena kicked a crouching serena, left and right endlessly, was what snapped him back to reality. that’s a pregnant lady, for god’s sake!

“leave,” mason stepped in between the two ladies, covering serena’s cowering figure with his body. as soon as his hands went around serena’s sides, he could feel her protecting her belly and mason had never felt so much anger emitting from his inside. “while I’m still nice.”

“mason—”

“I said, leave,” still wrapping his body around serena’s, mason mustered the coldest, meanest intonation as if it was his weekly battle on the pitch. “which part of the word that’s hard for you to understand?”

elena stood towering both mason and serena, yet she was the one that appeared small and scared. “mase—”

“leave!” mason had never shouted at a woman before but morality and courtesy were the last things on his mind right now. “I fucking told you to leave!”

“mason…” his lover whimpered, trying to reach for mason but the man only shook her hands away and stood up, looming over her this time as he pushed her off his property. “surely you’re mistaken, we can talk about this—”

in every of mason’s step forward was a step backwards for elena. in every of mason’s fuming step was elena’s panic spew of her so-called justification behind her actions. and before long, the man had pushed her off the edge of his home.

“if you come here again, I will not hesitate to call the police. you got me?”

next update:

“I need you to be honest with me, serena,” mason didn’t waste another breath after the doctor stepped away from her room. “the doctor said next time. when was the first time?”

“remember that one week you thought I went missing?”

[gerbiloftriumph]

Shiny Gold Coins, a super no stakes gen fic about markets and food and friends and all things soft and wonderful (also on ao3)

~*~

A stack of shiny gold coins—Graham’s first wages as an actual knight of Daventry, what a thought—rattled in his pocket. It was a cheerful jingle that put even more of a spring in his step than he usually had. He should send most of it home, like he’d promised he’d do with his first paycheck. But he figured his family would understand if he didn’t.

Because Daventry was holding its last farmers market of the season.

Daventry’s sheer beauty still caught him off guard, even after a handful of weeks living here and calling it home. The autumn morning practically glittered, hardly a cloud in the endless sky. It promised to get awfully hot later, summer giving one final hurrah before giving way to icy winds, but for right now it was perfect. Birds and squirrels chirped and chattered in the trees around him, and he inhaled deeply, the sweet air full of promises.

Promises of baked goods, specifically. He knew Wente had been prepping for this day for a week, his ovens hardly ever allowed to cool. He could taste sugar on the air as he neared town.

The market was supposed to be held in the town square, but the walled town had its limits, and the market had grown over the years. Booths spilled out of the open gate, lining the front entrance. Tablecloths and tents flapped in the breeze, held in place by a dizzying array of goods of all types. Crafts and foods and art and all kinds of wonderful trinkets magical and mundane.

Daventry townsfolk were freely wandering between the stalls, chatting and laughing, but Graham saw plenty of people he didn’t recognize, too—travelers from all over. People from further afield in Daventry, like Mannerly Stove, sure, but more than that. He saw some Serenian style cloaks, and he was certain that the little sunburned group over there was made of Llewdorians. According to Amaya, the market was a popular destination, and the last one of the season always drew a crowd. She especially liked it since it was one of the few times she was sure to get a customer base that could afford her wares properly.

Speaking of Amaya. Her booth was right in front of her forge. It gave off a metallic tang of oil, almost spicy, and sharp things glinted in the sunlight. At least for half of it. With geometrical precision, her table was divided in half, not one thing allowed to cross into the other half. One side was full of weaponry, and the other side…petunias.

“And they are most lovely,” Amaya said sternly when she saw him looking. Each multicolored bouquet was beautifully arranged, and not a single petal so much as shivered over the invisible line dividing her table between weapons and flowers. Not just petunias. Roses and sunflowers and all kinds of other flowers he didn’t recognize.

“From your garden?” he asked.

“I always grow a section for this. Besides, the first frost’ll be here before we know it. Better to send them off to a good home before that.”

“They grow up so fast,” Graham joked.

She chucked an acorn at him.

“How much?” he asked, ducking and laughing.

“One shiny gold coin, of course.”

Flowers would definitely make his little knight-assigned tower room look great and smell nice, and he could press and dry them after to make the winter feel brighter. He hadn’t done much to decorate yet—the pumpkin lantern was on the bedside table, and he’d pinned up his favorite rumpled map of Daventry. The map was worn soft as Triumph’s belly from repeated wear and tear, folding and unfolding, tracing his fingers along the paths he’d meant to walk, someday. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d made it, that the landscape outside his window was the same as what was printed on his paper. He’d also pinned up a little picture, an entrance form. Not his entrance form. Someone else’s. Something small, and special, and important.

He flipped a coin at Amaya, which she deftly caught, and she let him choose his favorite pot. He went for something with a ton of purple, his smile a little sadder than before as he made his selection. His fingers traced the delicate petals, and he inhaled deeply. But it wasn’t just flowers he could smell—Wente’s booth was just over there, and Graham knew where he was headed next. He held the pot in the crook of his elbow and happily wandered over, boots ringing against cobblestones.

It was a good thing his cloak had lots of pockets, he thought, as he studied trays upon trays of every baked treat he could think of, and plenty more he couldn’t. Pies, of course, and tarts, and cupcakes, and loaves of bread still steaming in the sunlight. Studded with nuts, cheese, chocolate chips, berries, and more wild things like starberries and sugarshrooms and—

“Graham!” Wente eased himself around the edge of the stall, going for a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it! Is that strudel? I didn’t get to try it at the tournament.”

“Heard Princess Madeline had a sweet tooth.”

“And a good sense of vengeance for Acorn’s sake.”

“Did you know he’s here? He got a booth after all! He’s just over there!”

“Oh! That’s really good! I wasn’t sure if he would, he’d been so nervous about going for it.” Graham waved, but Acorn didn’t notice him over the crowd. He’d have to go over to say hi properly.

“Wish he hadn’t,” Chester interrupted. He’d been standing at the corner of Wente’s table, with a perfectly innocent look on his face that didn’t match the crumbs all over his tunic. “He’s doing folk art, the lowest craft you can imagine.”

“Now, Chester, you know a good piece of art can feel like a warm hug for your eyes!” Wente said. “And that’ll be a gold coin for all those muffins, thanks.”

“I can craft you a better potion that’ll actually hug your eyes,” Chester grumbled, passing over a grubby coin and shaking crumbs into the cobblestones. “None of this knitwear, how embarrassing. Come to our booth, boy, and we’ll show you some properly interesting art. Of the magical kind.”

First, Graham loaded his pockets with all kinds of treats and snacks. Wente handed over a couple soft loaves of bread that smelled of rosemary and lavender, chocolate chip cupcakes, and other berry-filled treats, asking for just a single gold coin in return. Then, with a wink, he tossed in a free walnut strudel. “Enjoy the rest of the market,” he said brightly.

“Graham!” Muriel chirped, waving him over to her stand next door. “Or, is it Sir Graham, now?”

“Yep!” Graham beamed.

“I can hardly believe it,” she said. “Seems like that tournament was only yesterday. How’s castle life treating you?”

“Really great, I’ve got my own room, and Royal Guard Number One’s been teaching me the marches, and I’ve been practicing my archery. King Edward said something about my first quest soon, I think he wants to send me up to the Cliffs of Insanity—I guess we need iocane powder for something, from the flowers there?”

“Oh, that’s for us!” Muriel said. “Some rare and miraculous ingredients are too hard for even that Merchant to get his hands on. You’ve got to send knights off on those quests sometimes.”

“What’s it for?”

“I can’t recall. Some order. I’ll have to double check what it’s supposed to make. You be careful handling those flowers, though, they can make you sick if you touch them with your bare skin.”

“I shall be cautious in all my flower picking,” he said, with a sharp salute.

“But before all that, anything you’re looking for in the market?” she asked. She spread her hands wide, showing off the table in front of her. It was littered with tiny little bottles full of interesting things, glittery potions and funny trinkets. Some glass marbles moved under their own power, spinning gently, with what looked like galaxies held in their centers. She had spell books arranged in a teetering pile, and feathers pinned under glass, and rings and necklaces that glowed even in the sunlight.

“Just looking,” Graham said. And then something caught his eye. “Oooh, what’s that?”

A little brooch sat on the table, half buried behind all the other bits and baubles and things. It was the little red gems that had caught his attention, rubies flashing in the sunlight.

“It’s a cloak pin,” she said. “You like it? It’s the same type I use for my shawl.”

“I kinda do, yeah.” He couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from it. It didn’t feel magical, exactly, but he was drawn to it, nevertheless.

“Lean over here, boy, let me pin it on.” She gestured him forward, and he leaned close. She smelled like magic and mint, and she gently gathered up some of his cloak fabric and slipped the little brooch in place. “Now, stand back, let’s get a good look at you.” He posed for her, and she laughed. “Like it was meant to be yours!”

“How much?” He fingered it, the soft rubies almost warm against his touch.

“Oh, it looks so grand on you. It doesn’t have any magic, it’s only a little thing I made a while ago. Ages ago, now I think of it. Waiting for the right person. I think I’d be honored if you wore it, Sir Graham.”

“Plus, it’s free shop advertising for us,” Chester said.

Graham insisted on a shiny gold coin, and the Hobblepots agreed, though Muriel pushed a couple tiny vials of starlight into his hands too, for the coin. “To light your path, if it gets too dark on your quest,” she said, smiling fondly at him. “It really does look like it was made for you, you know.”

“Thank you, truly.” He’d been thinking about what he wanted his knight’s uniform to look like—knights could pick what they wanted in Daventry, and he had that minor in Creative Costuming from Knight School. He thought he could work this brooch into something great. He almost couldn’t wait to get back to the castle so he could sketch out a couple ideas, but there was still more to see here.

Acorn’s booth was next. Graham remembered how nervous Acorn had been, fussing back and forth about submitting his application to be added to the roster, and apparently he’d built up enough courage—and knitted enough stuff—to make it in. At least, partly. His nerves and time must have gotten the better of him, because he hadn’t managed to fill a whole table by himself. His booth was neatly divided in half, like Amaya’s. One half was covered in soft blankets, scarves, socks, in a huge array of colors and yarns.

The other half was Whisper.

Huge copies of Whisper’s application form, sketched to silly sizes, while the true Whisper posed in front of them and offered autographs to everyone passing by, if they looked at his posters or not. He also had a little array of pots on the table in front of him, with drawings of Whisper on them. “Whisper’s deLUX hair ointment,” they read, in beautiful looping signatures.

Royal Guard Number One was standing nearby, leaning in to whisper to Whisper. He had one of the hair ointment bottles in his gauntleted hands, rotating it almost nervously. Graham couldn’t help but lean in to listen:

“And you’re certain this works on mustaches without a problem?”

“It’ll make your face hair as silky smooth as Whisper’s top hair!”

“Yes, but, you see, the last mustache shampoo I bought from the Hobblepots turned it pink. It never washed out. I had to start over. You understand why I cannot repeat that tragedy. You swear that won’t happen with this?”

“It’s animal tested!” Whisper said brightly, pointing to a little animal drawing on the side of the label.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Whisper snuck into the royal stables and washed Graham’s gerbil with it, and Graham’s gerbil did not turn pink. It did get lovely and extra fluffy, though. Mane for days. Almost as good as Whisper’s!”

Graham nodded thoughtfully. So that’s why Triumph had been so soft last week. He’d thought it was just good castle feed. He’d have to pick up a jar of that stuff for his best buddy; Triumph deserved everything after all the hard work he’d done getting them from Llewdor to here. And…yes, the tiny animal drawing was of Triumph, not of a bunny as he’d first thought. Another shiny gold coin gone: his pockets were starting to get a bit light.

“Hey, Acorn!” he said, waving.

“Graham!” Acorn looked up from the pile of scarves he was meticulously rearranging. “Hey buddy, how’s the festival?”

“Really good so far, I’ve found some really great things. How’s business?”

“Oh, y’know, surprisingly good. I didn’t think Daventry had good taste, after that sock thing in the tournament, but everyone really loves them. Aside from the pairs the castle bought, a ton of people here want them, too!”

“That’s because they’re like walking on clouds,” Graham said, repeating something Number One had said a couple weeks ago. Nearby, Number One glanced up, then turned back to his whispered conversation about hair products. “How long did all this take you?” He ran a hand along one of the blankets, the deep blue so eye catching in the sunlight. It was ridiculously soft, and he could tell it would be wonderfully warm in winter.

“Oh, not too long. I listened to my stories while knitting.”

“Stories?”

“Squirrel chatter. Good as any gossip you get from guards. Princess Madeline has seen some things, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do…but I don’t think I want to ask.”

“Well, I want to thank you for pushing me to apply for this,” Acorn said. “I wasn’t gonna, you know. But I thought, well, with the rebranding, now’s probably a great time to really show off my stuff. Get a foothold in the town, you know.”

“So, you’re staying in Daventry?”

“Yeah. I only applied for the tournament for my parents, remember? Since that fell through, I’ve got all the time in the world, and I like it here. I think I wanna settle.”

Of all the places to end up, Daventry felt like a pretty good spot. Graham had certainly been more than happy enough with his choice so far.

Graham realized he was still touching the blanket, dragging his hand back and forth across it. It reminded him of Triumph’s fur. He thought about winter, about his little tower room that overlooked the lavender fields, and he thought about how in a few months’ time the fields would be laden with snow. “Hey, Acorn, how much for this one?”

“That’s a good one! Love the color; it’s almost the same as my cloak. Turned out super great. For that one, one shiny gold coin should do it.”

“You got it, big guy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Acorn said, rolling his eyes and catching Graham’s coin out of the air. “You got anything else you’re after today?”

“Not really. I’ll probably just wander around now, there’s all the little offshoot alleys. You could spend half the day here.” And he intended to do just that.

He could see vegetables, brightly colored fruit, bundles of lavender, and jars full of sweet golden honey. His coin purse was light, but his pockets had a comforting weight to them now instead, his hard-earned wages in the hands of his friends. The morning’s golden light glittered. The warming air smelled strongly of lavender, sugar, bread, and, just beneath it, that crisp autumn scent of Daventry itself. There were a couple bards wandering around now, too, strumming and singing. Someone selling sparkling apple cider was calling. All told, it was a perfect start to the day.

He fingered the brooch on his cloak again, this little piece of his new life pinned to his old life. He checked his pockets, to make sure none of the pies were getting smooshed or the bottle of shampoo was leaking or his beautiful purple flowers were wilting. He set off for another booth piled high with tapestries and books and maps, and another one filled with the last fruit of the season, and another filled with lavender products freshly made from Daventry’s fields. Ready to see everything this town had to offer him, all the things they had made and grown and built and loved. Just for him.

He could get used to living in a place like this.