#as well as ended up fumbling my words many times to the point where I had to rewrite this twice.

[sachinteng]

Syntax Error

After years of being asked about it, I thought I'd tell the story of my peculiar name, and explain what this little logogram I started using is about.

I don't look like my name should be Sachin. South Asian folks point it out to me all the time. If you don't know, Sachin is a Sanskrit name, and I am visibly not Desi, so people are often confused. People usually ask if I'm named after Sachin Tendulkar, the famous cricket player. And for a period of time my local Indian restaurant thought I was Indian and would give me free rice! Until they found out I wasn't and stopped. Very sad day.

So why am I named Sachin if I'm not Desi?

The name my parents gave me is 十晴. Specifically my dad. My father insisted on naming me. Spent months obsessing over it. But he never gave me an English name. And on the day I was born my dad was…asleep, didn't answer the phone which rang all day, and missed the entire birth. To this day my mother tells this story whenever I miss a phone call. So, when I was born they had no idea what to put on my birth certificate.

The pinyin translation for 十晴 is Shí Qíng. But my mom didn't know pinyin. The lawyer who drew up the paperwork for my birth certificate was Indian, and when he heard 十晴, he said, 'that sounds like Sachin. I'll just put that!' And my mother, tired and alone in the hospital, in a foreign land called Flushing, Queens, said okay. And who can blame her.

And that's how I got my name. In the most arbitrary, accidental way possible. My dad, after months and months of hyper-focusing on a name, fumbled it all right at the end. I wish I could say my name was meaningful in Hànyǔ at least but, my name is very strange to Hànyǔ speakers as well.

The character 十 means 'ten' as in the number 10. And 晴 means 'clear sunny skies.' It's the kind of word a weather reporter will commonly use in the forecast. Honestly, Ten Sunny Skies sounds like a Wǔxiá character. Like Eight Flying Lotuses or Five Poison Fists, or something. Not gunna lie, I prefer this explanation.

So my dad loves to tell this joke…about how his name is too hard to write. It has so many strokes in it that when he was in school taking tests it took him so long to write his name that when he was finished writing it the other students already finished taking the whole test. So, when he has a child he's going to make sure to give them the easiest name with the fewest strokes possible.

And that's where it comes from. Some dinner party joke he liked to tell friends. Thanks dad.

My name has a different meaning to me now as an adult. Over the years many people have heard my name and said, 'Do you know the story of Hòu Yì 后羿?'

An old folktale says there used to be 10 Suns. They would cycle one at a time, because there can never be more than one sun in the sky at the same time. But, one day the suns got lonely, they wanted to see each other and broke the rules. All 10 suns burned at the same time. To stop the suns from burning the entire world down Hòu Yì, the legendary archer, shot the suns out of the sky and left just one, the sun we have today.

It's a fable about doing too much, not thinking about the consequences, and literally burning out. Something I relate to more than I'd like. I burned out hard a few years ago and recovering was a long, painful journey that I never want to repeat.

In the end, the last Sun loses all their siblings and has to carry the burden alone. But, if they'd just had patience and paced themselves, there would still be 10 suns across 'Ten Sunny Skies 十晴.'

[prael]

STEPS

Newjeans Hanni smut (M reader) - the title is a hint to the TW.

6.6k words

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It didn't happen through a cliché.

Well, maybe it did, but not one of those where she's stuck head-first into some kitchen appliance or something of that ilk, though you would say this really did happen by accident.

What? She tripped, fell, landed on your dick?

Not quite like that, but the point still stands. You didn't begin that day, or even that evening, intending to fuck your step-sister, but, well…

"My apartment. My TV. My choice," you told her, as you have so many times before.

"But this film is supposed to be the best. It's got great reviews. Dani loved it..." Hanni was talking far too fast to even really pay attention. She soon started reeling off a cast list and everyone involved, and how this review called it a revelation to the genre, but you had long since started ignoring her. You know how she gets. Excitable beyond the point that someone normally would be. It's an endearing trait, if not also annoying. The rundown of her reasons was cut short as she threw her body at you in attack.

"Hanni! What are you—"

"Just gimme the controller already!" She shouted right into your ear as she threw her arms over your shoulders. You held it out in front of you, keeping her behind your back so her arms couldn't reach; not that it stopped her from trying. "Just one time. Please? Pretty pretty please?"

You climbed up from the sofa. Hanni clung to your back like a young panda, with her legs locked tight around your waist and her arms still fumbling around. You grabbed her by the ankle, trying to pry it away so you could drop her, or something, anything other than letting her continue. "Alright fine. Just let go, you idiot. You’re going to tear my arm off."

She loosened her hold, just enough for you to swing her around; one arm and leg slipping free so you could throw her onto the couch. In your flailing she managed to take the TV remote with her, but the moment of peace, of silence, of satisfaction in hearing your idiot sister bounce against the cushions before breaking into a laugh and asking, "what the hell was that for?"

"What did I ever do to deserve the step-sister from hell?" You said as you flopped down at the opposite end of the couch.

"Have a mother hot enough that my dad wanted to fu—"

"You're sick." You cut her off before she finished. She smirked, lifting her sock-clad feet onto the sofa and settling in for movie night. She brought her knees up below her chin and started flicking through the options on the screen to find the one she wanted. Her eyes were wide in her stare, her lower lip bitten. It was pretty much the last time you ever looked at her in this innocent way again.

It was another one of those shitty horror flicks. The kind that didn't even slightly live up to the billing she gave it before. This, however, was Hanni's thing—whenever she convinced you, or otherwise, to finally give up control of your TV, she would put on one of these cheap horror movies and spend the whole night tucked behind a cushion.

As much as you tried for it not to be, it's become something of a ritual, pretty much any night that she was at home, and not unbelievably tired from being overworked and didn't have to be up at the break of dawn.

It's your acceptance of things like that which really showed how much the two of you had grown. You remember fighting for your life against your mother and stepfather to not have to take her in. Convinced that if she wanted to move into the city so badly, she could get her own place, or go to one of those company dorms. Ultimately, you were made to see reason. Your apartment is close to her company, and you had a spare room, after all.

Not that she ever stopped annoying you beyond belief.

The movie, if you could call it that, had you fall into a slumber, and when you woke up Hanni had crawled across the length of the couch and was laid against you, her arms wrapping one of your own. She didn't even realise you had woken up, staring as the credits rolled with a slight, peaceful smile on her face.

She had tied her hair up by now into a ponytail, pulling the hair away from her mostly bare shoulder, where the thin strap of her cropped pyjama top rested. As you peeked down at her, your eyes accidentally fell on the space down her top. It wasn't your fault; they were just right there.

"Shit..." you muttered, catching Hanni's attention.

"Still alive there?" She chuckled a little as she gently patted her palm against your cheek. You feigned a yawn and shut your eyes, settling your head against the pillow once more.

"Hanni, put something else on. This movie is dumb."

"You fell asleep after like ten minutes."

"Yeah, and it seems it didn't take long for you to use me as a body pillow."

Hanni pursed her lips. A red flush ran through her cheeks, and then she quickly sat up. You were watching her the whole time through half-open eyes, chuckling under your breath at her reaction.

"You're an idiot," she says. "Always have been."

You shrugged in reply, "And you're easy to tease, always will be."

"Asshole." She kicked at you.

She tried to kick again, and you caught her foot. You held her bare leg in the air and then lightly kicked her back, hitting her thigh.

"Let go! I'll kick you again. Asshole!" She shouted at you, again and again, struggling to break her foot free from your hand. When you finally let her go, all her struggles made her stumble off the couch. As she went, you kicked out again, this time catching her right on the ass. "Ah! Fuck be careful you hit my plu—" She brought her hands right to her mouth when she realised what she was saying.

"Your what?" You asked.

Hanni cleared her throat, blushing to the point of matching the colour of her red short shorts. "Nothing."

She turned away from you. Just standing there. There's a part of you that wishes that you could go back to this moment. You would have left it there and gone to bed—never kicking her a third time.

But you did it.

Your foot flicked gently against her ass a final time and you felt it. Something hard tucked between the softness of her cheeks. She yelped again. You pinpoint this moment as the catalyst for everything that followed. It’s the part where her innocent image crumbled before your eyes and that’s what allowed you to do what you did. Though really, can you ever be sure that if it didn’t happen now, it wouldn’t have just happened the next day, or next week, or a few months down the line? You tell yourself it was inevitable.

"Is that what I think it is?"

She spun around, facing you once more, trying to muster something. She stumbled over and stuttered her words. "No! I... it's not mine. Minji loaned me one for... just to try... it's not." She held the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "This is... oh, god. This is so embarrassing."

Hanni slumped back onto the sofa and pressed a cushion tight against her face. "Why'd you loan it?" You ask her, only to see her tighten her grip.

"Because."

"Because what?" You sat up by her side and said something that at the time you thought would make it better, but looking back, probably came off rather creepy. "I clean your room, Hanni. I have seen worse things."

Hanni slowly dropped the cushion into her lap and looked at you with a glare. "The fuck?"

"And if you're going to use my laptop, try deleting the history." At this point, you were just piling on the embarrassment.

"Fuck! Oh my God, what did you see?" She threw the cushion into your face.

You picked it out of the air. "Nothing." You lied.

"Bullshit!" Hanni swore. "Did you see everything?"

"Nothing at all..." you said sarcastically while standing up. "I definitely didn't see all the step-brother porn you were binging last week."

She screamed and jumped up. You threw the pillow to stop her and stepped out of reach. "I hate you! You freak!" she shouted, cheeks burning red as the fury rose within her.

"Says the chick wearing a buttplug." You taunted her again as you darted across the room away from her.

"What happened to boundaries!?" She lunged at you again, and you quickly sidestepped her. 

She tried jumping at you once more and missed, only to strike her knee against the corner of the coffee table. She hopped back on one leg with the pain.

"You're an asshole, you know that!?" she shouted, holding onto her knee. You stepped closer, thinking she was really hurt. Until she used the chance to lunge at you and grab you. "What's wrong with a girl enjoying some fantasy? Not like I want to actually fuck you."

You realise now that the proper thing to do would have been to match her disgust. Tell her something along the lines of how the thought repulses you. Continued to tease her about how fucked it is that she would even look at that sort of stuff. The whole thing could have dissolved, but it's when she had hold of you, hammering her fist into your arm, that you said, "don't you?"

Then the long silence ensued. The one that said a hundred unspoken words. As her punches turned into light taps and then to her just holding onto your upper arm. She looked up at you with her pretty eyes open wide. Her lips parted slightly and the tip of her tongue rested on the bottom one as if she had something to say, but the words wouldn't come.

That's the first time you kissed her. Your own step-sister, a girl who should be off-limits in every conceivable way. Yet she opened her mouth and accepted you in that moment. The taste was so sickly sweet.

It was brief, but it told you everything you needed to know, and everything seemed to spiral from there.

First, there was the confusion. The immediate aftermath where you both let go of each other to turn away. Your backs turned on one another as the awkwardness reached its peak. Neither of you was willing to confess the enjoyment of that little exchange.

Then came the passing of the blame. First, it was Hanni who turned to you with a "What the fuck are you doing?"

And you replied with "Me!? You're the one who kissed me!"

She scoffed and shouted a response, "That was all you! Stop being such a perv, freak!" Hanni stomped past you towards her room, face half-full of anger and topped off with shame.

"I'm the perv? You're the one who I hear moan through the walls while, apparently, watching step-brother porn! I think that makes you the messed up one!” you called after her.

A pause. The hesitation. The possibility of confession. She reached her door, and it flew open. In she walked before slamming it closed with a, "you're sick!"

You stared at the door and vainly said under your breath, "you're the sick one." In your head you had realised the real truth to that; how maybe you're both sick because, as the dust settled, you can only think about a handful of things.

The kiss. Her ass. Her cute little tits.

You didn't see her again for the rest of the evening. She reserved herself to her room, while you resigned to the couch with nothing but the television keeping you company.

It had been a long time since you had a shouting match like that with Hanni. See, it used to happen all the time when she first moved in. The problem with a girl like her whose whole world revolves around singing, dancing, media training and beauty is that she lacks any sense of what it's like to be an independent adult. It seemed like the fights would never end, on account of her being seemingly incapable of washing a dish, her clothes or even cooking the most simple of things without burning it or setting something on fire.

But this? This is uncharted territory.

The night wound down, and you were headed to bed, but you found yourself outside her door. Your hand raised, ready to knock. Your breath held. Right when you finally built enough courage is when you heard it. Heard her. Moans muffled through the wood of her door. Your stomach knotted. Your groin twitches.

You lingered, unable to tear yourself away. Even as your logical side began arguing with you that you were in the wrong. That you're probably the worst sort of pervert imaginable and you should feel nothing but guilt.

The other voice, the more confident one; the devil on your shoulder told you that it's Hanni's fault. You had just warned her, and this is what she did in response, like it’s all some sort of game. You refused to admit to yourself that hearing her groaning, whimpering, and moaning through the wall influenced you—tempted you.

Louder and louder. Her voice raised higher, getting to the point where you knew she was practically screaming in the throes of pleasure. Harder and harder you grew. The rational side of you was saying that you should ignore it. Just go to sleep. Forget about it.

"Fuck!" she moaned, and you remained, listening through the door—lost in imagination.

Then you heard footsteps. Bare feet patting on wooden flooring coming closer and closer towards the door. A rush to retreat and you slipped toward your bedroom door. You barely reach the handle before the door across the hall opens.

There was a moment. The two of you locked eyes. Every fibre in your being fought against looking down.

"What?" she asked with a stone-cold expression.

"Nothing." You said, and your willpower broke. You glanced down. Completely naked, she stands at the door, her nipples peaked to fine little tips. And your gaze drifted down her soft curves and slender figure, her wide hips and full thighs.

"Nothing," she mocks.

Her eyes glanced down for a second, then back to your face, and her gaze narrowed. You panicked, dipped into your room and slammed the door just like she did earlier. You press your back to it, the cool wood against your burning body. Your mind raced.

Her feet slapped again against the wooden floor and headed toward the bathroom. That should have been that. You slipped into your bed, frustrated and confused. The sound of the shower running quickly drifted through the walls, but her cries from earlier replayed in your mind until you fell asleep.

That should have been that.

You woke to the darkness of the room—not the morning sunshine—sometime later. Half in a haze, not quite conscious yet, but something had roused you from your slumber: a movement under the sheets and a strange sensation. Warm and damp. Your eyes flicked open, adjusting to the darkness. Your hands jerked reflexively toward your groin and then your senses sharpened.

Someone between your legs. A warm and wet something sliding up and down the shaft of your hardness. Tongue? Yeah, a tongue. Your fingers reached and buried themself into hair. Stomach muscles spasmed as your hips thrust up on their own. Your lips parted as you moaned, "Fuck."

You glanced down.

Hanni.

Naked.

The tip of your cock at her mouth, lips pursed around it. Her smiling eyes sparkled and her skin glimmered, bathed in moonlight coming through the open curtains. Hanni giggled when your eyes met. Your hand dropped to her shoulder.

"Hanni..." Your throat choked dry, and you pushed at her shoulder.

"Shhh." The word whispered against your sensitive tip.

"What the hell are you..." You tried to ask, but Hanni shook her head before sucking in a breath. Then she drew the length of your cock into her warm, wet mouth and the question escaped you. "Holy shit," you gasped.

"This can be our dirty little secret," she said when she lifted her head, fingers stroking you. "We can pretend it didn’t happen in the morning, but for the rest of the night," her finger tickled down the underside of your cock as she spoke, "it can be as real as you want it to be."

You remember being convinced that it was a dream. Maybe one that you would wake up from with a mess in your shorts and, honestly, that probably would have been bad enough—having a wet dream about your step-sister. Reality intruded and threatened to drag you back from your delusion. Hanni took you into her mouth again and it was so very real.

There was no doubting the pleasure, and it was too good to make her stop. You took your hand away from her shoulder, allowing her to do as she pleased. Maybe if it was just a dream, you could allow yourself to indulge in the madness just one time…

"Fucking hell, Hanni." The words slipped from you, and with it, her warm mouth left your throbbing cock.

You peered down at her. She wiped the drool from the sides of her lips and smiled at you. Her eyes were wide as she lowered her head and slipped your dick into her warm mouth once more. Your body jolted as she put her tongue to work. She swirled the tip along the contours and ridges, then licked down the underside of the shaft and then right back up the top, leaving a thin film of saliva on your hardness.

She clasped her hand around you and it all felt far too real. Mixed emotions. There was a cold sense of terror in your heart, even with the heat of arousal radiating all over. The things she did with her lips and her tongue made you doubt your sanity.

"Does that feel good?" She said as she took a quick pause, stroking her hand along the full length. She had just caught her breath in the one moment where she stopped sucking, the first chance where her mouth wasn't busy trying to draw the soul out of you through the tip of your cock.

"You were right." She spoke almost as quickly as your mind spun. "About... the step-brother thing. It feels sick, and gross, and... wrong. It makes me feel dirty." Hanni pauses for a second, seemingly running her eyes over your body and then asks, "how depraved does it make me that it gets me really, really horny?"

Hanni had no clue that the same thoughts filled the back of your mind. Only that you weren't able to string it into words like she did. She was right. It felt really wrong, and yet there was a rush to do something that should never be done. This was where the next step began. The breaking of the boundaries. The perverse excitement in the face of the taboo.

Her hand reached out behind her and pulled back the sheets that covered her body. She was crouched between your spread legs, head still by your cock, her soft ass in the air. The cool light from the moon kissed her skin as she slowly slipped her fingers between her plump cheeks. "And this only made it worse. I've been so horny ever since I started wearing it."

Her hand moved slightly, just out of view behind her, and she let out a breathy moan.

"Hanni. What're you—

You're interrupted. "It hurt a little at first. Just a bit but you get used to it, and if it's in a good spot, if you hit it right..." She kept touching herself in front of you, and another breathy gasp escaped her lips and then she looked up at you still lying there. "What are you waiting for? Isn't this what you want?"

That's when you stirred. Reciprocated. You sat up and she rose to meet you. In seconds, you were embracing. Frenzied. Wild. All teeth and tongues and roaming hands. Shorter than you. So much smaller. She let out a yelp when you grabbed her, though she instantly silenced it by shoving her tongue back in your mouth and kissing you deeply.

Pressed against your bare chest, her breasts felt small but supple, perfect little handfuls. Her waist is slender beneath your grasp. The thick flesh of her thighs was so full and shapely. When she opened her eyes, they had such want. Lust—pure and undeniable.

So close, and the faint whimpers at her throat are a seduction. You felt it was an invitation, and your lips kissed her chin, trailing kisses down her neck. "Yes. Yes. Yes..." she encouraged you lower. Your tongue tasted the saltiness of her skin, teeth grazing and then pinching softly. Her arms were tight around your head, nails biting into the base of your neck.

She trembled at your every caress, shook each time you teased a pert nipple. Gasped louder each time you nibbled her collarbone. You turned, lifting her, and then she fell back and presented herself to you. Her legs splayed open and her bare, wet cunt dripping, begging you to take it, but...

"No," you told yourself, "it's too fast," and you began a line of kisses down her stomach, beginning at her cleavage and trailing straight down her stomach. The muscles beneath her pale skin twitched and clenched in response and her breath had gone erratic. You reached her belly button and she hooked her legs over your shoulder, and when you dipped further she clenched her thighs and squeezed as you toyed with her.

You remember savouring the moment. Savouring the pleasure, savouring the veniality.

"Lower, please," she begged in the most needy voice. "Please, I... fuck, oh, fuck please..."

It's hard to describe it all.

Somehow, in the night, you both reached a state of understanding. A state of consensual debauchery that came with a sense of agreement; a pact signed with tongue on skin in this moment of depravity.

You kissed her, playfully moving between her legs. Thigh to thigh, to dangerously close to her wet core, and there you lingered. The air grew humid. Hanni's sweet scent filled your nose. You ran your hands up her legs and felt the warmth in your palms. She gripped onto the hair at the top of your head; her fists tightened.

"Why're you teasing me, asshole?"

Hanni's moans grew louder and more needy when you used your tongue against her. Her legs wrapped tight, hooking behind your back. There was something satisfying about her reactions to your actions, something exciting about seeing her squirm.

The tip of your tongue ran up the lips of her cunt, dipping between the fleshy folds and coming to suck upon her swollen clit. Her eyes widened at the touch, and her jaw slacked to the point her words went incoherent. Her whole body spasmed as she arched and moaned out something filthy.

One moment you had hold of her thigh, feeling her clench up and quiver, the next you found that your fingers had moved downward and pressed against her slick opening. At the slight touch of your fingertips to the tenderness there, a short cry slipped out of her again. She tightened and clenched around them as you pushed in deeper.

"Who's teasing?" you asked before you buried yourself to the knuckles in her.

A smirk formed, and Hanni was about to speak, but no words came. You pumped her at a steady pace, curling your digits within her while lapping at her clit. The taste of sin never tasted so sweet. 

The combination drove her insane, and it didn’t take long until you were on the verge of making your step-sister cum.

You wrapped your lips around that swollen nub of hers and flicked it with the tip of your tongue, faster and harder, until her many moans became one, long, drawn-out and passionate, as a climax rocked through her.

Her ass lifted off the bed and her legs quivered, shaking uncontrollably while her fingers tugged painfully at the hairs on the back of your head. She jerked and gasped with a look of ecstasy on her face as she moaned your name over and over, almost reaching a scream. Your name on her lips again, and again, and you were drunk on this euphoria.

She released your head, and you postured over her, still slipping a pair of fingers into her, but slower. She drew a deep, trembling sigh and forced a smile, watching you. "I hate you," she managed.

"Do you?" you asked as you drew your cum-soaked fingers out of her. Her legs rested on your hips and the underside of your stiff cock was against her pussy. You reached around her hip, to her ass, to the plug still sat between her cheeks. Hanni hissed at your touch, biting her lip at the sensation.

"Yes. I hate you," Hanni whimpered, giving the softest moans as you tugged on the metal. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Why?" you asked.

"I just do," Hanni weakly gasped, struggling to stay strong in the moment. "You make me feel things. Things I shouldn't feel. It shouldn't be this easy."

"In that case. I hate you too, sis'."

There was this moment after you said that, where you shared a stare. Maybe the most confusing stare of your life. Calling her sis', in this position, should have been horrifying. And it was, but only at a peripheral level. Otherwise, it felt surprisingly... hot.

You dipped into her for another kiss, and this one seemed ever more ravenous than the last. You kissed with hunger and her hand ran around the back of your head. Kissed as lovers would. She was just as aroused as you and eager for more.

Slow and soft, you rocked yourself against her wetness. Your length dragged between her lips, up over her clit, and down again to poke at her entrance. You moved over and over, enjoying the tease.

The slow, sticky friction between the two of you. Her breath was sharp, as you slipped yourself over her and kissed at her neck. Every rock of your hips, she ground back against you.

"I think..." She hesitated. "Fuck. I think I'm ready. Just... go slow?"

The guilt of what's happened was a distant thing, a buzzing fly on a summer afternoon. The kind of thing that when you're so enthralled by something else, it becomes invisible. Then, with a nod and a shivering sigh, she reached down and gripped your cock. You bent back from kissing her so she could guide you.

Her tiny cunt. Her beautiful wetness. Her forbidden, decadent treasure.

Her breath was shaky. Her next words came out amid a tremble, "I've never... No one else."

You brushed stray strands of hair out of her face and ran your hand over her cheek. You gave her the reassurance she needed.

She told you, a few weeks later, how grateful she was that it was you. See, for all the filth that ran through her mind on an almost daily basis, she never imagined what it would be like. It being you—who you are and everything you meant to her—made it easy. Natural. Wonderful.

That first time, you took it all so slow. With her legs raised over yours. Watching the subtle changes in expression as you gradually moved more and more of your cock into her. Sinking deep between her pink, delicate walls. Your step-sister, panting and squirming beneath you.

"You okay?" you asked her.

"Ah... yes. This is... I love it," she responded between whining breaths.

It was just enough, the reassurance, so you could push into her the rest of the way. Her hand found its way to your shoulder; bracing as you eased in, her delicate frame tensing as you buried fully.

You watched her reaction and tried to be still as you felt her slick cunt pulse around you, wanting you. She swallowed and gripped you with the muscles within her. The second of respite didn't last long though; you weren't sure if it was a request or accident when her feet tapped against the curve of your ass, but it prompted you to fuck her.

"Feels... fuck." You sucked your breath between your teeth and braced yourself up on a shaky arm. You drew out slowly, and you noticed her nails digging into the arm you supported yourself upon. 

You groaned in relief more than anything else as your hips pumped the shallow strokes that sent electricity through your body. She started pushing herself onto you as she clutched your back, drawing her heels over the small of your spine. You looked down to see her eyelids were flickering, and the sight only served to inflame you more. Her moans were so erotic and encouraging.

That first time, it was special. You took your time together to explore each other's bodies, the curves of hips, the muscles, the valleys and ridges. You caressed your stepsister's gorgeous body and then tried your best to put her through another climax, as if your efforts to reach your own were less important.

"Fuck you're so tight," you told her, during those final thrusts, buried to the hilt in her tiny, soft pussy.

She spoke, her voice weak and shuddering, "You're big... inside me..."

The fact that she held you tighter in her embrace and how it seemed that she refused to let you out of her even as she came apart was telling.

She came that night, again, this time all over your cock. The first of many times to come. A string of incomprehensible cries erupted from her in the throes of that first proper fuck. Hanni's thighs flexed around your hips. She clung desperately to your body as she cried into your mouth as she climaxed.

Not long after is when you felt it too, that impending release. A coil of pressure. Unfamiliar and intense. The mere thought of emptying inside her drove you mad. Your fingers dug into her hips as you fucked your step-sister with complete abandon.

"Don't. Not inside. Please, not inside," she murmured in an incoherent mantra of guilt and pleasure, right next to your ear.

You didn't, of course. You drove yourself right to the edge and pulled out. Her juices coated your length, slick and wet as your cock twitched in anticipation of the final moments. Hanni wanted your release as badly as you did. She took you into her hand for the finish, gripping tightly and jerking that first hot shot of cum onto her soft tummy. You thrust through her hand to let the pleasure course through you. Each thrust sent a long rope splattering onto her naked skin as she grinned up at you, flushed and sweaty, covered in your lust.

That was the first night, but definitely not the last.

The next morning arrived with Hanni in your arms—the little spoon. The little naked spoon pressed against your body. Skin to skin. She woke you with the slow rocking motion of her body, grinding her plump cheeks against you.

"I could get used to this," she whispered under her breath, smiling against the crook of your arm. "Good morning," she said to you over her shoulder. "Sleep well? You had some pretty naughty dreams last night, didn't you?"

You responded with your erection growing against the warm crevice of her butt and a gentle hum as her ass rocked over it. That was no dream. "I did," you said groggily. "As naughty as yours."

"Mmmm," is all she had as a response, lost in the pleasant distraction, grinding herself back into you even more. As she did so, you grew harder, until your stiffness pressed against the plug still wedged into her ass. Hanni had left it there overnight. "The thing about dreams is that they're easy to forget. Want to remind me of mine?"

You ran your hand down her thigh, and that's how the second time started. You caressed her flesh for a while, feeling the softness of her thighs while she silently lay there, patiently allowing you to enjoy her.

Then, you grabbed her by the knee, opening her legs and then she spoke, "Are you going to make your step-sister cum again?"

So quickly did she become so utterly shameless. You grunted in reply and then you held her leg up by hooking under the knee, and shuffled down slightly, letting your hard cock slip from between her cheeks and go between her legs.

You closed your eyes and leaned into her. Lips at her shoulders, the kisses soon trailed to her neck. She hummed as you ground your cock between her folds. Not even putting in the effort to try to actually enter her just yet, just teasing your stepsister for the moment.

Her voice filled with the sweet sound of passion.

Your heart began pounding and a flush rose to your cheeks. You could have written that first night off as a mistake. One you would regret, forget and never make again. Not after this. This is a definitive choice. One of sound mind and body, not under the tension of an argument or anything else that happened before.

This is different.

Hanni reached her hand down between her legs, pulling your cock so it would slip into her when you shift your hips. "Fuck me," she begged.

You did. You slipped inside her and heard her moan in such sweet ecstasy. She gripped the pillow she slept on the night before, burying her face in it, and moaning into it in such sweet rapture. "Fuck, yes, harder," Hanni moaned.

When she pushed her hips back onto you, her ass brushed against your belly. The rhythm began. Slow. Lazy thrusts. Enjoying every sensation in the post-sleep haze, savouring the fact that you knew how good she felt on the inside. How incredible her wet, silky, tight depths felt when you slid in and out of them.

"Is this what you wanted?" Your voice is low, near a growl. Your arms around your step-sister. It shouldn't, by all accounts, feel natural to have her like that, but it did.

"Yes, it feels incredible. Please don't stop." Your cock bottomed out within her. As deep as you could go. You groaned, and stayed there for a while, feeling your stepsister clenching down, her inner walls trying to pull you in further.

Hanni's hands gripped at the bedsheets, clutching tightly to them. The position pressed the metal of the plug between her asscheeks, and as your thrusting continued, the sensation sent a tingle through her body. It was a filthy combination. One that allowed every stroke you drove into her cunt to simultaneously send an equally blissful shock straight into her ass.

It was madness for her to indulge in the ecstasy—for both of you to lose yourselves.

You grew faster, and she unwound completely. She grew limp as she reached her climax. She couldn't even grip the bedsheets, or the pillow, her body simply submitting to the pleasure. She merely lay there as your hips battered against her soft ass, fucking her right through it.

Then she asked you, right after it subsided, "Ever fantasised about cumming on my ass before?"

The way she asked that made the question feel almost normal. "That the sort of thing they do in the porn you watch?" You slowed for a bit to deliver the tease.

Hanni couldn't keep the shy smile from creeping across her lips. "There was this one video where a guy put it all over his sister's butt. Seemed like he really liked it."

The fact she talked to you about the dirty things she likes helped it all along. It was the extent of her experience, the videos, but it helped. What it told you about what she really likes, what she enjoys... It became the basis for all your dirty experiments.

"That sounds hot. You have a cute ass."

She giggled to herself, rolling her hips, getting up onto her hands and knees and facing away from you.

You seated yourself onto your calves, giving her space and watching as she turned, giving you the view you craved. "I do?" She said as she glanced back over her shoulder, showing her innocence and naïvete in all its splendour. Her eyes sparkled and then a smile spread over her lips to match that look in her eye.

"The cutest," you told her as you kneeled behind her. One hand caressed the outside of her thigh while the other gripped the base of your cock. Eyes firmly set on that beautiful plump ass. That was the second time in just a few hours that you covered Hanni in your cum.

She watched every second as you did, barely managing a blink. Arousal and delight danced over her features in equal measure, and your name left her tongue in the form of a delightful, drawn-out groan. The effect was very apparent. With every streak and ribbon of white landing, she gasped and moaned while staring at the mess.

From that moment on, you entered regularity. It seemed like for months, every chance the two of you got to fuck, you fucked. Her room. Your room. The shower. The sofa. The kitchen. Against that window that overlooks the city's skyline. A public bathroom. A hand job in the car while you're stuck in traffic. Riding your face in a park, hidden among trees, grass, and bushes. Fucking, kissing, and biting until the both of you are exhausted and sore and dripping with sweat. It never ceased. Two insatiable appetites. Your mutual loss of control continued. The affair felt so exhilarating. An explosion of forbidden sin in an otherwise normal existence.

It all came with its fair share of close calls. That Saturday morning surprise visit from your parents where you answered their knock at the door and they invited themselves in, all while Hanni lies naked in your bedroom. How you sneakily warned her before she emerged and spun the story to them both about how she slept on your floor out of fear after watching another one of her horror movies. They bought it, of course, because they couldn't imagine there being any other explanation.

Then there was Hanni's near miss with her group. She told you all about how Minji had picked up on how something had changed with her; about how convinced Minji was that Hanni had found herself a boyfriend. About the look Minji gave her as Hanni protested, and finally how she got away with a half-truth.

She told the girls it was because of you and how you would work out together on weekends to make her feel better.

Everything was going so well, which made this week even more confusing.

It's been days since you last saw her. The longest you have gone in some time. Long hours and staying over with her members are one thing. Going days with no word or anything at all is another. She ignored your texts, never returned your calls, and stopped showing up at home like you'd come to expect.

No warning.

Nothing.

[reginyani]

Lessons | s.reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: You take it upon yourself to help Spencer Reid, your genius FBI co-worker develop confidence and social skills— especially in flirting. As you continue to give Spencer casual lessons in flirting, you both begin to realize this isn't just 'casual'. This leads Spencer into overthinking, and making a rash decision which ends in with him in your apartment half-naked.

cw: smut, 18+, mdni, flirty!reader, mentions of being in bar and drinking, use of y/n, clueless!spencer, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, p in v, unprotected sex, reader rides spencer, spencer comes inside reader

wc: 2.7k

a/n: please like and reblog if you enjoyed! support is always appreciated<3 (i listened to smarty while writing this and im absolutely screaming.)

Spencer Reid had many strengths. He could recite the periodic table in under a minute, read 20,000 words per minute, and could quite literally remember every single word ever said to him in perfect detail. But when it came to social interactions?

Well.. He was a work in progress.

You had noticed it early on— how he hesitated before speaking, how he fumbled over his words when confronted with casual banter, how he shrank away from physical contact as if it burned him. It wasn't that he lacked intelligence, in fact, he quite literally was the definition of intelligence. The guy could outthink just about anyone. But social nuance? The art of casual confidence? That was definitely not his forte.

Which is why, one evening after work, you decided it was time to do something about it.

"You really are hopeless sometimes, you know that?" You said, leaning back against your desk as Spencer furrowed his eyebrows at you in confusion.

"I don't— what do you mean?"

You smirk, pointing toward the break corner, where a young woman from accounting had just left from, looking vaguely disappointed. "That girl was flirting with you, Genius."

Spencer blinked. "No she wasn't."

"Yes, she was."

"She asked if I liked tea," he said while rolling his eyes, as if that was somehow an airtight defense.

You groaned, shaking your head. "Spencer, she was looking for an excuse to speak to you. She was touching her hair, laughing at everything you said— even the things you said that weren't funny."

Spencer frowned. "I wasn't exactly trying to be funny."

"Exactly," you say, crossing your arms. "Which means she wasn't laughing at the joke. She was laughing because she liked you."

For a moment, Spencer just stared at her, eyes narrowing in thought as if he was cataloging this information for a further study and analysis. Then he suddenly sighed loudly. "Even if that were true, it's not like it matters. I'm not.. great at that kind of thing."

You tilted your head. "At what?"

"Flirting. Making conversation that isn't strictly informational. Even as a profiler I struggle reading people." He gave an awkward shrug. "Flirting isn't really a skill I ever needed."

You studied him for a moment before pushing off your desk. "Alright, that settles it. I'm making you my new project."

Spencers eyes widened slightly. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm gonna teach you how to be more confident," you said with a smirk. "How to read body language of a person who isn't a serial killer, and how to hold a conversation without sounding like a Wikipedia page, and maybe even know how to throw a decent punch while we're at it."

He scoffed, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I don't need—"

"Yes, you do," you interrupted, grabbing your coat from the back of your chair. "Come on, Boy Genius. We're getting drinks."

Spencer hesitated. "I don't really—"

"It's a lesson, not a date," you teased. "Unless you're scared."

That did it. He straightened his back, squaring his shoulders slightly. "I'm not scared."

"Good," you said, patting his arm. "Let's go then."

When you both arrived at the bar, it was quieter than most. It was a small spot near your apartment that you go to occasionally to decompress. Spencer had never been here before— not surprising, given that he rarely went anywhere that wasn't work related.

"You do realize I don't drink, right?" he asked as they slid into the booth.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that memo," you said, crossing your arms. "You can have water if you want, alcohol isn't exactly the point, it's the atmosphere around us."

He folded his arms together, looking skeptical at your words. "And what exactly am I supposed to learn here anyway?"

"Confidence, Reid. Social ease. You spend way too much time in your own head that you forget to live in the moment. So, here's your first ever lesson: stop overanalyzing."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you raise your finger to stop him. "Nope. Don't say anything. Just trust me on this."

Spencer exhaled heavily, looking vaguely pained in annoyance, but he nodded anyway. "Fine. What do I do then?"

You gestured to the bar. "Pick someone in the room and tell me what their body language says. C'mon, use those profiling skills to good use."

He listened, scanning the room, until they landed on a man at the bar nursing a whisky glass. "That guy is probably going through some kind of personal issue. His posture is slightly slouched, and his fingers are tense around his glass, and he hasn't checked his phone once, which most likely means he's avoiding calls or texts from someone or possibly has no one to even reach out to."

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Damn. Alright, expert profiler. Now, please do it with someone less miserable."

Spencers gaze shifted to a couple laughing together in a nearby table. "Well, the woman there is interested in the man, but he's clearly not picking it up that well. She's leaning towards him, angling her body to fully face him, but he keeps glancing away, distracted. Either he's oblivious, or not interested in the conversation at all."

You grin. "See? you're better at this than I thought."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "Observing is one thing. Applying it in real time is another."

"Okay, well then let's practice." you say, leaning froward slightly. "Tell me what my body language is saying."

Spencer hesitated for a moment. "You're.. teasing me."

"Obviously, Genius. What else?"

He studied you, his eyes darting over your posture, the way you rested your chin in your hand, and the slight smirk playing at your lips. "You're comfortable. Your body language is opened, relaxed. But you're also amused, probably at the fact you know I'm over thinking this."

You laughed. "Bingo!"

Something flickered in his eyes, something victorious, straightening a bit as he smiled.

"Alright," you said, finishing your martini. "Lesson one complete. Next up is casual confidence!"

Spencer groaned. "This is going to be painful."

"Excruciating," you said with a grin. "But trust me, Spencer. You will thank me later."

Over the next few weeks, your lessons continued on.

You taught Spencer how to hold eye contact without looking away in embarrassment, corrected his posture when he hunched over too much. Much to his horror, you even demonstrated how to casually brush someone's hand without making it completely awkward.

But somewhere throughout these lessons, things started to shift between the two of you.

It started out subtle at first. A glance that lasted a little too long. A touch that lingered a second past appropriate. The way you started to notice how his eyes crinkled when he was smiling, and how his voice softened just enough when he spoke to you.

It wasn't supposed to mean anything, but it did.

Another normal evening, after a round of drinks, you both found yourselves outside of your apartment complex. It had surprisingly been a good night— Spencer had successfully navigated himself through a conversation with a stranger without stammering, and you were so damn proud of him.

"You're getting better at this," you nudged his arm as you both walked up the steps of your apartment building.

Spencer smiled, small but real. "You're a good teacher." he said as you both made it to your apartment door.

Something in the atmosphere changed in that very moment, the air charged with clear unspoken tension.

You weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly, you were closer, looking up into his unreadable expression.

For a second, just a second, you wondered.

Then Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping back. "I should go."

You nodded quickly, shoving your hands into your pockets. "Yeah, yeah.. of course." you said disappointingly.

Neither of you said what you were thinking, and it was quite clear you didn't have to.

The were both wrong about this 'just being a 'lesson', and you both knew it.

As you heard his footsteps fade away, you quickly fumbled through your purse to find your keys. When you did, your hands shakily inserted the key into the keyhole as you unlocked the door.

When you finally entered, you let out a heavy sigh, removing your shoes at the entrance and putting them on a rack.

The door had just barely clicked shut before a loud knock echoed throughout your seemingly empty apartment.

You immediately froze, already knowing who was on the other side of the door.

Your heart thudded against your chest, your fingers curling around the doorknob. He didn't even enter, theres no way he left something behind— he never did anyway. He definitely didn't just come back to say goodnight either.

No, there was only one clear reason he was standing on the other side of your door.

Swallowing hard, you reached for the handle of your door, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pulling it open.

Spencer stood there, his expression unreadable, his breathing uneven and as if he had walked down the stairs and immediately ran back up. His hands were curled at his sides, and for once, he wasn't overthinking— he was only acting on his emotions.

Before you could speak or process anything, he leaped forward.

His hands found your face, fingers threading into your hair as his lips crashed against yours.

A startled gasp escaped your lips before you melted into his touch, your own hands gripping at his jacket to pull him in closer. It was desperate and certainly messy, all the built up tension from the past few weeks of lessons spilling over in one perfect, and reckless moment.

Spencer Reid —your best work partner and friend— was here, kissing you like he had been holding himself back from it far too long. And honestly, maybe he had.

He wasn't being shy now. There was no hesitation on either of your ends, no second guessing. His lips moved against yours like he had been studying the movement for years, like he memorized every possible way to make you feel like your knees could give out beneath you at any moment.

Your back hit the doorframe as he pressed closer, and eventually he pushed you inside, shutting the door. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear if he were to let go.

But God, no, you were definitely not going anywhere.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, your fingers tugging at the soft curls that hung at the nape of his neck. He made a quiet, shuddering sounds at your contact, and you grinned against his lips before pulling back just enough for both your eyes to meet.

His pupils were completely wide, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he caught his breath.

"Spencer," you whispered softly, still catching your own breath.

His hands continued to tighten on your waist, like he wasn't ready to let go of you just yet.

"I was completely wrong," he admitted, his voice low, almost dazed.

You arched one of your brows in confusion. "About what?"

"About not having feelings for you." His thumb traced against your waist, tapping in nervousness. "About this just being a lesson."

You let out a breathless laugh. "Took you long enough, Genius."

He huffed, half exasperated and half relieved. "You knew?" he asked in confusion.

"Of course I knew. I was just waiting to see if you were gonna figure it out."

He shook his head while letting a soft chuckle escape his lips. He finally let himself lean back, being able to fully take you in now. "And what now?"

You smirked, reaching up to brush your thumb against his soft pink bottom lip, swollen from the kiss.

"Now," you said, tugging him back toward you. "I teach you everything else you haven't learned in lessons yet." you say, grinning as you start to pull him away from your door and onto your couch.

Spencer is at a complete loss, unsure of what to do as you straddle his lap. He gulps, his eyes glued to you as you remove your shirt, throwing it somewhere across the room.

As if he were just following your lead, he removes his own shirt, completely unsure of what to be doing. His stomach seems to be twisting in knots, the heat rising in his chest.

Your lips crash into his once again, sucking on his bottom lip as your hips move against his lap, your skirt lying against your thighs. You pull away, the friction overwhelming and just enough on its own. Your hands grip onto his shoulders, feeling his erection through his pants.

Spencer bites his lip, holding himself back from letting out a loud whine, or saying something embarrassing like 'holyfuckpleasejusttouchmealready'. Although, as hard as he tried, of course he was unsuccessful.

"I.. need you, Y/N.." he whimpers, panting heavily as you move.

"That's all I needed to hear, baby." you tease, your hands quickly making their way to the clasp of his belt, quickly unbuckling it. You then unzip his pants, but instead of immediately pulling his boxers down, you rub his cock through them.

This drives him nuts, making him let out a loud moan.

"Please, just.." he mumbles, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"Please.. what?" you smirk, raising an eyebrow as you continue to move your hand, watching him as eyebrows furrow and his slick lips part.

"Just fuck me already!" Spencer begs, at this point almost screaming.

Although you wanted to tease him more, you could feel your own pussy throbbing as it quietly begged for the touch of the man beneath you. So instead, you smirk, allowing him to pull his boxers and pants down to his thighs.

You quickly scrapped your skirt, leaving you in just a pair of pink laced underwear. You look down at him, your own lips parted as you move your underwear to the side.

Suddenly, your hand takes his cock, slowly stroking it, before quickly speeding it up, making him moan in pleasure. "Holy— shit, Y/N.. Ah!—" he manages to sputter out, practically melting in your touch.

"Ready?" you ask, smirking down at him. He nods rapidly, not wanting to wait any longer.

At his approval, you lift yourself from his lap and position yourself above his cock, allowing it to hit your wet entrance. You groan in pleasure, feeling his tip slowly enter your pussy.

Eventually, his cock is all the way inside you, and you're bouncing up and down, feeling the warmth of him inside you as both your moans and slap of skin on skin filled your apartment.

"Fuck, Spencer... you feel— so good." you moan, stuttering as you continue to bounce on his cock, feeling him pulse inside you.

He rocks his hips, sliding in and out of you as you both begin to chase your high, sending Spencers mind reeling as he gasps.

"Is this okay?—" he asks, continuing to rock at a decent pace.

"Fuck, yes.. So good, Spence.." you answer, allowing the noises that are escaping your lips be the answer. "Shit.." you breathe out, "You're so fucking incredible, darling."

Spencer squints his eyes shut, feeling himself get driven closer and closer to the edge.

"Y/N.. 'M close.." he warns, beads of sweat rolling down from his forehead as he gets closer to coming.

"You gonna come for me Spencer?" you say with watery eyes, close yourself. "Look me in the eyes, baby." you demand him.

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours as you continue to fuck yourself into him, moaning in pleasure. You throw your head back, now your practically yelling out.

"Yes! Right there, Spencer! Come inside me!" you wail, your bodies now moving in synchronized motions.

This finally sends him through, jolts of electricity shooting through his body as he comes, legs shaking heavily as he fills you up with his sweet liquids.

You come soon after, moaning as the warmth of him inside you makes your own orgasm feel even better.

Eventually he pulls out, and your body finally gives out as collapse next to him, feeling empty without him inside you now.

"You better take me out after this." you tease, still catching your breath.

"Aw, do I have to? I wasn't planning on it." he jokes, chuckling as you smack his arm playfully.

"So, do you think my amazing lessons payed off then?" you ask, raising an eyebrow as you smile.

"Eh, I guess they were alright." he answers, zipping up his pants as he shrugs.

"Oh, c'mon!" you whine, defeated.

tags:

[khruschevshoe]

How Behind-the Scenes Issues Affected the Writing of Doctor Who (Both Good and Bad)

Doctor Who is such a fascinating show to look at from a Watsonian v. Doylist perspective. Like, entirely just from an episode writing point of view:

Twice Upon A Time feels so slow and meandering and even boring in places because Chris Chibnall didn't want to start his run as showrunner and Steven Moffat didn't want the show to lose the coveted Christmas timeslot (ironic, I know) so he bumped the Twelfth Doctor's regeneration from the end of The Doctor Falls (where it makes sense) to the end of the Christmas special

Boom Town (my beloved) only exists because originally there was going to be an episode in its spot explaining that Rose had been molded to be the Doctor's perfect companion (by the Doctor, gross) and the writer didn't have the time to commit to the show

The ending of Last Christmas feels like one inside-a-dream too many because originally Jenna Coleman was questioning whether she was going to leave the show or not and the ending was rewritten after the first readthrough when she decided she wanted to stay for another season

The first five episodes of Season 7 feel like each one takes place in a different genre because that's literally how Steven Moffat pitched it to the writers; for example, A Town Called Mercy was literally pitched as "Doctor Who does a Western"

Not so much a weird one but one I find cool: Eleven's first words and Thirteen's first words were literally written by Moffat and Chibnall respectively, as they were brought in to write the first words of the first Doctors of their runs so as to make it cohesive

The reason why Fourteen isn't wearing Thirteen's clothes when he regenerates is because Jodie Whittaker is much shorter than David Tennant and Russell T. Davies didn't want it to look like he was making fun of the genderfluidity of the Doctor (still think he made the wrong decision, but eh)

Wilfred Mott isn't in the Runaway Bride and Donna's father isn't in Partners in Crime because the actor who played Donna's father, Howard Attfield, died after filming several scenes for Partners In Crime, leading to the character of "Stan Mott" from Voyage of the Damned being written into Partners In Crime as Donna's grandfather

Astrid Peth doesn't die in the original drafts of Voyage of the Damned, but Russell T. Davies wrote what is generally considered one of the most emotional deaths in Doctor Who just because he wanted Kylie Minogue to be able to focus on her music career

Originally Oxygen was written as a prequel to Mummy on the Orient Express, where a corporate representative appeared on a monitor. Said representative was fired for his fumbling of the station and would later live on as the company computer, Gus

During Season 11, Chris Chibnall had to do some major rewrites for many of the one-off episodes, therefore The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos ended up being a first draft that made it to screen. He later admitted it was his least favorite episode of the series

And this is only a fraction of what I found in terms of major behind-the-scenes writing reasons. Though I am still totally willing to critique the product that made it to our screens, finding out the reasons behind some of the more badly written episodes of the show really made me feel sympathy for every showrunner of the show as well as appreciate a lot of the good episodes that ended up here despite the short production schedule/unexpected problems (once again, Boom Town my beloved AND everyone's favorite companion Wilfred Mott only exist because of unforseen problems). Absolutely bonkers, isn't it?

[strlvvr]

close to you - connor bedard

bella thought it was just a regular blackhawks game, but what happens when she leaves the game with the star player?

OR

connor thought it was a normal game day, but what happens when a pretty girl in the crowd catches his attention?

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word count: 1.3k

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“come on, we have to hurry! i need to get a good spot,” i yell at my friend as we’re running around united center.

jade was never big into hockey, but came along to games with me whenever i got tickets. she understood the game enough to watch, cheer, and listen to my rants about the games and players. she also knew there was a specific player i never shut up about.

“relax bella, we’ll get a good spot and he’ll love your sign.” jade called out over the crowds as we walked down the hall to the ice.

i found the perfect spot for warmups, knowing that was where he spent most of his time while on the ice. putting my stuff on the chair behind me, i grabbed my phone to look at the time. i still had ten minutes before the players came out.

i grabbed my sign to make sure it looked okay, for the hundredth time that night, “it looks good. hopefully they’re in a good mood tonight.”

“i know, i know. i’m just nervous.” i sighed, hoping my sign would catch his eye.

i opened my phone and scrolled through twitter, hoping it would clear my mind. it was my first warmup with a sign and i wanted it to go well.

when the timer on the jumbotron hit zero, i grabbed my phone and set up my sign. watching as all the players skated out, i felt my heart race when he stepped out.

immediately, he came over to my side of the ice. even though i knew it was going to happen, my hands were still shaking as i tried to steady my phone for the video i was attempting to record. 

he kept skating past and smiling at me.

as i was recording a video of another player, lukas reichal, he interrupted it by bumping the glass right in front of me. i was still calming down when he laughed at me for jumping.

after losing track of how many shots he tried making, he came over to me with a puck and a big smile. he pointed at me before throwing the puck over. failing once.. twice… three times it took him to get the puck over to me. 

“oh. my. GOD.” i screamed at my best friend after he skated away.

“you just got a puck from connor bedard!” she yelled back as i jumped, watching her end the video she was recording, “he’s coming back, calm down, calm down.”

he pointed at me again and started pointing at my phone.

“is he telling me to grab my phone?” i turn and ask jade.

after i grab my phone he starts putting up numbers on his hands. is this kid actually giving me a number? he’s gotta be kidding. right?

i put the numbers into my messages and turned my phone towards him, asking if i got it right. he nodded and skated away, shooting one more puck before going to the locker room.

“there’s no fucking way.” i told my friend as we walked to our seats.

“are you gonna text him..? cause if not, you know i will.” jade said with a smirk on her face.

“if i don't text him, please kill me cause that would be the worst mistake of my life.” i replied, in full seriousness.

i texted him immediately, letting him know it was me and i saved his number. i got a quick text back, letting me know he got the text and that he would text me after the game. i sent a quick “good luck” text and went back to the conversation around me.

“i don’t know how you’re acting so casually about this.” jade said as she grabbed her drink.

“because if i don’t, i will mess it up and i cannot fumble HIM of all guys.” i said quietly, making sure the people around me weren’t paying attention to what i was saying.

as the game starts, i turn towards the ice, watching intently. by the second period, connor was looking good, getting shots in, and playing good offense. 

we all watch as the players start lining up a goal, i watch at the edge of my seat as connor gets the puck. he starts getting closer to the net and he scores.

“he SO did that for you!” jade yells as the crowd erupts in cheers.

“stop it, he’s just playing, he wants to score no matter what,” i giggle, wondering if he really did do it for me.

the clock hit zero, with a win for the blackhawks. jade and i walked out of united center with a newfound happiness watching our team celebrate. i quickly got a text from connor asking if i was staying around after the game.

“we have to,” jade pushed me as we were walking to her car, “he’s basically saying he wants to see you.”

“okay, okay, fine. i’ll tell him we can stay,” i smile, opening our texts once again, getting ready to reply.

i asked him where he was going to be after the game as we reached jade’s car. we knew it was gonna be a while before he came out, with interviews and all that taking up most of his time after games.

finally, after almost an hour, connor texted me, telling me he was coming out. jade and i left the car, immediately missing the warmth as the cold air hit our faces, and walked towards the door he told us to meet him at.

we watched as all the other players started coming out, some of them waving and saying hi, a few of them asking if we were waiting for signatures. finally, i saw connor walking out.

“hey!” he called over to us with a smile.

“hi,” i said nervously while also trying to hide my shivering, “good game tonight!”

“thank you, i tried,” he laughed as we walked towards his car.

“sooo,” jade said, trying to break the awkwardness, “any plans tonight?

“i was invited to go out with the boys, but i’m probably just gonna go home, what about you guys?” connor replied, putting his stuff in his car and turning to us.

“well i mean, we were just gonna go home. unless maybe you wanted to hang out?” i said, immediately regretting it. this was connor bedard, the best player in the league right now. 

“i’m actually getting pretty tired, i think i might just go home. plus, it’s a bit of a drive.” jade said as she lightly nudged me.

“oh really? how far do you guys live?” connor asked, looking at me for the answer.

“not that far, about an hour or so,” i said, trying to ignore his gaze.

“are you hungry? i could use some food,” connor looked at me, again. i glanced up at him this time, seeing a look of hope in his eyes.

“yeah, i could eat.” i smiled at him.

“i’m probably gonna grab something quick on the drive home, but if you guys wanna go get food,” jade said, looking at me, seeing if i wanted her to leave me here or if i wanted to go with her.

“i can always drive you home,” connor said, trying to keep whatever body warmth he could grab close.

“that’s okay, you don’t have to.” i laughed, trying to see if he actually wanted to or not.

“i’d be happy too,” he smiled.

“well i’m leaving now, so last chance.” jade said looking at connor one more time, seeing if he was being serious or not.

“come on, it’s cold.” connor opened the passenger door of his car.

laughing at him, i turned to jade, “i’ll text you?”

“you better,” she winked and walked quickly to her car.

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part four.

“Saw McLaren posted pics of the new car,” Jack says in lieu of a greeting when he sees you after the weekend. He picks up his pace and crosses the distance to meet you where you’re fumbling with the keys to your “office”, and then he takes a few of the many equipment bags you’re attempting to juggle, saying as he does so, “You take any of those or no?”

You laugh, “Ah, no. They actually hire on a whole studio crew that does that. They’ve got lights, green screens, special camera lenses, the whole lot. The post-production on those photos is mad though.” You get the door unlocked and usher him inside, “I got to sit in on it once, and it’s crazy how much work goes into getting just a couple week’s worth of promotional content.”

He sets your bags down where you direct him to and then offers you a snarky grin, “Still probably would’ve looked cooler if you took ‘em, to be fair.”

It makes you laugh again. Jack seems to be good at that, and it feels nice to get along so well with someone you work with. You’ve found a surprising friend in him. At the end of your conversation on Friday, you’d exchanged numbers and he’d made you promise to reach out if you needed him for anything. You hadn’t, but he’d still sent you an unflatteringly angled picture of Kyle Walker from after their match against Newcastle, followed quickly with━ “use this in the next media drop thx,” and the chatter had gone from there.

You set down your own bags. “Well, thank you. Pretty sure it’s not as fun as this job, though.”

And you mean it. You’ve had opportunities to switch over to studio photography, and though you respect the people who do it and the unique challenges it poses in its own right, there’s nothing like being upfront and personal with all the action, getting to see the athletes in their element and know them on a level that goes beyond an hour or two shoot. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Wait,” you pause, hands stopping just above where you’re ready to start sorting through your equipment, “since when did you keep up with Formula One?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t. But you work for that team, yeah? So I figured I might as well see what they’re all about.”

“Well, if you need something to do during the summer, let me know and I’ll see what I can do,” you tell him, resuming your sorting. “They give me extra tickets for each race but they usually end up going to waste.”

You don’t bring up the falling out you had with your parents at eighteen when you told them you were going to pursue photography or the fact that you haven’t really talked to them in years because of it. You also don’t mention that due to the strenuous, near-constant traveling and the strict schedule of your job, your friendships are limited to the athletes you work with and the other McLaren staff that travel with you━ all of whom have passes of their own, for obvious reasons.

Jack, thankfully, doesn’t ask about it either. Whether he’s made his own assumptions or respects that it’s probably a sore subject, he leaves it alone and the two of you carry on in companionable silence.

You get your equipment unzipped from the bags and organized across the room per your system, guiding your temporary helper with pointed fingers to where it all should go.

The silence is only broken again when he asks you a question. “You got a favorite driver?”

It’s so out of the blue that you nearly jump, startled by the suddenness of it against the quietness of the room. But then you laugh and shake your head. “Officially no, but just between the two of us, me and Lando started at the same time so he’s got a special place in my heart. He’s also my best friend.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” Despite the persona he puts on, you think he secretly loves gossip. “How’d he take the news about you being with Ward, then? ‘Cause I’d have some choice things to say to any friend of mine if they got with a prick like that.”

You purse your lips, divert your gaze to avoid Jack’s eyes, and shrug, fiddling with the neck strap of your camera as you do so. “I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know?’”

You shrug again and feign checking over the settings as if your camera’s aperture is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “He hasn’t been picking up my calls,” you start, “or answering my texts since the paps released the pics, so.”

When you glance back up, Jack’s making a face. “So, your best friend finds out you’re dating a total bellend, and instead of asking you about it or at the very least taking the piss, he ignores you?”

When he puts it like that, you feel a bit stupid for being more sad than you are angry.

All you can do is shrug.

INSTAGRAM.

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yourusername ladies and gentlemen, jack grealish (i was threatened into posting these, send help pls)

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You decide that if Lando gets to be petty, then so do you.

The thing is, you’d told Lando you wouldn’t replace him with any of the guys from Manchester City, and you’d meant it━ you still mean it, despite your frustrations and annoyances with him telling you otherwise.

But if he’s going to play games, then so are you.

Technically you hadn’t started the relationship with Garrett willingly, but Lando doesn’t know that, and even if you had that doesn’t give him the right to go about ignoring you. You’ve been supportive when he’s gotten girlfriends━ you even ate greasy pizza, drank cheap wine, and cried watching The Notebook together when he ended his long-term relationship back in 2022. He could at least pretend to be supportive, or better yet he could pick up the fucking phone. 

As pathetic as it sounds, you’d let him yell at and berate you if it just meant he’d answer your calls. Because having Jack around to gossip with and shoot the shit is nice, and he really does help you not feel so alone at Etihad Campus, but Lando’s your best friend and he has been for years now. There’s nobody that understands you as well as he does, even if he is a twat half the time, and what you need now most of all is that particular Lando brand of annoying to cheer you up.

The door opens, drawing your attention from where you’re scrolling through McLaren’s newest posts. Garrett stands in the opening.

The memory of that night still lingers like a bad taste in your mouth, bitter and unpleasant. You’ve managed to avoid him for the most part in the time since then, ignoring the looks he shoots your way out on the field or in the weight room, and lucky enough that his meetings with the physio team keep him preoccupied so that he can’t seek you out in between training sessions. You’d known it was inevitable that you’d have to face him, but that doesn’t stop the dread from pooling in your stomach when you see him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as he surveys the makeshift office you’ve done up for yourself.

“They couldn’t find you an actual office?” He comments, looking disdainfully towards your desk and the large Manchester City logo emblazoned across the front.

You shrug, wishing he’d just get to the point. “I’m only here for a few months. Doesn’t matter much to me. What do you want?”

He takes a step farther into the room and closes the door behind him, taking his sweet time to cross the distance toward the seats. When he’s finally lowered down into one, he looks up to you with a nonchalance that fills you immediately with anger.

“I’m making some amendments to our agreement,” he announces.

“Like hell you are.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you seriously expect people to believe we’re a couple if we never actually do anything to give off the impression of being a couple?”

You scowl. Obviously, you hadn’t expected to just skate by on the coattails of pictures from a single night. You’d known from the very beginning that you would eventually need to make another public appearance together at the very least if you wanted to keep the paparazzi fed and encourage the idea to the media that you’re in a committed relationship with one another. You’d just been hoping you would’ve had more time until then.

“I’m not an idiot, Garrett,” you grumble, crossing your arms in your seat. You had been looking through pictures from the day’s morning practice, but now you think having to look at any more of Kevin De Bruyne’s grinning face will make you lose your mind when you feel the furthest thing from happy.

“Obviously,” Garrett scoffs. “But you’re the one who said I get one kiss and nothing more. Newsflash, love━” your scowl deepens, “━couples do more than just kiss one time.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his joggers and swipes across the screen for a few moments of anticipatory silence. “Well,” he finally says, “it’s the sixteenth now. We haven’t got a match until the twenty-sixth. Go on a date with me this weekend.”

You can’t say no. There’s no plausible excuse for you to get out of it, and deep down you know the only way you can get rid of Garrett is to just do what he says and hope the media make their conclusions about his change quick enough that you can ditch him before the summer break.

At least during the Formula One season, you can use traveling as a reason to get out of dates. When the Champion’s League starts back up he’ll be traveling around Europe a bit more than he is now, and there’s always a chance you could be in the same country at the same time, but the likelihood of your schedules aligning is slim and that means you’ll be safe from any ventures out into public.

But for the time being, you’re stuck.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.

He claps his hands, a deceptively cheerful grin on his face. If you didn’t already think of him as the worst prick you’ve ever met, you might’ve found it charming. It’s the same smile he used to flash at you in your first week when he was trying to cozy up and ease his way into your good graces. The sight of it makes you sick to your stomach, now.

“Great,” he rises from his seat. “We’ll do some shopping, get some lunch━ make a full day out of it.”

At this point, you don’t care what he has planned. You just want him to leave you alone so you can try to at least pretend like you’re gonna finish the rest of the work you need to get around to.

Garrett’s made his way to the door and has his hand reaching for the handle when he turns back around and gives you a smirk. “Might wanna work on your happy face, though, love,” he comments, gesturing towards you with a nod of his head. “‘Cause if you look like that in front of the paps they definitely aren’t gonna be very convinced that you love me.”

Just to spite him, you let your scowl deepen. “I don’t need your advice. I know how to handle myself, Garrett.” You say his name like a curse━ like the very feeling of it on your tongue causes you pain.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment. His face turns thoughtful, but there’s still the smugness painted across his features that makes you so unfathomably annoyed. “You must be pretty familiar with the paps if you’re always around those drivers, yeah?” He knows the answer to his question already, so you’re not sure why he’s even asking.

He stays silent, though, like he’s genuinely expecting an answer, so you shrug your shoulders. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats back to you.

His laughter is all you hear echoing in your ears even once he’s long gone.

Until your phone starts to ring and Lando's name flashes across the screen.

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght

━━ a/n: cliffhanger hehe~ also, i promise we're getting to ACTUAL formula one stuff soon

[cyberseong]

for your love.

pairing: yeosang x f!reader.

genre: smut/pwp, established relationship.

warnings/topics: lots of edging, dom!reader, sub!yeosang, degrading, use of names like ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, masturbation, handjob, unprotected vaginal sex, orgasm denial, use of cock ring, overstimulation, soft ending(?).

a/n: there are probably so many typos in this omg, and i’m sure i might’ve forgotten some topics mentioned but oh well. notes are very much appreciated, enjoy!

word count: 1.5k

y/n excused herself from the table she sat at with her friends almost immediately when she received the notification from yeosang. the fact that he had sent something in the form of a video told her everything she needed to know; yeosang had been home alone since she left to hang out with friends, and beforehand he’d been ranting on and on about how bored he would be once she was gone. he hated spending even the smallest amount of time away from her, so this time, he figured it’d be a good idea to show y/n how much he was missing her.

she eventually found herself in an isolated location of the cafe, where she opened the file yeosang had sent to her. she made sure the audio was connected to her headphones before playing it, as that was definitely the last thing she wanted to be caught listening to in a public space.

the video showed yeosang sitting on their shared bed with only an oversized tshirt on, a flustered expression shown on his face as his hand repeatedly flicked upwards on his lubed cock. the noises of wetness from his hand against it mixed with his moans of desperation caused y/n’s breath to hitch; her thighs squeezed together subconsciously as she watched the video before her with her best nonchalant expression.

once the video ended, yeosang followed up with a simple “i miss you” message— almost as if he hadn’t sent a video of him masturbating less than 2 minutes ago.

she had to go home.

y/n shut off her phone, hurriedly walking back to the table where her friends still sat. she grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder as the rest of the table looked at her in confusion.

“i’ve got to leave early; yeosang needs me. we can catch up another time, bye guys!” before anyone could even get a response out of their mouths, y/n was out the cafe door. their house was only a 3-minute walk from the cafe, so y/n began to sprint down the sidewalk as she texted yeosang to let him know that she was on her way.

incredibly out of breath, y/n stopped in front of the house’s door, fumbling through her purse before finally grabbing a hold of her keys, quickly unlocking the door, and rushing inside. as she gets closer to their bedroom door, yeosang’s quiet whimpers and whines became more and more audible; she couldn’t wait to have him positioned under her, begging and repenting for the ludicrous stunts he pulled nearly 10 minutes ago.

as y/n opens the door, yeosang doesn’t even hesitate— he continues with his actions shamelessly, being too close to his release to have any sort of decency in this situation.

“does it get you off that much, hm? being so needy and ruining my date with friends?” y/n instigated; she knew degrading him would only make the situation worse than it already was— not that either of them minded, though.

y/n sat beside him on the bed, grabbing both of his hands and pinning them above his head. she slightly hovered above him, taking a moment to observe her boyfriend’s current state. he had a fucked out look in his eyes, which told her that he’d been at it for a while now. his entire face was flushed bright red as his forehead and neck glistened with sweat. she couldn’t deny that the look made her want to torture him; to edge him for hours on end to the point of overstimulation as a punishment for the video he sent earlier.

she palmed at yeosang’s exposed dick, applying the right amount of pressure to make him mewl in sensitivity. “y/n, please, i’m gonna– just let me cum,” yeosang whined loudly, attempting to rut his hips against y/n’s hand.

“after the shit you just pulled? god, you’re such a whore, yeo,” y/n growled as she reached over yeosang’s body with one hand, pulling out the top drawer of the bedside table and pulling out a certain ring. as soon as it came into yeosang’s line of sight, a look of despair washed over his irises, almost a sense of fear instilling in his system.

“y/n, no, please, i’m sorry, i won’t do anything like that again, w-won’t send you any more videos while you’re out with friends, just please,” he cried out, but y/n didn’t feel any sense of sympathy toward him; she slipped the ring all the way onto his cock, hindering the speed of his orgasms for the time being.

“if you can last 30 minutes without bitching and whining like a slut, maybe i’ll think about letting you cum, hm?” y/n grinned devilishly as yeosang whimpered at the thought of being edged for half an hour longer. nevertheless, he nodded; he knew he’d done something bad, and it was only right for him to accept the punishment for it.

lathering her hand in even more lube than what covered yeosang’s dick, y/n wrapped her fingers around the tip of yeosang’s length, placing a thumb over the slit and rubbing across it agonizingly slow. yeosang screamed from the motion; he was already incredibly sensitive there, and the applied pressure surely didn’t make it any better. “y/n, p-please,” he trailed off; he didn’t even know what he was pleading for, the feeling was just too intense for him to handle.

y/n eventually began to stroke his throbbing cock lazily with her fingers, causing his hips to buck into her hand repeatedly as her speed increased with every moan that escaped yeosang’s lips. “the more you whine like a slut, the worst it will be for you baby,” y/n teased, which made him quiet his noises almost instantly.

soon enough, y/n’s hands began to tire— she flipped their positions, practically manhandling yeosang into a different position.

y/n quickly stripped from all of the clothes she was wearing, except for the dangerously short black miniskirt that she wore.

“fuck me, yeosang. show me that it was actually worth my time to come back home for this,” y/n spat condescendingly as she peered up at yeosang’s glossy eyes.

obediently, yeosang nodded— he was about to finger y/n to prepare her instead of immediately slipping into her, but as soon as she noticed what he was about to do, she grabbed his hand, guiding it up to her breasts instead. “there’s no need for preparation, yeo. j-just, please fuck me already,” y/n’s dominant aura faded slightly as desperation clouded her vision.

“okay, i’m sorry doll, i— i will,” whimpers sounded from yeosang’s throat as he carefully thrusted into y/n’s hole. his pace was slow and sloppy since the cock ring was still hindering his performance, and the tightness from y/n’s pussy only made the feeling of overstimulation pumping through his dick multiply.

“god, you can’t even fuck me correctly today? your cock is just so useless, making me do all the work myself,” y/n scoffed, forcing yeosang to pull out before switching their positions yet again so she sat on top of him. her skirt rode up to her midriff as she sunk back down onto yeosang’s length, her hips moving precisely as she rode him.

yeosang bit his lip harshly in an effort to contain his sounds, but that didn’t work at all. as y/n sped up her pace on his lap, his moans only progressed into screams from the feeling of being inside of her.

“what did i say yeosang. stop making so much noise and take it like the whore you’ve been.”

that sentence was yeosang’s absolute limit; y/n knew how he reacted to the names, but the degrading had sent him over the edge. “y/n please, it’s been about 30 minutes, right? please, i can’t do this anymore, i need to- oh my god,” he let out a long and hoarse moan, hot tears streaming down his face in hopelessness.

“f-fuck, yes, i’ll let you cum now baby,” y/n breathed, slipping the ring off of yeosang before dropping back down onto yeosang’s dick. with a few more thrusts, the two of them reached their climaxes simultaneously. yeosang's cum spilled into y/n as he whimpered once again, a string of curse words falling from his lips as he did so. y/n pulled off of him with quivering legs before falling back onto the mattress right beside her lover.

it took a while for yeosang to fully come back to his senses; that was probably the most fucked out y/n had ever seen him. they turned their heads to look in each other’s direction; y/n leaned in to press a loving kiss against his lips before snuggling up close to yeosang. “i wasn’t too hard on you was i, love? i don’t think i’ve ever seen you so… desperate,” she released a small giggle as she saw the corners of his mouth curve up, along with his eyes crinkling in slight embarrassment from her words.

“you were perfect, y/n; can you even blame me? you know i can’t bear to spend that much time away from you.”

“i was only gone for an hour, yeo.”

[iblameashley]

Okay... I need to get some thoughts out...

To anyone who hasn't watched the end of Arcane, you may want to skip this. To be kind to y'all, but put my thoughts under the cut.

I really want to start off by saying that I actually did like Arcane! But like with most things, now that I have had time to reflect... I have feelings. And where better to get them out than Tumblr / screaming into the void.

They amusing thing to me about Arcane is that, for all its progressive themes, it still manages to fumble (from my point of view), gay representation. Gay men, specifically...

But as an Old Gay™ who has lived through so many TV shows that bypass, imply, nod, wink and nudge at gay relationships, if not flat out kill the gays and deny them a happy ending; I'm tired of implied gay men.

Lets start with Old Man Yaoi™

So in the alternate universe we get a glimpse of what is heavily implied to be two old gay (or Bi) men happy together.

I know some people might look at it and be like 'you're looking too closely at this, they're just friends now.' but... There is only one thing written more homoerotically and we'll get to that later.

Once again, all we are given is gentle touches, smiles and glances. And that can be fine sometimes. But its all implied and subtle. We have a whole dance scene with Ekko and Jinx, but they could have had Vander and Silco in the background dancing as well? We could have gotten a tender kiss?

We were given lesbian sex in a jail cell, but two gay men having a loving an intimate moment was too much? Of course it was. Lesbians are the safe option. They're always the safe option in TV when you want to have gay relationships. (This is not to say that lesbians get a 100% free pass, or don't have backlash! I simply mean that TV producers feel more confident including lesbians over gay men in media).

And of course we have Jayvik

I read on the other (hell) site that the creators of Arcane never intended to make Jayce and Viktor an item. I don't follow the creators and have no intention of looking it up, but lets be honest... this shit was so homoerotic.

But once again, things are mostly just implied or alluded to.

Would I have loved for them to kiss? Yes. Did I need them to kiss? No.

The gentle touches and looks were nice, for sure. I enjoy the intimacy of the moment, but we couldn't even get an 'I love you' with the actual words.

It feels like, once again, we can't have two men confess they love each other (even if it was platonic) because that would just be too much. Instead we get another repeat of "I want my partner back."

And then of course they explode into... something. Of course they could have simply changed states of being, or something. But its frustrating to always see gay men (viewers) get the short end of the stick once again. I'm tired of having to settle for implied romances or confessions of love from two men.

Anyway. I still loved both seasons of the show overall, but I just needed to let some of my frustrations out. I will now return to being delusional and throwing myself into the fandom to get more gay content that TV still hesitates to provide me with.

As an Aside... Loris deserved better!

I want this man in ways I cannot accurately express on this site. (I'd give this babygirl all the peanuts he'd want)

Thank you for reading my little gay rant. I feel better having typed things out a bit, even if I didn't cover every one of my intrusive thoughts in this post.

[cantareincminor]

Round 2: Fandom Wrapped (Writer Edition) 2024!

Thanks again to @kattyelf for the template. A blank one can be found at @twiyorbase for anyone who wants to do their own!

Detailed reflections under the cut.

This is a long, introspective post. Forgive me if I sound self-absorbed in all this reflection.

The past year has been a unique one. The last long fic I completed was more than ten years ago in the Aladdin fandom. I dabbled in shorter, more stream-of-consciousness fics after that, but hadn’t written or posted a fic since 2016. Then I got into Spy x Family in 2022, devoured tons of fics, and slowly, nervously considered writing again.

There were many reasons I stopped writing. Being busy with real life responsibilities, naturally. I got married and had kids. I had a highly stressful career. With so little time on my hands, I feared that if I tried to write after such a long hiatus, the result would be stilted and disappointing, and I would have “wasted” my precious free time feeling shittier about myself. I’ve had some version of this mindset my entire life: if I can’t do something well, then I shouldn’t bother.

I have @whateversawesome to thank for encouraging me to try my hand at writing again. After the mole hunt arc was published, an idea struck me quite suddenly—what if Yuri had died or been critically injured in Shellbury? How would Twilight deal with that guilt and how would the identity reveals unfurl in such an extreme scenario? Could Yor ever forgive him? 

For months I shied away from writing it. To do the idea justice, I knew it would have to be a long, complex fic. And I continued to have mixed feelings about my last long fic in the Aladdin fandom—regretting parts of the premise and the ship dynamics and the characterizations and just overall feeling ashamed about my writing. I didn’t want to fail—write myself into a corner and abandon the fic or something like that. Right now, on the other end, I still look back on Orpheus sometimes and wonder how the hell I managed to write it. I reread my favorite passages and wonder how I came up with those exact words.

If it may help any writers, I would be happy to share a copy of my brainstorming doc and outline of Orpheus, where I kept track of unresolved plot points, options to resolve those plot points, notes to self to go back and add foreshadowing, and calling out unexpected events in each chapter that I did not plan ahead for. It is a very long doc. But I wanted to remember everything I was thinking at the time as a gift to my future self, in case I ever attempt a big project like this again and feel paralyzed.

Orpheus allowed me to explore themes and beliefs I suppose have been marinating in my heart for years. For anyone who is still interested, below are some of my thoughts and personal experiences around the main themes.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness and redemption are always what I reach for in my serious fics. I think I fumbled it in my Aladdin fic (or didn’t really get to the redemption part), but I was able to explore it more thoroughly and with more integrity in Orpheus, with an additional decade of life experience. 

I think forgiveness is a difficult and fascinating theme to handle because it is so highly personal and often carries memories of deep hurt for ‘victims’ or shame for ‘perpetrators’. I was grateful when readers sometimes shared their personal beliefs and experiences with it in their comments. In order to treat this theme with respect, I wanted to convey that forgiveness should not come cheaply. That is not to say it’s bad to be merciful and quick to forgive—those are amazing virtues. But the act of forgiveness comes at a cost and can be incredibly painful. The cost does not simply vanish due to good feelings or an act of the will.

Someone can either withhold forgiveness and make the other person pay the cost—in Orpheus, this would have been Yor rejecting or taking revenge on Twilight and leaving him to feel horribly guilty about Yuri’s injury for the rest of his life. Or they can choose to forgive and pay the cost themselves. In my own experience it feels physically painful. It feels like extreme grief. This is what I wanted to portray, the devastation to the spirit, as well as the catharsis that can follow. Because after the cost is paid, what we gain is healing. The ability to move on and no longer feel like we’ve swallowed glass. And the mending of a relationship, if both sides are willing. In the case of Yor and Twilight, it makes their relationship even stronger, like a broken bone healing stronger than before. And it adds weight to the trials they would face together after that moment.

Forgiveness of self / Perfectionism

Of all the conflicts in the fic, “Twilight vs. himself” is the last one to be resolved. Even after the man has been forgiven by the people he loves, he still struggles not to hate himself. To find his life to hold any value outside of being a highly competent spy. I think many people go through some version of this struggle. I certainly did and still do sometimes, with regards to work and career.

I chose Orpheus as the title to illustrate the journey of someone who carries an enormous burden on their shoulders. Trying to save the person they love and having to follow a strict rule of never turning around or they will lose it all. All the while, the temptation to look back is incredibly powerful. Twilight bears the burden of WISE’s expectations as their top spy, the hero who has stopped nuclear missile launches, who will supposedly prevent the next war from breaking out. He also carries the expectations of his newfound family which call him to turn away from the ruthlessness of his mission. To look back at them, and not abandon them for the sake of world peace. And finally he carries the guilt of what happened to Yuri, and the pain of keeping all the secrets resulting from Shellbury.

In Orpheus, Twilight harbors both a very low sense of self-worth as well as a highly inflated sense of self-importance. He sees himself as a discardable tool who has done unforgivable things for his missions, with no right to love and be loved. But at the same time he sees himself as the lynchpin to maintaining the fragile geopolitical peace. Responsible for never screwing up, ever. Responsible for the fact Yuri was shot, even though he tried his best to spare him. He’s an unreliable, self-absorbed narrator, and the other characters around him also parrot his guilt back at him throughout most of the fic. Until the end, where I try to address the illusion of control and how a good portion of his guilt is unrealistic and undeserved. 

Unfortunately for many people who carry this kind of burden, no one tells us that it’s okay to turn around. That we are indeed not responsible for more than our own choices, and we certainly cannot be responsible for circumstances outside of our control. I’ve worked jobs where I’ve been asked to do the impossible. My first job out of college, the expectations were incredibly high. I got no training and was thrown into a project in a foreign language and an unfamiliar industry. I pulled so many late nights that in the second week I fainted on the way to the office. And I was told this was normal. That in order to succeed like everyone else, I would figure out a way to solve each problem thrown at me, no matter how impossible.

And what sucks is when you start succeeding. You pull off miracle after miracle and then people start expecting it of you like it’s normal. The reward for success isn’t a break. It’s more work. Harder work. And you buy into that unrealistic narrative that you should be able to do it or something must be wrong with you, you must be broken and can’t perform like you used to. And when you finally break, you get spit out and discarded like an outdated machine. They find the next, younger miracle worker to buy into the narrative.

Knowledge vs Wisdom

This is an easier one. Funny that Twilight’s agency is called WISE in canon. But what is wisdom? The ability to discern between right and wrong, to utilize knowledge effectively for the greater good, to know how to truly live life and live it well. 

Twilight strikes me as the kind of person who uses knowledge as a weapon, not too dissimilarly to Yuri who literally states “knowledge is power.” Twilight hoards knowledge like building an arsenal, so he can always be prepared for any problem. And this is how nations treat knowledge (intel) in the real world. Constantly trying to gain an information advantage on the enemy. 

But how does one know if one’s strategy to use all that knowledge is right? In Orpheus, the Ostanian state exhibits little wisdom in its pursuit of endless knowledge, experimenting on children and prisoners and animals to gain an edge over its rivals and amass more power for those at the top. At the same time the competition and backstabbing between the various arms of the state are almost childish in their motivations, the epitome of foolishness. Knowledge on its own does not build trust or confidence—but it can build hubris and confusion and distrust. 

One unexpectedly fun part of writing Orpheus was the dynamics between Garden and WISE. While there is distrust at the start, the leaders and members of both sides demonstrate wisdom in how they navigate the partnership and grant trust to each other bit by bit. And this feels very counterintuitive to spies who build careers off of lies and masks, as they find that truthfulness can unlock results so much faster than subterfuge. At least when it comes to dealing with Garden.

On a final note on this topic, I find it interesting that in canon Donovan Desmond claims it is impossible to know what other people are thinking and therefore human beings can never trust each other. And yet the highest form of knowledge (second only to knowing God), in my opinion, is to truly know another person to the depth of their soul. To know a person completely, and to trust and love them regardless. This is what all people yearn for, even people like Twilight who have made a fortress of masks around their true self. And this kind of knowledge is what requires deep wisdom to wield well.

Sigmund Authen’s gift of the Tree of Life plaque and the accompanying wisdom quote was an unexpected event I did not plan in my outline for Chapter 33. So was Barbara’s advice to Yor in Chapter 34, which I will end this long ramble with:

Before the two left, Barbara turned and patted Yor’s arm. “I know what it’s like to be married to a brilliant man, dear. Don’t feel discouraged. They don’t need their brilliance and worldly achievements so much as they need our love. I know it can be exhausting sometimes, but I’ve stuck by my Siggy this long through thick and thin. What he didn’t mention amidst all that blather about wisdom is that even wisdom isn’t the final goal of all of mankind’s striving. Love is. What is a life full of wisdom and philosophy if it doesn’t help you find love and keep it? In my simple little mind, that’s what wisdom is for. Goodnight, dear. Thank you for having us over.”

And that's a wrap for my 2024!

[suengmi]

can you do where boyfriend! skz are teasing w reader but say a joke that hurts their feelings and they realize and immediately apologize and make it up to you (fluff)

hi anon!! ty for being my first ask, im excited to write! not sure if you wanted full stories/drabbles but i hope you like what i did! <3 also i'm a bit unwell and drained from work so pls be kind. took so long because i ended up writing a lot for some.... like a lot OOPS i trailed off a bit to make it more realistic but asjsdkkjasd anyways im sorry if it's not exactly what u wanted ;_; i did my best, plus i didn't want to make it all the same i guess? but yeah about .6k for each member!

warnings will be written below member names!! all under the cut~

warnings for all: not completely proof read but wanted to answer this prompt asap!! i'm half asleep it's 3am pls also all gender neutral!

┋bang chan ┋

context: grocery store is never fun, especially when your boyfriend doesn't know how hard it can be for you. new!relationship, domestic bliss grocery shopping for a night in

warnings: slight ableism??? before he knows??? idk, chan a bit spicy with his words so not complete fluff my b, some cussing, not the fluffiest pls im sorry idk what HAPPENED

word count: .6k

chan grunts at you, eyes rolling, "i told you it's the wrong one you dumb dumb. "

you look down at the japanese curry powder, trying to make sense of the words written before you. you haven't been with chan for long, but he's treated you better than anyone you've ever met. he's kind, giving and always knows how to make you feel better. he knows that you're happier when it rains, he knows that you get angry whenever you lose a game, he loves that you always defeat him at uno and enjoys how you make a week long parade about it. he already loves you but definitely doesn't know it yet.

there is one thing you're still trying to gauge about chan is how sometimes he can shoot first and ask questions later, and this is one of those moments.

chan frowns, pointing at the curry packet in your hand. "this is the spicy one."

"i'm sorry." you say in a low tone, still trying to read the packet but the font is harder to read, "they look the same."

chan snatches the packet from your hand, placing it back next to the seemingly same ones. "well maybe if you read it you properly for once. i had the runs for like 2 days last time. you know me and spicy no agree."

"i can't.... sometimes."

chan turns to you. "huh?"

you take in a deep breath and speak fast, "i have dyslexia."

"what?" he questions confused.

it's then when the penny drops after a moment of silence. realization a wave over him, all the times he told you to read properly, how many times he made tut noises at your replies not having complete context and how he would grunt when you didn't comprehend something.

"why didn't you tell me? there's nothing wrong with that...?" he prods, gaze gentle towards you.

you fumble with your hands, picking at the skin at the sides of your thumb, your mind trying to find what to say. "i dunno."

he sounds so apologetic when he eventually speaks, he wonders how he could have been stupid. it makes sense. all the times you've told him about your ex and how he called you stupid and dumb for not reading well, making fun of you and saying you just don't pay attention. "i made fun of you so much... wow i'm a dick-

"no it's okay" you interrupt him, a small smile on your lips not wanting him to be hurt.

chan purses his lips while taking your hands in his. he looks at your eyes, his own intense and apologetic. "no- it's not okay, i make fun of you so much for thinking you just didn't pay attention, shit, i'm sorry. i joke all the time about how your brain is always else where."

and with that chan knows that he definitely could have picked up the pieces earlier, that you said it to him, without words. "i'm just... fuck i'm sorry."

"i just you know with my ex they-"

chan pulls you in for a tight hug, as if hushing the words you were about to spill, your glasses pushed against your eyes but you don't mind. he smells like fresh baby powder, his own scent you love mixing in with the clothes he's wearing. you know chan's going to make up for it and that he'll do everything to make you feel better. because you love him too, you just don't know it yet either.

﹋﹋﹋

┋changbin ┋

context: changbin loves working out and you love watching him, even if you don't think he doesn't know. freshly known feelings, uni!au, living together in dorm (i know you said !boyfriend but this was too good not to write hehe)

warnings: CHANGBIN SHAMELESSLY FLIRTING ACK, implications of taking a relationship further (physically), voyeur reader lmao

word count: .5k

you turn your gaze over to your friend, housemate or whatever you two had going on was called. you'd never really thought of changbin as someone you'd like, his gentle an soft nature was a contrast to the man currently a few metres away from you. weights in hand and grunts slipping from his mouth. you lean your head back to get a better angle, the veins on his arm revealing themselves. you knew he liked you and you liked him, but neither of you would dare to open that pandoras box. well, not until tonight.

it's a moment later that changbin stops his routine, almost meeting your stare. you raise your brows, attention turning back to the laptop in front of you. what on earth was i doing? you think, pretending to type something into the computer.

"thirsty?" he asks you, pretending he didn't noticed your eyes on him every now and then for the last half hour.

you turn your attention to him "wha?"

he laughs into his chest, stretching out his arms, "you have drool on the side of your mouth."

"i do- i do not!" you say slamming the laptop down, folding your arms on your chest knowing you've been caught.

changbin laughs, sitting down on the couch next to you, "didn't know i owned a dog."

you had no idea he could be this cheeky, making fun of you for simply watching him. after all, you were perving in a sense.

"don't make fun of me! i know i was... watching."

a smile dances on his lips, knowing that you can be sensitive to these things. "i'm sorry." he almost sounds apologetic... almost. "but... it's just too good to catch you out." he says in a slow almost seemingly mocking way.

"stop it." you mumble, facing the other way. "you know i have issues with... bringing this stuff up."

changbin tugs on your ear to gain your attention, feeling bad for making you feel slightly uncomfortable. but hey, you were the one watching. he smiles and says, "i know i know, i'm just teasing. i'm really sorry."

"i know but... please don't, this is hard for me."

"okay okay," he whines, gently lacing his fingers in yours, testing the waters to see if you'd be okay with this affection. "i promise i won't make fun of you, but if you wanna watch feel free to, don't have to be shy about it."

a blush dances across your cheeks and ears, your tummy suddenly feeling a knot of embarrassment grow. "changbiiiin." you groan, planting your face into the couch cushion.

"okay maybe i lied, i'll definitely enjoy making fun of you."

﹋﹋﹋

┋hyunjin ┋

context: you hate feet. hyunjin thinks it's funny. established!relationship, living together

warnings: obvi mentions of feet?? mentions of vomit

word count: .6k

hyunjin knew you hated feet, just how they looked, how they acted and gripped on the damn floor whenever someone would walk bare foot. hyunjin loved walking around the house barefoot, and it sometimes made you feel woozy, just the image of your own feet touching the floor... imagine. you shivered at the thought, sitting down on the couch next to your boyfriend, his feet dangling off the edge of the couch.

you pat your legs, instructing him wordlessly to lay on your lap. he complies without a thought, scooching back and nestling his head into your soft legs. he let's out a gentle "mm" as he settles in. "soft" he coos, rubbing his head a few times before turning his attention back to his switch.

after another episode of your favourite show, hyunjin suddenly brings his feet up, inspecting one of them. "i think i have glass in this one."

"do you need to do that here?" you say in a tone, eyes avoiding the grippers in sight.

"nah can you just check this one?" he says with difficulty, throwing his foot back towards your face. if you weren't so grossed out you'd probably be impressed by his flexibility.

"hyunjin please--" you swat away his foot with your phone, pushing yourself back into the couch.

"nah see in the big toe right here."

"hyunjin! you know i hate feet stop!"

he struggles, folding his body further to get his left foot near you, "babe just look here near the nail."

and that's when you feel a lump in your throat, nearly retching at the sight. the rice dish you had earlier suddenly feeling not so settled.

"oh shit." hyunjin says in a shock turning his attention to you, hearing your strangled noise. "are you okay?"

"no i'm not okay, go away." you say behind your hand.

shit, he knows he did wrong. his seemingly funny joke was definitely taken too far. he feels bad, real bad. he knew you didn't like feet but not this much. it'd never really come into question the time you'd been together, but god he had no idea.

"jeez i'm sorry." he's unsure where to place his hands and fumbles, words not forming correctly.

you sit in silence for a moment before regaining your thoughts. "don't. fucking. do. that."

hyunjin's eyes are pleading, the guilt in his face almost makes you not want to get him back but then realise you can use this to your advantage. you look over at the massage oils on the table and back at him. "i have an idea."

and you know he'll do whatever it takes. he still had glass in his foot, but that wasn't important right now.

------

┋felix ┋

context: felix thinks your tummy is cute, but you're just not used to it.

warnings: mentions of weight, body issues, tight clothing, BUT ITS FLUFF I PROMISEEEE, felix just a silly soft goose

word count: .6k

"come out please." felix begs, head leaning against the door.

you're sitting in the bathroom on the floor, dressed in nothing but your boxer underwear and a tight bed shirt, felix's bed shirt. you can feel the anxiety seeping into your chest, the weight of reality hitting you. you and your boyfriend had been together for only a month, but this was the first night you were staying at his house. it was on a whim, since most of the trains and buses had stopped running. and of course, you had nothing to wear. so there you were, tight shirt and all. you've never been uncomfortable with your body, if anything you love your body. but for some reason the way that felix talked about your stomach irked you. maybe he meant it as a joke? what did he mean? either way you were upset and needed space for a moment.

"please, i didn't mean it like that." felix sighs against the door, "it's soft and i love it."

you cast a sad expression towards the door. still unwavering from your position. why do you have anxiety now about this? all he did was grab your tummy and tell you it's soft like a kitten belly, or how it reminds him of those marshmallows that fold and how much he loves it because it's you, and he loves you.

you hear nothing but the cracking of a knee, felix bending down to put his fingers through the gap of the door underneath. he splays his fingers like a cat trying to get in the bathroom, darting against the tiles.

"lemme in!" he chimes, grunting to get his fingers further in. "i'll get in either way!" he jokes, using both of his hands under door to attack. it makes you laugh. it reminds me of those videos of cats wanting to get into the bathroom, or videos of racoons grabbing food.

"am i close?" he jokes, moving his hands back and forth.

you groan, stifling a laugh as you get up to open the door. "not even." you say, being met with pleading eyes. you look down at him, his hands still pretending to search where the door once was.

but he suddenly swoops you into a hug, hands around your waist, his head pressed into your soft chest, enjoying the smell of his shirt mixing in with your scent.

you relinquish any negative thoughts you have, melting into the hug. "i know you didn't mean it like that but, i think i'm just nervous... because it's you."

he pulls back, arms still wrapped round your waist, probably a bit too tight. "it wasn't a joke, i do love it." his eye are filled with nothing but love and adoration for you, your body an your mind.

"just... choose different words, please... i'm not a roll of marshmallows."

felix pulls back suddenly before gently pressing a swift kiss to your lips. "tastes sweet." he retorts about your statement, ignoring your words before kissing you again.

"i'm-seri-ous." you say between kisses, you feel his his hands digging into your hips.

instead of stopping, he grins, love apparent in his eyes. "my marshmallow."

you roll your eyes, a bit of anxiety still in your throat but knowing he adores marshmallows, you figure it's okay for now.

﹋﹋﹋

┋jisung ┋

context: a park date is cute until you get attacked my a crow, jisung think's it's funny. established!relatonship

warnings: jisung being a weenie, swearing

word count: .5k

the ground collides with your chest, the mud clouding your vision and your new shirt you brought for the date probably ruined. yep, i definitely tripped and yes it was embarrassing. you think, shame in your chest. of all the days, why your one year anniversary?

all you hear is the cackle behind you getting louder, sharp inhales of breath echoing in your ears. jisung has no shame, actively laughing at you stacking it to the ground.

"ahaha! the crow!!" he gurgles still, bending forwards over the picnic blanket, almost choking on his spit.

"jisung!" you yell, getting to your feet, seeing the mess on the front of you. that fucking crow, why did it choose me?

"jisung!" you yell louder, stomping over to the blanket, definitely covered in mud, dripping behind you as you walk.

"i'm sorry babe i'm-" he says between breathes.

you grunt before wiping the mud from your chest, still feeling it covering half of your face. "it's not funny."

"it fucking is."

jisung's laughs come to a halt as he realised you're upset upset, not just whining like you usually do. he notices how your eyes are suddenly pooling with wells. he stands to his feet and gently holds out his hands, "baby-"

"no!" you grumble, pulling your arms away, tears rolling down your cheek. "i just bought this top. now it's ruined." your dejected tone unsettles jisung, instantly feeling bad for making fun of you.

he says nothing, confused on how to react. but he waits patiently, allowing you to let out your feelings. he's always been good at this, always been patient with you.

after a breath you look back at him, red rings dancing around your eyes.

he smirks as he walks over to the mud and plainly sits down in it as if it what he was meant to do all along. you let out a small laugh, your hands wiping the rest of the mud from your face.

"what?" he asks plainly, as if nothing is weird. he grabs a handful of the mud before pressing it to his shirt, and then another handful to his hair, rubbing it in. "what's funny?"

you laugh behind your mud covered hand walking over to him. he smiles up at you like a puppy, knowing that he's succeeded in making you feel better.

and there he is, completely covered in mud, way more than you are and in that moment you fall just a little bit more in love with him. you lean down and press a gentle but muddy kiss onto his lips.

he stares up at you with nothing else to say, just sitting in the mud. you decide to join him, plopping down next to him, hand in hand as you both just sit in silence and completely covered in mud.

with jisung you didn't always needs words, sometimes the things he did for you were enough.

﹋﹋﹋

┋lee know ┋

context: you're getting ready to go out with friends, but your hair has other ideas, established!relationship, living together.

warnings/other: kisses??? idk, cuss words

word count: .5k

"it's not working!" you huff, re-straightening the side of your bangs for the 6th time. minho was confused at first, wondering why you're so upset over something trivial and small from his point of view. but when he looks up from his phone to see you struggling, his left hand still lazily patting one of his cats. he speaks without thinking,

"it's definitely like a pigs tail." he chuckles, looking back at his phone. in his mind, he assumes that he was just making a light hearted joke, thinking it was cute the way you got so upset over something he coined as small. plus, pig tails are very cute if you think about it.

it wasn't until you made a little sob that he noticed how you were actually feeling. you stare in the mirror, realizing it in fact does look like a pigs tail.

"baby-" he let's out a small but gentle sigh, "i was joking,"

"no you weren't. it... does look like a pig tail." you say between a small dejected sob, lips curled down and hands at your side as you avoid the mirror.

"let me help?" he says so gently as he approaches the bathroom door. instead of letting him help, you just melt into his chest immediately, your sobs muffled by his shirt. "i look like shit." you say defeated.

he lets out a light laugh, kissing the top of your head a few times, "you never look like shit, you know... even with your pig tail."

you step back, immediately hitting the tight muscles of his chest with both of your fists, "fuck off i swear." you talk through your teeth, still frustrated but feeling the urge to laugh in your throat.

"there you are," he says pleased at your spice, fighting with you to place a kiss on your temple, your hand starts pushing on his jaw, his lips puckered and ready. "c'mere." he says through your fingers, still pushing his head towards you, his hands gripping at your neck. "let me-- love you."

after a few minutes of roughhouse struggle, you push him back, feeing slightly better. it's in this moment you realize that you in fact do not enjoy asking anyone for help. but you speak, dejected tone apparent. "yeah... please help."

and nothing else is said while he fixes your hair, gently pressing small kisses on your cheeks as he does so. he knows he can sometimes say things without thinking, but he also knows that you sometimes enjoy just as much as he does. it's why you love him and why you two work so well together. after a few minutes he steps back to admire his masterpiece, a triumphant smile on his lips. "hmm," he ponders, "i liked the pig tail better."

"oi, don't start again you little shit" you say as you begin chasing after him, giggles dancing in with his own as he runs down the hall, nearly slipping on the rug. "get back here! you're in for it!"

﹋﹋﹋

┋seungmin┋

context: seungmin needs to shut his mouth sometimes, even if he doesn't know it. established!relationship, living together

warnings: seungmin being a spicy bitch, some playful physical aggression, kissing

word count: .5k

seungmin has you completely pinned under him on the couch as he covers you with kisses, not relinquishing his hold. "how many times do i have to say it?"

you grunt at the fact that he's weirdly strong in these situations, and as much as you struggle against his hold he's just completely powering over you. just the other day you were the one that had to help him open a jar. but thats besides the point. here seungmin is, currently trying to wiggle his way out of the fact that he took a joke too far. you're determined not to let him get away that easy.

you struggle once more against his hold, your legs flailing underneath him but he's just too damn strong.

he lets out a struggled breath, still above you. his hair falling gently from his face, "isn't sorry enough?"

you turn your head to the side, bottom lip pouting. "no."

"baby-"

you tut at him, tone almost darted, "don't baby me! you've lost your rights."

a gentle grin finds itself to dance over seungmin's face, he likes it when you fight back. he likes it when you put him in his place but still give him enough wiggle room to feel in charge.

"okay," he says with raised brows, "you win. i apologise."

you realise this is the perfect opportunity to get him back, for him making that stupid joke about something he knew you were insecure about.

"oh, whats this? kim seungmin, apologising, what was that?" you speak sarcastically. you're still under his hold, but you'll let it slide for now. "sorry i didn't quite catch that after you made me feel like shit for an entire hour. repeat?"

"i... apologise. i took it too far and i'm sorry."

you feel your chest rise, suddenly enjoying the power that seungmin has given to you. it takes a lot for him to admit he's wrong or that he's done wrong, this is just so damn satisfying.

"actually..." he trails off, letting your hands free a second before quickly grabbing the back of your neck. the kiss he planted on you was fast, and before you knew it you were laying back down on the couch, head dizzy from the sudden kiss, "you can't just make me forgive you with kisses." you speak in a semi-daze.

seungmin presses a kiss to your cheek and then a few more to your lips, the taste sweeter everytime. "i can, actually."

yeah, he's absolutely right. wait, what were we arguing about?

﹋﹋﹋

┋jeongin┋

context: jeongin fucked up, and he wants to make it better. fresh!relationship

warnings: none? kissing maybes, TOO MUCH CUTE

word count: .5k

it only took jeongin about half an hour to attempt to make it up to you.

sometimes being with jeongin was hard, as you both communicated in very different ways, it definitely was something you needed to work on. though, the one thing you loved about him is the absolute time and effort he put into making everything just perfect for you. when it came to you, everything he did for you was worth it.

after taking a walk to calm your thoughts, you realized you were still frazzled from the way jeongin teased you and how you ended up crying, resulting in him just left behind in a confused state. sometimes it took a while for the penny to drop with him, but once he got it, he really got it.

you step through the front door of his house, gently removing your sandals to be met with the sound of jeongin jumping up from the couch, hands out in a display. "ta-da!" he yells, it startles you.

you turn to meet eyes with your boyfriend, his face with a stupid grin slapped across it.

"what is-" and that's when you notice the many items splayed across the ground. there's a few towels on the lounge table, a tub of what seems to be hot soapy water, a box of facemasks and some nail polish next to it. the lighting is low and your favourite soundtrack is playing. you notice the scent in the room, jasmine tea, your favourite.

jeongin takes a deep breath in before showcasing his wares. "salon de jeongin"

"babe i-"

he steps forward, taking your hands in his before guiding you to sit down. "cmon" he coaxes gently, his beautiful dark eyes watching your every step. you say nothing as you follow him, unsure of what's happening.

as if he knows you're going to speak, he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. "i'm sorry."

you marvel at the sight in front of you once more. the fact that he built you a whole salon in his living room within thirty minutes is mind blowing. he knows your favourite scent, your favourite songs and all the products you use. you didn't even realize he had those.

you're still at a loss for words, unsure of where to put your hands or body. jeongin just points to the chair, silly grin still plastered on his face and eyes wide.

you sit down in the chair, eyes darting to jeongin. "does it cost extra for shellac on my nails?"

jeongin pouts in thought, "just a kiss."

"i can do that." you say back at him. and that's all it takes, you know you'll talk later about this and how you can communicate better but this... this was enough for now. more than enough.

"actually," jeongin ponders before leaning so damn close to your face, "i think it's about 4 kisses."

-

DAMN THAT WAS SO LONG I SPENT LIKE AGES DOING THIS MY BAD, i know it's not exactly what u said but oh well i wanted to make them all different!!!! ty for asking!!!!!! <3

[diodellet]

ily now leave me tf alone (jamil viper x gn!reader)

summary: Your mouth just says the darndest things under sleep deprivation. And to add insult to injury, jamil's there to see it in real time. content warnings: sleep deprivation ++super short, mild back nd forth betw you and jamil, set after the events of book 4, pre-slash ig? unebta'd. all mistakes are mine. word count: 1.1k words

No, you weren’t tired. It wasn’t even twenty four hours, you could handle this one party. You gave yourself a quick once-over through the front-facing camera of your phone.

Okay, the dark circles were horribly hidden with your concealer. But if you wiped away your fifteen minutes of work, you had a hunch that your expression would look way, way worse than what you were seeing now.

(At least nobody would be close enough to see the shitty handiwork… right?)

So you leave it on, pocket your phone, then walk through the mirror after Grim.

The heat of the Scarabia dorm falls over you. Heavy, enough to sap away the remnants of your energy. 

At least it was past noon, the tail-end of the worst of the heat. 

You scan your surroundings, Grim’s nowhere to be found. Maybe he made a beeline for the kitchen. 

Might as well greet and apologize to Jamil right now. And then go say hi to Kalim, and then figure out a way to keep Grim entertained until the party actually started by the way why did you think that arriving two hours early was a good idea—

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” Never mind! At your strained smile, Jamil’s expression pulls into a slight frown. Like he could tell that you were ready to deflect.

Since the holiday break incident™️ you noticed that irritation was the first thing to break his cool facade. 

(A part of you missed the politeness and formality, and a little bit of being fussed over. Even if it was feigned, concern felt…good. It was better than having your emotional state be brushed over by your “kind and gracious” guardian figure.)

“Man, is it that obvious?�� 

“Mhm. Where’s Grim?” 

You wince. “Wherever the food’s at, probably. I told him to save his appetite for tonight.”

He sighs. “Of course, why would I expect anything less from that gluttonous cat?”

“Hey! How many times do I gotta tell you that I’m not a cat!” Grim said defensively, wriggling in the grasp of another Scarabia student.

“I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for finding him.” You step forward to take him only to stop in your tracks at the feeling of Jamil’s hand on your shoulder.

“Could you take him to Kalim? The prefect’s familiar seems to have gotten… lost.”

Since the holiday break incident™️, you also noticed that Jamil started to freely express himself more through cutting side-comments and a healthy dose of sarcasm.

“Hey, hey! Stop ignoring me!!” Grim’s protests fell on deaf ears as he was carted off to the dorm leader.

…it was safe to assume that Jamil knew Grim would head for the food, right? Right?

So why did he ask you where Grim was?

“Relax, Kalim knows how to entertain guests.”

“He’s probably going to overload Grim on snacks and appetizers, and my not-familiar’s stomach is going to explode.” 

“He’ll be fine. Besides, you're two hours early. Whose idea was that?” Despite the question—maybe it’s sleep deprivation, but you’re positive that—you can see a small upwards curve on Jamil’s lips.

(You’re not sure how to feel about being on the receiving end of said jabs. They don’t feel malicious when directed at you. But at times it feels like you’re being toyed with. It feels weird.)

“Well, that’s because—you see, in my world,” you start. Oh no, you’re feeling fluttery and fumbling your words.

“In your homeworld?” 

Nevermind, you point your gaze to your shoes and confess in a soft voice, “I thought I could help y…out a bit…”

When you glance up, you’re not prepared for the light flick of his fingers against your forehead. “Ow! What the hell, Jamil!”

The gesture didn’t hurt much. If anything, it forcefully knocked away your building exhaustion and left you with a strange energy coursing through your veins. Sort of like caffeine and adrenaline.

Through the gaps of your fingers, Jamil’s expression is a mix between flustered and exasperated. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it would reflect badly on the Asim family if I allowed that to happen.”

Still, a frown forms on your face. “Then what do I do for the next two hours? Twiddle my thumbs? Leave and then come back?”

“You can stay in my room.”

“Oh, okay.” After a beat passes, the words actually sink in. “What?”

“Don’t tell me you have the energy to handle conversing with Kalim.” He turns away, was he going to leave you—

Your next words spill out in a hurry, “No, no, no, wait, I wasn’t thinking that! Please take me to your room and let me have a power nap on your comfy bed—”

Jamil whips around, “Not so loud!” 

(Okay. The way he was holding your cheeks was hurting a bit. Just a little bit. But the slight panic in his eyes was giving you the slightest feeling of vindication.)

You mime zipping your mouth shut and he lets go of you, motioning for you to follow him.

You can feel your heart’s pulse in your ears, drowning out all other sounds.

When you arrive at his room, you give him another cautious look. “Are you really sure it’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t okay with it.” Jamil closes the door behind him, twisting the lock shut. He makes his way to his cabinet.

“Alright, say less.” And that’s that! You toe off your shoes and faceplant on the mattress—springy and firm. A feeling you didn’t realize you were missing after months of sleeping in your bed at the Ramshackle dorm.

“I’ll wake you up before the party.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.” Speaking of which, now that you were lying down, your exhaustion was finally catching up to you.

“Just don’t drool on my pillow.” He walks past you to head into the bathroom when you suddenly tug at the hem of his shirt.

“Wait wait, before I sleep, I have to tell you something—” Ah, this was bad, you were too tired to even sit up.

“What is it?” Even until now, he was still putting on that mask of nonchalance.

You motion for him to lean closer to you.

Jamil levels a suspicious look at you before crouching at the side of his bed.

The next moment happens in a blur, with your body moving of its own accord, not an ounce of hesitation or second-guessing.

Your hands reach out, guiding him close enough for you to press a quick kiss to his cheek—Jamil tenses up at the gesture, you can’t see what expression he’s making—afterwards you push him away. Turn onto your other side, and face your back towards him.

“Goodnight, I love you.” Okay, now you are going to shut up!

It takes him a few seconds to mutter a quiet “good night” in return.

A/N: apparently bball jamil is dropping durin my birth month... WILD! let's ignore the fact that i have work in 3ish hours HAHAHA ya girl's been busy girlbossing and wrestling with her impostor syndrome this summer haha HEY LOOK! something short to get me back into the groove of writing. im not abandoning my other wips dont worry! but yeah, it's just my already slow writing is gonna be waaay slower. don't be afraid to reblog and holler in the tags, I treasure each and every comment.💕💕 tagging my fellow jamil simps: @mochimiyaas @merotwst @kaechannn @anxiously-sidequesting

[cherryrainn]

hello! I really like the onceler comforting the reader while they are sick fic, and I was wondering if you can do one where the onceler (greedler) is sick and the reader was comforting him. I get so happy when I see your writing, and I really love your world-building (even if it is a short fic)

thank you so much! compliments like these really make my day. sorry for being late on asks by the way, these few days have been so busy but im back on the grind!

☽ ༚  ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰  ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ 

— fevered devotion

sick! greedler x reader

you stirred from your slumber, the room embraced by a soft, diffused light that filtered through the partially drawn curtains. blinking away the remnants of sleep, your attention was immediately drawn to your beloved boyfriend onceler, who sat slouched in a chair and was on the phone. his usually vibrant blue eyes had lost their usual gleam, replaced by a weariness that seemed to weigh heavily upon him. his complexion was pallid, and his nose, red and swollen, hinted at the presence of an unwelcome guest: sickness.

concern crept into you as you observed his uncharacteristic state. it was a rare sight to see onceler, normally so confident. looking so subdued. his movements lacked their usual energy, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as if they had momentarily forgotten their ability. despite his weakened state, a flicker of determination still burned within him, refusing to be extinguished.

as he adjusted his gloves with a slightly unsteady hand, onceler's voice, though affected by hoarseness, carried a hint of his trademark self-assurance. "i understand the importance of this meeting," he declared, his words punctuated by a few sniffles. "no matter what, we're going to ace it."

only snorts and raspy pauses punctuated his speech, reminding you of his physical discomfort. however, even in the face of illness, onceler couldn't completely suppress his confident demeanor. he pushed through, determined to fulfill his responsibilities, never allowing his sickness to completely dampen his spirit.

moved by his unwavering confidence, you approached him with a mixture of concern and admiration, a warm smile on your face. "hey, onceler," you began softly, "i can see how worn out and sick you look. you've been pushing yourself so hard lately. I think it's high time you took a break, just for today, to let your body and mind recharge."

onceler's brows furrowed slightly as he glanced down at you, a mix of stubbornness and determination etched on his face. it was clear that his pride was making it difficult for him to entertain the idea of taking time off. "i appreciate your concern, but i can't afford to skip a day, y/n." he replied, his voice tinged with his usual self-assuredness. "there's too much at stake, too many things that need my attention."

a wave of frustration mixed with affection washed over you. how could he be so stubborn, so resistant to putting his own well-being first? your concern evolved into a heartfelt plea. you wanted nothing more than for him to understand the importance of taking care of himself.

"but, onceler," you said firmly, your voice expressing a mix of emotions, "what good will it do if you end up completely burnt out and unable to handle your responsibilities? taking a day off now is gonna you a chance to recharge and come back even better!"

his gaze softened as he took in the sincerity of your words. there was a brief moment of silence as he weighed his options. finally, a hint of surrender appeared in his eyes, and he spoke, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and resignation.

"alright," onceler relented with a sigh, his pride momentarily set aside. "i guess you have a point. maybe I do need to take a break."

a sense of relief washed over you as he finally agreed. you smiled warmly, grateful that he had recognized the importance of self-care. "good! now get on that bed 'cause i'm gonna be taking care of you all day."

soft music filled the air, its gentle melody serving as a soothing backdrop to the day. the curtains were drawn, creating a cozy cocoon where onceler could rest and heal.

you prepared a steaming cup of herbal tea, carefully selecting a blend known for its healing properties. as the aroma wafted through the room, you approached onceler with the cup in hand. "here," you said softly, offering him the warm drink. "it'll help soothe your throat and boost your immune system."

he accepted the cup with a grateful smile, allowing the warmth of the tea to ease his weary body. the two of you settled onto the bed, surrounded by blankets and pillows, creating a sanctuary of comfort. you wrapped your arms around his sick self, offering a gentle embrace of love and support.

throughout the day, you catered to onceler's every need. you prepared healthy meals, ensuring he received the nutrients required for his recovery. you fetched his favorite books and movies, creating a world of entertainment within the confines of your cozy haven. occasionally, you'd share a laugh or a quiet moment, cherishing the bond between you.

as the day unfolded, the weariness began to loosen its grip on onceler. the rest and care you provided worked wonders, and his energy gradually returned. his eyes sparkled once more, filled with gratitude for your unwavering love and attention.

in the evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourselves wrapped in a blanket on the balcony, basking in the serenity of the twilight. the air was cool and gentle, the world around you hushed and peaceful. onceler turned to you, his voice filled with sincerity.

"i can't believe i almost resisted taking this day off," he admitted, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. "i don't know what i would've done without you." he laughs.

"i'll always be here to remind you to take care of yourself."

[tseecka]

We started watching Castlevania: Nocturne last night (2 eps left) and it kinda coalesced something in my brain wrt the wank about Jayce and Viktor in Arcane.

Like, fandom and media in general has progressed to this point where I feel like we are no longer really living in an absolute dearth of representation. Like I see videos on my TT algorithm breaking down "are these shoes worth watching just for the lesbian/gay/GNC content" and there are just. So many thumbnails in the background. And certainly there can always be more, and there always SHOULD be more, but it's not nearly as dire as it was when I was growing up; using Brokeback as the watershed when "gay stuff" entered mainstream media consciousness, it's been less than 20 years and absolutely exponential growth.

So I no longer find it a moral failing on the part of creatives when explicit queerness doesn't appear in every place you might expect it; in many cases there is still queer rep present, besides.

All of this to say: once, knowing that creatives behind a project support or even champion readings of characters and their relationships as queer, but are unwilling to depict it on screen, is something I would have categorized as cowardice. Now, though, I don't find it carries the same weight.

I don't NEED Trevor and Alucard (or Trephacard tbh) to be explicitly canon. I don't need that level of commitment from the creatives to know that they are on my side. Was it hinted at excessively in OG Castlevania? Yep! Did the depiction of Alucard as bisexual, and participating willingly in a threesome during a period of loneliness and separation from Trevor and Sypha, imply a whole host of things (and launch a thousand fanfics)? Absolutely! Was I hoping to get some sort of explicit canonization in Nocturne? Yeah, I definitely was!

But it's not there, and I don't mind; and the reason I don't mind is because I know the creatives behind Powerhouse's Castlevania adaptations are on my side. I know Sam Deats ships the hell out of them. I know that when Alucard says things about being in love before, or about the cost of erasing names from the narrative, it's intended to grant permission--not needed or looked for, but appreciated nonetheless--to superimpose Trevor and Sypha onto his words.

We aren't being admonished and told, "It's not canon, it could never happen, you are interpreting it wrong!" It's a wink and a nudge; it's maybe not explicitly canon,but it's also not NOT canon, and it's being done in a way that makes clear it is not cowardice preventing them from making a bold statement.

It's something Castlevania has done really well, and something that I think some individuals on Arcane fumbled. We aren't necessarily living in a world, anymore, where failure to confirm and canonize queer relationships on screen is inherently homophobic or dangerous or rooted in archaic ways of thinking. No one had to come out and say Jayce and Viktor were 100% in love. They just had to not say they absolutely weren't.

(And maybe I'm reading way too much into the Deats' support of Castlevania fans and the Trephacard shippers, and I'm projecting; but at the end of the day that's still the image presented to me, and it makes me feel very safe while watching the show and crying every time Alucard mentions "Trevor" or "Belmonts", because while permission to ship or interpret has never been necessary, it's still nice to have.)

[roseeycreates-blog]

Spanking. [Farmer AU]

"Ahhh, ooh!" Lin winced.

"What happened?" came a voice from the phone.

"Oh, Zumi! It’s Oda’s toys. Spirits, it's so messy! I’ve told him so many times to clean it up, but he never listens."

Tenzin was on his way to give their son a goodnight kiss when he overheard Lin on the phone, clearly frustrated.

“It’s a disaster in the bedroom! I don’t know what to do with him. He just forgets to put things where they’re supposed to go, and then I get so frustrated that I end up taking care of it up myself!” Lin exclaimed.

"Spanking?" Lin asked.

"Well, now that you mention it, I’ve thought about it," Lin said with a sigh. "But you know Tenzin... I don’t think he’d be on board with that."

"Hmmmm, If it worked for you, maybe we'll give it a try," Lin added.

In their bedroom, Lin and Tenzin were getting ready to sleep. Tenzin was still thinking about the conversation he overheard earlier. Lin said goodnight and turned off the lamp.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Lin shot up, startled. "What? What the hell was that?"

Tenzin, caught off guard and embarrassed, quickly pulled the blanket over himself. "O-Oh... I think I was... having a dream," he stammered, his face flushed.

Lin, still puzzled, stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened.

The next day, Lin approached Tenzin with a sigh. "I already talked to Oda and explained that we aren’t fighting and I’m definitely not abusing his beloved dad," she said, shaking her head.

Tenzin nodded in relief. "Alright, that's good to hear."

Lin paused and said "I'm really sorry about what happened earlier... I thought that’s what you wanted since, well, you did that to me first... last night."

Tenzin blinked, confused. "Well, I overheard you telling Izumi that spanking might help..."

"With Hakoda and his messy room! What were you thinking, Tenzin?" Lin crossed her arms, trying to keep a straight face.

Tenzin stumbled over his words. "Wh—wait, I thought you meant... I mean..."

Lin finally chuckled, shaking her head. "No, there's nothing wrong with us in the bedroom, Tenzin."

"Nothing missing in our married life? or you know..." asked

Tenzin relaxed as Lin reassured him with a smile. "Yep, absolutely nothing..." she said confidently.

"Although," Lin added with a sly smile, "even if there’s nothing missing, doesn’t mean we can’t try something new, you know." She looked at Tenzin, her gaze lingering just enough to make her point clear.

Tenzin blinked, a bit surprised but quickly composed himself. "Well, to be fair, I’ve had a few ideas running through my mind," he admitted, a slight grin forming.

"Oh?" Lin leaned in closer, her voice soft and playful. "Like what?" she asked, her tone sweet yet undeniably seductive.

Tenzin’s face turned slightly red as he fumbled for words.

They ended up sitting down and writing their ideas out, both quietly jotting down their thoughts. After a while, they shared their lists, laughing at some of the entries and surprised by others. Eventually, they combined them into one, forming a personal bucket list of their own.

(inspired by a scene form Modern Family S9E15)

[alblondo23]

This is quite literally a clown show.

Replacing a driver mid-season isn't unheard of sure, but doing so literally one race after summer break? The disrespect is so clear.

Logan was struggling, yes, and definitely not getting the points the team wanted, but let's not forget that his car was taken away and given to his teammate after said teammate crashed his own with the logic that points had to be scored (no points were scored), drove a cracked chasis, was given upgrades much later than made sense, car was overweight and also not working (steering wheel malfunction, anyone?), and his own boss constantly badmouthing him to the media as well as making clear he was unwanted. Given all of that, I am not surprised that not just Logan but the team as a whole has been struggling this season and further back than they were last year. If the car is shit, there's not much a driver can do, and if the car is shit and the driver is actively struggling and being downgraded by the team principal, it's clear there's something extremely wrong going on within the team. Rather than pivot and fix anything, the driver was blamed.

Also, Williams has constantly mismanaged their PR surrounding all of this. They've gone from a family-oriented image to a trashy we don't care about anyone image. I'm saying this objectively, not just as a Logan fan. They had a great thing at the beginning of the season, where I saw many posts about how people liked that Williams was so different from other teams who had toxic cultures. And then Williams seemed to stop giving a shit about maintaining that image and reaping the goodwill that fans had for them.

As an example of Williams' bad PR strategy, i would like to point out how they dealt with the seat announcement for next year. Carlos' signing had post after post after post with not a single 'we and Logan Sargeant are parting ways at the end of the season' post that was solely about Logan. Who, might I add, is the first driver to graduate their young drivers program. I'm not here to argue about whether they brought him up too soon, I'm here to state that from what I've seen almost every other team replacing their driver made an announcement about their old driver first before they moved on to announcing their replacement for next year. Logan was not given that courtesy. In fact, the team principal went on record multiple times discussing how he, for lack of a better word, courted his new driver. That was unneeded and, in my opinion, was a PR fumble because it came off as offputting and odd.

It's terrible how they've handled everything this season, and while this is a business, that is not an excuse for acting like this. The people running the business are still humans, so I believe it is logical for me to expect them to act with a degree of humanity.

Logan Sargeant deserved better than this, and as his fan, I hope to see him racing again soon and far away from Williams.

[hyperfixationstation128]

Chapter Six: Dinner and a Show

Rating: E (fluff/romance)

Summary: Gale treats Arcane to a much-needed meal and a private magic lesson, but the newfound connection they share feels far more powerful than any gift Mystra could bestow.

Word Count: 8,373

Once more, this is a longer chapter. I really appreciate y'alls patience with me as I worked. I think this chapter came out really nicely, so I hope you enjoy! Continue reading beneath the break!

There was a soft silence that surrounded Gale and Arcane as they made their way to his tower. The lights now snuffed out in the many shops and homes that lined their path, a few lone stragglers roaming about as they made their ways back home to rest for the night, awaiting the morrow’s ambling workday. Arcane fidgeted with the amulet in her hands as they ambled, her thumb gently stroking over the smooth-cut purple gemstone, fingers fumbling with the silver chain from which it hung.

She wasn’t quite sure why she needed it so badly. Sure, she wanted it because it was her grandfather’s and he had abandoned her with nary a note to remember him by, but whenever she thought about the boiling rage she felt at the prospect of never having it again, she was astounded by just how angry she had been. Something about getting his belongings back, the amulet especially, called to her; sang in her blood like some mighty need.

The sound of Gale’s voice beside her snapped her out of her thoughts. “I take it that stone means a great deal to you, yes? You mentioned it was your grandfather’s?”

Arcane glanced up at him, noting his inquisitive look. “Yes. He, uh, left rather suddenly, close to five years ago.” She felt her breath catch in her throat, the painful memories threatening to pull tears from her eyes. She shook her head slightly and sighed. “I haven’t heard from him in a long time, so when I heard my papa was sellin’ his things to make ends meet, I set out to find them. This is just one of his myriad of little trinkets.”

“Ah, I can see how you might think it’s just a trinket, but it is, in fact, imbued with magic.” He held up a finger to solidify his point. “You don’t feel that slight tingle in your hand? The dull pulse in your teeth? It’s faint, but powerful.” He drummed his fingers against his cheek.

Arcane’s teeth instinctively grinded against each other. “I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised that grandda owned several magical items. He was always fond of secrets.” Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “Nor should I be surprised that he kept all of them from me, even if I did think I was special in his eyes.” A distant bang followed by drunken roarous laughter made Arcane jump, a memory of the rowdy pirates seared her mind. She recalled the feeling of their filthy hands on her body, groping her as she passed.

“Such is the way of those who are in tune with Mystra’s gifts.” Gale chimed in,  offering her a kind smile, one which crinkled at his eyes. “You are quite the mystery, yourself. I must confess, since I saw you during the storm, I’ve had this near overwhelming need to learn more about you. There’s something… indecipherable about you.”

“‘Indecipherable’, eh?” She chuckled wryly, shaking her head to clear it of the flashback. “You certainly know how to charm a woman.” She pocketed the amulet, considering his words for a moment. “What do you mean you saw me in the storm?”

The rosy flush painted his cheeks once more. “Ahh, well, I was having a relaxed day in my tower; partaking in a particularly lovely cup of tea, when all of a sudden, I heard a jarring roar of thunder.” His hands gesticulated in the air as he spoke; she liked that about him. “But this was no ordinary thunder, I thought to myself. The sheer resonance with which it crashed simply had to be magical in nature. I looked out onto the horizon, aided by my enchanted spyglass, where I saw it: a conjured, localized storm, the biggest I’d seen in a while, making a victim of a pirate ship.”

“My, quite jarring, indeed…” She trailed off, the flash of swords, the roar of thunder, the scent of rain mixed with blood flashed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images were burned behind her eyelids, inescapable, even in darkness. The fighting, the shouting; gods, the blood…

He continued on, his eyes glittering with what Arcane assumed to be amazement as he did so. “As previously stated, I recognized this storm to be magical in nature, and thus, had to find the source.” His hands stopped moving, and he paused to look at her. His eyes made Arcane’s heart flutter. “And there I saw it. A woman - you - standing in the eye of this monumental storm, surrounded by pirates; fighting with such ferocity, such capability, it was a near devastating blow to my ego! I couldn’t just stand by and watch. I had to help.”

There were few things that set Arcane’s heart aflutter, few words spoken to her that had managed to bring a flush to her cheeks. But the things he said, the way in which he talked about how he viewed her magic, the way he used his hands to signify his points… It left a warm glow soaring across her skin and pulled her from the harrowing thoughts. She smiled at him, soft and flirtatious, taking a step closer to him, her fingers dancing on the lapels of his waistcoat. Hoping that if he continued to compliment her, it would wash away the feelings of being back there, back on that ship.

“Well? Don’t stop there, tell me more.” Her words trailed off into a breathy sigh, her eyes softening.

Gale only beamed at her, continuing on. “Happily! Thankfully, due to my keen eye, I identified this ship to not only be a pirate ship, but a slave ship! Knowing there’d be poor souls trapped below, I called forth a Knock spell. With a Weaving of words and a flick of my hand, I managed to successfully unlock their cells. Freeing the slaves, who rushed to your aid!” Once more, his hands waved in the air, demonstrating the movement he’d done. “And thus, the day was saved!”

Arcane’s smile fell and her brow furrowed. Was he… was he really trying to take credit for her efforts? Her hands released his waistcoat (perhaps pushing him back a little harder than she meant to) and she stepped away, continuing along the streets in silence, irritation biting at her burning ears.

The memories came back. The glint of Cutler’s blade raised high in the storm. The chorus of devilish shouts as she was swarmed by the crew. Her nerves stood on end, her eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Did I say something wrong? I promise you, I was merely recounting what I witnessed!” Gale caught up to her, his eyes wide and apologetic.

“Oh, no, not at all!” Arcane sneered, her arms folded over her chest. “I must’ve only imagined fighting through a wave of pirates, getting stabbed, and killing my first man. Far be it from me to think all those poor souls were rescued by my effort. I merely ‘conjured a storm’.”

The clap of thunder. The feeling of warm blood rushing through her fingers. The sting as a blade met her flesh.

Gale stepped in front of her, hands raised to halt her steps and eyes now darkened by his displeased frown. “If I said something impertinent, I’d rather you tell me outright. I’m not one for playing these childish games.”

The loss of breath as she was thrown against the mast. The soft splatter of blood on her face. Cutler’s words ringing in her ears. ‘The one thing a woman is good for, and you’re so bad at it!’ Her father’s words:

‘What a waste of magic’

‘What a waste of magic’

‘What a waste of magic!’

Arcane bristled, her fingers digging into her arms. “Childish?! You just took credit for almost everything I did. Blatantly ignoring the danger I was in and recounting it as if it were some childhood fairytale!” Her voice raised, but caught in her throat as the memories came flooding back. “It wasn’t some heroic deed. It was mortifying! And I wasn’t some valiant knight in shining armor. I was scared.”

She watched as Gale’s eyes softened, his brow unfurrowing and his mouth slightly gaping at her words. He paused a moment, his eyes now scouring the ground beneath them, as if the cobbled streets held his next words. His shoulders rose and fell as he sighed, offering her a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry. Really, I am. And you’re right, I wasn’t thinking about what it must have been like during the altercation.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid I was a tad… exuberant when I recalled it. I was safe in my tower, meanwhile, you… you were right in the thick of it! Fighting for your life, trying to control the storm around you. I hope you can forgive my unthoughtful words.”

She felt the tension in her shoulders ease at his touch. Gods, he was warm. Not quite like a roaring fire, but like the soft flicker of candlelight - bright and endearing - a welcome reprieve from the cold. Despite his apology and soft touch, Arcane gently shifted herself, letting his hand slip off her shoulder.

“I forgive you.” She muttered, averting his gaze lest she burst into flame, her fingers picking at her cuticles. “And I’m sorry for raising my voice. That was… unkind.”

“Ha! Believe it or not, that’s not the first time I’ve been shouted at for speaking without further thought. Though, I’m sorry to say, it probably will happen again.” He chuckled. “I remember this one time as a boy, I- Well, that’s probably a story best paired with a glass of wine. What say you to finally heading to my tower and cracking open a bottle, yes?”

A soft smile found its way back to Arcane’s lips, glancing back up at him. Wordlessly, she nodded, and wordlessly, they continued on.

It didn’t take long for the pair to make it back to his tower in the Docks Ward, only about 16 or so minutes. But when they did, Arcane could only stare up at it. The tower loomed over them, casting dark shadows onto the street below. She’d never seen a wizard’s tower before, at least, not one like this. With its stalwart stone foundation - built to withstand the crashing waves - and its aged, yet handsome wooden walls, it was quite the sight to behold! Not to mention, the grand foyer that greeted them. Paintings lined every wall, stacks of books littered the floor; it was cluttered with the kind of organized mess one would expect a young scholar living on his own to have.

To say Arcane was in awe would be an understatement; she was downright gobsmacked! Never before seeing such an incredible home in all her years!

“Ye, gods… You live here?” She gaped at the view before her, mindlessly working her coat off her shoulders. “It’s incredible! How can you live with so much space?”

Gale chuckled behind her, taking her coat and hanging it on the coat rack nearby before she could drop it to the floor, trying his best to not let his eyes linger on the tears in her shirt that revealed her tan skin. “Yes, I suppose it is rather generous in its size. A wizard can’t be expected to live in a hovel, after all.”

“Pfft, tell that to my grandda. He preferred smaller spaces.” Arcane snickered.

“Mr. Dekarios? Is that you?” A voice rang from up the stairs. Arcane turned to look back at Gale, trying not to giggle.

“Who was that, your housekeeper?”

Gale grinned in response, excitedly taking her by the hand and leading her up the stairs. “You’re going to love this. Follow me!”

Arcane followed suit, the two quickly bounding up the stairs and into a lovely seating room. Rows upon rows of books lined the far wall, their inlaid golden leaf spines illuminated by dozens of lit candelabras. On the floor, there lay an ornamental rug, upon which sat a plump cozy couch. There were no words to describe just how she felt, taking in the gorgeous sight before her.

“Now, this is something I could get used to!” Pangur chirped beside them, paws outstretched as he arched his back. “We’re definitely gonna have to get ourselves a home like this some day.”

“Aye, you could say that again…” Arcane’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in as much detail as she could, until a striking flash of orange, black, and white caught her eye. There, atop the back of the couch, green eyes stared at the group. A cat? No… surely it couldn’t be…

“Arcane, I’d like you to meet Tara. Who is decidedly not my housekeeper, but in fact, my friend.” Gale strode over to her, giving her a soft scratch behind her ears, into which she leaned, a wide pair of impressive wings spanning out from her shoulders. “Tara, this is Arcane and her companion, Pangur. They’ll be joining us for the evening.”

“By Greatshout's handlebar mustache! A Tressym?!” Arcane rushed over to get a closer look, kneeling down to be eye level with the creature. “Oh, Gale, she’s gorgeous! Tara, was it? By the gods, I’ve never seen such a beautiful creature in all my life!” She presented her hand to her, offering her scent.

Tara’s eyes widened at the sudden closeness and recoiled from her hand, giving Gale a pensive look. “Mr. Dekarios, you know I’ll always encourage you to make new friends, but to invite them over while the tower is in such disarray!” She ruffled her feathers before settling them back at her sides. “Without even a thought to send word ahead so I might make myself presentable.”

“Come now, Tara, you’re positively radiant!” Gale chuckled, continuing to pet her.

“Aye, and the prettiest wee birdie I ever did see...” Pangur made his way over to the group, his blue eyes staring unblinkingly at the Tressym.

Tara bristled, her wings fanning out to make her appear larger, and hissed. “Good heavens! What in Mystra’s name is that foul creature doing here?!”

Pangur stretched up on his hind legs, his forepaws resting on the couch as he leaned in closer. “Oh, there’s no need to be so ruffled, birdie.” He purred, licking his lips. “I may be half Cath Shee, but I’m no monster… unless the lady prefers it that way.”

Tara growled, swiping her claws at Pangur, striking him on the nose before retreating onto Gale’s shoulders, her fluffy tail lashing from side to side.

“Pangur! Don’t be vulgar!” Arcane chastised him, her arms scooping under his chest and lifting him into her arms, stepping away. “Miss Tara, I’m so sorry! Please, you’ll have to forgive my companion. He likes to pretend I never taught him any manners.” She glared pointedly at the cat-creature in her arms. He smiled haughtily as he dangled.

Gale stifled a chuckle, lifting Tara from his shoulders and placing her on the floor. “They’re our guests, Tara. And they’ve both traveled a long and hard road, so let’s try to avoid any further confrontation, shall we?”

“That depends entirely on the behavior of said guests. Oh, how you like to vex my nerves with your antics, Mr. Dekarios.” Her tail continued to swish back and forth. “But I shall endeavor to persevere. Now, let us not forget our manners. The poor girl is clearly in need of a bath!”

Arcane’s face flushed red. She hadn’t considered just how dirty she looked or how badly she must’ve smelled, but now that Tara had mentioned it, the grime that clung to her skin seemed weighed down on her.

The Tressym began to lead the pair across the room. “Come now, miss Arcane. Let’s see if we can’t wash away the toils of what clearly must have been a terrible ordeal.”

It didn’t take long for them to reach the washroom. It was unlike anything she’d seen before! A porcelain, clawfoot tub sat before them, with brass piping snaking up the wall. Arcane wondered for a moment just how well off this Gale character seemed to be. Perhaps a family fortune? She supposed it didn’t matter, all she wanted was a hot bath.

Tara shooed Pangur out the door before returning to hop onto the bathtub’s edge, explaining the concept of running water to her before hopping to the floor and sitting down, watching her. Arcane reached for the hem of her torn shirt, slowly peeling it from her skin, sucking in a sharp breath as it dragged across the nasty gash that hadn’t fully healed.

“Good gracious, child! How have you been walking around with such cuts and bruises?” Tara exclaimed, her tail flitting from side to side as she reached up to sniff at the wound, her lips curling in disgust. “Ugh, they’re positively rank!”

Arcane glanced at her wounds, shrugging slightly. “I had other things to take care of, I guess. They didn’t start hurting until I got to the tower.” She pulled at her skin, trying to get a better view of the damage, and dragged her finger lightly across the gash. “Ahh! But, I suppose they’ve grown tired of being ignored.” she winced, speaking through clenched teeth.

“Indeed! You’d better wash up quickly before an infection sets in.” She trotted off towards the door, which cracked open upon her approach. “You try and relax, miss Arcane. I’ll see if Mr. Dekarios has any healing potions amidst this disorderly tower of his.” The flickering of her multicolored tail was the last thing she saw before the door shut behind her.

Turning to the bathtub, she ran the water - as hot as she could stand it - and disrobed before stepping in. She hissed and panted as she tried to acclimate her body to the heat, finally sinking into the water with a deep, relieved sigh that left her dizzy. The warm water stung at her wounds as they were submerged, the stinging eventually dulling to a numb, throbbing pain. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

‘I thought I told you to undress completely, wench!’

The crack of the leather belt.

Arcane buried her face in her knees, the memory echoing in her mind.

‘Now what will your dear betrothed think of you? Now that you're spoiled goods!’

Her fingers found themselves pulling at her hair, pain coursing through her head as she yanked the knotted stands tightly against her scalp. As if doing so would block away all memory of the trauma.

His icy blue eyes, his hellish smile, his rough hands. Hands, her hands, covered in blood. Her blood, his blood. The wheezing gasps he took as he strangled on his last breath.

The memories continued to plague Arcane’s mind, pulling herself into a tighter ball, pulling at her hair harshly. She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid! She couldn't believe she had ever allowed such a despicable, rotten man to ever lay hands on her. Not to mention the disbelief at her ignorance to Cutler's deception. She was disgusted with herself. She should’ve seen it coming.

Arcane grabbed the sides of the tub, the water splashing over the sides as she did so, and began to lift herself out of the bathtub. She didn't deserve to be clean.

The door opened, Arcane slipped, falling back into the water. Her eyes shot to the door, wide with panic. To her relief, it was only Tara, returning with a small vial, a sponge, and a bar of soap trailing behind her in the air, suspended by her magic.

     “I certainly hope you're not leaving! You've barely even scrubbed the mud from your face!” She once again hopped on the edge of the tub, folding her tail over her paws. “Here you are, drink this. It won't stop your wounds from scarring, I’m afraid, but it should heal them.”

Arcane stared at Tara, tentatively taking the vial and inspecting it closely. Tiny remnants of rogue's morsel salts sloshed around in the red liquid. Good. She uncorked the bottle and downed the liquid, feeling the gashed skin of her wound tightening and contracting to form deep, scarlet scars.

     “Thank you, Miss Tara. I feel better already.” she sighed, taking the sponge and lathering herself in the soap.

Sandalwood, spiced, sweet, and creamy, with hints of coconut.

After her bath, she wrapped herself in a bathrobe and followed Tara to, quote, “Wear something more acceptable than tattered rags.”. She felt cleaner than she had in what felt like years. Her skin smelled delightfully sweet, finding herself rolling up her sleeves just to press her nose to her arm and get another whiff.

While Arcane took her time getting changed, Gale was at work in the kitchen. If he guessed correctly, she wouldn’t have had much to eat in the past few days save for the dried rations they handed out in the Castle’s prisons. Besides, his mother would be most dissatisfied with him if he neglected to feed his guest. He stood there, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to avoid staining them, slicing away at some limes while a pot of rice sat bubbling on the stove. A fragrant - and the had to admit, ambrosial - smell filled the air, combining into an amazing mixture of spiced fish, lime, and cilantro.

It was no secret to anyone that he loved cooking. It gave him something to focus his thoughts on, something he could control. When all the world seemed to drown in chaos, cooking a meal for either himself or loved ones was just one of the few things he could do to quiet the noise. But tonight… he found his mind wandering.

‘That poor girl.’ he thought to himself, ‘She must be petrified having gone through what she did. Surviving the wreck, getting locked away for a crime she didn’t commit… no wonder she’s so on edge.’ He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door to the kitchen open.

“Need some help?”

Gale turned his head, his fingers losing their grip on the knife, falling to the cutting board with a clatter. Arcane stood in the doorway, her fingers fumbling with the tasseled ties that held a sheer, floor-length robe to her form. The iridescent green silk complimented her sun-kissed skin and matched her eyes near perfectly, and it flowed behind her like water, exposing her lithe, bare legs, and over her ample hips as she meandered over to him. Her dark hair draped freely over her shoulders, finally clean of all the filth that dared to touch her, and framed her face perfectly.

She was a vision - a downright exquisite sight to behold. Gale blinked hard, as if doing so would pull illusion from reality, but yet there she still stood in front of him. The prettiest picture he’d ever seen.

“I, uhh, suppose it couldn’t hurt.” He shook his head, trying his best to ignore the unconscious tightening of his pants as excitement built within him. “I’m just about finished, but you could help me plate the fish.”

“It smells divine! A Waterdhavian dish?” She stood next to him, eyes scanning the food on the counter.

Gale could hardly breathe, lest he take in the succulent notes of sandalwood that blended perfectly with the scent of her skin. He nodded, silently averting his eyes to focus back on slicing the limes.

She chimed in once more, her sweet, velvety voice continued to send shivers down his spine. “This is incredible! Back in Daggerford, we mostly ate things like clam chowder or fried, breaded fish. Which, mind you, is good if you’ve the stomach for it, but the smell certainly doesn’t compare to what you’ve made here!”

He felt her eyes boring into him. Gods, how she made him burn. Gale mentally lectured himself over the sudden effect she had. She was simply a woman! An attractive woman, make no mistake, but just a woman nonetheless. He kept himself busy, eyes fixated on his work as he stirred the rice, squeezing the lime juice over it before topping it with roughly chopped cilantro leaves. He reached for the plates he’d set aside, handing them to Arcane so she could help. Her fingers brushed against his, lingering far too long and far too quickly before he swiftly moved out of her way.

Gale’s hands found themselves pushing back his hair, his eyes wandering unabashedly over her form as she arranged the food on the plates. He recognized this robe - a shameless gift left over from Merletta after a particularly regrettable drunken visit. It didn’t nearly suit her as much as it suited Arcane. She turned to him, plates in hand, and she smiled. The color had returned to her face, painting her freckled cheeks and full lips with a warm, peachy glow. He swallowed thickly, reaching for the plate, but she pulled away from him, smirking.

“Ah, ah!” She tutted, a playful twinkle in her eyes. “You’ve done far too much for me already. The least I can do is help bring dinner to the table.”

Gale couldn’t help the smile that mirrored hers, a stifled chuckle exhaling through his nose. “As you wish, my lady.” He gestured to the side, silently leading her into the dining room where she set the table - his plate on one end, hers on the other - and sat down.

He watched as she sat across from him, resting her elbows on the table as she folded her hands and bowed her head, muttering a hushed prayer. “I didn’t take you as the religious sort.” He fanned out his napkin before placing it in his lap.

“I’m not. I don’t hold enough faith in the gods to pray to them on a daily basis.” She matched his movement, placing her own napkin over her legs. “But tonight is a special occasion. I’m giving thanks for the stroke of luck I seem to have stumbled upon.” Soft fingers danced on the edges of her plate, hungrily eyeing the meal.

“Ah, all thanks to a certain handsome wizard who saw it fit to offer you shelter for the evening, no doubt?” Gale shot her a playful smirk.

She laughed, her smile scrunching her nose. “Well, I certainly didn’t add the ‘handsome’ part, but I’ll be sure to correct myself later if you wish.” Her fork lightly prodded at the fish. “Though, I have to admit, I don’t feel overall deserving of the kindness you’ve shown me thus far.”

Gale was taken aback by this, his first bite stopping short at his open lips. How could she say such a thing? He set his fork back on the plate. “Why not? Forgive me for bringing what must be a hard topic for you back to light, but was it not you who freed an entire vessel of slaves whilst simultaneously fighting off waves of pirates? They would have died - or worse - had it not been for your selfless actions!”

He watched as her eyes fell to the table, her brow knitting together. “I hardly did anything.” She mumbled, lifting her eyes back to him, soft and contrite. “I’ve had some time to think it over since being here and… you were right to take credit for their freedom. Had it not been for you, your well-timed spell, they’d have gone down with the ship! I’m… I’m so sorry for how I acted, Gale. You didn’t deserve that.”

The pair stared at each other, a silent exchange of sympathetic glances, before Gale smiled softly at her. “I forgive you, Arcane.” The forgiveness seemed to be enough, the two finally turning to their meals.

“Gods, this is amazing! You’ve a real talent!” She exclaimed, covering her chewing mouth as she spoke.

“I’m glad you’re impressed! Not to boast, but I do know my way around the kitchen.”

She eagerly took another bite. “Don’t be so humble. This is, without a doubt, the best supper I’ve had in a while!” She barely took the time to chew before swallowing, humming her enjoyment. “Whoever manages to lock you down in the future won’t go hungry, that’s for certain!”

Gale’s heart jumped at the mention of marriage, his cheeks warming at the thought. He cleared his throat. “I, ahem, I don’t necessarily think of myself as one for matrimony. Least of all with anyone I’ve met thus far. I’m… not particularly well-liked by my peers.”

Arcane halted to look up at him, her brow quirked in confusion. She looked him over, as if doing so would reveal just what exactly he was talking about. Given his action since their introduction, she found it rather strange that he wasn’t at the very least talking to someone special.

“So, no long-lost lovers? I shouldn’t expect to see an angry man or woman storming through the doors to catch their partner sharing a meal with a strange woman?” That delightful playful smirk returned to her lips.

“Ha! Certainly not.” He felt the soft pang of disappointment tug at his heart as he continued. “To be perfectly honest with you, I’m afraid I’m seen as something of a pretentious ass, if you’ll excuse my language. I have… a certain reputation that people tend to cling to, rather than who I am at heart.” It didn’t go without mentioning that he deeply craved affection. The only kind one would get from a lover, not the familial, motherly love he’d grown accustomed to from Tara and his mother.

Arcane hummed, considering his words for a moment before reaching across the table to get his attention, their eyes meeting as she smiled. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re lovely.”

“Truly?” His voice raised slightly in surprise at her confession.

“Truly,” She echoed. “Far lovelier than any of the horrid men I’ve had the misfortune of meeting, anyway. And I don’t think you’re an arse, I think you’re passionate.”

Her words struck him like an arrow to the heart and warmed him from head to toe. She was one to talk. It wasn’t difficult for him to admit to himself that he found her lovely, too. Quite lovely, in fact. She was audacious, ambitious, funny… soft. A far cry from the other men and women he’d had in his life, who only saw him for the status that came with his inherent talents, rather than who he was at his core. It was comforting to meet someone who claimed to enjoy his company.

His eyes fell back to his plate, finding it hard to focus clearly if he kept staring at her. His mind raced as he looked for another topic to speak of. “So, ahem, your name…” he trailed off.

Arcane chuckled. “Haha, I knew this would come up sooner or later. It always does.” She took a sip of the white wine in front of her. “Grandda named me. I used to beg him to tell the story over and over again as a girl.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she sighed.

“It must have been an enthralling experience, if it warrants a story. Would you care to share it?”

A wry snicker crinkled her nose once more, frowning slightly. “If you insist, though I assure you, it’s hardly the tall tale grandda made it out to be.” She straightened in her seat and cleared her throat, dotting the napkin at the corners of her mouth. “It was an especially rainy time. In the wee hours of the morning, on the second tenday of Kythorn, a baby girl was born. The thunder heralded her delivery, the waves cheered her arrival. Aloft in my arms, I held her to the heavens and thusly, I cried, ‘Arcane! Daughter of the Weave!’” Arcane imitated her grandfather’s voice as best she could.

Gale watched as she acted out the scene, listening intently, engrossed as she recounted the tale.

“Arcane, I called her. Blessed, she was. Consigned to be my apprentice. My light, my love, my darlin’ little dove.” Arcane’s voice waved slightly at the pet name. Her heart sank with the fond memory. She gripped the edge of the table, steadying her breath before she continued. “‘Little dove’. That’s what he called me. He’s the one to credit for my magic, teaching me all he knew. Before he disappeared…”

Gale’s heart ached for her. His abandonment clearly affected her deeply. He felt a sense of… well, he wasn’t quite sure what to call it. Compassion? No, he felt far too heated for that. Protectiveness? The thought baffled him! For only a few short hours, had he known her, and yet, he still felt the soft burn of a need to protect radiating in his arms. He knew the pain of abandonment from a father figure all too intimately. To see a similar experience reflected in someone who was most undeserving of it… well, it made him angry.

“I’m so sorry, Arcane.” Was all he could manage.

She shrugged slightly, dropping the napkin over her plate. “It was five years ago. I imagine the pain of losing his daughter to sickness clouded his judgment. Perhaps he left to seek out a cure for death. Maybe he grew tired of our quaint home on the waterfront.” A hand raised to wipe away a tear that damped her lashes before it fell. “It wasn’t uncommon for him to just up and leave out of nowhere. But his most recent departure seemed decidedly final and… sudden.”

“Your mother passed?” He caught himself grasping his chest. The mere thought of losing his own mother made his blood run cold. He would never be able to relate to such a devastating loss. Arcane merely nodded, silently sipping her wine as she averted her gaze.

Gale stood, taking their now empty plates and setting them in the sink. He wasn’t sure what to say in this situation; he only knew that he felt for the poor girl. A distraction, perhaps? Something to turn their thoughts away from the bleak conversation. He turned to face her, leaning against the counter and rubbing his hands together.

“You mentioned it’s been five years? That’s far too great a time to go without your grandfather’s guidance.” He ambled over to her, offering his hand. “What do you say to a private lesson from an accomplished Wizard?”

Arcane scrutinized his hand for a moment, gazing up at him with a cocked brow. Surely, he wasn’t being serious. But the look he held on his face, that soft smile, those warm eyes, that gentle tone. She bit down on her knuckle, hesitating before slipping her hand into his. He was soft, his fingers wrapping gently around her own as he guided her to her feet.

“I thought you were impressed by my magical prowess?” She spoke, finding herself quite breathless.

Gale let out another breathy chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Make no mistake, my lady. Seeing you in action was certainly extraordinary, but you lack a certain… discipline.”

The corners of Arcane’s lips fell and she slightly clenched her jaw, her eyes half-lidded as she made an unimpressed face. Gale held up a hand, sensing the impact his words had on her nerves.

“No, no, don’t mishear me! You’re rapturous! Invigorating, even! But you’re lacking in self-control. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it just needs correcting.” His eyes glanced to her hand in his, thumb mindlessly dragging across her knuckles. “I’d… be honored to teach you.”

He certainly had a knack for making someone feel both inadequate and flattered all at the once. If Arcane was in her right mind, she’d decline after some harsh words. But the way he held her hand, the way his honeyed, erudite tone warmed her heart… She found herself entranced, unable - no, unwilling - to say no. She hesitated for another beat, but finally relented and followed where he led.

The two of them eventually made their way to the impressive library Gale had previously mentioned. And impressive, it was! From wall-to-wall, the room was practically made of books! Small, marble statues were scattered about the floor, and a heavy wooden desk sat in the far corner upon which a multitude of magical items, crystals, and scribbled parchment littered its surface. Sextants, globes, maps, and tomes littered the floor in an organized mess, and along the left hand wall, was a roaring hearth; two comfortable armchairs lay before it, separated only by an ornate coffee table.

It was the perfect picture of comfort and safety. The perfect place for a Wizard to unwind after a long day of… whatever it is that they do. Arcane gaped at the room before her, eyes widened with wonder, her hands mindlessly tracing across the nearby bookshelf.

“You have got to be kidding me!” She gasped, turning to scan the multitude of books next to her. “Have you actually read all of these?”

Gale chuckled beside her, moving to stand by her side while he admired his collection. “Oh, yes. I have carefully curated quite the extensive collection.” His finger hooked over the spine of a book, pulling it free and running his hands along its cover. “I have found that when you lack a social circle, it’s nice to find companionship among written words.”

Arcane continued to browse the books, tucking her hair behind her ear, eyes scanning the multitude of titles before landing on a familiar sight. Etched into the black leather cover and inlaid with silver leaf was a rather crude depiction of a woman in the arms of a hulking man, his lips at her chest, her hands in his hair.

“Hey, I have this one!” She pulled it free from the shelf, a smile spreading across her lips. It was a romance novel; a badly written one, at that. She smirked at Gale, wondering to herself how such a well-spoken, gentlemanly scholar like himself could read such filth. “Gale! I never expected one such as yourself to own something so… dirty.”

Gale’s face flushed red and he reached for the book, but Arcane pulled back. “Ah! That’s, uhh, that’s just something a fellow classmate lent to me years ago. It’s nothing really, just a terribly written excuse of a romance novel.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room apprehensively. “I haven’t even-”

Arcane interrupted him, pressing her fingers to his lips and stepping closer. “Gale, you don’t need to explain yourself to me. I was only teasing you.” She saw him relax under her touch. “And you don’t need to tell me that this book is terrible. As I said before, I’ve read it. Actually, I quite enjoyed it!” Her hand moved to his shoulder.

Gale’s eyes widened in surprise. He never expected anyone to say they enjoyed such lascivious works. Arcane was turning out to be quite the surprise. His eyes softened, his hand reaching to cover hers. “That’s… quite a relief. To be perfectly honest with you, I have many more books that cover a wide range of topics pertaining to…” he shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. “Pleasures of the flesh.”

Arcane giggled, moving her hand from shoulder to his chest, where she gave him a placating pat, before turning to return the book to its place on the shelf. Gale tried his best to ignore the fire she ignited under her touch, but with the warmth of her touch heating through his clothes, he couldn’t deny the excitement she brought out in him. His mind wandered, imagining what she must feel like under that silk robe. Imagining how much sweeter his name on her tongue would sound if only he could touch her. A vision of her on top of him, eyes drunk with desire, her voice crying out his name, pert breasts heaving with every shaky pant that fell from those perfect lips flashed in his mind. It made his blood roar in his ears.

Catching himself staring at her for far longer than was appropriate, he blinked hard and shook his head, taking her hand in his once more and leading her to the balcony doors. “Well! Now that I’ve sufficiently embarrassed myself. Shall we proceed to your lesson?”

Arcane nodded and followed after him. Gale made a show of using his magic to open the doors, slowly revealing the world outside, the docks below them, the dark sea that glittered in the moonlight. He silently thanked the gods for making it so lovely tonight. He wanted to astound her. He watched as her eyes flew wide, her mouth hanging open, gaping in pure awe at the view that lay before them. She became a work of art in the night, the moonlight dancing across her skin, the stars sparkling in her seafoam eyes.

“Oh, Gale..” She whispered. Her amazement was like music to his ears. “It’s… it’s incredible! I-I don’t have the words!” She turned to him, a wide smile pulling at her lips.

He hummed in agreement, walking to stand beside her, gazing out at the gentle waves. “This is my favorite place in the world. I’ve spent many a night out here beneath the stars, captured by books, enthralled by my studies… or merely enjoying the view.” He side-eyed her, her eyes still taking in the sight, and he felt his hands clench at his sides. He swallowed, continuing. “Although, I must say, I’ve never had the pleasure of enjoying the sight with such… enchanting company.” His heart leapt to his throat, the sudden regret at admitting such a thing nearly choking him.

Arcane tensed slightly, her eyes trailing down to the floor and up into his own. That warm, peachy glow now burning ever brighter on her cheeks. She parted her lips to speak, but found herself speechless. Her hand raised to cup the side of her face and turned away from him, fearing she would burst if she continued to meet his gaze. Warm fingers traced her chin as he turned her head back to him, the subtle mixes of pensiveness and gentility pooling in his eyes.

Gale cleared his throat. “Now, I believe we came here for a lesson, yes? Shall we?” He straightened his back, squaring his shoulders. “Now, this is a rather complicated spell, but not to worry, I will be here with you every step of the way.”

Arcane silently mimicked his stance, squaring her shoulders and nodding curtly.

“Follow my movements.” His hands swam through the air, a soft purple light emanating from his fingertips as he gently formed a ball of light between his hands, repeating the motion before opening them as if he were setting a dove free.

Arcane watched him intently, taking in the fluidity of his movements, the way he grinned as he worked, the way the gentle hues illuminated his dark eyes. When he was done, he turned to her expectantly, gesturing for her to do the same. She shook out her arms, stretching and clenching her fingers, trying to steady the slight tremor in her hands and copied his movements, although lacking in his fluency. There was no unmistakable magical glow from her fingers.

“That was good! Your hands were a tad shaky, though. May I?” He gestured to her hands as if to ask if he could correct her maneuvers.

She nodded and he moved behind her, reaching around and taking her hands in his. He slowly, gently, helped to steady the shake as he moved with her, repeating the movement once more. Arcane resisted the urge to lean back against him, instead trying to calm her mind and focus. It took a minute, but in a bright flash of violet light, magic burst from her palms.

“Ha! That was marvelous!” His voice reverberated against her back, raising the hair along her arms. “You’re a natural. You just need to steady your hand.”

Arcane craned her neck back to look up at him. She felt him stiffen against her, his hands suddenly gripping hers tightly. “You’re a wonderful teacher.” She managed, swallowing thickly. A soft, warm feeling surging through her body. She wasn’t quite sure if it was the magic, or it was due to their pair’s close proximity. Either way, it was calming and gentle. A familiar, but long since lost feeling.

He pulled away, Arcane almost whining at the loss of his heat at her back, and moved to stand in front of her again. “Yes, well…” He didn’t continue his thought, his shoulders rising and falling with a sharp breath. “Ah, let’s get back to it shall we? Repeat after me verbatim.”

She nodded, determined to get it right this time, though her mind wondered if she were to fail again, how he might correct her twisted tongue. She shuddered slightly at the idea.

His voice echoed around them, soft but booming, like some far off roll of thunder. “Ah-Thran Mystra-ryl Kantrach-Ao” His words rolled off his tongue, sweet and dark.

Now words were easy for her; she repeated him, her own voice reverberating around them like his did before. The volume of her voice would have startled her, if it weren’t for the tranquility that enveloped her, the scent of rosewater in her nose, the sweetest taste on her tongue. The familiar memories flowed back to her.

‘I am Mystra’ She remembered the voice she heard so long ago, the calmness, the peace, the safety she felt in the void on that cold, dark day. Arcane closed her eyes, her head lulling back as she embraced the feelings. It tingled her scalp and radiated through her limbs. She smiled and couldn’t help but wiggle her fingers, the soft shivers of walking into Mystra’s presence was an unmistakable and nostalgic one.

“Wonderful! Now, keep your eyes closed and try to bring to mind the purest concept of harmony.”

That was an easy task. Her mother’s lullaby, ringing softly in the back of her mind, gently lilted from her lips. The memory of being held in her arms as she was steadily rocked to sleep. The softness of her hands as her fingers ran through her daughter’s hair. The clearest image of her mother as she was in life: Tall, lithe, beautiful. With her full, blue-black curly hair and her silver eyes. It occurred to Arcane that she had inherited her mother’s face, her long straight nose, her full pink lips, the curve of her wide almond eyes. The corners of Arcane’s lips couldn’t stop themselves from turning upward, her brows pulling together as the vision of her mother began to stream tears down her face.

It was indisputable. This was the presence of Mystra. A feeling she long since thought had been lost to time. “I never thought I’d feel her again.” Her voice was hoarse, breaking slightly from the tears. She lifted her hand to her face to wipe them away. She felt Gale shift, the warmth of his person fanning over her body.

“You did so well.” Gale’s voice was soft and laden with admiration.

She opened her eyes to peer up at him. It had been years since she had seen such pride, especially pointed in her direction, but the way he looked at her… it sent her heart racing. She wasn’t sure if it was the magic that surrounded them, or the honeyed tones of his words, but she felt the growing coils of desire pooling in her stomach. Their smiles slowly fell as they stared at one another. Not out of displeasure, but expectation. The anticipation to see what the other would do. She wanted him. He wanted her, too.

It was Gale who moved first, stepping closer, his eyes dark yet soft. He raised his hand to place his knuckle under her chin, tilting her head upward. All breath seemed to be pulled from Arcane’s lungs, her heart drummed against her chest, as she slowly raised herself onto her toes, inching ever closer to his lips. Their combined soft breaths met one another, their mouths parted, their eyes closed.

And they kissed.

It was tentative, light, and apprehensive. He tasted sweet, tangy, savory; he tasted like magic. Arcane’s hands raised from clenched fists at her sides and slid up his chest, gently clutching at his shirt. His hand hesitantly rested on her hip, experimenting with touch as he pulled her closer, their bodies now flush with one another. Blood rushed to Arcane’s head, the world tilting dizzyingly on its axis, stars blinking behind her closed eyes. He was so much sweeter than magic. He was divinity made flesh.

He parted his lips against hers, moving to deepen the kiss when abruptly, the magic around them dissipated. The sudden cold of the nighttime air on her skin forced a sharp gasp from Arcane’s lungs. She pulled away, eyes wide, face flushed. Gale was breathless, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady himself. His eyes were dark, intimately soft.

“I-I… I didn’t know it could feel like that.” Stars still spotted her eyesight, shaking her head to clear them. “I mean, um… th-the magic. I didn’t…” Her words were lost and her eyes fell to the floor, trying to find them.

Her mind whirled at what just happened. Of course, he wasn’t the first man she’d kissed without knowing too well, but he was certainly the first to ever kiss her so tenderly. Her fingers raised to press against her lips, an unconscious attempt to replicate the feeling of his kiss. To say she was flustered would be an understatement. Gale started to speak, but Arcane covered his mouth with her hand.

She pulled away from him, praying she had the strength to dismiss her arousal. She wanted nothing more than to pounce on him, to feel his tongue in her mouth, on her skin. But the memories of moving too quickly haunted her. No, she’d take her time with this one. She’d savor every soft moment, every gentle touch. Her hands lingered on his chest for another moment before dropping to her sides completely.

“Thank you, Gale.” She managed a smile. “This was a wonderful experience.”