#but i never thought he would be THAT awful

[strang3lov3]

The First Taste

Roman offers you money if you just let him put the tip in. Just the tip, that's all (it's not all).

Tags - smut, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, virginity kink, big dick roman roy, dare i call that cock gargantuan, ludicrously capacious, even? Unprotected piv, fingering, blow jobs, cunnilingus, hand jobs, nipple stim, just the tip (it’s never just the tip) dubcon, manipulation, deception, coercion, betrayal, Roman solicits sex from reader and is also insensitive about stds, pay him no mind. I made myself soaking wet every day while writing this so. Do what you will with that information. 5.8k words. A/N - This is just...smut. Beginning to end. I’m gonna be working on stepdaddy after this, probably write a stepdaddy sick fic cuz I feel kinda like shit. Kisses to all yall sluts 😘

Finally, some fucking quiet. For now. 

The couple in the hotel room next to yours has been going at it all night, a marathon of fucking. Endless moans, rhythmic squeaking of the bed becoming louder and faster, then quieter and slower. This couple makes you wonder if their room is the honeymoon suite or something, the way they’re fucking like a couple of newly-wed bunnies. You rest against the plush headboard, closing your stinging eyes momentarily. 

You dipped from the wedding an hour or so ago, maybe closer to two hours at this point. It’s about midnight now. You’re alone in your room, crinkling the once neatly made bedding as you play a dumb little game on your phone. Your mind wanders as you mindlessly tap the screen, thinking about what the couple next door is doing. What he’s doing to her, what she’s doing to him. How good it all feels, probably. You wonder what it’s like. 

Knock. Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock knock–

Roman. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to know it’s him. Nobody else knocks like that, and nobody else would show up at your door at this particular hour. You sigh as you get out of bed, taking heavy steps toward the door before opening it. 

“Evening, sexpot. You have something of mine and I’d like it back, please and thank you.” 

Roman’s still wearing the outfit he wore during the wedding, though missing his suit jacket and tie. The sleeves of his white button down shirt are rolled above his elbows, there’s an extra button undone. Once neatly slicked back, his hair is now disheveled, a few loose strands falling over his eyebrows. His eyes are half-lidded, lips curled into that smug, casual, infuriatingly handsome smirk he always wears. He looks gorgeous. 

“I do?” you ask, thinking before remembering quickly. “Oh, shit. Yeah, I do.” You open the door wider and make space to allow him to follow behind you, Roman first closing the door. You unplug his charger from the wall outlet and wrap the cord in a figure-eight around your fingers, some habit you’re not sure where or when you picked up. Roman holds out his hand and you place the charger in his palm. “So is the wedding finally over?”

“Mhm. You vanished on me, though, Cinderella. I thought I’d get at least a dance out of you but you stood me up, you heartbreaker, you. Felt like a virgin on prom night,” Roman laments with a dramatic flair, no real hurt in his tone. “But I’ll live. Me and some bridesmaid-chick totally dry humped on the dance floor, so it all worked out.”

You know he’s teasing, probably lying. Embellishing the truth. But it makes you squirm just the same, and you’re not totally sure why. You could be a little jealous, maybe. But there’s another reason, too.

“Anyway, uh. Thanks. I’ll leave you to it,” Roman says, toying with the charger cord. 

“No, thank you. Came in hand–” 

“Oh, fuck, like that. Just like that, harder, harder, fuck, ohhhh!” 

You’re interrupted by the sounds of your temporary neighbor’s moans that you’ve become very well-acquainted with. “Oh my god,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. 

Roman’s lips curl into an even wider smile, his eyes lighting up as he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, nice!” he says, giggling, “Man. That’s awesome. Lucky you, with your front row seat to the show. Maybe there’s a hole in the wall behind this mirror or something. You should see if you can watch.”

“They’ve been going at it for hours,” you deadpan. 

Roman nods in approval, that big, stupid smile still on his lips. “Awh, fuck yeah. Good for them. You should ask to join. We both could, actually. Let’s go knock.”

Your cheeks heat up at the idea, even knowing Roman’s not serious. Probably not serious, at least. Roman notices this, takes mental notes of your flustered expression, how you look anywhere but at him. The shifting of your feet, the unnecessary movements your body makes as you squirm. “Ahh, too shy. I get it,” Roman says. “So you’re just - you’re…what, jerking off to it in here, all by your lonesome? Fuck, did I interrupt? How rude, let me get out–”

“No!”

“No? You want me to stay?”

“No - you - I–” you huff, closing your eyes as you inhale and exhale a deep breath. “I meant that I’m not…you know. Doing that.”

Roman’s eyes sparkle. “It’s okay, you can admit it. I know you ladies are more, you know - audio than visual.” He wiggles his fingers by his ears as he paces slowly around the room, inspecting the slice of cake you brought back with you from the wedding, swiping a bit of frosting off the plate with his finger before sucking on it.

“Stop it, Roman.”

“I think I’m gonna stay a while, if you don’t mind. Listen to the music.”

“Whatever, knock yourself out. I’m not sleeping as long as they’re still doing it.” 

True to his word, Roman listens intently to the sounds of the couple fucking. You wouldn’t expect anything else from him. He makes little faces of intrigue or surprise at the noises, the extra loud moans or the occasional smack. You regret allowing him to stay. This is so fucking awkward, so you distract yourself by tidying up your already-pristine hotel room. Rearranging some glasses that haven’t been touched, then pouring yourself another glass of water even though you’re not actually thirsty. Roman notices all of this, too. At some point his attention shifts from the muffled noises coming from the other side of the wall to you, how you nervously flit around the room. He decides to up the tension, to make it all worse for you.

“We should fuck,” he says plainly. “You know, louder than them. Establish our dominance. There’s a bed right there.” 

It takes you a second to reply. “Funny,” is all you say, your voice coming out quietly and not very confident. Fuck. 

“You’re very shy about it, you know that?”

“Shy about what?”

“Oh, fucking - c’mon. You know what,” he deadpans. “Sex! Coitus. Fornicating. Love mak–”

“No, yeah. I got it–”

“Fucking,” Roman interrupts. “So why are you all shy about it?”

“I’m not - I’m not shy,” you stutter.

“But you are. Because you don’t talk about it, ever. You like, clam up, get all fuckin’ weird and quiet,” Roman says, gesturing to you. “And like right now, you won’t even look at me. It’s almost like you’re nervous or something. Are you?” he pauses, “Nervous, that is?”

You’re feeling defensive now, cornered, as Roman’s wedged himself deep under your skin. “No, I just - what does it matter, Roman?” you snap. Sighing, you sit on the edge of the bed and cross your arms. 

“I just wanna know, that’s all. Just curious,” he replies, tempering his tone to be much less pointed, less mocking. “You know me. No judgement here.”

“I just…don’t feel the need to talk about it, I guess.”

“You can’t even say it,” Roman digs, crossing his arms. “Are you a prude? Is that it?”

“No, Roman, I’m not a prude. It’s just a very personal thing for some people.”

“Naturally.”

“Not that you’d understand,” you bite.

Roman presses a hand against his chest, pretending you’ve just shot him. “Ouch. But yeah, no, I get it.” Roman pauses, then joins you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Is it herpes?” he whispers. “It’s herpes, isn’t it? You know, there’s no shame in it. I’ve actually created new strains of STDs myself in the course of all of my sexcapades. And look at me, I’m not ashamed,” he smiles, stifling a giggle at his own joke.

“If that’s true, Roman, you really should be. And don’t be facetious. That’s not something to laugh about.”

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he concedes, the apology devoid of any sincerity at all. “So are you saving it for marriage, then? Gonna give Mr. Right your most precious gift?”

You freeze then. Roman’s getting warmer, burning hot. It’s not the truth, but it’s not…not…the truth. An inch away from uncovering your big secret, that you’re a virgin. Never had sex, not once. 

It must be written all over your face in big, bolded letters or something, because Roman’s face twists in realization. His eyes are sparkling, jaw dropped in an open, wry smile. “Holy fuck,” he scoffs. “You’re shitting me. Virgin?! You’re a virgin? Oh my god, gross. Ew,” he laughs, turning your cheek to force you to look at him. 

It makes you feel bad inside. Insecure. Your bottom lip quivers a little as tears well up in your eyes, that awful feeling of embarrassment taking over every one of your senses. Face hot, ears pounding, the walls closing in. “Roman,” you whisper, tilting your chin down to hide yourself.

“Hey - heyyy. Don’t fuckin’...don’t be like that,” he says, tilting your face back up. Roman laughs, then makes a sympathetic expression as he pulls you close, wrapping his strong arms around you in a tight hug. Some of your tears soak the collar of his shirt as he presses your face into his shoulder. “I’m very sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I took it too far, that’s on me. I’m sorry. Hey–” Roman nuzzles your hair, “I mean it. I’m sorry.” 

You don’t say anything. You’re too pissed to speak but even if you weren’t, you’re not sure that you could conjure up any sort of response to…whatever the fuck just happened.

“It’s not so terrible, being a virgin.” Roman offers, rubbing your back soothingly as he kisses the top of your head. “There’s worse things to be.” 

“Yeah? Like what?” you ask, voice muffled as you mumble into his shirt. 

“Like…fuckin’ dead, I guess.” Roman thinks for a second, “Or ugly. And you’re not that, so…”

“Thanks, Rome,” you reply flatly. 

“And guys like virgins,” he adds. “Like, do you know how much some creeps would pay to fuck virgin pussy?”

“Uhh…”

“Millions. They’d pay millions,” Roman says, taking note of how your ears perk up at the statement, the incredulous look you give him. “Yeah, now that’s interesting to you, isn’t it? Shit, I’d pay you for it. Let’s skip the middleman, huh?”

“What? No.” You pull away from Roman’s arms. 

“Yes. Why not?”

Why not? Just the littlest amount of pushback from Roman and you’re already questioning the lines you’ve drawn in the sand for yourself. For a moment, you contemplate the idea of having sex with Roman, and you’re tempted - his naked body on yours, pleasuring you in a way you’ve never felt at the hands of someone else before, his attention all on you. His perfect, soft lips on yours as he swallows your moans, loving you the way you deserve. But ultimately you decide no, it’s not happening. It can’t happen. Not like how he’s suggesting. He doesn’t have the capacity to handle something like this with any amount of respect or tact.

“I don’t know, Roman. I guess that I always envisioned my first time having sex being with someone that I love. Or trust, at the very least.” 

“And you don’t trust me?”

You scoff “Fuck, no.”

“Yeah, that’s smart,” Roman nods. “Okay, fine. I won’t pressure you. You save that special little gift of yours for someone who deserves it.” 

You nod as you look down at the floor, tracing the pattern in the carpet with your eyes, gasping when you feel Roman touch your bare knee. “Or…” he murmurs.

“Or?”

Roman’s had the idea of screwing you in his head for a while now, and by his own admission, is especially turned on at the prospect of being the first one to fuck you. It fills him with a primal sort of feeling, knowing that at least for a moment, you’d be his. Your first lover’s name you’d moan would be his, your first orgasm at the hands of another will belong to him only, forever. There’s something about taking your virginity that fills him with a sickening, all-consuming sort of need. He’ll do it, too. By any means necessary.    

“Just the tip,” he whispers, his warm hand sliding up your thigh to toy with the edge of your pajama shorts. He wriggles them even higher, not stopping even when you hold your breath and grab his wrist to keep him from traveling further. “Chill. I’m not doing anything,” Roman mumbles, sliding his hand out from under yours to take your hand and put it flat on the bed. He holds your thigh again and speaks slowly, quietly, “You just let me put the tip in and I’ll pay you the same. Whatever - whatever fuckin’ number you want, alright? Put however many zeroes at the end, and it’s yours…if you just let me put the tip in. Sounds easy enough, right?”

“Just the tip,” you repeat quietly, thinking…thinking that it sounds like bullshit, and yet, you’re kind of falling for it anyway. He makes you feel stupid, even when he’s not insulting you.

Roman speaks again before you can talk yourself out of it. “Just the tip,” he lies. “So long as I don’t - you know, fully penetrate you - technically, you’d still be a virgin by the end of our little thing.”

“You’re saying it wouldn’t count?” 

Roman nods his head. “Wouldn’t count at all. It’s…a loophole of sorts,” he says, tracing his fingertips up and down your thigh, inching closer and closer to where he wants to feel you the most. “Virginity stays intact. C’mon,” he urges.

You’re fighting yourself. Roman can see the temptation and the self-preservation fighting each other in your mind, and he can’t let the smarter, safer side of you win this. 

“You’ve got nothing to lose,” he adds. And he’d get to satisfy a curiosity, but that’s not something he needs to tell you. 

“I don’t know, Rome. It - something about it makes me nervous.”

“I know. But I’ll be gentle with you, alright? I’ll take it nice and fuckin’ slow, walk you through the whole thing. No surprises.” Roman shifts a little and reaches into his pocket for his wallet, then pulls out a stack of bills, all hundreds, and places them on your nightstand. “There. Call it a fuckin’...deposit or whatever, I don’t know. Now do we have a deal or not, virgin?”

You bite your lip as you think - or do something resembling thinking, rather. You can’t think clearly, not with Roman’s hands now on your waist. He doesn’t have to touch you anywhere private or sensitive - just his hands on your body is enough to make your brain fucking melt, you poor thing. Don’t even know how badly you need it, need him. Roman will make it all better. Fix you. 

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. He presses a couple of kisses against the side of your neck, feeling your pulse beneath his tongue as he licks you there. You let out a broken moan in response, nodding urgently. Roman smiles against your skin in satisfaction. “Attagirl,” he murmurs, then pulls away from you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted. Perfect. 

He dims the lamps around the room and turns off the overhead lights, casting the room in a warm, orange glow before joining you on the bed again. “Let’s fuckin’ do this thing. You ready?”

“I don’t - I don’t -”

Roman calms you down before you spiral. “Shh, relax. Relax. We’re going slow, like I said,” he reminds you. “God, you’re so fuckin’...c’mere.” 

Roman puts both of his strong hands on your face, thumbs on your jaw, the rest of his fingers firmly pressing into your neck. He pulls you close and kisses you, and his lips feel even better than they look. You let out a little noise that Roman doesn’t acknowledge; he only continues to move his lips tenderly against yours, deepening the kiss when you begin to reciprocate. 

He’s an excellent kisser. The way he uses his tongue makes you feel dizzy and sets your whole body on fire, and you feel his hands everywhere. Your face, your neck, your waist, digging his fingers into you and squeezing you like he loves you. “Gimme these.” Roman takes your hands in his own and puts them on his own shoulders, his silent way of showing you how it all should be done as he inches closer to you. 

He’s warm, warmer than you imagined. Warm in a comforting way. He smells so…him. Slightly sweaty, but not in a bad way, with his cologne worn down to its base notes. He tastes good, but you couldn’t even begin to describe. You’d be content with just this tonight, really. 

Roman deepens the kiss and lays you down gently, caging you in with his body. You’re still feeling out of your depth, unsure of where or how or if you should even touch him, though Roman doesn’t seem to mind. Of course he doesn’t mind. He’s got only one thing on his brain, and that’s ruining you. Touch him however you like or don’t touch him, he doesn’t give a fuck. 

His fingers crawl beneath your shirt, climbing up your body until he’s squeezing gently at the flesh of your breasts. You gasp when he rubs his thumb in circles over your nipple, feeling it harden with his touch. “Rome-” you breathe, clutching his bicep. 

“It’s okay,” he tells you, repeating the action with your other nipple, causing you to writhe beneath him. “I gotta get you ready for it, sweetheart.”

Roman pushes your shirt up as high as it’ll go, and kisses your neck, dragging his tongue down your skin. He uses the muscle to tease one of your nipples, putting to use his lips and teeth as well. His hands travel down your body, fingers passing over the neat little bow at the front of your pajama bottoms as they slide down towards your center.

You gasp when you feel him touch you there, just over the fabric. Roman groans as he rubs his fingers, feeling how you’ve soaked yourself. “Yeah, you weren’t fuckin’ lying, were you? Made a goddamn mess down here,” he mumbles, pressing little kisses against your neck. 

“Lying about what?” you breathe.

Roman has to stifle his laugh so as not to embarrass you, but you are such a cliche, absolutely drenched from a bit of kissing. Too easy. “Shh, nothing,” he says. “Nothing. You’re fine.” Roman pulls your panties and shorts to the side, exposing your cunt to himself. “Has anyone ever touched you here before?”

You shake your head. “Mm-mm.”

Roman only nods as pulls your thighs apart, and your heart pounds hard. He traces your lips only momentarily before diving between your folds, feeling the pool of arousal he’s caused. 

“Fuck,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. “R-Roman, Roman…”

“Ohh, man, you’re sensitive,” Roman laughs quietly, rubbing lazy circles over your clit. “Holy fuck. That feel good? Huh, virgin?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, squeezing his forearm and bicep with your hands as if to anchor yourself or something. You feel like you’re gonna break. Everything feels heightened, but sort of sharp and fuzzy at the same time. Your head spins, and you can’t keep track of your thoughts. 

You whine when Roman pushes his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out slowly. “How does that feel?” he asks.

“Good, kinda - uh…kind - kind of hurts.”

“You gotta relax,” he tells you, “ It’s okay.”  

Roman shifts a little and smiles at you before curling his fingers, stroking that special, sensitive little place deep inside your cunt you’ve probably never found on your own before. By the way your eyes roll back into your head and how you squeeze your legs shut around his arm, Roman guesses he’s right. “Oh my - fuck, Rome, that - you–” Your voice comes out in broken, breathy moans and you don’t bother finishing your sentence. All you can do is bury your face into his neck and try not to shatter into a million pieces. 

Roman fingers you like that for a minute or two longer, listening to those wet noises your cunt makes for him, then slows down his movements before pulling away. “You’re ready for it,” he tells you.

“I am?”

“Absolutely.” 

Roman leans back and sits you up, then pulls off your shirt without saying so much as a single word. He does the same to your shorts and panties, tossing them into a crumpled pile on the carpet. The way you squirm and hide yourself makes Roman smile. “Don’t be shy. I need to be able to see what I’m working with, right?”

“Yeah, no. That makes sense.”

“Hold on.” Roman unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, pulling off his undershirt too. His bulge is sizable in his black slacks, and when he unbuckles his belt and pulls the rest of his clothes off, his hard cock slapping against his tummy, your eyes widen. His dick is massive. The tip reaches his belly button, and it’s curved beautifully, slightly to the right. Roman wraps his fingers around it and squeezes, knuckles whitening a little.

“Y-you’re fucking huge,” you stutter.

“I know, right? It’s Roman Roy’s best kept secret.” He smiles wide, pleased with himself as he winks at you. “Alright. Spread those legs and let’s fuckin’ party.” Roman reaches for your ankles and pulls them apart, eyebrows raising when you fight to keep them closed. 

“No! No, don’t.”

“...No?” Roman drops your ankles and sits back, eyeing you. “Scared?”

“Very.” 

He chuckles. “You’ve never even felt a cock before, have you?” Roman asks, stroking his cock slowly. You shake your head and he nods in understanding. “Wow, it really is all new to you. That’s my bad, sweetheart.” 

Roman lays down next to you again, this time flat on his back. He shifts a little and grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock. “Get to know it a little. Just touch it, however you want,” he instructs. Roman waits for you to touch him, but you’re frozen. He raises an eyebrow, “It’s not gonna bite you.”

“I know, I just don’t know…don’t know what to do.”

Roman says nothing, only presses your fingertips against the large, blunt head of his cock. “Like this,” he says, dragging your fingers down his shaft. He wraps your fingers around his length, then lets you go. Your turn.

You slide your palm up and down his dick, just…taking it all in. His cock feels heavy in your hand which doesn’t surprise you, but you’re struck by his warmth, the heat radiating from him. You trace his veins, then squeeze him slightly in your fist, feeling him throb a little. 

Roman patiently lets you explore, despite it being an excruciating tease, groaning softly as he tilts his head back. “Now when you do this for real, with your Mr. Right or whoever,” Roman says, “Don’t just tease him like this. You’ll piss him off,” he warns.

“I will?”

“Oh yeah. No, you’re even pissing me off a little bit. Like, if this weren’t a teaching moment, I’d fuck you in two for this shit.” Roman words scare you a bit, and you stop touching him. “Relax, will you? It’s not gonna happen. You’re in good hands.” 

“Okay.”

“Let me show you what to do instead.” Roman takes your hand again, this time spitting in it. “You grab it like you mean it,” he says, wrapping your fingers tightly around his cock, tighter than you would have done yourself. “And–” Roman slides your palm up and down his length, helping you to maintain that firm pressure, “You go all the way up, all the way down. Like - fuck - yeah, like that. You’re a fuckin’ natural, virgin, look at you.”

Roman lets you work him on your own, simply enjoying the feel of your hand on his cock. He thinks it’s cute when you circle his tip with your fingers - it’s not something he taught you to do, but he doesn’t mind it. 

“Does this feel like, good?”

“Feels awesome. But,” Roman purrs, “You know what’d feel even better?”

“What?”

“You gotta be brave, sweetheart. Do you want to be brave for me?”

You’re not feeling very brave or adventurous but you nod a little anyway, and Roman jumps at the opportunity. He moves you down the bed, sitting you down between his thighs that are spread wide. “You’re gonna suck my dick,” he tells you, grabbing your face with one of his hands. “Don’t freak out, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Open your mouth.” 

Roman holds his thick cock between his thumb, middle, and forefingers. He taps the head against your bottom lip, encouraging you to open wider. When you open your mouth more, Roman lowers your head and fits himself between your lips, simply letting you get used to the feeling of him there. It takes a lot of patience on his part, to not fuck your mouth here and now. 

You’re not sure what to do, and Roman knows this. Tangling his fingers in your hair, he bounces your head just a little on his cock, your tongue sliding over his weeping slit. The taste of his precome surprises you - it’s a salty, warm, masculine sort of flavor that you don’t really mind. You’re pleased by how soft his skin feels, how he smells. Gaining confidence, you take him deeper into your mouth.

If Roman were a better man, he’d stop you - he’d warn you that you’re going to choke on his cock, that it’s gonna be too much too quickly. But that’s not Roman, not by a long shot. He inches you further down his cock with each bob of your head, grinning at the way you gurgle and sputter a little. “Little more,” he says. “Keep going.”

Cock in mouth, drool dripping down your chin, you look at Roman, searching for some sort of approval or encouragement. “You got it. And use your tongue, sweetheart. You can make a mess on me. You should, actually.”

You move your tongue in inconsistent patterns, swirling it around his length as Roman moves your head. “Breathe through your nose,” he instructs. “You’re doing so well.”

 He lets out soft little groans and his eyes shut for a moment, lips parted. Saliva is running down his cock and your jaw is beginning to ache from his girth, but Roman ignores your noises of discomfort and the tears in your eyes. He fucks himself deeply into your mouth, pushing you far past the point he should. Then suddenly, you gag and cough harshly, pulling yourself off of him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck,” you spit.

Roman rubs your back and stretches across the bed, reaching for your glass of water. “You’re good, you’re alright,” he says, pressing the glass against your lips. “Have some water. You’re not supposed to take me all at once, virgin. That’s how you choke,” he taunts.  

After finishing the water, Roman takes your glass and sets it back on the nightstand. “Alright. Back to you, sweetheart. Lie back and spread your legs for me.” 

You tremble a little as you lie down, parting your legs only a little. You feel the bed shift with Roman’s moving weight and close your eyes, nervously anticipating the inevitable. 

Roman pushes your knees toward your chest and lowers himself, smirking at how tense you look with your short breaths, your fingers fidgeting with the comforter. He could warn you of what’s to come with a couple of kisses pressed against your inner thighs, but it’ll be more fun to surprise you. 

He licks your sex from bottom to top with a flat tongue, dragging it slowly through your folds. “Roman,” you gasp, hands darting for his head. You tangle your fingers in the sleek strands of his hair, tugging on them tightly. “You - you’re–”

“Shh,” he interrupts. His stubble scratches your inner thighs as he teases you, tongue circling your clit. Roman buries himself in that softest and most private place on your body, rubbing the tip of his perfect nose against your clit as he tastes you. He circles your entrance a couple of times before dipping inside, tasting your arousal right from the hole it trickles from. 

You’re babbling incoherently, whimpering his name as he then drags his tongue up and down your folds. He circles your clit once, then twice, then pulls the hood back and laves over the sensitive bud repeatedly, forcing you to lie still with a strong hand holding you down. He savors you like this, how you shudder and shake, muscles tensing as you fight to close your legs, not used to a feeling so intense. Roman fucks you with his tongue, guiding you through the first orgasm you’ve ever shared with another as you gush into his mouth, clit throbbing under his tongue. 

When Roman pulls away, you feel like you could cry. You bite your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling and try to will away that pressure building behind your eyes, but it’s hard. You wonder if Roman notices. 

“Now you’re really fuckin’ ready,” he tells you. 

“Okay,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Just the tip?”

“Mhm. Just the tip,” Roman confirms. He hovers over you and reaches between your legs to gather your arousal on his fingertips, then coats his cock in your slick. When he presses the thick head of his dick against your pussy, your heart races. You can’t conjure the words to tell him what you need, and urgently take his free hand in yours. 

“You wanna hold my hand?” Roman smirks and laces his fingers between yours, pinning your hand against the bed. “We can hold hands, sweetheart.” And then, in one swift, brutal motion, Roman fully buries his cock fully inside you. 

It sends you reeling. He’s so huge, it feels like he’s splitting you in two. You feel betrayed and try to squirm away, but Roman forces you to stay down with a hand on your ribcage. Forces you to take it, to feel it all. “Shhh, shh. You’re - hey - you’re fine.” Roman catches the free hand you use to try and shove him backwards and pins it to the bed with the other. 

“Y-you–” you sob, unable to form a sentence. 

“Ohhh, I know, I know, I know,” Roman coos mockingly. “I played a dirty trick on you, huh? Wasn’t very nice of me, was it?”

You look at Roman and cry, tears falling down your temples and into your hair. With his hand still clutching yours, he uses your own knuckles to wipe some tears away. “Poor thing. You’ll get used to it.” 

“But you said–”

“I know what I said,” Roman interrupts. “It’s never just the tip, baby, you know that. Or–” Roman pauses, thrusting into you deeply, “Maybe you really don’t know that. But this is real life, sweetheart. It’s a cruel fuckin’ world out there.” 

Roman sets a pace then, drawing in and out of you. Not particularly harshly or quickly, because the penetration alone hurts enough. He rocks his hips, pulling out of you and filling you up all the way with every stroke. 

“Roman, stop–”

“No. Fucking take it.”   

Roman ignores your sounds of discomfort, going so far as to cover your mouth instead. Your sobs are muffled under his palm, skin dampening with tears and saliva. Roman builds the tempo, lips curled into that awful, lopsided smile. “Listen to yourself. You’re fuckin’ soaked, do you hear that?” he taunts through a strained breath. 

The pain is utterly blinding, until it isn’t. You almost resent the way the hurt is replaced with pleasure now, because the betrayal is still there. Betrayal by Roman, and now by your own body. This…this isn’t what you were promised. You trusted Roman and he exploited that, but you’re fucking enjoying it.

Roman’s palm tastes salty over your mouth. When he removes it, a moan slips past your lips, and Roman grins. “Yeah, there it is. Not so terrible, huh, baby?”

You free your hands from his grip and wrap your arms around his shoulders, which is the only thing that feels right. You don’t entirely know why, you just know that you need him close. Roman pulls back a little to watch you, his greenish, hazel eyes darkened with something primal as he pulls out of you and pushes into you, again and again and again. You bury your face in his neck as he fucks you, and one of his hands slide up your torso to grope your breast and tease your nipple.

“Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good,” Roman grunts, rutting his hips into you. He’s in love with all of this, in truth. Addicted. How soft your body is for him, for his hands to squeeze and his fingers to dig into. He could fucking eat you. 

He fits his hand between your bodies, the heel of his palm pressing into your pubic bone. He rubs your clit in circles, thrusting into you harder, faster, deeper. “Look at me. Right here” he pants, using his free hand to hold your face. “Come on my cock. Come for me, sweetheart.”

He pulls your orgasm from you effortlessly. Roman’s name spills from your lips in choking sobs as you come on his cock, feeling impossibly full as your cunt pulses around him. It’s the heaviest, most overwhelming feeling, washing over you in waves, muscles spasming and twitching. Roman’s thrusts turn frenzied and frantic, and there it is - he’s coming too. Milking himself inside you, spurting thick, hot ropes of his come, and you take all of it. 

Roman pulls out of you then, and uses two fingers to push his escaped spend back inside your poor, raw, throbbing cunt. This time, you do cry. “Ohh, come here,” Roman says softly. He scoops you up into his arms and holds you tightly, stroking your hair. “You okay?”

“No,” you sniffle. 

“No?” Roman repeats, momentarily moving you to lean over the bed. He reaches for his pants and grabs his phone out of the pocket, then takes his place next to you again, pulling you into his side tightly. “You’ll get over it. Watch,” he murmurs, unlocking his phone and opening Venmo. He pulls up your profile and shows you the screen, the little blue cursor blinking. You type in a number, then give the phone back to Roman, who adds an extra zero before tapping Pay.

If you enjoyed, please lmk ♡ i love when you reblog and send me asks. It means the world to me ♡

romey tags

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56

@kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @romanarose

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars

@/perpetuallymanic @/111melo @/veryverycoolgirl @/marisemonteiroo

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 2, Moving noises?

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Author's note: Haha, take this! 2 chapters in one day! Also, every time I write another chapter to this story I have to update the warnings and it isn't even that spicy yet.

Mature content under the cut.

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'Are you alright? You look tired.' Tara sounds awfully concerned and you can imagine why. The bags under your eyes might as well be down to your knees by now. Turns out your new neighbor is nocturnal. You couldn't care less about the moving noises, but the fact that they only happen past ten pm is killing you. 

'No kidding,' you sass at her. Quickly, you smack your hands in front of your face. Sure, you're known to have an attitude but never to Tara. She's too sweet. 'I'm sorry, I'm just so tired.' 

Tara frowns: 'Is it that new neighbor of yours? Kieran told me he has a tendency to stay up late.' 

'That's an understatement. He's nocturnal.' Tara lets out an annoyed groan in solidarity, but it just sounds cute coming from her. 'It's fine. I'm sure he's almost done. I mean, how much stuff can you fit into one of those units? You've seen mine, the one next door isn't much bigger.' 

'Must be a big change, considering you and Zayne were so close.' 

'We still are,' you tell her, 'we just see each other a little less now. I do miss him a lot.' She nods but her eyes have a little twinkle in them and you know where this is going. 'No, stop that. Zayne and I are just friends.' 

'Never even... you know,' she questions with a cheeky smile and a wiggle of her brow. 

'No, never,' you laugh, 'as I said, just friends. I don't know, he just feels like a brother. I mean, I've teased him before as a joke and nothing “physical” happened on his end. So I don't think he likes me either.' 

'He goes through an awful lot of effort to be “just friends,” just saying.' 

'Yeah, yeah, sure. You have a very filthy mind for the way you look.' 

'It's been said,' she responds with a gleaming smile. You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, looking her up and down. 

'About that.' Her body tenses up every so slightly. 'Your boyfriend is not what I expected at all. I mean, I've seen him pick you up before and he looks quite tough, but he seemed just as awkward as you are.' Tara's eyes flicker around the room a while, seemingly not wanting to explain anything to you, until her phone lights up. She quickly checks the notification and gasps with excitement. 

'Hold that thought, so Kieran just told me they're doing drinks to celebrate Sylus’ move. That means they must be done,' she states in a chipper tone. You raise an eyebrow at the strange change of topic. There's a freaky side to that woman, you're sure of it. 

'So?' 

'So, I'm dropping Kieran off so he can have some drinks but maybe we can have a girls' night,' she suggests. Considering Red Crow isn't posting anything today for once, your evening is completely open. Could be fun to have a quiet night in with Tara. 

'Sure, sounds fun. What are you thinking? Movie, face masks, board game?' 

'All of the above,' she squeals in excitement, 'I'll bring some snacks.' 

'Great, just let me know when you and Kieran are driving over.' 

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To be a good neighbor, you decided to get this Sylus guy a little something as a housewarming gift. Considering they'll be drinking; a bottle of whiskey can never go wrong. Lucky for you, you were gifted a bottle of whiskey a few weeks ago but you know that one is not quite your style. The Writer's Tears single pot still. It's a very nice whiskey and you've had different whiskeys from Writer's Tears before, but you're just not the biggest whiskey drinker. It's expensive too, so it might give a good impression. 

Tara just texted you she's on her way, which means you've got about fifteen minutes before she gets here. You considered waiting for her and Kieran to hand over the gift so it could be in the spirit of "oh, just dropping my friend's boyfriend off" but that’s just weird. Feels like you're a parent dropping your kid off at school and you're not about that. 

So now you're here, in front of the oh-so familiar door that you used to have a key to. Part of you is really curious how the place looks now, another part of you wants to keep the memory of how it used to be in a time capsule. Either way, you've got a present for your neighbor and this interaction could be done within a minute if you do it right. 

You press the doorbell and hear something fall followed by a string of curses. The door opens fast and the person on the other side, who you think is probably Sylus, towers over you. You look up at him with wide eyes and recognize him right away. That man right there is the reason for most of your pleasure and orgasms. Red Crow. 

'What,' he barks. Rude , and not at all what you would've expected. Still, it takes you a second to take all of him in. He’s even taller than you imagined, eyes even more piercing, face even sharper. It's like a fucking God leaning over you and staring down like you're no more than a puny peasant. 

And a switch flicks in your head. 

'Fix your tone,' you huff, 'I'm your neighbor. I thought I'd bring you a housewarming present.' His eyes widen ever so slightly. How you managed to muster up such a bratty tone in the face of who's talked you over the edge more times than you can count is a mystery to you, but it feels kind of nice to see him stunned like this. You hold out the box the whiskey is packaged in towards him. 

His shoulders relax and he does actually fix his face. His features soften a little and his eyes no longer stare at you like you're an intruder. Your heart starts racing, as if your body just now realizes who is in front of you. You beg to the Gods above that your cheeks don't get bright red. A cold shiver goes down your spine when he takes the box from you with a flicker of an amused smile, the box suddenly seeming much smaller in his hands. 'Thank you, that's nice.' 

'No worries. Tara told me you're having a party, so I thought that wouldn't hurt,' you say, trying to sound as casual as possible. He studies your face for a second, searching for the answers to a question he doesn't ask you. 

'You know Tara?' You nod. 

'She's my coworker.' Shit, your voice isn't as steady as it was at the start anymore. You've got this man on a fucking pedestal and he's here, in reach. It's a weird feeling. Your panties are soaked but you're highly put off by the way he greeted you. Still... there are very little appropriate thoughts going on in your head right now. If this was your last day on earth, you'd have this man bend you like a pretzel right here right now in the hallway. 

He nods, amused like a cat playing with its prey. 'Is that right?’ 

'Yes. Whelp, nice meeting you. I'm gonna go back to my place,' you ramble awkwardly and quickly turn to slip back into your own apartment, accidentally slamming the door. How the hell are you going to face Tara now? Your body is going into overdrive. You bet you could cum just hearing your vibrator turn on. However, you can't risk it. Tara has told you Kieran drives like a maniac and always drives if he's sober, which is now. She could be in front of your door any second. 

"Just breathe," you tell yourself, "it's just a man." Yeah, just a man, a man that could fuck you like there's no tomorrow. Shit, your thoughts aren't your friends right now. A cold shower ought to work. Hopefully. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

The bottle of whiskey from his neighbor was put on display on his bar cart. He knows the kind and that type of whiskey isn't for parties. Not even small parties like this. He figures it might be a regift or something. No sane person would give a total stranger an expensive whiskey like this. Never mind a stranger who has been a disturbance from the start. 

Then again, they're not really strangers. He saw the look in her eyes. He's seen it before and hasn't been wrong about it yet. It's that "I've seen you naked" look. To be fair, Sylus would've preferred to stay anonymous in this building for a little longer but considering his neighbor is friends with Tara, she probably won't tell anyone what he does. That is, if she knows what her boyfriend Kieran does since he wears a mask in his content. 

But there was more in her eyes. More than just scandal or embarrassment. There was lust. A lot of it. So much so that Sylus feared he might've caused his pants to tent if she would've bit her lip. Best for both of them that she left when she did. 

He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally, he's not one to obsess like this but there was just something about her. Something about how she looked at him, about the way she commanded him to fix his tone. It's been a long damn time since a woman showed that kind of dominance to him and, shit, it turns him on like crazy. 

Maybe, just maybe, he can rub one out real quick. He sits down on his bed and looks down at the bulge in his pants. He truly hopes he didn't look like that before. He hadn't seen her look at it. Besides, would that be so bad? It looked like she wanted him to take her right then and there, and he would have if she asked. Or demanded, he isn't picky. 

A devious thought pops up in his head. He promised his followers he'd record himself getting off if they begged and beg they did. Maybe he could tease her with this as well if she really does watch him. If it wasn't just a look of attraction and intimidation, but recognition. 

He whips out his phone, puts it on his dresser across from the bed pointed at his crotch and upper body with his thighs still visible. His face is just out of frame, not on purpose but he doesn't mind his followers not seeing how flustered one small interaction got him. Not that they'd ever know why, but she would. 

He sits down on the edge of the bed once more to check if everything's in frame when he hears it. The shower. Her shower. So, her bathroom and his are next to each other, which means their bedrooms are probably also next to each other.  

“Good to know,” he thinks to himself, and that's when he hears it. The softest, most muffled of moans coming through the air extractor fan followed by a string of whimpers. Those must be connected to each other. He feels his dick twitch against his pants like it's being chocked, his ears feel like they're burning while a wicked grin plays on his lips. 

And then he presses record. 

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Previous - Next

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[formula-ghost]

Supermodel (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: Franco can’t understand how you, the love of his life, could ever feel insecure—so he goes above and beyond to show you (and the world) how beautiful he thinks his girlfriend is. This can be read within the RYD universe or as a stand alone one shot!

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI. Teasing, light dom reader/ sub Franco at the beginning dom Franco at the end, body dysmorphia/reader insecurity, worship, mirror sex, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk/mentions of AFAB anatomy (reader has a vagina), use of the word whore, protected sex. Use of YN. Also the song doesn’t match the vibe of the story but I wanted to stick with the Måneskin theme lol.  

A/N: Some more Franco content! I need some more time with the Oscar fic, plus I’ll be returning to regular life since the holidays are over soon, so I figured I’d tide you over with a spicy Franco one shot. Since (in my head at least) this is set in the RYD universe, I’ve included the same tag list, and I hope you all enjoy it!

TAGLIST:  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse  @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg  @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle

Yeah, she’s a master, my compliments

If you wanna love her, just deal with that

She’ll never love you more than money and cigarettes

Every night’s a heartbreak

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Franco panted, his eyes trailing your curves up and down just as his fist squeezed tightly over the growing bulge in his pants. 

Your cheeks were flushed red, almost as dark as the wine-colored matching lingerie set you now wore before him, leaving little to the imagination. You couldn’t help it—no matter how long you’d been with the Argentine, you still got bashful when he complimented you. 

“I hope you know I mean it,” he began, leaving his spot on the bed to advance toward you. He gently brushed your hair away and kissed the top of your shoulder, looking up at you with his deceptively innocent doe eyes. “You’re the most perfect thing in the world to me.”

You smiled, blissful at the feeling of his touch. “It’s easy to say that when I’m standing in front of you in my new set.”

“I love you,” he said, as if it was as simple as telling the time. “So much. More than words can say. And I want you to remember that when you’re mad at me after I rip this off of you.”

He grabbed the strap of your bra, and you giggled, “You better not!” You playfully pushed him back on the bed. “No touching, not yet. Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, obedient to only you. The grip you had on him was intoxicating. 

You climbed up on the bed, straddling him, running your featherlight fingertips up and down his arms and chest. 

“Mi amor,” he exhaled, “you are cruel to me.” 

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, sarcastic yet seductive.

“Don’t you dare.”

You laughed. If he thought a bit of teasing was cruel, he would not be having fun for the rest of the night.

But, of course, he loved nothing more than ravishing your body, evident by his labored breath, laying next to you when the deed was finished. He stared at you with awe, your eyes still closed. He listened as you tried to catch your breath, placing gentle kisses on the top of your arm and into your shoulder.

You just let out a little noise in response, feeling safe and comforted by his touch. When you two were alone, he always needed to touch you in some way, much to your dismay during the sweltering hot months of summer. 

His kisses traced their way up to your neck, chin, and finally to your cheek, where he gently moved your hair out of your face to gaze on the gorgeous image of your face. 

“I wish there were better words in English to explain how I feel about you,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “Something stronger than I love you. Something more than just beautiful.” 

“You know I love it when you speak to me in Spanish,” you said, letting your eyelids flutter open to meet his gaze, only inches from your own.

“Yes, but I want you to understand what I mean.” He smiled softly. 

“My Spanish is getting better.”

“It is, you’re doing great,” he joked, nuzzling his nose into your neck, leaving you in a fit of giggles. “You’ll be talking circles around me in no time.”

“I wish. You’re fluent in yapenese,” you joked. You playfully mocked his voice, “Mi amor, you are so beautiful, the light of my life—” 

“Oh hush,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “You love it.”

“I do.”

“And it’s true.” He cupped your face, bringing you into a sweet embrace with a gentle kiss. “Join me in the shower?” 

“In a minute,” you answered, as he got up from the bed and started the warm water. After a few more moments of rest, you got up, picking up the discarded items of clothing that now dotted the floor, thrown aside in the heat of the passionate moment. 

You crossed the room to open the bureau and grab a fresh set of pajamas, before you caught sight of your reflection in the floor-length mirror. 

You had gained a little weight. It was normal, you supposed; a natural result of your many nights out with your lover. 

But you felt stuck in front of the mirror, your eyes rolling over the curves at the bottom of your stomach, what once was somewhat flat. Little thunderbolt-shaped lines now decorated the dimpled skin. And as you brought your arm up to grip the loose fat, you saw the extra flesh there too. 

“Mi amor, you coming?” Franco called from inside the bathroom. You hummed in response. 

You turned, noticing how the light caught every imperfection. The puffiness in your face, the roundness of your jaw, the lines and bumps and discoloration. You sucked in your stomach, seeing the surface flatten, then exhaled, watching with disgust how your body shifted.

“Amor?” Franco said, poking his head outside of the bathroom. Seeing you in front of the mirror, he crossed the room, finding his way behind you. He was covered only with a towel, wrapping his arms around your naked form and kissing your neck. But the sight of his flawless, athletic body behind yours did nothing to dismiss your insecurities. 

“What are you doing, pretty girl, hm?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“I’ve gained weight.”

“Did you? I didn’t notice.” His voice was tinged with a genuine confusion. 

“I look like I’m pregnant,” you said, gesturing to your bloated stomach.

“No it doesn’t,” he assured. “But if you want to be pregnant, we can arrange that.”

You ignored his attempts at banter. “I look gross.”

“Mi amor,” Franco began, his voice more serious. “Do I need to fuck you again to show you how beautiful you are?”

“Franco—”

“YN.”

You looked away.  “You could be with a model.”

“I’m with you. And you’re perfect, and I love you with my entire heart.” You bit the inside of your cheek. He continued, “Look at me.”

You brought your gaze back to his. “Your body has changed a little bit, so what?”

“It’s easy for you to say. You’re an athlete.”

“That doesn’t matter. No more of this talk. You’re beautiful. End of discussion. Now, let’s stop wasting water and get in the shower.”

You weren’t really feeling any better. If anything, you felt worse, now self conscious of your nakedness as Franco ran his hands up and down the soapy surface of your skin. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the shower, put on your clothes, and bury yourself so deep under the covers that you’d forget that you ever even possessed a physical form. 

And, much to Franco’s dismay, that’s what you did, turning away from him as you laid your head down to sleep. He pushed himself up next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He tapped his foot on your leg, initiating you to throw it over his is like you usually did every night. 

“You know,” he whispered, “this is when you’re supposed to pretend like you like me.”

“It’s not you, Franco,” you whispered back. “I love you. But it’s not something you can fix.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But that won't stop me from trying.” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck, and you fell into a tense sleep.

Although Franco hadn’t initially noticed your physical changes, he now noticed your emotional ones. You wore loose clothing more often, as if to hide your body not only from the outside world, but from yourself. You skipped breakfast occasionally when you were having a really bad day. And now, when you made love, you wanted the lights out, preventing him from seeing the shapes of your body.  

He knew that what you had said was true—he couldn’t fix this. No matter the amount of love he showered you in, he couldn’t change the way your mind thought when you looked at yourself in the mirror. And it broke his heart knowing that you couldn’t see the same version of yourself that he saw, the perfect girl who he loved so dearly.

Your pain was beyond his fixing, but not beyond his helping. If he had showered you in love before, it was monsoon season now. Flowers every week. More lingerie to model for him.  Touching you nearly every second of the day. More sex than your body could handle. 

Of course, you welcomed his affection. But none of it helped that wound deep inside of you. 

It was at work, of all places, that he got the idea. 

“We’ve got a meeting with the new sponsors today,” his manager explained as they quickly trotted down the long hallway to the conference room. “That luxury brand I was telling you about? I’ve sealed the contract, they’re just here to plan the promo materials.”

Now, sitting in the conference room, the brand representative explained it to him. “The idea for the campaign is risque luxury. We want something… elegant, yet dangerous. Formula 1 fans are the perfect audience. Most of the shots for the initial campaign would just be in-studio, and then, we’d need you to wear some pieces we provide at official Formula 1 events.”

“That all sounds fine,” he said. 

“Great! We’re still looking for some more representatives for the women’s line, but when we find them, we can set up a date for the shoot.”

“Wait, like a female model? I’d need to pose with her?”

“For the first shoot, yes. And if we can get some shots of you and whoever we choose at official events, that’d be perfect.”

“Uh, well, I have a girlfriend. I can't just…be taking random women to events.”

The rep laughed. “Oh, it’s not like that. The models are all professionals. I assure you that no one would be trying to take you away from your partner.”

“If you all need a female model, why not just use her? We’ll be seen together a lot more than anyone else, no?”

His manager shot him a death glare. Was it highly unprofessional to be suggesting his own girlfriend for a job like this? Absolutely. Did he care at all? Absolutely not. 

The rep asked, “Oh, does she model?” 

“Eh… no, not professionally. But this could be her big break, no?” Franco laughed, and the rep did too, for obviously different reasons. But Franco was, unfortunately, serious. 

“Does she have social media?” the rep asked, and Franco pulled up your instagram as the rep scrolled through. 

“Well, first of all, she’s beautiful,” the rep said, clearly trying to be polite. “But, modeling is not just about being pretty.”

“Then why am I here?” The room erupted in laughter, but Franco hadn’t intended the statement to come out like a joke. “No, I’m serious. I drive Formula 1 cars. What are my modeling qualifications?”

“Well,” the rep began, carefully choosing his words, “you have the Latin American market in a chokehold—”

Franco cut him off. “My fans love her, too.”

The rep pursed his lips. “I’m sure they do.” 

“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult—”

“Not at all,” the rep said, cutting Franco off as well. “Let me ask, though… is this a deal breaker for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if we get a real model, are you saying you wont pose or be seen with her?” 

Franco looked at his manager across the table, who was nothing short of fuming. He began, “You said the theme was ‘risque luxury.’ I’m not going to pose for risque photos with another woman, no.”

The rep sighed. Franco continued, “And honestly, I still don’t even understand why you all even want me to model for you. Nobody in Argentina can even afford these outrageous prices—”

“Okay Franco, that’s enough!” his manager said, a false happiness in her tone. She turned to walk the rep outside, saying, “This has been a wonderful meeting, we can’t wait to hear from you…”

Once he had exited the building, she returned, looked at Franco, and said, “I hope you know you just lost us that contract.”

“Did you sign me up to do a photoshoot with a random woman?”

His manager paused. “...It’s business, Franco.”

“C’mon,” he said, “you knew about this, and you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought you’d understand. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“You knew that was too much.”

She sighed. “Yeah, okay, I took a gamble hoping you wouldn’t care and I lost. But that sponsorship money is coming out of your bonus.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to promote this overpriced shit anyway.”

“You’re the bane of my existence, kid,” his manager said, patting him on the back as she walked out of the room.

At the end of the day, all Franco could think about was coming home and collapsing in your arms. When his manager was mad at him—which was often, given his refusal to be media trained—it was his favorite way to destress. 

So when he arrived home and collapsed on top of you, interrupting whatever mindless show you had been watching, you just smiled to yourself. As he exhaled, you placed one hand through his soft curls, and threaded the other under the collar of his shirt to scratch his back. He melted into your touch.

“Hello,” you said, placing a kiss on his head. “Long day?”

“She’s mad at me again,” he murmured, closing his eyes. 

“What’d you do this time?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

You softly chuckled, “Because I know you.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” he pouted.

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

He sighed. “I fucked up a sponsor contract. But really, it wasn’t my fault! They wanted me to pose with a bunch of models to sell their overpriced jewelry.”

You hummed. “I thought you liked doing photoshoots?”

“They’re fun, yeah, when they don’t want me to touch random women,” he frowned. You could hear the genuine disgust in his voice.

“I think you’re the only man in the world who would turn down the opportunity to be surrounded by models,” you laughed. 

He lifted his head up to look at you. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“Why would I want a bunch of random women touching on me when I have a girlfriend?”

You laughed again. “Because they’re models.” 

He gave you a look of confused disgust and said, “Oh, hush, YN. You’re the only woman I want within a hundred feet of me at any given time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that other women are beautiful.”

He looked at you sternly. “Um, no. This is when you tell me I’m not allowed to look at, let alone touch, anyone other than you.”

“Franco, you know I’m not like that.”

“You are, though! What has gotten into you, lately?”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m fine.”

Franco sighed. “No, you’re clearly not. What do I have to do for you to understand that you are the only woman in this world that matters to me? I don’t care what you say, you are the only one I want, the most beautiful girl in the world—”

He leaned up to kiss you, but you dodged his affection.

“Hey!” he protested. You got up from the couch, feeling overwhelmed by the whole interaction. 

“YN, come back—” you just ignored him as you went back to your shared bedroom, barricading yourself in the attached bathroom and exhaling. 

Franco was right. The insecurity had been eating at you for weeks, and somehow, Franco’s commitment to trying to make you feel better had made it worse. Most girls would be happy that their boyfriend (especially their young, famous, athlete boyfriend) wanted nothing to do with other women. But somehow, it just made you fear the worst—when Franco finally saw you as you saw yourself, and you became nothing more than just another one of the many women he ignored.

“YN, come out and talk to me,” you heard him softly plead from outside the door.

“I’m sorry, I just need a minute,” you said through the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“No need to apologize, take all the time you need,” he said. “But when you’re done, promise you’ll come talk to me about it?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah,” you answered weakly.

“Okay,” he said. You could hear how he pressed his forehead to the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your voice was shaking.

You just needed 5 minutes to breathe and calm down alone. That’s what you told yourself as you took another deep breath and wiped away the tears that now spilled over the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered to yourself. “I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s okay.” You’d say it until it was true. 

When you'd finally calmed down somewhat, you still waited in the bathroom, not wanting Franco to see your puffy, bloodshot eyes, the evidence of your tears. But he knew you were crying. And he knew you’d keep your word and talk to him when you were ready.

He knew you inside and out. So when you silently emerged from the bathroom and found him in the kitchen washing dishes, he knew no words were needed. You slipped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his back as he turned the water off and dried his hands.

He turned around and met your embrace, holding your head beneath his chin and enveloping you in his strong arms. His tender touch brought the tears back.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“No,” you corrected. “You’re so good to me. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“It breaks my heart to see you hurting like this. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Just hold me,” you said, burying your head deeper into his chest, smelling the familiar scent of his cologne and the warm comfort of his breath rising and falling. 

The next day, Franco woke before you, spending a moment staring at your sleeping form before he had to get up and leave for the day. 

He knew you had been struggling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how your mind saw something so much more different than his saw. It broke him to know you thought of yourself so negatively.

But he’d hold you all day everyday if it meant it helped even a little bit. He would do anything.

So, when your alarm began screeching and you lazily turned it off, he let you sleep in, simply pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he went into yet another one of endless meetings with his manager before the season started.

She walked in and slammed a stack of papers on the desk. “I don’t know how you keep getting away with this shit every fucking time,” she said.

Franco raised a brow. Her tone wasn’t angry, as he expected, but rather…frustrated?

“The contract,” she continued. “The rep called me last night. They want you to do the campaign no matter what. They’ll let you do it with YN.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes. We’ll have to get her in here to sign the contract, then we’ve got fittings and we still need to set the date for the actual shoot…”

His manager’s voice faded into the background as Franco remembered the previous night. The idea of you, dolled up in designer clothes posing next to him, had excited him at first. Now, he was unsure if that would just make things worse.

He had to be…deliberate in bringing it up. At home that night, as you two ate dinner, he decided to choose his words very, very carefully. 

“So, you remember that contract I said I lost?”

“The designer stuff?” you asked. He nodded. 

“Yeah. Well, I…actually didn’t fuck it up as bad as I thought I did. They still want us to do the campaign.”

“That’s good. It’ll get your manager off your case.” Your gaze drifted to the plate of food in front of you. The unspoken question lingered in the air. 

“Please don’t be mad at me—” he began, but you cut him off. 

“Franco, you’re a professional. I trust you.”

“Well, um… they want you to model.”

You looked up at him, perplexed. “Me?”

“I showed them your social media.”

“And they want…me. To model for them.”

“Well, they want you to do the campaign with me, yes. And wear a dress of theirs to a fancy event or two.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a model. And all my followers are just your fans, anyway.”

“Other driver’s girlfriends have done it, why can’t you?” He put down his fork and looked you in the eye. “YN, I think this would be a great thing. I can show you off to the world, and they’ll dress you up and make you feel beautiful. You’re beautiful without it, of course, but you know what I mean. I can’t make you say yes, but I’d love to do this with you.”

You took a beat to think. You couldn’t deny that you wanted the experience of going to lavish galas in designer gowns and seeing Franco grace the covers of magazine and social media home pages. Besides, you thought, if you truly looked bad they could just photoshop you to hell and back.

“Okay,” you answered, “let’s do it.”

So, a few weeks later, you found yourself in one of those cloth chairs that you had only seen in movies, having powder liberally applied to your face by a makeup artist. 

“The heavy makeup is just for the lights. They’re warm and harsh, so it’ll drown you out and make you look greasy if we don’t apply this much.”

You hummed in response, afraid to move your face. “I can tell this is your first time,” the artist said. “Just relax and let us work our magic, yeah? When they all say celebrities are fake, this is what they mean.”

You would have chuckled if you weren’t already sweating with nervousness. “Close your eyes,” she said, and you obeyed, only flinching as she generously sprayed setting spray over your makeup. 

“Alrighty, off to hair for you.”

Hair was the same—a nervousness that clearly identified you as an outsider to this world of glitz and glamor. You coughed when she nearly drowned you in hairspray. 

Then it was time for the final touches, the dress and jewelry. 

You gasped as they brought it out. A long silver satin gown, custom measured to hug your curves perfectly. Your neck was adorned with diamonds, your lips blood red, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulders. 

When you finally made it into the studio, Franco was already there, clad in a simple yet elegant black suit to contrast against the shiny fabric of your dress. He wasn’t facing you when you first entered, but hearing the click of your heels against the wooden floors, he turned and stopped in his tracks. 

“Oh my God,” he exhaled. “You look…” He was, quite literally, speechless.

You let out an awkward laugh, unused to having so much attention on you. 

“Amazing!” the brand rep said. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

And that, you did. The first shots were simple: you resting your arms on a chair while Franco sat, looking off into the distance, his perfect side profile on display. Both of you staring down the camera, arms placed in dynamic positions. 

Then you switched to the more sensual shots. Franco kneeled before you, kissing your hand, allowing you to show off the ring they had placed to contrast your black gloves. Another one, a shot of you holding his cheek as he gazed up at you in admiration. 

Then you switched, with him taking the more dominant role in the poses. His hand around your neck, showing off his own ridiculously expensive rings, as you tilted your head upwards towards him and he glared at the camera. A shot of Franco holding you up against a wall; his arm was draped above you to show off a watch, but his other hand found your waist and his head was turned as if to kiss you while you stared at the camera.

“Okay, play with the pose a bit,” the photographer instructed. “Let’s get some candids.”

You turned away from the camera, trying to ignore the incessant clicking and flashing in the background.

He smiled. “Hi, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you replied, smiling as well. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Franco leaned closer to your ear to whisper, “I really want to rip this dress off you.”

“Franco!”

“Oh, that was good!” the photographer yelled. “Whatever you said, do it again, her expression was golden.”

You laughed as you both repositioned, standing in front of the dark backdrop. 

“How much will it cost if I damage this dress?” Franco asked, looking at the photographer.

“Probably more than quadruple my salary,” the photographer laughed. “So please don’t.”

“But I have an idea. Just hear me out.”

Franco leaned down and gripped the strap of your dress in his mouth, eliciting a gasp from you and a thousand clicks of the camera. 

His most bold suggestion, though, was the shot from the floor; he laid down and had you crawl on his chest and kneel above his head, draping his shoulders in the luxurious fabric and showing off your bedazzled garter beneath a silt in the dress. Though the photo would only expose a little bit of thigh, you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline that the position gave you. 

When the shoot was over, it hurt your heart a bit to have to take off the dress and jewelry. Franco could tell. A sad smile painted your face as they carefully removed the diamonds from your neck and ears. But the one that hurt most was the gorgeous diamond ring, which you gently slipped off your gloved finger with a pang of sadness.

Franco was right; it had been fun to dress up and show off, but it was over now. So you said a silent goodbye to this false world of luxury as you walked off to the dressing room, and Franco went over to the brand rep who was packing up your jewelry. 

“A lovely job, both of you!” he said. “I’ll admit, I was hesitant at first, but you all definitely proved me wrong. These photos will come out amazingly.”

“How much is the ring?” Franco asked, gesturing to the lockbox that it was now hidden away in. 

“Ah, I could tell she liked it. Are you thinking of popping the question soon?”

“Ah, well…” Franco said, nervous now. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was an engagement ring. 

The rep laughed. “Well, this one’s from the new collection, expertly crafted. Usually goes for around $130,000, but that’s just with the base without any modifications.”

Franco choked on his own saliva. He certainly wasn’t making that much money yet, and besides, he didn’t know if his little working-class heart could ever justify spending that much money on a shiny rock. 

But for you? Anything. 

The rep could sense his hesitation. “Well, if you decide to go for it, here’s my card. Maybe we can work something out.” Franco nodded and accepted the card, stowing it away in his wallet after he changed out of his suit. 

Once you arrived home, the mountain of makeup and hairspray that you were both still covered in acted as the perfect excuse for a shower together.

As Franco lathered shampoo into your hair, he whispered, “You looked beautiful today.”

You smiled. “I felt beautiful.”

The photos were released a few weeks later, sending the internet into chaos. 

YN!?!?!?! CAN FRANCO FIGHT?

Does YN know that we’d all kill to be her right now

The hand placement!! The look in his eyes!!! That man is IN LOVE!!!!!

You chuckled to yourself as you read through the comments on your Instagram post. 

You saw the most important comment: the one from Franco. 

Eres el amor de mi vida <3 

You felt butterflies rise up in your stomach as you tapped the little heart to like the comment, as if that same man wasn’t taking you to the F1 Grand Prix Gala in Monaco tonight. 

You wanted nothing more than to walk in on his arm, basking in the glow of the photoshoot. It wasn’t just the glamor of the shots or the makeup that made you feel better; it was Franco. The way he looked at you like you were a goddess—you finally understood what he meant when he said he wanted you to see yourself as he saw you. 

As you donned the loaned dress from the same brand—less extravagant than the gown from the shoot, but still gorgeous—you were so thankful you had let Franco talk you into this. 

Everyone was abuzz at the event, and you were getting kudos left and right from strangers, which was slightly embarrassing, but you soaked in the attention anyway. But the best feeling was your lover’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowded ballroom.

You stepped out onto an empty balcony, drinking in the clear night air, now alone from the crowd. Of course, he followed like a lost puppy. 

“Mi amor,” he said as you leaned against the ledge, “I don’t know what’s more beautiful, you or the night sky.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “That’s too much, even for you.” 

“Maybe,” he joked. “And, maybe, we should get out of here. I’m tired of pretending to like all these old rich people.”

“That sounds lovely.”

You two sped home, where Franco wasted no time taking off your dress and decorating the floor with it.

“Let me worship you,” he said, grazing his lips over the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Don’t you already?” you joked, evidence of your returned confidence.

“I do,” he said, “because you’re divine. I want to taste you.” He grabbed your panties with his teeth, pulling them down slowly, enjoying the burning desire you both felt as his skin grazed against yours. 

But even now that he had you fully undressed, he still teased you, gently kissing your thighs, looking up into your eyes with every kiss. You pushed his hair back, softly inhaling with every inch of skin that his mouth touched. 

“Franco…”

“Mi ángel,” he exhaled. “Mi reina, mi cielo, mi vida.”

With a featherlight touch, he brought his mouth to your wetness, kissing your clit before rolling his tongue around the soaked bundle of nerves. Your breath hitched.

He brought two fingers to your entrance, teasing you until you were dripping with want for him. “You’re perfect. So perfect for me.”

His praise felt like your native tongue, the way your bodies and words naturally curved to each other, fitting together like you were made for this. 

He echoed your thoughts, continuing, “You take me so well.” He curled his fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars, eliciting a moan. 

“I live to pleasure you, mi amor.” He brought his mouth back to your clit, pointing his tongue and swirling circles around it as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. 

You squirmed under him, overcome by the pleasure of both his hands and his words. As he continued his movements, he never shifted his gaze from you.

But you looked away, to the mirror in the corner that had been moved as you got ready. You had a perfect view of Franco pleasuring you, and God, was the sight beautiful. 

Franco saw you looking and stopped, eliciting a frustrated whine from you. 

“Come here,” he said, climbing on the bed. “Keep facing the mirror.” He positioned himself behind you, grabbing your chin to keep your face straight as you both gazed at your reflections. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see how perfect you look when I take you.”

You wordlessly nodded, loving the vulnerability of being at the mercy of the man who worshipped you. 

As Franco unwrapped and put on a condom behind you, you studied the patches of red that colored your cheeks, flushed from your lover having nearly brought you to the brink of orgasm only moments before. 

He spanked you and you playfully yelped. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off this mirror.”

“What if I do?” you asked. “Will you punish me?”

He spanked you again, the other side this time. “Don’t even think about it.” 

Then, slowly, he placed his hands on your hips and found his way to your entrance, filling you with a swift but gentle motion. You both let out a low moan. 

“Even your pussy is perfect,” he said as he began to move. “Taking every inch of me.”

“Yes,” you moaned. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, increasing his pace and intensity, making you scream. “I want to fuck this pussy every day for the rest of my life.”

His words went through one ear and out the other; you couldn’t focus with his fucking you into the mattress with every thrust.

You cried and closed your eyes, hanging your head as you tried to hold back the waves of pleasure that were building in your core. But Franco roughly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back up.

“What did I tell you? Look at yourself, getting fucked like the perfect little whore you are.” You loved it when Franco was a little rough with you, but combined with the praise, it nearly sent you over the edge.

“Now,” he said, slowing down his pace, “since you didn’t do what I told you, you don’t get to cum.”

You whined in protest as Franco pulled out, leaving you feeling cold and empty. “Please,” you begged. 

He laid down on the bed. “If you want it, do it yourself,” he teased. “Ride me. If you want to cum, you have to watch as you make yourself cum on my cock.” 

You didn't argue, instead just obeying and sinking yourself down on him. You watched in the mirror as he disappeared in you, mesmerized by the way your bodies connected. 

His hands found your waist again as you began to bounce on him, chasing your release with an relentless pace. 

“Fuck, Franco, I’m close—” you moaned, and you felt his hand come down hard on your ass again. 

“Are you watching?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me how beautiful you look.” If he had said this at any time other than in the heat of your passion, you would have cringed. But now, moments away from an orgasm, you obeyed.

“I fit perfectly on top of you,” you began with a shaky voice. “And I look…I look perfect riding your cock.”

“What else?”

“I look beautiful covered in your love bites.”

“Good girl,” he growled, matching your pace, fucking up into you. “My perfect, beautiful girl.”

With his final statement of praise, you shook, letting yourself drown in waves of pleasure as he continued fucking you through it. 

He had switched back to Spanish now, babbling away what you assumed to be your praises as he chased his own orgasm, quickly finishing from the heavenly feeling of your walls gripping around him. 

When you all collapsed in a pile next to each other, he threw an arm around you, wordlessly holding you in his embrace. His words could never truly make it better, he knew that.

But thankfully, his words weren't needed anymore. Now, you believed him. 

[da2supremacy]

Essentially the ethos of a dragon age game has always been something you can roll around in your hands and interrogate. Dragon Age games have never been some great awesome piece of art that belongs in the MoMA or whatever. Honestly, I haven't really enjoyed the gameplay of a single one except Veilguard and the OG devs personal prejudices are glaringly obvious with even just a cursory read. But the World Building is magnificent and the game let's you disagree with it. Some people hate that. It's why they're constantly whinging about the "all sidesism" or whatever. I don't really think the rampant centrism and borderline fascism was present until Inquisition. CAN you be a fascist in 2? Terrible in origins? Sure. But there's a world around you that reacts to that and when you're a truly awful prick there actually are gameplay and story consequences.

The Inquisition is a righteous religious army taking over sovereign lands for the greater good and the only person who ever questions that gets treated like he's gone insane. Yet even Inquisition gives you more opportunity to interrogate the justness of the Inquisition's existence than Veilguard allows you to question the merits of Solas' goals.

Because some of his goals (as stated in Trespasser anyway) DO have merit. While I may not personally agree with the notion of tearing down the Veil it IS a wound that he carved onto the world and he probably is the only person who could get rid of it. Not to mention they've spent 3 games all but telling us that the Veil was falling apart already anyway. If Solas did nothing the reckoning with the fall of the Veil would have to be addressed eventually because it was happening whether he did anything about it or not. Maybe his method actually would have been better than him sitting back and letting the Blights and the blood magic and the all the other things that were weakening the Veil collapse it naturally. We've seen places where that happened and it's always been pretty bad actually.

But the game never lets you sit with that. I am willing to believe that the 10 years and the region shift could have allowed enough events to equalize most world states but in trying not to say anything about Worldstates they straight up didn't engage with ANYTHING that came beforehand at all. John Epler's insane misunderstanding that people sympathizing with Solas is a FEATURE and not a bug, this is the franchise that gave us Meredith and Loghain and Anders, decided that the pathos of the game's supposed main antagonist and final boss could not be mentioned at all???

The game proves that the Chantry is based off of a woman's misinterpretations of visions she could in no way have ever understood (if you squint you can kind of see the shades of both the Evanuris and the Titans in the the story of the Chantry. Add that to the theory that Andraste was an OGB and well...) and the game itself doesn't mention the Maker or the doctrine of the Chantry at all. All sides of the Western Schism were still Catholics. Being in Tevinter does not actually justify why apparently no one is devout to the Chantry.

This game is great but it's a standard hero's journey. Rook grapples with nothing and sacrifices nothing. Even the one mandatory Companion death really isn't Rook's fault. I don't know how Solas ever thought that prison would hold them. I never actually have to think or question anything. I never actually made a difficult decision. You could replace the place names and file Solas off of the narrative and this could be literally any other fantasy title. The things that made Thedas unique are not there.

I am not calling this game poorly written. It's fine for what it is. It's not a WRONG decision to not include things that weren't directly relevant to the game's narrative and all things considered this game only actually got 3 years of real development time. There's probably a lot that got cut. But I do think still centering Solas as the final boss and the preservation of the Veil as the final obstacle to overcome and then not actually engaging with WHY he is really doing what he's doing and WHY that's actually wrong is a bizarre choice. It really does seem like John Epler was scared they couldn't convince the player as to why they needed to not rip it down and so they sidestepped the question entirely.

The thing about Solas in DAtV is that because they were fundamentally unwilling to engage with the question of whether or not the Veil should actually come down (which is a symptom of them refusing to engage with anything remotely 'problematic' in the franchise to date: slavery, elven oppression, treatment of both city elves and Dalish etc.) he goes from a character who is supposed to be the embodiment of wisdom to a character who is kinda stupid. And further, it affects our questions surrounding his motives and relationships, his actions in inquisition and how compelling he is.

Like, there's a lot of people arguing ATM about whether or not a romanced Lavellans relationship with Solas was meaningful/if she knew him compared to how Rook knows him/if he loved her more than Mythal. And I think the answer is very tied up in this particular issue with the writing.

Because if Solas is a revolutionary who believes that the veil must come down, not just to fix a perceived wrong he did, but for the good of elvenkind...if we take a Solas who says 'people are always dying, it's what they do' and realise that he's saying that because PEOPLE DIDNT USED TO DIE and the way their lives are now so short is terrifying to him, if we take a Solas who says that the world today is full of those who seem tranquil to him and take that SERIOUSLY, if we get a Solas who is sickened by the way spirits are yearning for the world the way it was but are stuck in the fade without any contact and that's twisting them into demons and those willing to possess others to taste a glimpse of what was denied to them by HIS actions...

Then we get a Solas whose actions don't just make sense but we can see WHY they make sense. We get a Solas who is, yes, committing an act of horrendous violence by tearing down the veil but is doing so to literally save the world rather than just fix a regret or because he's bound up in Mythal somehow and what she would have wanted for the world.

THAT Solas who leaves Lavellan because of his revolution he must lead, who leaves Lavellan after seeing what this world does to those who are left of the people, that Solas...I think that we could then argue more than the relationships he formed in inquisition were real and he was tragically forced away from them by his own goals. That in some way he is doing this FOR Lavellan.

There should be a sort of semi-horror tint to this world for us through Solas's eyes because we can see a world of tranquil walking around like he does, a world where life is too short, a world of injustice and pain and reasons to go ahead with his plan

But Solas....kinda lacks agency in DAtV. I don't hate the Solas Mythal plot stuff I think it's quite interesting, but mix it with us never considering the merits of what Solas wants to do, of EVERYONE unilaterally deciding it's evil with no real debate or queries, with ZERO elves in the narrative siding with Solas or taking what he has to say seriously...THATS where adding the Solas and Mythal plot rubs me the wrong way. I don't want Solas to need to be released by Mythal before he can let go of his evil plan...I want a Solas who doesn't have an evil plan but instead a complex one. I want the conviction of Anders in Solas; that what he's doing is RIGHT and the ONLY WAY to fix a great injustice. I don't want to redeem Solas or even understand him I want him to CONVINCE me and me BELIEVE him. Otherwise the Solas we see in inquisition is more shallow and the Solas we see in Veilguard through Rook...maybe Rook does know him better than the inquisition did.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I WANT MORE SICK QUINN PLEASE

Okay, babes! More sick Quinn it is!

"Oh baby, you look awful."

"Good morning, to you, too," Quinn answered, his eyes half open. His voice sounded like he was talking with his nose pinched closed. You knew when he went to bed last night he was getting sick; you had heard it through the phone. So, when you got the message this morning that he needed you to come over, you made a stop at the pharmacy before his apartment. And it was a good thing, too. 

He was on the sofa, legs pulled up to his chest with a blanket draped over his head and wrapped around him like a sick Halloween ghost. His colour was off; washed out and grey-like, and he was breathing out of his mouth with a rattle in his chest. 

"I'm sorry," you replied softly, removing your shoes and coat at the door. The lights were off when you had got in, but you didn't question it. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I look: awful, apparently." 

Hurting his feelings wasn't what you had wanted to do, but it was too late for that now. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I didn't mean for it to--"

"It's fine." Quinn's tone was sharp and flat and he wasn't looking at you. Those two little words had stung, causing you to remain at the door longer than you should have, hesitant to go any further. After a moment, realizing that your words meant nothing and that he wasn't going to apologize either, you grabbed the two bags you had brought with you and walked into the kitchen. 

From across the island, you could see him sitting on the sofa, his head never moving to look over his shoulder at what you were doing. It was like you weren't even there. He was sensitive, you knew that, but this was the first time he had been so irritable. 

With the lights off and all of the floor-length curtains drawn, it was near impossible to do what you needed to by the light of the television in the other room. 

"May I turn the lights on?" You asked, hoping he wouldn't find a reason to get moody over a simple question. 

"Sure," he said, still just a flatly as before. Quinn pulled the blanket further over his head before slumping over onto his side, like he was trying to hide from the impending light. 

His apartment's lights were all on dimmers, so you made sure the kitchen one was on the lowest setting possible before flipping the switch. Light sensitivity: migraine, and the possible reason for his shitty mood. Hurrying, you unpacked everything that you had bought before shutting the light off. You remembered the range hood had a light and one that wouldn't affect him anymore than the tv he was in front of, but at least you would be able to see what you were doing. You looked back towards the sofa where Quinn was still wrapped up tight. Knowing you had to talk to him, you buried your pride, and went back to the living room. 

"Migraine?" You asked him, your free hand touching his shoulder through the blanket, rubbing his back gently. 

"Yeah." 

"Will you look at me, please?"

After what felt like the longest moment, Quinn revealed his face from his private blanket fort. "Why don't you sit up and take these? It will help with the headache. And I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. I didn't mean for it to come off like it did."

He didn't say anything at first as he forced himself back up. He would take the two pills and water from you and you would leave him alone. Back in the kitchen, you kept your back to him, your arms crossed. You had wanted to make things easy on him today, but now you wondered when he would tell you just to go. Things felt like they were spiraling faster than you could set them right. All just because of one poorly placed comment; one that you didn't mean to come off as serious. 

You were so deep in your own thoughts, you hadn't heard Quinn shuffle from the living room to where you were in the kitchen. His reaching out to touch your arm had startled you and he withdrew his fingers immediately. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, still draped with the blanket. 

You glanced at him for only a moment, "You're fine."

"I don't feel good," Quinn sighed, stepping forward a couple steps to stand right in front of you. He leaned forward to lay his head against your shoulder. He felt hot with fever, and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him. 

"I know you don't, baby."

'I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"It's okay." 

Quinn leaned his entire body weight against you, like he was trying to find comfort in any way that he could. Your fingers would trail up and down his back until he decided to move. 

"Everything hurts," he confessed, his eyes pleading for an answer as to why he felt so bad. 

"Can you tell me what you're feeling?"

"Uh, the migraine. I can't breathe. My throat is sore. I'm coughing up green stuff. My body hurts so bad I could seriously cry. I'm cold yet I'm sweaty. I don't know what's going on with me."

His voice had never sounded so pathetic the whole time you had known him, and it hurt you to hear him struggling with so much. 

"Have you taken a Covid test yet?"

"No."

"It wouldn't hurt to take one."

"Okay," he whined, pulling himself from your body as you allowed your arms to fall away from his. "I don't know if I have any left."

"I grabbed some this morning," you remembered, looking through things to find the box. "Here."

Quinn tore open the kit. He fumbled with the contents before finally swabbing his nose and applying it to the test kit. Despite having been so close to you just moments ago, realizing that he could have Covid had made him stand a ways away from you. It didn't take long for the test to read positive, making his fears worse. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his eyes falling closed with a sigh.

"Honey, it's fine. These things happen."

Quinn looked over at you, eyes heavy with guilt. "I probably just got you sick."

"I'm not worried about that," you reassured, your hand touching his cheek after closing the gap between you both. "I could use a few days off from work anyways."

"I didn't want you to get sick. I shouldn't have messaged you to come over."

"Shh, baby, baby, baby," you soothed. "I'll be okay."

He paused, "I've got to tell the team."

"Why don't you go get into bed, message Rick, and I'll deal with all of this stuff, okay?"

Quinn only nodded and slowly took off towards his bedroom. From the open door, you could hear Quinn on the phone, relaying the news of his positive test and that he would miss the next game slotted for tomorrow evening. The call didn't seem to last very long, and you'd enter the room after you were positive he was off the phone, so as not to interfere. 

"You didn't have to wait out there," Quinn spoke, once you joined him. "It wasn't anything that important."

"I know, but it wasn't my business," you smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," he remarked, "Just have to do what I did before. He wants me to re-test in four days and go from there."

Reaching forward, you smoothed his wild curls and felt his forehead again making sure you hadn't imagined the fever. However, he was still quite warm to the touch. Quinn searched your face for reassurance before asking you anything.

"Is it bad?"

"Your fever? No, I don't think so. Hopefully it breaks soon, which should make you feel a lot better. Let me go get you some more water, okay?"

"Okay," he sighed, pulling the duvet up around himself with a bit of a struggle. 

"I just feel like shit," he said with a sigh, his congestion somehow sounding worse just before he had a sneezing fit. 

You weren't gone but a minute, but when you came back, he was looking at you like you had forgotten him for hours.

"What's wrong, Quinn?" You asked him, putting a few bottles down on his nightstand. 

"Oh, bless you, sweetheart."

"Ugh, I'm so over this." Quinn blew his nose before falling back into his pillows. 

You frowned, running your hand through his hair, standing beside his side of the bed. "I'm sure you are. I'm sorry."

"Would you lay down with me, babe? Since I've already probably given it to you..." He dropped off, feeling bad about asking you to come over.

Smiling, you leaned down to kiss his forehead one more time. "Of course. Do you need anything else before, though?"

"No," he said, pushing back the blankets to make it easier on you to find him beneath the layers. "Just you."

[taelophone]

Bitter ʚɞ ⸝⸝⟡⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆TWs: Liquor . Jealousy . Annoying/Disrespectful friends . ｡⋆A/N: A lil palate cleanser before I gear up to write the most filthy creation to hit my table <3

You made a conscious effort every day to be the best version of yourself, biting your tongue, minimizing conflict, and stepping into your bigger shoes whenever you felt yourself nearing slipping off the chain.

But it was hard when your boyfriend was so highly regarded— attractive in all his right and kind enough to keep men and women orbiting him in silent lovelorn. It was hard to stay calm and collected when it seemed like every other day there was a new woman begging for a slice of his confectionery attention.

Luigi, however, was none the wiser. Every new face with a warm smile pulled a fresh coat of hospitality, his arms stretched wide with welcome to every face that seemed to spark interest.

There’s nothing wrong with being friendly, really. But there’s only a certain amount of flirty comments and forced physical interaction you can witness before the bitter citrus burns your parotids.

Like now.

You had dragged your homebody boyfriend out for the day, claiming a need for oxygen and socialization in the form of what was supposed to be an intimate little get-together between you and a couple of your friends. What you hadn’t expected was for friends to bring other friends.

Not that you were mad! After all, the more the merrier. What started as a small house chill became a quiet gathering for drinks and charcuterie, courtesy of Helena’s last-minute catering cancellation. 

The issue began to bubble to the surface when one girl, in particular, began to take a sudden interest in your boyfriend. At first, you dismissed it, recognizing that your boyfriend was a rather interesting individual.

So instead of fussing and pouting, you chose to remove yourself from the situation before it boiled over. Your faith lay in Luigi, trusting him enough to know he would never shatter that faith.

But it still stung.

The blaring buzz of bitter envy sounded through your ears like a bunch of barmy bees. The light tap of her backhand on Luigi’s shoulder, her eyes sharp on the man in front, fixated on the goal of love.

“No! Oh my gosh, no! That’s not true, you’re literally so strong. Like, I can see your muscles,” she gasped, pinching the side of his bicep with feigned disapproval woven in her flattery.

The first crack in your resolve. Porcelain, but far from perfect.

“Haha, yeah, uh—? Sorry, I think I lost my girlfriend..?” He said, frantically whirling his head around the kitchen in search of your familiar silhouette. 

“Aw, you ditching me? Runnin’ off to your ball n’ chain?” She mused, paired with a chuckle that seemed way too enthusiastic to be anything less than what she thought was the truth.

“Ha…haha, no. I just really miss my girlfriend” he chuckled. Breathy and uncomfortable, a clear warning sign of nearing his limit. “But it was nice talking to you!”

“Of course! Find me later, I’ll give you my number. I’d love to talk more” she offered with a pat on his broad shoulder.

And with that, he fought back a mildly confused arch of his brow before traversing through the sea of people in pursuit of you. What a strange experience…at least she’s friendly.

He shimmied his way through the hallway, taking a brief moment to admire the little intricate archway connecting the kitchen and the living room. It was a warm Tuscan brown, perfectly made with a nice round arch—nice.

He found you a couple of feet away from the kitchen, arms crossed in defiance with a hefty glass of some white wine you had been swirling around in its brandy balloon. A warm smile engulfed his features as he sat down next to you, one that was quick to fade when he felt the icy cold aura that radiated from your stone face.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, pinching his brows together with innocent confusion.

You sighed, a puppeteered smile creeping up on your face; one that failed to meet your eyes with venomous twinkles. 

“Nothing. Totally fine,” you huffed, rolling your eyes as far as they could go in such a short amount of time.

“No, c’mon, don’t do that…” he said, a flicker of desperation and annoyance crossing his features.

“Go talk to Mindy, maybe she’ll help you understand what’s wrong” you blurted, sharp and pointed with intent to harm.

He sighed, putting down his little can of beer on the coffee table. An elbow came to rest on his knee, propping up his head by his chin as he stared at you.

He was never really the type of man who liked beating around the bush and much less when people around him did it, but he was making an effort for you. With open ears and a heart full of affection, he tutted his disapproval but tugged you closer to him by your shoulders.

“Oh, my jealous baby…” he cooed, a cocky grin forming on his face as he sweet-talked you into cavities. “So worked up…did I make you jealous? I’m sorry, my love.”

“Stop that…” you huffed, leaning away from his touch with crossed arms.

“You poor thing must’ve been so lonely without your terrible wretched boyfriend,” he teased, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you into his lap to pepper gentle kisses to your head.

“I’m…” Kiss! “So…” smooch! “Evil!” Smack! “How will you ever forgive me?”

“Luigi, stop!” You breathed out in between quiet giggles, pink bubbly bashfulness bubbling under your cheeks as he garnered the many sympathetic and supportive eyes of people around you. “You’re making a scene!”

“I’m not afraid to show my wife I love her” he fired back with a wet and almost grotesque kiss to your neck that would have sent the average child into a spiral of gags and barfs.

“Okay, okay, enough!” You laughed, pushing his wandering lips away from your neck and jaw. “I forgive you!”

“Good. ‘Cuz you’re the only one I have eyes for here. Sorry I made you feel jealous, I didn’t know how to shake her off me” he smiled.

And the night carried on with the clinking of wine glasses, sports banter piloted by 5 ex-frat boys with lopsided caps, kisses and smooches from the lovebirds, and occasional grumbles from a very grumpy, stood-up Mindy.

[floralscented]

ㅤ ㅤㅤmy boy's a mechanic! . . . charlie baker.

────────────────────────────────────────────

you knew nothing about cars. not a thing. you put the key in the ignition, the engine started, and that was about it. being an only child, your dad thought that he'd make your life easier by never letting you struggle. that was how he ended up doing all of your mechanic work, sometimes even pumping your gas for you.

sure, it was nice; being spoiled always was. but the downsides came quickly when your parents were out of town, and your car spluttered to a stop on the side of the road.

couldn't call your dad, not wanting to stress him out. couldn't call your mom, because she'd tell your dad, and of course they would have come home to help you, but how awful would it be to be the sole reason their mini vacation was ruined?

so you called charlie. charlie was incredible self-sufficient; knew how to cook, worked maintenance on his family's cars, could fix most plumbing and technical issues around his house. all-in-all, he was a perfect choice to call in your troubles.

you stood outside in the blazing summer heat, the hood of your car propped open, and you staring inside at the engine and the mechanics, seeing a lot and understanding none of it.

"right, so you see the gas cap?" charlie's voice scratches through the receiver and into your ear. "open it, like you're fillin' your tank."

your arms cross over your chest, a little whine falling out of your mouth. "charlie, i have plenty of gas. i'm not going over there. it's somethin' with the engine or... something."

"mhm," charlie hums and clears his throat, "go to the side of the car, baby."

you bristle, slamming the hood of the car shut with your freed hand. "so, what, you want me to just look in there and see how full of gas my car definitely is?"

"i want you to look in there and make sure it's gas." he's always been patient with you, but it was clear that he had siblings, from the way it came so easily to talk back to you. "from what you're sayin', with the terrible grindin' noises and the splutters, could have been siphoned and replaced."

"hm."

charlie snorts. there's rustling on his end, and then his voice is back and clear. "hm. don't give me attitude, baby, i'll leave you on the side of the road."

the growl in your throat is entirely made up of the aggression starting to build inside of you. "you leave me on the side of the road, charlie baker, we're breaking up."

"no," charlie says, drawling the word out, and there's more scratchy sounds, like he's running the phone cord beneath his shirt and rustling it. "--you're brea'ing up. where r'you?"

"leaving the city. rural backroads or something." well, this was just great. car was maybe out of gas, engine was maybe shot, and you were without cell signal on the side of the road. you whine all over again. "charlie."

charlie sighs. "m'comin', okay? lemme grab s'tools and--" he cuts out, and then the line drops. you flip your phone shut and throw it in the open window of your car in fury. it wasn't his fault. none of this was charlie's fault. but you were definitely allowed to be angry when you were stuck on the side of the road for god knew how long.

the answer was twelve minutes. you sit in your driver's seat, watching the time tick by on the clock of your radio, and twelve minutes later you see the rusty outline of charlie's truck roll up behind you.

"supposed to have your hazards on when you're pulled off like this," he says immediately upon his arrival, and then he presses a kiss to your forehead. "hi baby."

your mouth twists into a devastated pout. "don't be sweet with me when you tried to tell me this was all because i'm out of gas."

his lips twitch, and he reaches up with the hand not holding a toolbox to adjust the brim of his red baseball cap. "'course it's not out of gas. your tire blew."

"what?" your shock is audible, leaning half out of the driver's side window to look at your two tires. sure enough, the back driver's side one was flat. charlie's dimples poke into his cheeks in his innocent grin. "why didn't you say that?"

"why didn't you say that?" charlie shoots back, bending down to drop the toolbox into the grass. "i can't see your tires over a phone, baby."

your eyes roll again, and charlie laughs. "i'll get it all taken care of, honey." he circles around to your trunk, pushing it open. "aren't you so glad now that i made you get that spare tire 'stead of ice cream a few weeks ago?"

"no." your voice is grumbly, punctuated by the pout of your mouth. "it was at least eighty bucks more than a vanilla cone with sprinkles, no cherry."

charlie gives you a look, but his eyes glimmer all the same. "i should make you change this, since you wanna have an attitude about my graciousness."

he lugs the tire out of your trunk, rolling it over to rest against the backdoor. "no, you know what?" he continues, strong arms crossing over his broad chest. "i'll teach you. come n' dirty up that dress, baby."

as much as you want to protest, it was thoughtful of him, to not coddle you like your father spent the entirety of your life doing. having eleven siblings couldn't have been easy, but it'd turned charlie into an expert on how to deal with the likes of you.

so you watch him change out your tires, explaining each step along the way, making you dirty up your hands ( and your dress ) to show him that you were absorbing his instructions.

and when charlie circles around your car to turn it on, check if the system was reading the tire pressure right or whatever it was that he'd said, you can hear it from your perch against the door. the ding of the low fuel indicator.

charlie breaks into a cackle. "go ahead and tell me again how full of gas your car is?"

"shut up," you grumble, tossing a wad of ripped out grass at him.

"more like my baby's full of shit, i think."

you lunge forward to push at his shoulder with a laugh, and charlie takes the time to grab your wrist and tug you into his lap. his foot hooks underneath the car door to shut it behind you, his other hand reaching backwards to flip the hazards on. it was the right thing to do, after all, even though the car was fine now.

they didn't need someone rolling up next to them with charlie's hands up the skirt of your dress.

────────────────────────────────────────────

this one's to u @starzify who dared me to make more. and to u, u, u, and u, my fellow charlie baker lovebots 🙂‍↕ @deansbeer, @titsout4jackles, & @ultravi0lence14

[emoshep]

i'll admit, part of me does wonder if it would've been more interesting to let ren keep that original line

like ren loses a teammate and his grief builds up over the course of the series, which he proceeds to never share with anyone else because he seems to have some trouble sharing his feelings, and in one unfortunate moment all of it comes spilling out and then he and jaune have a far more personal thing they need to work through. then they get to bond over their shared grief for pyrrha and they both grow a little more or something (and hey, peanut brain fans like me would get an in-show reminder that pyrrha existed)

idk just a thought i had. the way they changed it still works, but i can see how the original line could've been interesting. it would've felt fucking awful for everyone characters included, obviously, but idk it's a low point in the tale maybe it could've been of some use

idk did jaune and ren ever have like a thing like that with just them two to interact? i can't remember, have to rewatch

Confession #441

[bruhnze]

Personal Records - Chapter 8

Summary: time skip! 🤰

Warnings: none

Wc: 7k he he and the next part is already in the making too 🙃

Personal Records Masterlist.

It was February 2033, and nobody knew yet.. just Lucy and Ona.

As they drove toward the clinic for their six-week ultrasound, Lucy rested her hand gently on Ona’s thigh, the spot where it belonged. If everything was as it should be, Ona was six weeks pregnant now. Four weeks ago, they’d taken the official pregnancy test at the clinic, confirming what they had both hoped for. They had done a few at-home tests too, but because of the hormone injections Ona had needed leading up to the fertilization, they had to wait on the clinic one for a definitive result.

But even before the official test, Ona had told Lucy she felt it.. she knew it.. it was that same fluttering sensation in her stomach she had felt before. She hadn’t remembered it exactly, not until it came back, and then she knew it instantly. When Ona shared that with Lucy, they’d cried together, tears of joy and awe. It was so special to relive those emotions together again, it felt like they were reliving how it had been with Oliver and Lucas.

They had spent hours talking about the two previous times they’d found out they were expecting, recalling the smallest details.

Since then, Lucy had noticed a shift in Ona. She’d become needier, in the sweetest way. Her hand would reach for Lucy’s more often, seeking touch, a hug, or a kiss. Lucy welcomed it. It had been the same during Ona’s other pregnancies, and she cherished the opportunity to be there for her wife in this intimate way. It warmed Lucy’s heart, it was like their bond was deepening again in this new chapter, and she would never take for granted that she was the person to share this with Ona.

..

“Two what?” Ona and Lucy repeated in unison, their voices sounding with equal parts confusion and disbelief.

The doctor chuckled softly, glancing between them. “I recognize two gestational sacs,” he repeated calmly.

“Which means...?” Lucy pressed, her tone growing tight with nerves. Her eyes darted down to their joined hands, noticing how her own was turning pale under Ona’s firm grip.

“There is a high likelihood of two embryos,” the doctor explained matter-of-factly. He removed the transducer from Ona’s stomach, cleaned it methodically with alcohol, and placed it back on the ultrasound device.

Lucy froze, her mind spinning. Two? Two babies? How?

“Do you mean... twins?” Ona asked, her voice quiet and laced with disbelief.

The doctor nodded, offering Ona tissues to wipe away the cool gel from her abdomen. “That’s correct. I looked more closely because I thought I detected two heartbeats. While we’ll confirm with greater certainty later on, I’d confidently say this is a biparous pregnancy. The second sac is partially hidden behind the first.” He gestured toward the paused black-and-white ultrasound image on the screen.

Both women stared at the monitor, their eyes big with disbelieve.

The doctor clarified, pointing to the faint outlines on the image, “Which, yes, means twins.”

Turning back toward the bin, he peeled off his blue gloves and tossed them away.

For the first time since hearing the news, Ona and Lucy turned to look at each other.

Lucy’s face betrayed her growing stress, but Ona’s expression was harder to decipher. There was disbelief, sure, but also something else Lucy couldn’t quite name.

Tilting her head slightly, Lucy silently urged Ona to share what was on her mind.

“It won’t be alone,” Ona whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You said... you... Sophie.”

Lucy’s smile softened, and she gently ran her thumb over Ona’s knuckles. Even though Ona wasn’t making much sense, Lucy understood her immediately. Ona was thinking about the dynamics within their family—the age gap between their older sons and the new kid... well kids.. now. Sophie, Lucy’s younger sister, sometimes told story’s about how she had Lucy had always known it was true; she and Jorge had naturally gravitated toward playing together, often leaving Sophie out.

But she believed they could do things differently. She and Ona could nurture a bond between all their children, creating a dynamic where everyone felt included. Her mother’s old adage, ‘Life isn’t fair,’ didn’t have to apply... they could do it their own way. Lucy believed in bending the rules, rewriting them to make life kinder, more just—for her family, at least.

“So,” the doctor said, interrupting her thoughts as he turned back from washing his hands at the sink, “I would recommend ultrasounds at eight, ten, and twelve weeks as well. This will help us monitor their growth closely and ensure both embryos are developing normally.” He hesitated, as though weighing his next words carefully. “I should tell you that the likelihood of this pregnancy continuing with two embryos is lower than the chances of a singleton. Statistically, at this stage, the probability of both embryos thriving is about 30%. There’s around 60% chance it becomes a singleton pregnancy.”

Ona swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “So... 10% chance of...?” She trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

Lucy took a deep breath. “Is there anything we can do to... help increase the chances of both embryos surviving?”

The doctor tilted his head thoughtfully, considering her question. “The most significant factor is the quality and strength of the embryos, which is something you can’t control. However,” he continued with a small nod, “reducing stress, getting plenty of rest, and maintaining good nutrition are always beneficial.”

He paused, his gaze shifting toward Ona with a faint smile. “I will add that your overall health is excellent. Your test results are remarkable—your bloodwork, in particular, is outstanding.” His smile grew warmer as he finished, clearly meaning every word.

Ona exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening slightly around Lucy’s. Despite the uncertainty, Lucy could feel the hope growing between them.

..

Ona stepped in to the car as Lucy held the door open for her on the passenger side, ‘’are you going to be like this again?’’ Ona chuckled.

Lucy smiled, ‘’yup.’’  

After carefully shutting the car door Lucy walked around the car and got in, ‘’have to take care of you guys.’’

Ona blushed, ‘’imagine if it will really be twins.’’

Lucy zipped her coat open and turned to face her wife, ‘’thirty percent chance.’’ She hummed, studying Ona’s face.

‘’Imagine,’’ Ona laughed and shook her head in disbelieve, ‘’Luce.. how will we do it.’’

Lucy chuckled, ‘’well.. I’m glad we are in a good place financially.’’

Ona tilted her head, her eyes going wide as she realized, ‘’oh noo, we’d have to buy new cars… and the house.. my plan.. we’ll have to do it earlier then planned.’’

‘’What?’’ Lucy was very confused, Ona was speaking very incoherent this morning.

‘’For after our retirement,’’ Ona started, ‘’I have blueprints for an easy conversion to create a downstairs suite.. bedroom like we have upstairs now.. on the ground floor.’’

Lucy bit her lip.

‘’That empty space near the hall on the eastern flank,’’ Ona looked at her with sparkly eyes, it was always like that when she spoke about buildings, Lucy could only smile as she let her wife rattle, ‘’that's where I had the water and electricity connections run to.. which was very difficult at the time, but I told them it really had to be done... well, there’s foundation there too, the only reason I haven't had the room and bathroom built there yet in case we want to live somewhere else when we were old.. but it would take maximum a few months for the space to be added there for us.’’

‘’I don’t know why, but that’s so romantic to me,’’ Lucy blushed.

‘’What?’’ Ona looked back at Lucy, pulled out of her thoughts.

‘’That you thought ahead and.. made plans for our retirement.’’ Lucy smiled, taking Ona’s hand and pressing a kiss to it, ‘’Oliver will be thrilled to take our bedroom, I can already see it.’’ She laughed.

Ona nodded, ‘’though we will still have a problem, because the playroom doesn’t have a bathroom.’’

‘’Maybe the twins will get.. uh.. assuming there will be twins..’’ Lucy had to try hard to not already imagine two babies joining their family, ‘’they would have the rooms Ollie and Lucas have now.. those are identical..’’

‘’And Oliver in the playroom?’’

‘’Yeah because the playroom is a nice room, its big so he will like it,’’ Lucy nodded, ‘’and our bathroom has a door to the hallway, so Ollie and him can just share.’’

Ona nodded as the thoughts started to form in her head. ‘’We’d have to add a door on Ollies side then.’’

‘’Mhm, but we’ve got a couple years,’’ Lucy smiled, ‘’they wont need their own rooms the second they’re born.’’

Ona laughed.

‘’When I grew up we shared one bathroom with all five of us.’’ Lucy stated, ‘’we will have four bathrooms for six people.’’

Ona looked at Lucy with big eyes, ‘’oh my god.’’ She gasped.

‘’What?’’ Lucy asked as Ona didn’t continue.

‘’We will be outnumbered big time.. what if they’re all teenagers and start a riot against us.’’ Ona said with a breathy laugh.

Lucy chuckled, ‘’a riot?’’

Ona nodded earnestly, ‘’what if it will be two boys.. four boys.. can we manage four boys?’’ she said, almost pleading.

‘’I like to think we’re doing quite a good job raising them..’’ Lucy laughed, ‘’d’you already have pregnancy brain?’’ she joked, bringing Ona’s hand back to her mouth and pressing a couple of kisses to her knuckles again, ‘’they wont riot against us, and if they try something.. I can take them.’’ She leaned forward to flex her bicep, though her arms were covered by all the clothes she was wearing.

Ona giggled, ‘’okay, I don’t know why the thought crossed my mind, lets hope it doesn’t come to a point of you having to challenge our kids to a fistfight.’’

‘’Our kids wouldn’t harm a fly,’’ Lucy laughed, ‘’have you met Oliver? If I raise an eyebrow at him when he knows he’s doing something naughty he almost cries.’’

‘’Yeah Oliver has a big conscience,’’ Ona smiled, ‘’I think we will have more troubles with Lucas, once he’ll get older.’’

‘’Mmm,’’ Lucy nodded, ‘’he already has us wrapped ‘round his little finger.’’

‘’Maybe it’ll be two girls,’’ Ona mused, ‘’then we’d have two boys and two girls.’’

‘’God, when you say it like it sounds so much,’’ Lucy chuckled, ‘’two and two.. four kids.’’

Ona nodded at her wife, feeling the same, ‘’it’s actually crazy.’’

The sound of a phone ringing broke their moment.  

They both reached for their phone, though it turned out to be Ona’s.

‘Hi Soph.’’ Ona answered.

‘’Yeah I had an appointment.’’

‘’No, I know, it wasn’t to do with a client.’’

‘’Sophia.’’ Ona said sternly, making Lucy bite her lip to stifle a laugh, ‘’any reason you called me?’’

‘’mhm.’’

‘’okay.’’

‘’uh, I’ll be back in-‘’

‘’no, no, I will do it when I’m back.’’

‘’twenty minutes.’’

‘’Okay, bye Soph.’’

‘’No, no, don’t worry, I know you didn’t-‘’

‘’Yes, see you in twenty.’’

Ona declined the call with a sigh, leaning her head back against the seat. “Get me back to my office,” she muttered.

Lucy chuckled as she started the car. “As you wish, ma’am,” she teased with a grin.

Ona smiled at the joke but then exhaled deeply. “I was thinking we could tell people at twenty weeks, like we did before but Soph is already asking questions.”

“Twenty weeks,” Lucy echoed thoughtfully. Their last two pregnancies had both been their own little secret for twenty weeks before they’d shared the news with the world, but this time might be different.. if Ona was carrying twins. “We can still try to do that.. but if it’s actually twins, there’s a good chance you’ll show earlier.” She shot Ona a playful look. “But we could always just say we’ve been eating too many snacks.”

“We?” Ona arched a brow.

“Well… you,” Lucy said with a laugh, pulling out of the parking lot.

Ona chuckled softly. “We’ll see.”

Lucy grinned. “And as for Soph, you can just say it was an appointment with me.”

Ona nodded, but skepticism crept into her expression. “Yeah, but what kind of appointment would I have with you at eleven in the morning?”

“Uh.. dentist? ..hospital? ..coffee date? … uhm.. a quick hookup?” Lucy quipped. ‘’there’s many excuses to think of.’’

Ona shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Oh, sure. I’ll tell Soph we took a break for a quick hookup.”

“I mean.. she’d believe it.. she wouldn’t ask further questions..’’ Lucy shrugged, playing innocence before continuing on a more serious note, ‘’But it’s a good thing our next appointments are scheduled around lunchtime. What did you put them as in your calendar?”

“You chica loca,” Ona replied, shaking her head. “yeah I put them in as lunch with you.” She laughed lightly. “I thought we could actually grab lunch, too. It’ll be nice.”

‘’Mhm, that’s nice,’’ Lucy’s hand rested on Ona’s thigh. “I’m actually so excited to spend some extra time with just the two of us.”

Ona smirked, turning to Lucy. “Just the two of us?”

Lucy frowned for a second, then caught on. “Ahh, I mean… with all of you,” she said, her hand moving to Ona’s stomach. She pushed aside Ona’s coat and tugged her blouse free from her waistband.

Ona made a half-hearted attempt to stop her. “Luce,” she whined, “your hand is cold.”

Lucy withdrew her hand with a sheepish grin, rubbing it briskly and blowing warm air in to it. “It’s not that cold,” she said, sliding her hand back under the layers, her palm finding the warm skin of Ona’s stomach.

Ona shivered slightly at the contact but accepted her faith and rested her own hand over Lucy’s.

…

Ten weeks later.

The weeks had gone by well, they had managed to keep everything a secret and Ona said she hadn’t felt too bad – but Lucy noticed her morning sickness was worst then her two pregnancies before. But she didn’t tell Ona to take more rest or what to do, because she knew Ona hated that, instead she focused on supporting her however she could.

The twelve week ultrasound had been perfect, as where all the others before that. Lucy remembered exactly what the doctor had said at the twelve week ultrasound, ‘Good news! Both embryos are growing beautifully. At this stage, we’re seeing strong, consistent heartbeats for each one, and their development is right on track. This means you can expect twins.’

Lucy would never forget those words. Twins. It was one more baby than they had imagined, but now that it was real, she wouldn’t have it any other way. She was over the moon, already picturing their future with two new little ones in it.

What surprised Lucy was how relaxed Ona was about everything. She seemed happier and more content than Lucy had expected. Watching her embrace it all so calmly left Lucy in awe.

Now, they sat together in the clinic waiting room, waiting to be called in for the sixteen-week ultrasound. This one felt significant—not only because it was another chance to see their babies, but because they had decided it was finally time to share the news after this one mainly because it became really hard for Ona to hide her belly. She hadn’t worn tight clothes in weeks.

Tonight, they planned to tell the grandparents. Ona’s parents were coming over for dinner, and Lucy’s would join the reveal via FaceTime. The boys, who were still blissfully unaware, would find out too.

The only one who seemed to know so far, apart from Lucy and Ona, was Canela. The dog had been acting strangely ever since Ona had gotten pregnant. She’d taken to curling up in Ona’s lap whenever she could, resting her head protectively on her belly. Outdoors, instead of running and playing with the boys, she stuck close to Ona’s side, almost like a little guardian. Lucy found it utterly adorable and was convinced Canela knew. Ona, however, chalked it up to coincidence, though she didn’t seem to mind the dog’s newfound attachment.

Ona had been careful to avoid seeing Soph too much these past few weeks. Her PA had an uncanny knack for reading her, and Ona was certain she’d catch on if they spent too much time together. But Soph would find out tomorrow, after they’d shared the news with their parents.

Lucy glanced at Ona, who was scrolling idly on her phone, looking as relaxed as ever. They were so close now to telling everyone, her own mind was racing, she was so excited.

…

The doctor opened the door, scanning the near-empty waiting room before his eyes landed on them. “Mrs. Bronze-Batlle,” he greeted with a warm smile.

After a quick exchange of pleasantries, Ona found herself back on the exam table for what was now the fifth ultrasound for this pregnancy. The doctor squeezed gel onto her stomach, the chill pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Let’s see how they’re doing,” he said, adjusting the machine with practiced ease, his tone carrying a hint of excitement.

Lucy sat close, her hand resting protectively on Ona’s thigh. She was fond of their doctor, who had been part of their journey since the beginning, eight years ago. His expertise and passion for his work shone through in every interaction. Choosing a private clinic had been Ona’s preference, but Lucy had agreed wholeheartedly—when it came to their children, nothing less than the best would do.

“Everything all right so far?” the doctor asked as he guided the transducer over Ona’s stomach, his focus fixed on the screen. “Any troubles or questions?”

Lucy nudged Ona gently. “Tell him about the pressure, babe.”

“Oh, right.” Ona smiled sheepishly. “The smaller one in the back—the one you said was hiding—could it be that it’s more active? I feel like it’s pushing against me sometimes.”

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. “When did it start?”

“About two weeks ago?” Ona glanced at Lucy for confirmation.

“Sixteen days ago,” Lucy supplied with a small smile.

“Well,” the doctor said, stepping aside to point at the monitor, “it seems the babies have shifted positions. The larger one has moved slightly toward the back, and the smaller one is now more to the front. Here—do you see these two heads?” He traced vague shapes on the screen. “This is the spine of the bigger one, and…” Something flickered on the screen. “Ah, here’s a foot.”

The doctor quickly tapped a few buttons, capturing an image. “Did you catch that?” he asked.

Lucy chuckled, leaning closer. “Wait, did it just kick its sibling?”

Ona burst out laughing, and the vibrations from her laugh made the image on the screen wobble.

The doctor lifted the transducer momentarily and pressed more buttons. “I recorded it—look.”

Ona and Lucy both focused on the playback as the smaller baby’s foot kicked toward the larger one.

“That’s so wild,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “Sibling rivalry already.”

The doctor smiled and continued the scan. “As usual, I’m checking for any anomalies,” he said, his tone now serious but calm. “Organs, limbs, growth patterns—” He paused and looked up at them. “Do you two want to know the genders?”

Lucy and Ona exchanged a glance before nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, please,” Lucy said.

“Well, I can confirm one for now,” the doctor said, glancing back at the screen. “The smaller one here—she moved when you laughed, Ona. And here, you can see it clearly: she’s a little girl.”

“Her…” Ona whispered, her voice cracking. “Dues filles?”

The doctor smiled warmly. “They have separate placentas, so the other baby could be either a boy or a girl. But one is definitely a girl.”

Ona tugged Lucy’s hand, drawing her attention away from the monitor. Lucy turned to find Ona’s eyes shining with unshed tears, mirroring her own. They shared a tender smile.

A girl.

Lucy’s mind filled with images of a tiny Ona, and her heart swelled at the thought.

“Was that the smaller one or the larger one?” Ona asked softly.

“The smaller one,” the doctor replied as he continued to navigate the transducer, taking measurements of both babies. “And overall, they both look very healthy. Their organs and spines are developing normally, and their head sizes are proportionate to the rest of their bodies.”

“Is the larger one more likely to be a boy?” Ona asked curiously.

The doctor shook his head. “Not necessarily—it could go either way.”

“Can you check for that one too?” Lucy asked, squinting at the screen as if trying to make sense of the blurry shapes.

“I just had a clear view of the one in front,” the doctor explained gently. “But even she’s shifted slightly. They’re both quite active, which is a very good sign. Plenty of fluid, lots of movement—they’re strong babies.”

Lucy leaned down to kiss Ona’s temple. “Strong, just like their mom,” she murmured, earning a warm smile from Ona.

Their doctor smiled at the interaction as he finished the scan and took his gloves of to begin typing down some notes.

‘’Oh ens podria donar més còpies de l’ecografia?’’ Ona said, suddenly remembering she’d been wanting to ask an extra copy of  Li direm als meus pares aquesta nit.’’

‘'Clar, cap problema,’’ the doctor smiled, ‘’did you manage to keep it a secret?’’

Lucy nodded, ‘’mhm.’’

‘’Barely,’’ Ona chuckled, ‘’I have been avoiding people and wearing wide clothes, but we wanted to take our time.. but the sixteen week mark is good, no?’’

The doctor nodded with a reassuring smile, folding his hands. “Yes, the sixteen-week mark is an excellent moment. The risk of complications has decreased significantly. You’ve also had consistent, positive results with your ultrasounds, which is an indicator of healthy development.’’

…

‘’are you sure you want me to bring you to work?’’ Lucy asked as she pulled of from the parking lot, ‘’I can bring you home too? Then you can rest a little bit before tonight?’’

Ona shook her head, ‘’I have some things to do still, besides, my car is at my work.. and it’s my day to get the boys from school.’’

Lucy threated her fingers through Ona’s and brought her hand up to press a couple of kisses to it, ‘’I can bring you to your car and get the boys from school this afternoon.’’

‘’Luce,’’ Ona wiggled her hand free from Lucy’s, ‘’I’m four months pregnant, not nine.’’

‘’Sorry,’’ Lucy said softly, now placing her hand on Ona’s knee, ‘’you know I mean well, I’m not trying to control what you do.’’

Ona took Lucy’s hand back and moved it on top of her stomach, ‘’I know, and we love you, but we’re fine.’’

‘’I love you too,’’ Lucy smiled, though she kept her eyes on the road, ‘’and I already love our little ones so much too.’’

‘’Can you believe one is a girl,’’ Ona smiled, looking at Lucy.

Lucy smiled and nodded, ‘’I know baby, at least one girl.’’

‘’Have you thought about names?’’ Ona asked, fixing her gaze back on the road, thinking about it too.

‘’yeah we need two names,’’ Lucy looked at her chuckling, ‘’well, we know now ones a girl name.. then we can think for a boys name and a girls name that suits with it.’’

‘’Would you say its crazy to call our daughter Sofía.. like with an ‘f’ but naming her after-

-soph’’. Lucy said softly. ‘’wow.’’

‘’Do you think that’s… like.. insensitive? ..because she doesn’t have kids?’’ Ona asked.

Lucy bit her lip as she thought about it, ‘’mm she said she didn’t want them right?’’

‘’Yeah but you never know..’’ Ona said softly, ‘’shall we propose it to her, invite her to dinner some time when we know the other ones gender too.. and then say we would be honored to name her after her.’’

‘’Yeah, I actually love the idea.. I mean.. Soph is the reason we know eachother.’’ Lucy said.

Ona chuckled, ‘’yeah.. but also besides that, she just means so much to me.. to us I think.’’

‘’Yeah I love her, she’s like family.’’ Lucy nodded, ‘’and Sofía is a pretty name, suits with Ollie and Lucas too.’’

‘’D’you think it’s a boy or a girl? The other one?’’ Ona asked.

‘’What do you think?’’ Lucy asked back, ‘’I mean.. it could go both ways.’’

‘’I have a feeling it’s two girls.’’ Ona smiled, ‘’but it’s based on nothing.. maybe I’m just wishful thinking.

‘’it’s a fifty percent chance,’’ Lucy shrugged, ‘’maybe your feeling is right.’’

‘’I’ll be happy with either.’’ Ona said, leaning back in to her seat.

‘’It’s a miracle no one has noticed yet.’’ Lucy chuckled, spotting Ona’s bulging stomach.

‘’Mmm,’’ Ona hummed, ‘’I’m relaxing right now, when I’m at work I don’t have it out like this.’’

Lucy chuckled.

‘’Do you think my boobs have gotten bigger?’’ Ona asked, coming completely out of the blue for Lucy.

Lucy raised her eyebrows, her gaze involuntarily traveling to Ona’s chest, ‘’it’d have to inspect that later to give a good answer.’’

Ona laughed, ‘’so you haven’t noticed something.’’

‘’Maybe I haven’t been looking enough,’’ Lucy smirked, ‘’I’ll be sure to pay closer attention.’’

‘’I have been wearing my comfier bras,’’ Ona sighed, ‘’think I have done all my maternity clothes away actually.. I have to go buy some new stuff.’’

‘’Mmm,’’ Lucy nodded, ‘’I’ve noticed you’ve been wearing my stuff more.’’

‘’Yeah, sorry.’’ Ona smirked apologetically,

Lucy shook her head, ‘’no, no, I love it.’’

Ona blushed as a smile tugged at her lips. ‘’It’s comfy and it fits.’’

‘’See, all plusses, for all I care you can have my whole wardrobe and I can wear my work clothes for the rest of time.’’ Lucy said, turning in to the street of Ona’s office.

‘’I don’t want you to leave,’’ Ona whined, ‘’I want to cuddle.’’

‘’Do you want me to walk you to your office?’’ Lucy asked, rubbing Ona’s thigh, ‘’I can give you a hug.’’

Ona nodded, ‘’only if you can.. don’t you have clients?’’

Lucy looked at her phone to see her schedule, there was still some time, and even if there hadn’t been, she’d be late any day when it came to Ona. ‘’I have about fifteen minutes.’’

Ona smiled in contentment.

..

‘’Hi Ona!’’ Soph shouted from one of the office boxes they passed, ‘’oh my god, how are you, feel like I  haven’t seen you in-‘’ Sophia caught up with them, ‘’Lucy?’’

Ona and Lucy smiled sheepishly.

‘’Hi Soph,’’ Lucy said, ‘’how are you.’’

Sophia looked suspiciously between the pair, ‘’what’s wrong?’’ she asked carefully.

‘’Nothing, we had lunch and Lucy is walking me to my office because we were still in conversation.’’ Ona replied coldly.

‘’Troubles in paradise?’’ Sophia joked carefully.

Lucy chuckled, ‘’yeah, leave us alone so we can finish our fight.’’ She joked back.

‘’Mkay,’’ Sophia said, eyeing them up and down one more time.

The pair continued walking, Lucy holding her hand protectively on Ona’s lower back.. that was nothing special.. but what Soph did find suspicious was that Lucy’s empty hand was carrying Ona’s purse. Ona never let her do that normally. Soph stood there for a while, thinking what it could be. Then it clicked.

She hurried down the hallway, taking the other elevator up.  

When she reached the top floor she burst into Ona’s office, without knocking.

Lucy and Ona, who stood in an embrace, looked up, confused.

‘’Oh my god Ona,’’ Soph said worriedly, ‘’are you sick?’’

A beat of silence went by before Ona and Lucy burst out in a chuckle.

‘’I mean,’’ Ona laughed, ‘’some mornings, yeah.’’

Lucy bit her lip as she watched Sophia’s reaction.

Soph’s jaw dropped, having trouble believing. ‘’I can’t- .. you’re… are you.. is…’’

Lucy and Ona chuckled again, Ona removed her big scarf and coat, pulling her blouse thight over her belly to reveal a not-so-very-small babybump.

‘’Oh my gosh!’’ Sophia squealed, ‘’when were you going to tell me? At the due date? How far along are you?’’

The couple looked at eachother, ‘’okay we’ll tell you everything, but please keep it to yourself for one day Soph, we where going to tell our parents tonight.’’

‘’I’m the first to know?!’’ Soph practically jumped out of her skin from excitement, ‘’ofcourse, I’ll keep my mouth shut.’’

Ona looked up at Lucy, nudging her.

‘’You want me to tell her?’’ Lucy asked.

Ona nodded, ‘’I am going to pee really quick, I almost peed my pants just now, from laughing.’’

‘’Ah here,’’ Lucy took Ona’s coat and scarf from her, ‘’well.. actually Soph, we are expecting.. two babies.. Ona is four months along.’’

‘’What?! What,’’ Sophia looked around as if looking for someone to tell her it was a joke, ‘’twins?’’

Lucy nodded quietly amused, though on the inside her heart was bursting with love and proudness, she was proud of her wife.. of the babies that were yet to be born.

‘’I’m going to hug you,’’ Sophia said, launching herself at Lucy, ‘’gosh, you guys, when did you two decide to do this then.’’

‘’Morning.. well.. day after my birthday.’’ Lucy chuckled.

‘’Do I want to know?’’ Sophia asked, peeling away from the hug.

Lucy laughed and shrugged, ‘’we where cuddling and Ona asked me what I thought about a third.’’

‘’And a fourth,’’ Soph chuckled breathily, ‘’oh my god.’’

‘’When’s the due date?’’ Sophia continued.

‘’21st of November.’’ Lucy smiled, ‘’a couple days after yours.. though the doctor said twins can come a bit earlier.’’

‘’Ohhhh,’’ Sophia squealed, ‘’I’m so excited, how did you two keep this a secret.’’

‘’I’m offended you didn’t notice me slowly dressing more and more like a potato sack,’’ Ona chuckled, walking back in.

‘’Ouch,’’ Lucy chuckled.

Ona shook her head, ‘’the clothes fit you, you look nice in them.’’

‘’Well its hard for me to observe how you look if you give me all that stuff to do away from you,’’ Sophia laughed, ‘’did you do that on purpose?’’

Ona nodded with a smirk, ‘’but those things really needed to happen anyways, but yeah, it was convenient.’’

Sophia shook her head in disbelieve, ‘’can I hug you?’’

Ona chuckled, opening her arms for her PA.

‘’Mmm I’m so excited,’’ Sophia said for the umpteenth time since she’d gotten the news.

Ona smiled, pulling away and taking Soph’s hand, ‘’double excited?’’ she said, placing her hand down.

Sophia nodded, ‘’do you two know what it.. ehrm.. what gender they are yet?’’

Lucy bit her lip.

Ona laughed, ‘’ah always so nosy Soph, why? do you want us to name one after you if it’s a girl.’’

Sophia laughed, ‘’well its very close to my birthday.. just saying.. I would accept that as a present.’’ She chuckled, ‘’no, I’m kidding, I’m just curious..’’

‘’I kinda like Sofía,’’ Lucy added with a shrug, catching on to Ona´s plan.

‘’Mhm,’’ Ona nodded, ‘’and now that we learned at least one is a girl.. I mean.. we wouldn’t have to break our minds coming up with a name.’’ she said, keeping up the same stoicism.

Lucy hummed in agreement, ‘’and I think Sofía goes well with Oliver and Lucas, no?’’

´´Yeah.. but Soph would never agree,´´ Ona said to Lucy, barely holding it together as she watched Soph´s face in the corner of her eye.

Lucy nodded. "Myeah, guess we’ll have to think of something else then."

Sophia gasped dramatically, her hands flying to her chest. "Are you two seriously messing with me right now?" She narrowed her eyes but couldn’t stop a grin from forming. "I know you’re teasing me!"

Ona shrugged, her lips twitching as she fought a smile. "Actually, we talked about it in the car. We both thought it has a nice ring to it."

Lucy joined in, her tone perfectly innocent. "Don’t you agree?"

Sophia laughed, shaking her head. "Okay, it’s a beautiful name," she said with a smirk, "but isn’t that, like, way too much honor? I mean, I’m just…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes started to glisten. "I’m just your assistant."

Ona’s smile faded into a frown, and she exchanged a glance with Lucy.

"Just our assistant?" Ona repeated, her tone soft but incredulous.

Lucy chuckled, leaning back casually. "We don’t exactly invite just anyone from work to hang out at our house, you know."

Ona nodded, stepping closer to Sophia. "You know you’re family to me, right? To us."

Sophia clapped her hands together, "you guys are too much," she said, half-laughing, half-sniffling. "I might actually combust from excitement!"

Lucy shook her head with a laugh. "We love you, Soph. And our kids do too."

Sophia wiped at her eyes, her smile brighter than ever. "I’ll be telling everyone you said that."

Ona chuckled. "Don’t forget to keep it a secret for one more day."

Lucy laughed. "And the name a bit longer."

‘’I can’t believe you two are actually thinking about it,’’ Soph said, walking over to take both of them in an embrace.

..

Luckily Lucy mainly had management tasks at work today, so she had been able to offer Ona to pick up the boys today. Oliver and Lucas had both asked if a friend could play at home with them, but for once Lucy had to say no. that didn’t happen that often. She said it was because grandma and grandpa came over for dinner, but usually that didn’t change anything for having friends over. But the boys agreed easily.

At home she unpacked the boys’ stuff and put it where it belonged.

‘’Merienda?’’ Lucy asked her kids, Oliver looked up from where he was lying on the floor cuddling with Nela. Lucas had been shadowing her, so he was already close. ‘’What do you want Ollie?’’

‘’Not hungry,’’ Oliver said, playing with Canella’s ears.

‘’I am mommy,’’ Lucas said, pulling at Lucy’s trousers.

Lucy chuckled, petting Lucas his head. But then she focused back on Oliver, ‘’what’s wrong Ollie?’’

‘’Nada,’’ Oliver groaned.

Lucy took Lucas hand and walked over to her oldest son, ‘’what do you think Lucas? Do we have to tickle him?’’

‘’Yaaaa! Debemos!’’ Lucas chuckled.

‘’Nooo,’’ Oliver scrambled to crawl away, running to hide behind a couch.

‘’Nela,’’ Lucy clapped, laughingly ‘’go get him Nela. Vamos Vamos.’’

Oliver chuckled as her ran.

‘’Lucas,’’ Lucy pointed, ‘’you go from that side, hold your arms wide.’’

Lucy herself quickly ran from the other side, easily she trapped him in her arms as he tried to get away.

‘’Mom!’’ Oliver whined, struggling in Lucy’s hold. 

‘’What shall we do?’’ Lucy asked Lucas as she held Oliver upside down, ‘’shall we tickle him.. or do you think he needs some cuddles?’’

‘’Tickles!’’ Lucas yelled, launching himself at his brother.

Lucy quickly shifted Oliver, holding him back upright and close to her. ‘’What do you say Oliver? Tickles?’’

Oliver shook his head, burying his face against Lucy’s shoulder.

‘’D’you want to help mom making some food?’’ Lucy asked, petting his back.

‘’Sí,’’ Oliver nodded against her.

Lucy knelt to pick Lucas up on her other arm, and walked towards the kitchen.

She set both her sons on the counter, placing a kiss to both of their foreheads.

‘’So, what are we going to eat? we have some pasta left that we can reheat,’’ Lucy said, walking to the fridge, ‘’yogur.. fruit.. I can make toast?’’

‘’What will you eat mom?’’ Oliver asked.

Lucy hummed, ‘’hmm, I think I will eat a banana and greek yogurt.. do you want the same?’’

‘’Ew,’’ Lucas shook his head, ‘’por favor no.’’

‘’I want that,’’ Oliver, ‘’but with honey.’’

Lucy nodded, ‘’perfect, two bowls of Greek yogurt.. Lucas pasta?’’

‘’Sweets?’’ Lucas proposed, ‘’we have white chocolate?’’

Lucy shook her head with a chuckle as she took the yogurt from the fridge and got two bowls out, ‘’you can choose toast, or pasta.. or I can make a sandwich… otherwise you’ll be hungry before dinner again.’’

‘’Bocadillo,’’ Lucas huffed, ‘’como siempre lo hace mama.’’

‘’What does she put on it? Ham and cheese?’’ Lucy asked, currently scooping yogurt in to two bowls.

‘’And tomate y pepino, pero Lucas no tomate,’’ Oliver added, thinking along.

‘’D’ya want cucumber Lucas?’’ Lucy asked.

Lucas nodded, ‘’and mamá puts the white bread.’’

‘’Nooo,’’ Oliver laughed, ratting his brother out, ‘’usually we have to eat the-

His sentence got cut of by a stump against his chest, ‘’white bread.’’ Lucas whined.

‘’Ey ey ey,’’ Lucy quickly got in between them, before Oliver could punch back, ‘’Lucas?’’ she asked, making him look at her, ‘’we don’t punch someone, do we now?’’

‘’No but-‘’

‘’Eh?’’ Lucy asked, ‘’no but’s, we don’t punch people, period.’’

‘’Okay,’’ Lucas huffed, ‘’but I want white bread.’’

‘’if you want white bread.. you can ask, we will not lie or punch to get something we want.’’ Lucy said.

‘’Lie?’’ the little boy looked up with a pout, ‘’I didn’t lie.. I-‘’

‘’Mamá almost never lets us eat the white bread,’’ Oliver added.

‘’SHE DOES!’’ Lucas whines.

‘’Hold up,’’ Lucy said, taking a step back, ‘’it doesn’t matter what mamá does, right now I am here – and I make the decision.’’

‘’but you asked how mama makes it.’’ Oliver simply said, ‘’I think he wants one like mamá makes because you always do it..’’ he looked away, not finishing his sentence.

Lucy chuckled, ‘’I do it how?’’ she asked.

‘’Brown bread, no butter.’’ Oliver said carefully, ‘’and too much ham.’’

‘’Allright,’’ Lucy took the comments with a smile, ‘’so.. white bread, butter, cucumber, cheese.. and a little bit of ham.’’

Lucas wiped his tears as he nodded while he wiped his nose on his sleeve, ‘’sí por favor.’’

‘’Okay, I will make that,’’ Lucy said, ‘’now, I do need you to apologize to Oliver, because hurting your brother is never an option.’’

‘’Lo siento,’’ Lucas said with a unsteady whisper.

‘’Okay,’’ Oliver said, ‘’but still, mamá doesn’t give us white bread either.’’

‘’SHE DOESS.’’ Lucas whined again.

Oliver shook his head, ‘’most times brown.’’

Lucy shook her head, ‘’well, thank you Oliver for thinking along, but now I will make a sandwich with white bread for your little brother, okay?’’

‘’Okay,’’ Oliver nodded, ‘’can I have cornflakes in my yogurt then? Instead of honey.’’

‘’Cornflakes in the yoghurt?’’ Lucy chuckled, ‘’or would you rather have a bowl of milk then?’’

Oliver shook his head, ‘’no, not milk.. in the yoghurt.’’

‘’Okay sure,’’ Lucy turned to get the cereal, ‘’what one?’’

‘’Choco krispis!’’ Oliver smiled.

..

As they sat down at the breakfast bar to eat their snacks, Ona came home.

‘’Mamá!’’ Lucas yelped as Ona stepped in to the kitchen.

‘’Carefull bud,’’ Lucy said, grabbing his arm as he almost flew off the high chair. With one hand she helped her son down to the ground.

‘’Hello my loves,’’ Ona smiled, ‘’mamá needs to go to the bathroom Lucito, I’ll be back in a second.’’

‘’Hi amor,’’ Ona leaned in to give Lucy a quick peck, before quickly making her way to the toilet.

Lucas followed his mom, and Lucy got up to the kitchen with her empty bowl, putting it away. ‘’D’you want to eat something?’’ she called out towards the hallway.

Ona, who sat on the toilet with the door open, as Lucas stood there, answered back, ‘’a sparkling water please!’’

‘’And food?’’ Lucy called back again, taking a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge to poor Ona a glass.

‘’No I’m okay, Soph brought me snacks the whole afternoon,’’ Ona chuckled back.

Lucy laughed, ‘’perfect.’’

After being done Ona walked back in to the kitchen.

‘’Mamá,’’ Lucas whined, holding his arms up for Ona to lift him up.

Ona leaned down, kneeling for him, ‘’hi querido, did you have a good day at school?’’

Lucas nodded, putting his arms around his moms neck.

‘’Mamá can’t lift you,’’ Lucy said, setting down the glass of water for Ona, ‘’do you want me to lift you up?’’

‘’No,’’ Lucas shook his head, ‘’mamá.’’

Ona took Lucas his small hands in hers, standing back up on her feet, ‘’mamá can hug you when we sit on the couch.’’

‘’Why?’’ Lucas asked.

Ona turned to take the glass of sparkling water, ‘’thank you love.’’

Lucy smiled, leaning in for a kiss, ‘’you seem happy.’’ She said against Ona’s lips.

Ona smiled, ‘’it was fun to tell Soph, I cant wait for everyone else to know.’’ She said softly.

‘’Hmm,’’ nodded, pulling away slightly as her hand found Ona’s stomach, ‘’do you want to lie down before your parents are here?’’

‘’Mmm,’’ Ona contemplated, ‘’I want to change, maybe I will lie down a little bit, can you handle the boys and cooking at the same time?’’

Lucy nodded, ‘’ofcourse.’’

..

By the time Mr. and Mrs. Batlle arrived, Lucy had just finished the dinner preparations. Everything was ready except for a few last-minute touches she’d planned to handle right before they were going to eat.

After greeting the elder couple alongside Lucas—while Oliver played outside with Nela—Lucy helped them settle in the living room and got them something to drink. Once they were comfortable, she excused herself to go find Ona.

She headed upstairs to their bedroom, expecting to find Ona still napping. Instead, she discovered her in the closet.

‘’Your parents are here.’’ Lucy smiled.

‘’Mhm,’’ Ona hummed, going through clothes, holding them up before stuffing them back in the closet, ‘’I don’t know what to wear, my mom will clock this immediately.’’

Lucy looked at her wife lovingly, Ona standing there in her underwear would never get old, especially with the way her abs had made way for a little bump again. It was adorable.

Lucy got up behind Ona, wrapping herself around the smaller woman, softly holding her belly. She kissed Ona’s neck, ‘’have you used up all my clothes?’’

‘’I cant wear your clothes when my parents are here.’’ Ona whined.

‘’You wore them to work?’’ Lucy said confused.

‘’I know but they will notice something is off,’’ Ona groaned, ‘’my mom knows me too well.’’

‘’It’ll be allright Ona, if they know the second you step in to the room or if they find out in a couple hours when we tell them, we still managed to keep it hidden until today,’’ Lucy said softly, she walked them to the mirror standing in the corner of the walk in closet, ‘’do you see how beautiful you are, it’s a shame we are even hiding it, just one more time. Just choose something from me and your mom will get her explanation soon enough.’’

Ona put her hands over Lucy’s as she looked in the mirror, ‘’its so crazy, isn’t it.’’ She hummed.

‘’Mhm,’’ Lucy leaned in to kiss Ona’s cheek, ‘’and even if they find out you’re pregnant, they still wont know it’ll be dos nietos, instead of uno.’’

Personal Records Masterlist.

[iichfilwypj]

HII how are youu? I was just wondering if you could maybe write a part 2 of the "love at first sight" fic you just wrote! Its soo good but honestly it's fine if you cant :)

remember to drink water 💙

love at first sight? ² | percy jackson

part 1 ღ percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite! reader ღ warnings: a lot of tension!!! it gets a bit sexual but not that much i promise! no smut or anything,, ღ wc: 1.137 hii! i'm so late, but i hope you like it! sorry if you were expecting something else, i really didn't know how this could end except like this! i love u!

While waiting, Percy’s mind raced with possibilities. 

He pictured her stepping through the branches, as stunning as before, offering her name, and maybe even a kiss. 

Although, maybe the kiss was too much; a simple hand shake would suffice.

But then, doubts crept in—she might ghost him, turn out to be some monster trying to kill him, or show up with someone else.

The distant rustle of leaves drew his attention, one hand going to his pocket—for his new sword—and the other messing with his hair—to make sure it looked decent; you know, just in case.

Riptide remained untouched. A slender hand appeared, pushing them aside with ease to reveal what he had been waiting for. 

And she looked even more breathtaking than before. 

Her hair wasn’t all down anymore; half of it was tied up, a pink bow in it. Her cheeks were still adorned with the same soft pink flush, that shade that never seemed to fade. Her long lashes framed her eyes, and her lips—God, there was no doubt that some makeup had made them look perfect, so kissable.

Percy couldn’t help but swallow hard, his breath hitching.

“Hi, Percy,” She drew closer, stopping directly in front of him and simply gazing at him.

His heart hammered in his chest. He was intimidated—he had no clue what to do. He’d never been in this situation with such a beautiful girl.

But at that moment, a thought struck him. 

Who cares? I’m a God’s son; things can’t possibly go that wrong.

So his serious expression melted away, and he grinned—sideways and confident. His gaze sharpened with a renewed sense of purpose.

“Hey,” He answered, voice taking on a teasing edge as he took a step forward. The air around him seemed to shift as her perfume surrounded him. 

Gently, he brought his hand up to her shoulder, his fingers almost trembling as they touched the fabric of her shirt, and, with the same softness, he swept a lock of hair away.

His smile grew just a little more as he felt the delicate flutter of her response, a tiny shift in her posture at his touch.

“Are you going to tell me your name, or are we keeping up the mystery?” Percy asked, his grin playful.

Hell, she was taken aback.

Just a few hours ago, he had seemed so lost, confused about what was happening, and clearly intimidated by her. She was used to that, but now, things felt completely different.

He was gorgeous, his dark hair casual and his face something straight out of a movie. His green eyes held her attention, captivating in a way that was hard to ignore.

The shift in his confidence left her more than a little intrigued.

And she was always prepared for any challenge that might come.

Her name slipped from her lips, and Percy felt a sense of awe. It was the most beautiful name he’d ever heard, and somehow, he knew he wouldn’t forget it anytime soon.

“So, Percy, where’d you go? I didn’t see you at dinner,” She asked, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the bracelet on her wrist.

“Oh, a lot; camp’s a total blast.” Percy said with a grin, enjoying the irony.

“Really? You didn’t seem bored with me,” she raised an eyebrow.

“I said camp was boring, not you.” 

Her head tilted playfully. “You're cute, Percy,” She laughed.

And just like that, Percy spotted it: a faint, subtle kiss mark resting on her high cheekbone.

With that, it all fell into place; her way of speaking, each of her movements filled with allure, and the undeniable aura that surrounded her—making it obvious that anyone who got to gaze at her had already won the greatest reward.

And that would likely be the only privilege they’d ever have.

She had to be a daughter of Aphrodite.

“D'you figure something out, pretty boy?” Her voice snapped him back to the moment.

“Maybe,” He replied, leaning in slightly. “But I’m still figuring you out.”

The air in that hidden space became incredibly heavy, holding the intense tension that hung between them. 

She had no intention of taking the first move. Her eyes were fixed on his, looking for that sign of desperation she needed to find. Her hands trembled with anticipation, picturing what could come next as she noticed a trace of lust in his green eyes.

Percy quickly grasped the situation. If he wanted anything to happen, he had to be the one to start. He had fallen into her game, but he had gone too far to turn back now.

Too far to lose it.

“Something's telling me I shouldn’t be here, that I should walk away,” He murmured, his hand lifting to gently trace the line of her jaw. “But I think I’m willing to find out.”

“Oh, you sound brave,” She whispered, her hands exploring his chest, testing the waters. “Or maybe you are just reckless,”

“I guess that depends on what comes next.” Percy replied, his eyes glinting with determination.

His hands moved to her neck, holding it tenderly and never breaking eye contact. It was like a contest—each of them daring the other to break first.

“And what do you want to happen next, Percy?” She shivered slightly under his touch, but didn’t pull away. 

“I want to see if you're as fearless as you act.”

As he whispered the words in her ear, her lips parted for just a second; the faintest invitation. Percy couldn’t resist it, closing the distance between them in one swift motion.

As soon as their lips met, their bodies took over, deciding for them. His hands moved to her hair, hers to his biceps. Her nails scratched the skin and he could only push her against the large trunk of the tree, the wood scraping softly her skin as he lifted her.

Percy’s fingers skimmed the edges of her orange t-shirt, feeling the heat of her skin beneath his fingertips. His pulse raced as he felt her legs squeeze his waist and pulled her even closer, feeling the tremble of her chest against his own, the weight of her closeness making his head spin.

She was the first to pull back, lips brushing his lightly before she tilted her head back to rest against the wood. He couldn't stop, pressing soft kisses everywhere he could.

“Wait,” She said, making him tilt his head, slowing down his movements to listen. “Nobody is gonna get jealous, right?”

Last thing she wanted was to kiss a taken guy; there are some limits, y'know.

He smiled, amused. “Don’t make me laugh,”

Her fingers, light as a whisper, traced the line of his jaw, and in that moment, time seemed to stretch. He could feel himself losing control. Her proximity was both a dream and a nightmare.

But her laughter was like music to his ears, and Percy found himself smiling more than he expected. 

“You even have a pretty laugh,” He remarked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised by his words. She’d expected something more physical, something a little more bold, but this caught her off guard. She liked it, it was just weird.

“Do you know what you’re getting into?” Her challenge hung in the air, daring him to prove that he was more than just a guy caught up in the moment. “Do you want to?”

But for him it wasn't a challenge, it was what he wanted. Percy held her gaze, something in him shifting, the tone in her voice mixing with a vulnerability he hadn't expected.

His chest tightened as he realized how much he wished to take that step—to cross that line, to get lost in her world.

In any way he could, in any way she’d let him.

He not only wanted to worship her, but to love her.

“Yes, I want to,” Percy said, pecking her cheekbone, right over the kiss mark. “It was love at first sight, I’m not letting you go anywhere now,”

LOVE I'M SO SORRY! this request has been in my inbox for A MONTH! i hope you like it! <3

[luv-beam]

HI TARA!!! my thoughts while reading are under the cut :'))) but i gotta say that i fall in love w ur writing every time i read something from u:

• i would like to start off w the fact that u set the scene so incredibly well, like im in awe and envy at this beautiful scene ur painting for us 😭 not to mention that it all flows really well too; just a strong opening paragraph

• awwwh PLS THE BIG BROTHER LITTLE SISTER DYNAMIC!!! when the little sis thinks the absolute world of her big bro :'))) and when she's even more mad than he is LMAO the TOAD LINE??? damn seokmin i was not aware of ur game

• lowkey i would have folded that fast too if duke lee seokmin of lancaster played along and kissed my hand

• this starting line ^ crazy good... like i'd like to sear this into my mind so i never forget it?? the social szn unfolds like a delicate fan??? adding another layer to the tapestry of ur life??? lee seokmin????

• HE HAS AN UNCANNY ABILITY TO ELEVATE THE ORDINARY UGHHHHH WHAAAAT A LINE i love that so, so much and it's so true as well

• awwwh yn and seokhao's goodbyes are so sweet :'')))) im so glad they all hold so much affection for one another

• "your penchant for wool is far more than my eyes could bear" im cryingksnfkdnjf seokmin sulking over the wool while he's away,, sometimes i like to imagine him as a damsel draping himself out of the window sill of a tower

• i love how yn describes herself feeling empty while hes away like heh... i know something u dont... heh :))))) and crocheting? me too!!! so cute that she made him smth

• TARA U R A MASTER AT IMAGERY!! the opening lines of age 15 are mwah chefs kiss like if i could draw/paint, i would literally turn this fic into a graphic novel for u

• tulip... brb while i burst into tears

• started grinning like an idiot while reading this ^ i can see his playful melodrama and the smile on his face,,, im so down bad like i would fold like a lawn chair if we played around like this irl (i say as a grown ass woman)

• oh how i do love the classic brushing of the limbs that gets the mcs blushing like hell... also love what u did there w the planting seeds in ur mind to decode later while they're literally planting flowers... i see u tara u genius

• oh wow the total 180 w the reveal of the duke's death (also seokmin addressing her as my dearest tulip TT) — thinking of seokmin entering the social szn as a recently-made duke and all the girls hounding after him in his fresh grief......

• this section (seok and hao just got back after the death reveal) is short but so bittersweet. like when u give seok the swords from the flower bed and he just kind of chuckles like yes... days gone by huh... UGH

• it breaks my heart to know that seokhao now have their dead fathers as something in common 😭😭😭 its sweet tho to know they're all looking out for each other. im w yn tho, i hope hers and haos relationship isnt negatively affected by this :'))

• THE RETURN OF THE TAPESTRY METAPHOR

• okay i have to confess something... this is my second time reading thru... and so im reading the part where minghao and yn talk in the garden and he's warning her of the whispers springing up abt her and seok and im like... freaking out bc i KNOW WHAT HAPPENS 😭 IM GNAWING MY FIST LIKE IK THAT HAO'D CONCERN IS SINCERE AND IM JUST SJFNKENFKFJF THIS SCENE HOLDS SO MUCH MORE WEIGHT DURING A REREAD (why i love comparing my thoughts btwn a first and second read tho, like u see things /differently/)

• i love the teasing and sweet assurances in the letters 😭 like they're so genuine and cute (rip minghao)

• AHHHHH THE SMOKING SCENE FROM SZN ONEEEE i like this change of dynamic tho instead of being btwn siblings, it's now btwn two love interests friends

• WE CANT ALWAYS HAVE WHAT OUR HEARTS DESIRE???? WHILE LOOKING AT US LIKE THAT LEE SEOKMIN????????? HHEHDJDJFJFJKFKFK

• sure sure fencing BUT YEARNING TO FIND LOVE?? BUT MY DEAR SIR?? YOUR GRACE, YOUR LOVE IS RIGHT NEXT TO U

• THE LONGING AND ASPECT OF THE FORBIDDEN MAKES THE SMALL DISTANCE BTWN U YAWN LIKE A CHASM AHHHH THIS PASSAGE!!!! like oof... i love angst and yearning like this, where im screaming at my phone screen to just kiss her already (knowing the... perilous journey ahead... heh...)

• friend.... FRIEND???? brb gonna go waltz into oncoming traffic

• oh the way this ends 😭😭😭 like my heart is being squeezed,,, the way he whispers tulip and the roots of ur love for him take hold UGGGHH!!! I CANT DO THIS

i will have to endure for another day tho and i will return for chapter two tmrw! i loved this even more than the first time i read it (and i loved it a lot then too)!! i was really able to sit w ur words this time, and i do have to say tara that u have such a talent for imagery, like omg this was so beautiful TT but thank u for writing this!! hope ur having a lovely day/night and i'll be back o7 💖

The Somerset Affair | Chapter 1: Whispers in the Garden

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.2k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, eventual smut, more to be added a/n: CHAPTER 1 IS FINALLY HEREEEE // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 2nd chapter will be up soon!!!

summary: lee seokmin is a scoundrel for having beaten your brother at fencing. or... is he?

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

Age 8

Mayfair is alive today. The Somerset estate hums with energy, a ripple of excitement passing through the gathered crowd, their eyes all fixed on the fencing match taking place in the wide, manicured garden. The afternoon sun casts a golden haze over the scene, warming the air and wrapping everything in a soft, honeyed glow. Laughter and chatter float like music across the grounds, underscored by the occasional ring of steel clashing against steel. The sweet fragrance of roses drifts on the light breeze, mingling with the fresh scent of cut grass. You sit near the front, your small hands gripping the edge of your chair, bouncing with excitement as you watch your older brother, Minghao, spar against a boy you've never seen before.

This new boy stands tall, his dark hair tousled in the breeze, and a sharp determination shines in his eyes. The way he moves—it’s confident, with an energy that seems far beyond his years. Your brother, usually so self-assured, falters as the boy steps onto the mat. A flicker of unease passes through you, twisting in your stomach. You can feel the tension, see it in the way Minghao adjusts his grip on his sword. The match begins, and every time the swords collide, the sound reverberates through your chest. Your heart sinks a little more with each point your brother loses, and soon, the inevitable happens—the newcomer disarms Minghao with a flourish so smooth it draws gasps and murmurs from the audience.

"Such skill!" someone whispers, while others erupt in applause, their cheers filling the air. But you remain still, arms crossed tightly over your chest, brows drawn into a deep frown. How dare this boy defeat your brother? And so effortlessly! You want to scowl, to hold on to your anger, but the sound of the crowd’s cheers washes over you, making your resentment grow.

Seokmin—that’s his name, you overhear—steps forward, offering Minghao a hand, his smile wide and bright like the afternoon sun. "A splendid match, my lord," he says, his voice rich and full of youthful pride. "I must confess, I didn’t expect to come away unscathed!"

You narrow your eyes, watching as your brother, ever gracious, accepts the handshake. There's a mixture of admiration and annoyance in his expression, a good-natured acknowledgment of defeat. They exchange lighthearted jests, their laughter mixing with the lingering applause. But you? You're fuming. This boy, with his easy smile and seemingly endless charm, had just bested your brother, and you feel a burning need to dislike him for it.

Then, as if sensing your discontent, Seokmin turns to you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Ah, you must be Lord Minghao’s sister?” he says, his grin widening into something playful, teasing. “Goodness, you make him look like a toad by comparison!”

Your mouth drops open in shock, a wave of indignation rushing through you. How dare he say such a thing? And worse—how could your brother laugh?  "I beg your pardon?" you snap, standing as tall as your small frame will allow, arms crossing even tighter across your chest.

"Oh, I mean no offense, miss," Seokmin chuckles, clapping Minghao on the shoulder. "I jest, of course! Merely saying that you’re far lovelier than your brother—though, admittedly, it’s not a particularly high bar."

Despite yourself, your scowl begins to soften. There’s something about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the lightness in his voice. It’s hard to stay angry when he looks at you like that, as if daring you to join in on the joke.

“Mama says men who try to charm without revealing their titles aren’t to be trusted,” you counter, lifting your chin with defiant pride. The quip comes out sharper than intended, but you’re determined not to let him get the better of you.

Minghao gasps, hands raised in mock horror. “Sister, truly, must you always speak so boldly?” He turns to Seokmin with an exaggerated sigh. “Please Seokmin, do forgive her. I assure you, turning eight has done little to improve her temperament.”

“You’re only two years older than me, brother!” you huff, your voice a touch more indignant. Before you can continue, though, Seokmin drops into a low, dramatic bow, the movement exaggerated and theatrical.

“The fault is entirely mine, my lady,” he says in mock seriousness, rising and extending his hand toward you. “Lord Lee Seokmin, future Duke of Lancaster. At your service.”

Two years of etiquette lessons flood your mind, and with a sudden burst of excitement, you place your small hand in his. Seokmin bows once more, this time dropping a playful kiss on your knuckles as you curtsy. You can hear Minghao’s exasperated sigh as he rolls his eyes, but you ignore him, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Maybe Seokmin isn't such a scoundrel after all.

As the day wears on, you find yourself watching Seokmin from the corner of your eye. Despite your earlier indignation, there’s something undeniably captivating about him. You notice the way he treats everyone with kindness, far beyond what’s expected from someone his age. When a younger child stumbles near the fencing ring, it’s Seokmin who rushes to their side, kneeling in the dirt, his voice gentle as he asks, "Are you alright?" He helps the child up, brushing off their clothes with such care, you can’t help but be touched. "Fear not," he says, a smile returning to his face, "you’re not a toad—you’re a knight in training!"

The sight makes your heart soften further. How could someone so infuriating also be so kind? The lines of irritation you had drawn between you and Seokmin begin to blur, shifting into something more like curiosity.

As the sun sinks low, casting a warm amber glow over the estate, you find yourself gravitating closer to where Seokmin and Minghao stand, their voices rising and falling in animated conversation about fencing techniques. Seokmin’s laughter, bright and carefree, fills the air like music, and before you know it, you’re smiling too; there’s something undeniably magnetic about him.

Despite your best efforts, you can no longer deny the strange fluttering in your chest—a curiosity, perhaps even fascination, that you hadn’t expected. Maybe, just maybe, Seokmin isn’t such a scoundrel after all.

The days of the social season unfold like a delicate fan, each gathering adding another layer to the tapestry of your life, and with every event, Seokmin becomes a constant presence. He is no longer just an occasional guest—he’s a breath of fresh air, his laughter ringing through the halls of your family’s estate, turning even the dullest moments into something lively and bright.

The lively soirées your parents host become a stage for his effortless charm. Ladies in the latest fashions exchange flirtatious glances in his direction, while gentlemen engage in animated debates about politics and sport, the buzz of conversation always punctuated by Seokmin’s easy laughter. His presence transforms these gatherings, turning what once felt like routine social maneuvering into vibrant affairs filled with warmth and genuine joy.

Whether he’s lending a hand to your mother in the garden, his sleeves rolled up and face relaxed in concentration, or sparring with your brother in a friendly match, Seokmin has this uncanny ability to elevate the ordinary. What might be a simple afternoon stroll or an idle conversation becomes a moment of significance when he’s around. Sun-drenched afternoons spent wandering the estate take on a new glow, each moment painted with the sound of his voice, the infectious energy he brings.

Age 14

The day Minghao and Seokmin leave for Eton is etched in your mind with vivid clarity, every detail sharp and impossible to forget. The morning is cool, yet the sun spills across the courtyard in golden rays, casting long shadows from the trees that sway gently in the breeze. The scent of dew-laden grass mixes with the faint perfume of your mother’s rose garden, but even the beauty of the estate feels muted by the melancholy lingering in the air.

Minghao, ever composed, stands with the straight posture expected of him, his hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch the young man ready to step into his responsibilities. His face, though calm, carries the weight of leaving home, but he hides it well, his eyes betraying only a flicker of the emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Seokmin, on the other hand, struggles more visibly with the impending farewell. His usual cheerful grin falters, the lightness of his presence dimmed as he glances between you and Minghao. He tries to keep up his usual charm, cracking jokes that feel just a little too forced, his laughter not ringing as true as it normally does. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, a softness you haven’t seen before, as if he’s trying to hide his own sadness behind that well-worn mask of joviality.

As they load their trunks into the carriage, a heavy knot forms in your chest. You know you’ll miss your brother, but it’s Seokmin’s departure that stings deeper. He’s been more than a friend these past years—he’s been a constant, a steady warmth you’ve come to rely on. His laughter, his easy charm, the way he could turn even the most mundane day into something special. The thought of him being gone, of not seeing him wander the estate with his boundless energy, makes your heart ache in a way you didn’t anticipate.

You step forward, your fingers trembling as you reach for Seokmin’s hand, your grip tighter than intended. “Promise me you’ll write?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, each word trembling with the effort to hold back tears.

Seokmin’s eyes soften as he looks down at you, his usual grin giving way to something gentler. "Of course," he says, his voice steady but quieter than usual. He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture meant to comfort. “I’ll make sure you get the best letters—no boring stories, only adventures, I swear.” His grin returns, albeit a little weaker. "Besides, my lady, your brother and I will be back to torment you again come springtime!"

Minghao coughs politely. “No tearful goodbye for me, sister?”  he asks, his voice teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of affection in his words. His eyes flicker between you and Seokmin, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, though his posture remains upright and composed as ever.

You tear your gaze from Seokmin and offer your brother a watery smile. “Do not fret, dear brother,” you say, a bit of your usual wit returning. “I’ll save the tears for later, when the house is quiet without the two of you causing chaos.”

My Dearest Y/N,

I trust this letter finds you in fine spirits, though I daresay it is far more likely that you are wrapped in the cozy embrace of your favorite blanket, lost in a book, while the world outside continues on its merry way. I cannot help but smile at the thought, for you have always possessed the rare gift of finding joy in the mundane. 

Eton is quite a spectacle, I must confess. The architecture is enough to make one feel as though they have stepped into a storybook. However, I must admit my fellow classmates lack the charm and wit of my beloved friend.

Oh, how I miss our little chats! It is a curious sensation to feel so far from home, yet I am bolstered by the knowledge that you are there, keeping our little world intact. Do tell me that you have not yet taken up knitting—your penchant for wool is far more than my eyes can bear. 

Yours most fondly,Seokmin

My Dearest Seokmin,

Eton sounds positively enchanting.I must admit, the thought of you amidst all that grandeur brings me no small measure of joy—though I do hope you have not yet been swept away by the grandeur of it all! I find it impossible to imagine anyone there being quite as dashing as you.

Life here, as you suspected, is a touch quieter without your vivacious presence. I feel compelled to admit that I found myself rather melancholic the day you left. It was a curious sadness, one that clung to me like a shadow. The house feels a touch emptier, and while I do find solace in my books, nothing compares to the ease of our conversations. The warmth of your laughter is a melody I find myself longing for, especially on the coldest evenings.

Do keep writing, dear friend. Your tales from Eton are the very lifeblood of my days, and I shall regale you with the ongoing drama of our little realm. Until then, consider me your most devoted fan, ever eager for your next missive.

With all my affection,Y/N

P.S. You will take great pleasure in knowing that I have, in fact, taken up crocheting. A lovely cap, perfect for early springtime chill, awaits you at the estate. 

Age 15:

Seokmin’s return each spring is as reliable as the first crocus peeking through the thawing earth, marking the true end of winter. His arrival is never just an event—it’s a burst of life that sweeps away the dullness left by the cold months. Every year, your excitement bubbles over as you anticipate that familiar moment when the world feels a little brighter with his return. The sunlight bathes the garden in warmth, a golden hue spreading like liquid over the well-trodden path he walks down, Minghao beside him. Their laughter floats through the air, a melody that harmonizes with the soft rustle of blooming flowers and the hum of spring.

When they finally come into view, your heart quickens, as if drawn into the rhythm of their steps. With Minghao’s ever-amiable grin and Seokmin’s radiant energy, they are a pair that seems to make the world tilt just a little toward joy. Every spring, it's the same—they stride toward you as if no time has passed, as if the long months apart were nothing but a brief blink in the grander scheme of your lives. And each time, the three of you fall into the same routines as though nothing has changed.

It usually begins with some mischief. They never fail to poke fun at you until you’re red-faced with exasperation. Seokmin, with that teasing glint in his eyes, will say something absurd or playfully condescending, and Minghao, ever the instigator, will back him up with a sly smirk. It’s only a matter of time before you lose your patience, yell, and stomp your foot, your protests ringing louder than you’d intended.

Your raised voice inevitably draws the attention of your mother, who reprimands you from the kitchen window with her usual fond disapproval. "Now, now," she’ll chide, a soft laugh hidden in her voice. "There’s no need to shout, dear. They’re only playing."

Of course, that’s the cue for Seokmin and Minghao to burst into laughter, doubling over in amusement at how easily they’ve ruffled your feathers. You scowl at them, but it’s hard to keep a frown on your face when they’re both so gleeful, their joy infectious, lighting up the entire garden.

One afternoon, not long after their return, Seokmin and Minghao find their old practice fencing swords—long forgotten and buried deep in the flowerbeds, peeking out from beneath the tulips. You watch as they unearth the swords with a mixture of surprise and amusement, both of them laughing as if uncovering a treasure trove of memories. Their faces are bright with nostalgia as they pull the dirt-encrusted weapons free, brushing off the petals clinging to the blades.

It's then that Seokmin starts to call you "Tulip," a private little nickname he utters only when it's just the two of you. The first time he says it, there’s a lightness to his tone, his lips curling into that mischievous smile of his. “You know,” he says, leaning in closer as you both watch Minghao attempt a ridiculous fencing stance in the distance, “it only makes sense. After all, you’ve been hiding our swords with the tulips. I think ‘Tulip’ suits you.”

At first, you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance, but there’s a warmth in your chest at how easily he’s assigned you such a tender nickname. 

One particularly warm afternoon, your mother summons you to help her with the flowerbeds, a chore you reluctantly take on. The sun beats down, the heat pressing into your skin and the earth beneath your fingers, while the scent of soil and fresh blossoms hangs thick in the air. You sigh, resigning yourself to the tedious task when, suddenly, a familiar voice cuts through the stillness.

“Ah, the fair lady in her noble endeavor!” Seokmin’s voice rings out, full of his usual playful grandeur. He strides through the garden gate, sweeping an imaginary cape behind him with exaggerated flair. His smile is as bright as the sun itself, lighting up the whole space. “Fear not, for I shall be your loyal squire in this quest for botanical beauty!”

Despite your earlier annoyance, a reluctant smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Seokmin has a way of making even the most mundane tasks feel like an adventure. You watch as he bounds toward you, his movements light and full of energy. With an exaggerated show of determination, he rolls up his sleeves, pretending to prepare for battle. The weight of the day feels lighter already.

Together, the two of you dig your hands into the soil, your fingers dirty and the air filled with the soft rustling of the leaves around you. Laughter bubbles up between the two of you, mingling with the breeze as Seokmin’s animated voice brings life to the still afternoon. As you plant flower after flower, he regales you with tales of his fencing matches at Eton, his voice lively, arms waving dramatically to mimic the grand duels he’s fought.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he says with mock gravity, “this boy was at least twice my size, and I won the match with nothing but clever footwork and a flick of the wrist!” He pantomimes the move, his arm cutting through the air like a sword.

You laugh, shaking your head at his theatrical retelling, the tension of the task dissolving with every story. It’s impossible not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. “Is that so?” you tease, barely holding back a grin.

“I daresay, footwork in fencing is quite the advantageous skill,” Seokmin says, dropping to his knees beside you with faux-seriousness, inspecting the flowerbed as though it holds the secrets to the universe. “If one can move with the grace of a dancer, one can—”

Just as he gestures again, his elbow brushes against your arm, and suddenly, time seems to slow. The lighthearted atmosphere is pierced by a spark, a ripple of warmth that travels through you. Both of you freeze, his eyes widening in surprise. His cheeks flush a light pink as he quickly pulls back, his confidence faltering for a brief second.

“My sincerest apologies,” he stammers, the usual brightness in his voice now tinged with uncharacteristic bashfulness. He resumes his work, his fingers trembling slightly as they sift through the soil. The warmth of the sun suddenly pales in comparison to the heat between you.

“It’s quite all right,” you reply, your voice shaky, your heartbeat far more rapid than you’d like. “Just... gardening, after all.” You try for casualness, but the words sound ridiculous even to your own ears, given the charged air lingering between you.

Moments later, you stand to stretch, hoping to shake off the strange energy that has settled over the both of you. Seokmin leans in to grab a nearby tool, and his shoulder brushes against yours again—this time, the contact lingers for just a second too long. The heat of it sends another jolt through you, making your heart stutter.

You gasp, startled by the unfamiliar sensation, your breath hitching. The warmth spreads from your chest down to your fingertips, a strange, foreign feeling you can’t quite name.

“Goodness! I beg your pardon again,” Seokmin says quickly, his sheepish smile returning, though this time it’s softer, more hesitant. His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place. “It seems I have a propensity for unintentional collisions today.”

That smile—it makes your chest tighten. His presence, usually a source of comfort, now awakens something new within you, something unsettling yet undeniable. Gardening, once nothing but a mundane chore, has transformed into something far more intimate with Seokmin by your side. The flowerbeds seem to flourish under his laughter, vibrant blooms swaying as if they, too, revel in the joy of the moment.

But that foreign sensation? You tuck it deep into your mind, burying it along with the seeds you’ve planted, afraid to decode what it could mean. After all, this is Seokmin—your friend, your constant. And yet, the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin longer than it should, as if it’s quietly asking you to look closer.

My Dearest Seokmin,

I hope this letter finds you in moments of solace amidst the tumult of your recent loss. It is with a heavy heart that I pen these words, having heard of your father’s passing. The news struck me with such a weight, as though the very air around me had grown thick with sorrow. I cannot begin to fathom the grief you must be experiencing, yet please know that my thoughts and prayers are ever with you during this difficult time.

Your father was a remarkable man, a beacon of kindness and integrity, and his absence will undoubtedly leave a profound void in the hearts of all who had the privilege of knowing him. I remember fondly the stories you shared, of his wisdom and warmth, which have clearly shaped the exceptional person you have become. His legacy, I have no doubt, will endure through you.

With his passing, I know you now bear the title of Duke. While this new responsibility may feel daunting, I have every confidence you will honor his legacy with the same grace and strength he embodied. I want you to remember that you are not alone. I am here, dear friend, steadfast and unwavering, ready to support you as you navigate this uncharted territory.

I eagerly await the day when I can see your smile again, and we can talk about the flowers in the garden, just as we always have.

With all my love and deepest sympathies,Y/N

My Dearest Tulip,

Your letter brought me a flicker of light amidst the shadows that have enveloped me since my father’s passing. It is a solace to know that you, too, share in my grief, and your words resonate deeply within me, reminding me that I am not alone in this turbulent sea of sorrow.

Thank you for your kind remembrance of my father. He often spoke of you with such fondness, and knowing how he impacted your life brings me a measure of comfort. His lessons of kindness and integrity remain etched in my heart, and I strive to honor his legacy in every decision I make as Duke. It is a weight I carry with both pride and trepidation, yet the knowledge of your unwavering support gives me strength.

Though this season feels uncharted and daunting, your friendship is a cherished constant. I, too, long for the day when we can stroll through the gardens, exchanging thoughts about the flowers and sharing laughter, just as we once did. Until then, I will hold onto the warmth of your words and the memories we’ve created.

With heartfelt gratitude and affection,Seokmin

Age 16: 

When Seokmin and Minghao return home the next spring, it’s clear that Seokmin carries more than just the usual joy and liveliness he always brings with him. A new weight settles over him, one you haven’t seen before. The responsibility of the Dukedom starts to bear down on him, heavy as the cloak he will one day wear. His laugh remains bright, his smile still warm, but there’s something different now—an unspoken awareness that the carefree boy of the past is slowly giving way to the man he is becoming.

He has grown taller, his limbs long and strong, and the way he carries himself now commands attention. The once-boyish face is now defined, the angle of his jaw sharper, while his arms, corded with muscles, show the signs of hard work and training. It’s as if each inch he’s gained has come with a newfound strength, and when he meets your gaze, his eyes hold a certain seriousness, as if he is seeing everything with a fresh perspective.

The easy rhythm of your old routines stays intact—Minghao teasing you until you yell, Seokmin’s booming laughter echoing across the fields, and the reprimands from your mother when your playful shouts interrupt her afternoon peace. It all feels the same, yet beneath it all, you know things are changing.

On one such afternoon, you discover their practice swords—once lost and forgotten—buried haphazardly in the flowerbed among your mother’s beloved tulips. You pull them free with a gasp, the soil still clinging to the metal, and when you bring them to Seokmin, he chuckles, the sound a little sadder than you remember.

“Well,” he says, wiping the dirt from the hilt, “seems like even the tulips want to keep us from growing up too fast, eh, Tulip?”

Despite the weight of responsibility that now shadows him, he still calls you “Tulip.” The name slips easily from his lips, playful and tender, a thread that ties your past to the present. The quiet nickname carries the bittersweet truth: your days of carefree adventures and playful banter are slowly fading, giving way to the responsibilities of adulthood. And while the world around you shifts, that name—whispered in secret—feels like a promise that some part of him, some part of both of you, will always stay the same.

My dearest Tulip, 

It is with a heart full of sorrow that I write to you, upon receiving the most distressing news regarding your father’s passing. The world seems dimmer without him, and my thoughts are consumed with the weight of your grief. I wish I could be there, to hold your hand and share in the memories of a man who undoubtedly brought so much light into your life.

When the silence envelops you, when the days stretch long and heavy with unshed tears, know that I am here for you. You need not wear a mask of strength; I shall not expect it. Life has a way of changing in an instant, and though we are thrust into roles we may not be prepared for, there remains solace in companionship.

Please remember, my dear friend, you are not alone in this journey. I stand with you, ready to lend my support and share in whatever you need.

With the utmost affection,Seokmin

My dearest Seokmin, 

Your letter reached me at a time when silence has settled heavily over the estate, wrapping around us like a shroud. It feels as though the laughter that once danced through these halls has been swallowed by a void, leaving behind a hushed emptiness. My mother, once so vibrant, now moves about with an air of resignation, her spirit dimmed as if she carries the weight of the world upon her shoulders. The joy that once bloomed within her seems to have withered, and even the flowers in the garden appear to droop, their colors muted in sympathy for our grief.

I often find myself worrying for Minghao. The new title of duke weighs upon him like a heavy cloak, and I fear that the responsibilities thrust upon him will change him in ways I cannot yet understand. I can only imagine the burden he feels, trying to uphold our father's legacy while grappling with the uncertainties of leadership. It frightens me to think of how this shift may alter our relationship, how he might feel compelled to step into a role that distances him from the brother I’ve always known. I fear I may lose him just as I have lost my father.

Yet, amid this uncertainty, your words bring me a flicker of comfort. The knowledge that you stand with me during this turbulent time is a balm for my spirit. I long for your return, for the laughter and warmth that you bring.

Until then, I hold your friendship close to my heart, a gentle reminder that even in the darkest of times, I am not alone.

With all my affection,Y/N

Age 17: 

At the onset of spring, when Minghao and Seokmin return to the estate, the world feels subtly transformed. The air is perfumed with the scent of blooming flowers, yet there’s an unmistakable weight in the atmosphere, a quiet acknowledgment of the changes that accompany their new titles. As dukes, both acquire an aura of responsibility that overshadows the playful ease they once share.

The lighthearted teasing that characterizes your interactions is now less frequent, often replaced by a more thoughtful camaraderie. It’s as though their titles impose a certain decorum upon them, one that even the most mischievous of spirits cannot easily shake off. Their laughter, while still present, bears the faintest echo of seriousness that wasn’t there before.

Yet, despite this change, you find immense joy in their company, particularly when they engage in spirited sparring sessions in the training yard. As wooden swords clash and echo, it’s impossible not to feel a thrill at the sight of them—two young gentlemen, once boys, now embodying a gravity that demands respect even in their play.

The matches become a spectacle, each clash of wooden swords accompanied by shouts and laughter that echo through the estate. You perch on the sidelines, an amused spectator, as Seokmin and Minghao banter playfully between bouts. “You call that a strike?” Seokmin teases, deftly dodging your brother’s advance with a lightness that seems almost effortless. “I’ve seen more ferocity from a kitten!”

Minghao rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth betraying a grin despite his best efforts to maintain an air of dignity. “One day, Seokmin, you shall learn that mocking your opponent is a perilous game.”

You perch on the sidelines, unable to stifle the laughter bubbling forth at their antics. Each exchange between them is a delightful dance, weaving a tapestry of shared history and unspoken affection. Yet, as you watch, you cannot help but feel a twinge of wistfulness; the exuberance of their banter now seems to emerge from a place tinged with nostalgia.

The sun dips low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the training yard; both young gentlemen wield their wooden swords with a fervor that sends a thrill through the onlookers. You remain at a distance, your heart pounding in rhythm with each clash of wood, an exhilaration mingled with unease coursing through you.

Seokmin, with his characteristic bravado, flashes a teasing grin as he engages your brother. “Come now, my lord! Surely you can do better than that!” The laughter in his voice rings like a bell, though you can’t help but feel a knot of apprehension tighten in your chest.

As the match continues, you find yourself transfixed by Seokmin’s agile movements, the way he dances about the training yard with a carefree spirit. However, just as you begin to relax, a delicate butterfly flits past, capturing Seokmin’s attention momentarily. It is in this fleeting distraction that your brother seizes his opportunity, lunging forward with surprising speed.

“Seokmin!” you cry out, the word escaping your lips before you can restrain it. Time seems to elongate as you watch, breathless, as Seokmin turns just in time to evade the wooden sword’s path. He stumbles slightly, regaining his balance as he casts a quick glance your way, surprise etched upon his handsome features.

With your heart racing, you dash to his side, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “Are you quite well?” The urgency in your voice is unmistakable, for the thought of his injury sends a chill through you.

“Indeed, I am unharmed,” he replies, though the forced joviality of his laugh belies the tension of the moment. “Merely caught off guard, I assure you.”

Yet your heart refuses to calm. “You cannot be so reckless! What if you had been injured?” The fervor of your concern envelops you, and you see a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes as he steps closer, the air between you thick with a burgeoning intimacy. That same foreign sensation – the one from years ago when he had brushed against you in the gardens – ignites within you, one you had tucked away and kept hidden, rearing its head in this moment of vulnerability.

“Thank you, Tulip, for your ever-present concern for my well-being,” he murmurs, his voice lowered as he meets your gaze, the world around you fading into an indistinct haze. Just then, Minghao loudly clears his throat, and Seokmin drops his eyes, a bashful blush appearing on the apples of his cheeks.

You step away, embarrassed, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Minghao corners you in the gardens that night, the cool summer breeze brushing against your skin as you take a walk, seeking solace from the tempest of thoughts swirling in your mind. The encounter with Seokmin lingers like a gentle whisper, an unsettling mixture of warmth and confusion that dances at the edges of your consciousness, teasing you with emotions you struggle to understand.

“Sister,” he begins, his voice so soft that you nearly startle. In an instant, he presses a hand against your mouth, his finger raised in a quiet plea for silence. “It’s only me, Y/N. I fear you’ll wake the entire estate.”

“It’s your fault for skulking about the gardens like a common thief!” you whisper back, fiercely. “What on earth could possibly require such urgent discussion that you couldn’t grant me one night of peace?”

His expression grows serious, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “You must be careful, sister,” he admonishes, and in that moment, he seems less like your brother and more like the Duke of Somerset—tall, proud, and formidable. “There are whispers… about you and Seokmin.”

“Whispers? Whatever do you mean?” You search his face for clarification, anxiety bubbling within you.

Minghao shakes his head as if dismissing the very idea of this conversation. A wave of indignation washes over you, eager to burst forth. He may be only two years your elder, yet he still insists on treating you like a child. “Your debut into society draws near,” he continues, his voice measured and resolute. “You mustn’t jeopardize it.”

“But Minghao—” you begin, but he raises a hand, silencing you with a mere gesture.

“Listen. You know how these things unfold. A mere hint of impropriety could tarnish your reputation. I don’t want you to suffer from the kind of gossip that twists the truth.” His tone softens, revealing a hint of genuine concern that pierces through your indignation. “I only want what’s best for you.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “I am not a child anymore,” you protest, the tremor in your voice betraying a mixture of frustration and uncertainty. “I am capable of making my own choices.”

“Perhaps,” he replies, his eyes steady and unwavering. “But I have a responsibility to protect you, Y/N. I don’t wish to stifle your spirit, but you must grasp the implications of your actions.”

The night air grows thick with unspoken sentiments, and as the stars twinkle overhead like mischievous spectators, you grapple with the tumult in your heart. There’s something about Seokmin that sends ripples of confusion coursing through you, a fluttering sensation that stirs your chest whenever his name crosses your mind. You do not fully comprehend what it is, but it’s undeniably present—a flicker of something more, leaving you teetering on the precipice of feelings you are not yet ready to confront.

My dearest Seokmin, 

As I sit here with this pen in hand, I find myself quite at a loss. The arrival of my debut looms on the horizon, and while I am certainly filled with anticipation, I must confess that trepidation dances in my chest, quite uninvited. The notion of standing before an audience of peers—well-bred and well-mannered—fills me with an unease I cannot quite articulate. Will my words tumble forth in a jumbled mess? Or worse, will they fall on deaf ears?

I cannot shake the dreadful thought that I may never find a match. What if I enter that grand ballroom, adorned in my finest gown, and am met with indifference? Will the charming suitors twirl past me, whisking away others while I stand, forgotten, on the periphery? The idea sends a shiver down my spine, as I fear I may spend the evening watching the festivities unfold without me.

As I consider the expectations that accompany my debut, I can’t help but reflect on how you and Minghao have gracefully embraced your new roles as dukes. You carry the weight of your responsibilities with such elegance, while I find myself yearning to flourish in a world that feels daunting. Will I, too, be able to navigate this landscape of expectation and propriety, or will I falter under its weight?

Forgive my ramblings, dear friend. I suppose I am merely hoping for reassurance, a kind word from you. Perhaps if I know you will be there—your presence a familiar balm—I might muster the courage to dance and revel in the splendor of the evening.

With warmest regards and hopeful heart,Your Tulip

My Dearest Tulip,

Your recent letter has landed in my hands like a most delightful spring breeze, though I must confess it carries with it a hint of unease that quite unnerves me. How is it that my steadfast friend, who has faced the world with such spirited determination, now frets over the prospects of the ballroom?

First and foremost, allow me to put your mind at ease. The mere thought of you standing in that grand ballroom, adorned in the finest gown, is enough to illuminate the dimmest of corners. Your charm will be as radiant as the most exquisite of chandeliers, drawing the gaze of all who are fortunate enough to cross your path. I assure you, the gentlemen will hardly be able to focus on anything—or anyone—else.

Now, I cannot let this opportunity pass without a bit of teasing – regarding your step upon my toes during our lessons –  I daresay I must bring up a rather amusing memory. I cannot help but recall how you sent both Minghao and me reeling across the room, much like a pair of wayward marionettes! One can only hope that with age comes grace—or at the very least, a better sense of foot placement! If not, I shall be prepared to don the most resilient shoes in all of England.

Worry not, dear Tulip. I shall be by your side the entire season, if you shall have me (although, I am not entirely certain your dear brother will be entirely pleased by this idea). 

Your most loyal servant,Seokmin

Dearest Sister, 

As I sit at my desk, I cannot help but feel a mixture of pride and exasperation as I pen this letter. Our infrequent exchanges have become quite the tradition, have they not? I find it amusing that as your brother, I am often left to await your words while Seokmin is constantly regaled by your stories. 

With your debut looming closer, I feel it is my solemn duty as both your brother and your Duke to remind you of the delicate nature of polite society. Your debut is not merely an occasion to don a gown and curtsy to the queen; it is a rite filled with expectations and decorum. I implore you to be mindful of the company you keep and the propriety that is expected of you as a young lady and the sister of the Duke. I have taken it upon myself to speak to Seokmin, warning him of the same – he has a habit of forgetting his own station in moments of levity. 

While I know you must find these constraints stifling, know that the eyes of the ton will soon be upon you, not only assessing your beauty but also your character. You are the jewel of our family, and I trust you will shine brightly, even amidst these expectations. 

Write to me when you can, dear sister, even if it is infrequent. Your musings are treasures to your dear elder brother, and I await them constantly. 

With all my love, Minghao

Dearest Brother, 

I say this with the utmost love and devotion:

Damn you. 

(Please forgive my language, and please, do not show this letter to Mama. I fear her admonishments may never end if she hears of my vernacular)

I am acutely aware of the expectations that accompany my debut – how could I forget when both you and Mama loom over me like a pair of hawks? While I recognize your intentions, your words do little to alleviate my anxiety. 

Your warning regarding Seokmin only serves to make me laugh. It is amusing, truly, to envision the Duke of Lancaster being chided by my brother on the virtues of propriety. I promise to keep my wits about me and to present myself with all the elegance expected of a young lady of my station (the sister of a Duke, no less!). 

I will do my utmost to avoid a scandal – or at the very least, I shall ensure that you do not hear of it. I shall write again soon, if only to unleash more of my exasperation upon you. 

Yours, in (implied) rebellion, Y/N (Sister of the Duke of Somerset)

Age 18: 

On the eve of your debut, you find yourself seated on the swing in the garden of the Somerset townhome, the night cloaked in an almost palpable tension. The sounds of Mayfair filter through the stillness—a symphony of distant laughter, the soft clatter of carriages, and the occasional rustle of silk skirts—as the ton settles into slumber. The air feels electric, crackling with anticipation, as if the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for the events of the morrow to unfold.

You take a deep drag from the cigarette you swiped from Minghao’s rooms, the smoke spiraling into the night like a fleeting thought. With each inhale, you hope to drown out the anxious fluttering of your heart, a dissonant rhythm that accelerates at the mere thought of tomorrow’s debut.

“Why, Lady Xu Y/N, are you smoking?” The voice breaks through your reverie, causing you to sputter and cough, hastily attempting to conceal the cigarette behind your back. You turn to see Seokmin, leaning casually against the sturdy oak tree that secures the swing, his figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

His presence is both familiar and disarming, the boyish charm of his smile juxtaposed against the weight of his title. “No, Seokmin, I—” you stammer, flustered.

“Shove over,” he commands lightly, and before you can protest, he plucks the cigarette from your frozen grip, taking a deep, leisurely drag. The sight of him—so confident, so carefree—sets your heart racing in a way that both delights and terrifies you.

“What on earth are you doing here?” you ask incredulously, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“I was with your brother at White’s,” he replies, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It was my mistake to forget how little he can imbibe before devolving into an utter fool. I was merely making sure he returned home safely.” His tone shifts, curiosity sparkling in his gaze. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”

“Excited? Hardly,” you grumble, kicking at the scattered rocks beneath your feet. “What my heart truly desires is to run away—pack my things, flee to Paris, and open a quaint little bookstore. Perhaps live out my days as a spinster, surrounded by novels and solitude.”

Seokmin’s expression shifts, a shadow of understanding passing across his features. “We cannot always have what our hearts desire,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow as he exhales a plume of smoke. “Sometimes, we must accept that we can find happiness in what we have, not in what could have been.”

You watch the smoke dance and dissipate into the night sky, thoughts swirling as restlessly as the tendrils of fog around you.

“And you?” you ask quietly, the question escaping before you can catch it. “What does your heart desire?”

“Desired,” he corrects, taking another deep drag. “I once dreamed of being a fencer, of dueling beneath the sun. But above all, I yearned to find love.”

Your heart stutters at his admission. His thigh brushes against yours, an electric touch that feels so scandalously intimate you can hardly breathe. You suddenly become acutely aware of the nightgown you wear, the thin fabric doing little to shield you from the heat radiating from his body. If Minghao were to catch you in this moment, you are certain he would demand that Seokmin either marry you on the spot or duel him for your honor.

The very thought sends a shiver down your spine—an improper thought that both terrifies and thrills you. You are a young lady, poised to make your debut, and here you are, perched so closely to an eligible duke, the expectations of the ton looming like a dark cloud. What would society say if they were to discover you in this clandestine moment? The whispers would be deafening, your reputation in tatters, and yet… the thrill of it, the danger, pulls at you like a siren's song.

“And you believe you shall never find it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I am a Duke, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it barely pierces the night air. “Duty must come first. If there is any part of me left, which there rarely is, only then can I pursue love.”

The distance between you feels both impossibly vast and achingly close, the weight of his words pressing against you like an invisible force. You can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the unspoken longing that mirrors your own.

You hum, encouraging him to continue, yet the weight of his words presses down on your chest.

“But how fortunate am I,” he continues, his gaze piercing through the night like a beacon, “to have found such a remarkable friend who stands by me even as duty threatens to drown me where I stand.”

A friend. The word lingers between you, heavy and loaded. Is that truly all he sees you as? The realization sends your mind reeling, your heart racing in an entirely different way.

No, the trees whisper, urging you to reconsider.

Could it be…love?

That foreign sensation, long buried beneath layers of propriety and friendship, now unfurls within you, roots taking hold. You realize with a start that you have loved Seokmin, perhaps from that very first kiss on your hand all those years ago, long before you could articulate the feelings swirling in your heart.

Panic courses through you, and you leap up from the swing as if it has burned you. “It is late, Lord Lee. I must take my leave now,” you stammer, unable to meet his gaze. “I hope you find your way home safely.”

He reaches out, his hand brushing against your wrist, and your breath hitches at the contact. “Wait,” he says, his voice low, almost laced with concern. “Are you alright? You seem... distant.”

His eyes search yours, and you feel the weight of his gaze, an anchor that both comforts and terrifies you. Your pulse quickens, a frantic rhythm echoing in your ears. What would it mean to linger here a moment longer, to let the night wrap around you like a cocoon?

But all the books you’ve read offer no preparation for the heartache that comes with knowing he regards you as merely a friend. A friend, just like your brother. You are his friend, and the shattering realization settles in: he will never love you back.

“Tulip?” he adds softly, the word a whisper that brushes against your skin like the wind.

You swallow hard, every part of you aching to give in, to lean into the connection pulsing between you. But the truth looms like a storm cloud overhead, dark and inevitable.

You love Lord Lee Seokmin, Duke of Lancaster, but he will never love you.

And with that heavy knowledge weighing on your heart, you turn to leave, every step toward your room feeling like a betrayal to the emotions simmering just beneath the surface. 

You don’t sleep at all, thoughts consumed by a boy you had once known and the man you now love. 

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits @moondustmemories @shinwonderful @ivehypnosis @gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13

[nanamiscocksleeve]

I'm sad and angsty and yes, there's dragon Sylus smut being written but first, I must make my angst everyone's problem.

--------

"My dragon was gone."

That's what you had assumed anyway. Now bearing half his soul, with horns, wings, and a tail of your own, you had forced yourself to live. But life had it's own way of providing miracles.

It didn't take long for you to realize you were tired and listless, constantly hungry, but rarely with enough energy to actually find food. At first, you were certain Sylus's death had somehow weakened you, and the thought of joining him in the blissful dark had seemed like your only salvation.

Then one day, you had stopped by the edge of a river to bathe, and that's when you noticed the obvious bulge in your belly in the reflection; you hadn't cared to groom or see yourself after Sylus's passing. Now you run a hand in awe over the smooth bump, evidence that even in his death, he had also provided you with life.

You had no idea how long a dragon hybrid pregnancy was, only that it was much faster than a typical human. Which is why when you felt a sharp pain a few weeks later, you weren't surprised, but also couldn't suppress the feeling of being utterly unprepared. You had hurried back into your cave, your shrieks of pain echoing off the walls. Your hands dug into the makeshift bed you had prepared, feeling like you would pass out from the pain.

Alone. The word swirled in your head over and over like ash from a volcano. Alone, alone, alone. You'll never see your dragon again. He had left you, and you were here, about to be a mother, to raise his children without him. Sweat gathers on your forehead as you squat, trying to arrange the softest bits of fur for the arrival of your child despite feeling like your body is being cleaved into two.

You sob, tears streaming down your face. How could he expect you to this alone?

You're not alone. You're never alone. Your soul is yours, but it is also mine.

You don't know where the voice came from. It echoed in some confine of your brain but you feel Sylus's presence, can almost sense the comforting heat that he used to emanate with his clawed hands wrapped around you. He was right. He hadn't really left you. He had given you the most primal piece of himself to ensure you carried on his legacy.

Hours pass in agonizing pain, but you survive. And somehow, even in his absence, your dragon had left you another surprise. From your blood and screams, two little souls made their way into the world. You wrap them tenderly in the furs you had arranged, gazing adoringly at their chubby cheeks and small clenched fists. One of them cracks open an eye lazily, and you catch sight of a bright, ruby-colored eye, before it dozes off again.

They had the tiniest wings, still folded and glistening from delivery, and bitty little claws on their fingers and toes. Identical to each other, their chests rose and fell in tandem as you cuddled the precious bundles. You already knew their names.

"Welcome...Luke and Kieran."

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

@brekkersgfl @adyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo

@supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume

@theimmortalbuns @venussakura

[procyonloser]

"They're asking, you know." Lucifer said, curled up against Adam's side. "Well. Angel is asking."

"Of course he is." Adam said with a snort, before letting silence roll over them. It'd been an awkward point between them, and neither was budging on the matter.

They still hadn't had penetrative sex yet. They'd done plenty of other things, but Lucifer said while he was willing to bottom, he insisted on reciprocation if he was going to. Adam, on the other hand, flat out refused to bottom at all. He wasn't made to do that, he wasn't made to let anyone else make him submit. Lucifer said that was fine, he wasn't going to make him, but that they'd not be doing more than what they were doing right now then.

Adam thought it would piss him off, thought it would ruin this weird fucking relationship they'd built together - it'd been kind of a rough patch between him and Lilith, obviously. But, Adam realized... He didn't actually mind not doing more with Lucifer. He was... weirdly happy with him, and they still had fun together, but Adam had never been in a relationship where he was happy just to... be with them, and not out of obligation?

Maybe he loved him.

"Okay," Adam said finally, quietly, as the thought sunk in with him. He realized he didn't care so much anymore, and though it didn't really appeal to him, the thought that he'd be happy never having sex with Lucifer led him to the lightbulb thought that... maybe it was fine if Lucifer topped him, at least once.

Lucifer looked up at him curiously, eyebrows fit together. "Okay?"

"I'll bottom tonight." Adam said simply, looking ahead at the television, some awful romcom they enjoyed.

Lucifer's eyes grew wide, and Adam could watch red bleed into gold, and horns pushing up under his skin, before pushing through. It was always so obvious when he was turned on, and Adam loved it, loved that he made him feel like this.

Then the room grew crowded, as copies and copies of Lucifer filled it, all staring down Adam with a great hunger.

"Wh-" Adam started, blinking and startled. Fingers found his chin, and tilted it up to look at one of the Lucifer's standing above him.

"I have to make tonight count, don't I?" Lucifer asked, in unison across his copies, and a tinge of fear ran through Adam.

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Swallow - H.JS

🌳Who: Hong Jisoo (Seventeen) x female reader 🌳What: Smut. Fantasy. Fae Jisoo. 🌳Wordcount: 3.4k 🌳Warnings: Oral(male receiving). Inexperienced reader. Big cock Jisoo. Praise. Trickery. Morally dark character. 🌳Summary: “ Ever since you were little, your parents warned you to be careful of the tricks of the fae folk of the woods.

You never paid much mind to the warnings, assuming they were nothing more than stories designed to scare little children into behaving and keeping out of the woods.

A little too late, you learn that you should have listened. ” Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio. Masterlist

You remember the day Hong Jisoo arrived in town almost six months ago, just when Mother Nature woke from her winter slumber, bringing forth new life, and apparently, a new, handsome bachelor for the women, single or otherwise, to swoon over.

You would like to say that you are not amongst that particular category of starry eyed maidens, but that would be a downright lie.

From the very first moment your eyes were graced with Jisoo’s otherworldly beauty, you were infatuated and wished he would look your way and bless you with one of his charming smiles.

For weeks, it seemed as if the man knew nothing of your existence, and you were far too shy to ever approach and introduce yourself.

Then one day while out in the woods admiring the beautiful blossoms of your favourite tree, a majestic old beauty deeper into the woods than you know any of the superstitious townsfolk would dare wonder, the man himself happened to appear. He stepped out from behind the tree so fluidly and without prior sign of his presence that it truly seemed as if he came from the tree itself; a preposterous thought that did not remain in your head for more than the time it took for him to smile at you.

You found out then that Jisoo had, in fact, noticed you from his very first moment in the town and had been wanting to introduce himself, but you never seemed to have interest in him so he had respected what he thought your wishes were and kept a respectful distance.

Of course, you had stumbled over your words to correct his assumption and let him know that you are simply too shy. He had smiled at you as if he thought you were utterly precious and promised that from that day onwards, he will always approach you first.

You had not expected him to stick to his word, but he did. Every time Jisoo saw you, he would approach, even just to wish you a good day before parting ways. Though sometimes, when the timing was right, the pair of you would be granted the blessed chance to stroll through the town side by side as you got to know one another.

Over time, your time together grew more frequent and adventurous.

It turns out that Jisoo knows an awful lot about a variety of plant life and the life within the forest; from the life cycle of the caterpillar, to the diet of sparrows and foxes alike.

You had never known someone so knowledgeable on the woodlands and became so enchanted by everything he taught you. You were always so eager for more information to put into use in order to point out plants and little creatures, which you had never noticed before, and proudly recite the knowledge the man had imparted on you during your woodland walks.

So your town strolls quickly diverted to the woods to continue the casual lessons that inevitably always gravitated towards that very same tree under which you first met; it quickly became your official meeting spot and a truly a special place for you, more than it already was.

Now that summer is nearing its end and the days turning colder, you worry over what you can do to keep Jisoo’s attention solely on you for hours at a time when it will soon be too cold to be out in the woods.

As it turns out, you need not worry about the weather nor his attention, Jisoo has a plan in mind to solve both issues. Though there is another reason you should worry, you just are not aware of that yet.

You know from the moment you meet Jisoo at the tree that something is different about today. He is standing in wait for you beside the already arranged, familiar blanket, which he always brings along for the pair of you to sit on side by side with your hand securely in his and a blush on your cheeks.

Though today, something about the happy glint in his eyes does not quite sit right with you when you first see him. Yet when he steps closer to you and out of the sun’s rays, the glint vanishes, so you tell yourself it is simply a trick of the light.  

After sitting side by side with your fingers laced with his own on his thigh closest to you and your head resting on his shoulder, you feel something shift in the air as he sighs.

“My love, I fear I must tell you some news,” he says softly as to not entirely ruin the calm content of the woods around you.

“Bad news?”

“I am afraid so,” is his confirmation.

You let out a sigh of your own and take a moment steel your nerves before straightening up and turning your body slightly to look at him better where he’s seated on your right and leaning back against the bark of the tree. “What is it, Jisoo?”

“It is time for me to move on.”

Your heart immediately drops into your stomach. It takes you a few attempts to speak, only managing to open and close your mouth absurdly in shock for a handful of seconds. “Move on? From me?”

“No, my love, I do not mean from you in particular. Though…” He sighs again and lifts your connected hands up to his mouth so that he can press his lips to the back of your hand. “I always intended to stay only for spring, I meant to leave come summer but I became enamoured with you and found myself unable to leave as planned.”

“Then-then you can stay longer. You remained once before; you can continue to stay here by my side.”

“I cannot, my love. I must leave.” He lifts his head to look at you with a pained gaze that you know in your heart means that there is nothing you can do or say to keep Jisoo here with you.

“I see,” you whisper as you feel your throat start to thicken with impending tears. “I cannot join you?”

“You wish to?”

“I never want to be without you, Jisoo. I love you with everything in me.”

“My precious, sweet, darling,” he breathes out and reaches up with his free hand to tenderly cup your cheek. “How did I become so lucky to gain your attention and affection?”

“By being the kindest, warm hearted man to have ever graced this world with his presence.” He chuckles softly at your honest words and leans closer slightly, making your heart shoot back up into place and thrum rapidly with nervous anticipation.

In all the months you have been meeting Jisoo, he has never once tried to kiss you, even holding your hand took some time to build up to, so this is rightfully partially exciting and partially utterly nerve-wracking.

“May I kiss you?” His request is so softly spoken that it meets your ears on a gentle breeze that sends prickles across your skin. You do not even have to think before nodding in consent. Jisoo smiles that same fond, crinkled eyed smile and strokes his thumb over your cheekbone before he closes the distance and tenderly presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is sweet, simple, barely a few seconds of a motionless press of his soft lips against your own, before he pulls back to honour you with another beautiful, little smile as his thumb brushes over your blush adoringly.

“I have been wanting to do that for such a long time now,” he admits.

“Really?” You can barely talk above a whisper; your body is still so full of nerves and a madly thrumming heart that there is no space left for a louder voice. Though the two of you are so close together that you need not talk any louder for Jisoo to hear you so clearly; as proven when he hums softly in confirmation to your words. “Oh, then perhaps…perhaps it would be wise to make up for lost time?” You suggest shyly, glancing away until he taps his thumb against your bottom lip and draws your suddenly wide eyes back to him.

“That sounds very wise to me, my love,” Jisoo confirms in a lower tone than you have heard him speak in before; it sends a shock of something warm through your body that you have little time to ruminate on before his lips are once again on yours.

This second kiss is leagues different from the first.

Jisoo’s lips slot against yours in a way that feels intentional from the first touch; his head tilts further as his mouth moves slowly, thumb gently prying your jaw to encourage you to follow his movements.

Understandably, your response is hesitant and timid; you have never kissed a man before, let alone like this so you are not sure what exactly to do, nor if you are doing it correctly when you try. But Jisoo makes soft little reassuring sounds and strokes his thumb soothingly over your cheek, causing you to gradually relax and melt into the kiss.

Every time you think the kiss is over as the man pulls back a little and opens his eyes just enough to look at your gradually darkening lips, he simply takes a few breaths then leans back in to claim your mouth all over again.

After a few times, you realise that Jisoo has no intentions whatsoever of letting you escape his hungry lips, not that you wish to. You would spend an eternity discovering all the ways his mouth can dance with your own if given the chance.

It is when your feel his tongue slide against your lip that you truly lose your ability to think coherently and whimper softly while opening your mouth wider to allow the wet muscle to enter your mouth expertly. You try to match his motions, allowing your tongue to curiously search out his own, earning soft, pleased groans from the man, which makes your body tremble a little with excitement and rapidly growing arousal.

How long you kiss for, how long your tongues roll and slide together before you are both forced to break to refill achingly empty lungs, is entirely beyond you. It is not even the last thing on your mind right now; time has simply ceased to exist in your heated, private bubble with Jisoo in the deepest parts of the woods with the grand tree watching over you.

“My love,” Jisoo murmurs breathlessly after a handful of seconds of laboured breathing, breaths mingling with his forehead pressed firmly to yours and his hand still holding your jaw securely. “I must ask for something from you.”

“Anything,” you reply with a heavy exhale and not an ounce of hesitation.

Jisoo leans back and flutters open his eyes to peer at you. As you open your eyes upon feeling his gaze on you, you see a darkness in his eyes that sends shivers down your spine. Shivers you assume mean excitement, arousal; you are not as in touch with your instincts as you should be right now thanks to Jisoo’s skilled tongue swiping away all rational thought.

“Anything?” He repeats, lips slowly lifting into the start of a pleased smirk. “Promise?”

“Whatever you want; I will do anything for you,” you promise with a nod.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet darling,” he coos and leans over to press a final sweet kiss to your lips before letting you go to get to his feet.

“Wh-where are you going?” You panic, feeling thrown off by the man suddenly getting up and try to get to your own feet, though you only manage to get to your knees before his hand is on the top of your head and keeping you there in place.

“Nowhere, my love. You stay just like that; this is perfect for what I want,” he encourages and brushes his fingers through your hair slightly before pulling his hands to himself.

You are utterly clueless about what he means, what he could want from you, and just stare up at his face perplexed, earning a little amused chuckle from the man. Yet he says nothing to explain.

Catching his arms moving in your peripheral, you lower your gaze downwards and realise that he is unlacing his trousers where he stands in front of you. Now that your attention is in the right place, you can see the obscene bulge of his hard cock in his trousers and it makes your hot body heat up feeling both beyond shy and aroused.

“Hm, expected you to divert your gaze,” Jisoo comments as he tugs open his trousers further and lifts his neatly tucked shirt out of the way to reveal that he has entirely forgone underwear as a teasing glimpse of his most intimate of areas meets your wide eyes.

“Do-do you wan-want me to?” You stammer and start to tilt your head back to easier look up at him, yet he puts one of his big hands back on top of your head to keep your focus angled to where he is pulling his cock from his trousers, making you gasp softly.

It is the first time you have ever seen a man’s nudity, let alone one in such an aroused state, so you cannot be certain but you truly believe that all men cannot be so well endowed as Jisoo. If all men are quite this big, then you cannot believe that so many women would be willing to take such girth for reason past reproductive necessity.

Then again, if all men were as beautiful as Jisoo, you think it would be much more understandable for a woman to want to be split open by such a large cock.

“No, my love, I want you to look; how else are you doing to take my cock into that pretty mouth of yours if your attention is elsewhere, hm?”

You swallow thickly, nervous yet excited when he steps closer, cock in his free hand as he strokes it slowly. “M-my mouth?”

“Yes, sweet girl, your mouth. You said whatever I want, you promised me, so open up and let me in.” Jisoo stops directly in front of you, so close that his crotch is almost in your face and then he leads the tip of his cock to your mouth and taps your slightly parted lips. “Come on, sweet thing, open.”

Tentatively, you open your mouth slightly, then a little wider when his cock presses more incessantly against your lower lip, smearing the wetness from the tip against your flesh.

“That’s it, good girl,” he coos as you open your mouth wide enough that he can slide the tip of his cock onto your tongue. The praise makes the flush on your cheeks darken happily as you lift your gaze as best as you can with his hand on the top of your head and his cock in your mouth, to peer at him. “Oh, don’t you look beautiful like this,” he breathes out, sounding truly taken by the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth.

A pleases hum tries to leave your mouth, though with your lips spread around his girth the sound simply vibrates against his sensitive skin and makes him hiss as he lets go of his cock to plant his palm against the tree at your back while pushing further into your mouth and forcing you to accept the intrusion with his other hand moving to thread his fingers into your hair.

It is a lot; to have your mouth filled in a way you never expected, with his taste starting to coat your tongue in a flavour you are genuinely rather pleased by, while he towers over you until his broad frame blocks the sun from meeting you.

“You just sit there and look pretty for me darling, I will do all the work,” he says and grins a little when you try to nod slightly and close your eyes. “Good girl.”

At first, Jisoo is careful as he slowly works his thick length in and out of your mouth; never pulling out entirely nor pressing in too far knowing that you have never done such a thing before so he cannot rush and risk hurting you. That would ruin the experience.

Patiently, the man leisurely uses your hot, wet mouth for his own pleasure, lust heavy gaze glued on where his slick cock slips through the ring of your lips. He can see you fidgeting in his peripheral, darkly flushed cheeks clearly confirming your arousal, yet he ignores it and focuses on steadily increasing the speed and depth at which he feeds you his cock in a way that causes you no discomfort.

As much as Jisoo is a truly patient man, he wishes he could fuck into your pretty, little mouth with fervour, force his cock into your throat and use you until he can pull out and paint your features with his cum. The only reason he can hold back from just taking what his body aches for is the thought that he will have the chance to use you however he deems fit in the future.

The mental reminder that you have promised him whatever he wants, that you have fallen for his charm and perfect smiles sends Jisoo’s arousal rushing hot and heavy through his body.

“My love,” he pants when he feels himself close to the edge. “Whatever I want, right? You promised whatever I want,” he reminds. You whine a little, needy, but what for you do not even know. It makes him chuckle lowly. “Then swallow.”

It does not register in your fuzzy mind just what that means until he moans, curling over your head a little as he forces the tip of his cock to the entrance of your throat where you feel liquid suddenly spurting out and you realise he wants you to swallow his cum.

You feel utterly filthy in an oddly pleasant way as you obey, working your throat as best as you can to swallow down everything he gives you; at least you try to but he pulls back before you can lave your tongue over his length to claim the last drops.

As Jisoo grasps his cock in his hand to smear the last of his cum over your bruised, still wide open lips, he starts to laugh. Slowly at first, but it builds and builds until he is laughing heartily and sounding so pleased in a way that does not sit right with you.

You open your eyes to look up at him yet have to close them again as the sunlight harshly pierces your eyes. It does not make sense for it to be so bright now when it was not before, especially with the man still standing in front of you and blocking the sun.

You are forced to flutter your eyes for a little as your eyes grow used to the strange, over saturated light before you can keep them open and look up at Jisoo. He too looks different, colours a little brighter as if he has captured the sun in his very skin.

He is still laughing when your confused eyes meet his joyfully manic ones.

“Wh-what’s funny?” You question, voice slightly hoarse even if he had been gentle with you and barely entered your throat, yet there is an unease growing in your chest and spiralling bigger and darker down into your stomach making your voice waver weakly.

This is all wrong; you no longer feel like you are somewhere known and safe to you, both in these woods and with the man in front of you.

“Oh, my sweet, little love,” he coos around his laughter and moves his hand from your hair to cup your jaw and tilt your head backwards to meet his gaze better, to let you see the darkness flit across it; the same darkness you had earlier assumed to be nothing more than arousal.

The same darkness you should have taken as warning.

“Were you never taught the most important rule to abide by in these woods?” His head tilts slightly as he smiles a little too big down at you, showing almost all of his too perfect teeth. “Do you not know to never consume anything given to you by a fae?”

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess

[straystarr]

about you; lfl

In which you see your ex, and you're reminded of what he once meant to you. 

why I love you, why I hate you, and why I miss you

You weren’t supposed to see him. 

You were supposed to arrive just before five and leave just after seven. You were supposed to have a glass of wine, two if your confidence faltered even the slightest. You were to talk to people you hadn’t seen in years, to tell them of your current hobbies, and ask them about theirs. You’d gasp in awe with every old face coming to greet you and hug those that meant a little more to you. 

You were to congratulate your friend on her engagement, wishing her happiness and longevity and grace. And then when the time came, you would have slipped through the deliberately exaggerated conversations and attempts to fill your body with alcohol, not before giving your friend a kiss on the cheek and an embrace of appreciation. 

You were to arrive home, a long breath flying past your lips as your hands peeled the breathtaking dress, both figuratively and literally, off your body. You would have drowned in the comfort of your bed, tears already cascading into your pillow, and whether they were tears of joy or sorrow, you’d have to figure it out later on. Because for now, all you could think about is how you didn’t see him. 

That is what should have happened. 

You were to do everything according to plan. 

And yet, here you stood, arms length from him. Your third glass of wine in one hand, hugging your waist with the other, rather tight. Neither a smile or a frown painted your lips while your eyes reeked of discontent and awkwardness. Discontent with the situation, awkwardness for him. Or at least, that’s what you’d like to believe. 

Because the reality of it all is, he stood before you, eyes glossed over with a certain reminiscence you wished to claw out, lips curved into a gentle smile you ached to see, and not in such a way that made your chest warm – no, you despised that smile — his smile. 

Him, in all his glory, here. 

Your friend said he’d be arriving later in the night, around eight, she stated confidently. And still, with the clock barely showing six, a roar of excitement filled the room as he made his way through the front door.  And then all eyes on him moving off to you, some slow to turn their heads, others irritatingly obviously in their attempts. 

You tried your best to feign ignorance, continuing the conversation you previously paid no attention to. You tried your best to disregard the way your heart quickened and how soon after your breath followed. You tried your best to take no notice of him and his continuous glances towards you throughout the night. 

You tried your fucking best. And it still wasn’t good enough. 

And because you tried your best, and because it wasn’t good enough, you’d somehow find yourself alone on the patio, the cold air infiltrating your lungs, the warmth in your shaking hands never leaving. 

You had hoped a breath of fresh air would rid you of everything you were feeling — before him, during him, and after him. 

So you took one breath after the other, hoping and hoping. 

And he would have seen you make your way from the crowds, his eyes never quite drifting far from you, whether he intended them to or not was something he would often think about later on. He followed you, blind and willing. 

And that’s how he came to stand in front of you, first saying nothing and then not knowing what to say after all. So instead, he shrugged off the leather jacket you once said you loved and placed it over the shoulders he had once kissed. And it was as if you never hated his smile, or his kind eyes. And it was as if you were almost hopeful everything would not go according to plan and you would see him. 

“Thank you.” 

You whispered, slowly pulling your arms through the sleeves because the mere thought of taking off the jacket and handing it back to him only encouraged the uneasiness growing in your body. It was a cold night after all. He nodded, his smile growing and falling back to its original state ever so quickly.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

He did. He made sure of it. Of course, he’d never tell you this. And you’d never ask. 

“Well, here I am.” 

You smiled, genuine. 

“Here you are.” 

He smiled, comforted. 

He shuffled on his feet before sitting on the wooden bench beside you, his eyes ever so slightly falling to the space beside him and then lifting up back to you. Your smile faltered, having understood his dilemma and now having to face your own.

You weren’t supposed to see him. 

But thus far, you have noticed how his brown hair is now blonde, how the necklace around his neck looked almost too similar to the one you’d gifted him a few years ago, how he seems lighter — perhaps happier, perhaps intoxicated, you weren’t quite sure what it was exactly. 

You weren’t supposed to see him. 

But you did. 

If you were to excuse yourself, taking one last look at his hopeful smile and welcoming eyes, resisting the urge to hold his face in your hands and feel the warmth on his cheeks, you’d leave him and he’d watch from the bench he sat on. You’d find your friend, on the verge of melting down with a facade of confidence on display. She’d hold you, you’d congratulate her, she’d notice your demise and apologize before placing a kiss on your cheek. 

You’d go home, and you’d cry. And then after too much thinking, maybe you’d regret not sitting down on that bench. 

So you breathed a deep breath, settling down beside him with just enough space to contain your scattered thoughts away from his lingering eyes. Because he had perfect pitch when it came to you; he’d recognize any note you’d give him. 

That was before. And you’d only come to acknowledge your predicament when his thigh slightly brushed against yours and his touch felt colder than the faint wind blowing against your skin. 

It was never this cold, and you were suddenly saddened by the distinction.

Saddened by longing, saddened by regret, saddened by unfamiliarity – you couldn’t quite tell what it was that brought you to quiver into your skin, to press your nails into the palms of your hands to elicit pain, because at least you’d understand the origin of such discomfort in the midst of your disorientated state; vulnerable, disappointed, relieved. 

You had broken every rule you had set for yourself thus far — you saw him, you smile at him, you speak to him, you breathe him – his scent lingering on your body with the weight of his jacket, and you no longer tried to hold your breath.  

These things once embedded in your nature and now dependent on your instinct. 

One can only grow cold in forced familiarity. 

And still, he smiles at you – slight and soft. He faces forward and lets out a sigh that dissipates into the air in a white hue and all of a sudden you’re thinking maybe the only thing making you cold is the cool breeze grazing your cheek. 

How easily he persuades you to find optimism in the most pessimistic of states. How easily you fall into the pursuit, willing and all. 

And just when you are reminded of the distaste in the back of your throat, you catch sight of the singular pearl centred near his collarbones, the shine of its opacity almost teasing you under the white light of the moon.

You once thought it was pretty like him, he thanked you with a kiss and a promise to never take it off. 

How silly of him to fulfill such a promise. 

How silly of you to catch his eyes and fail to look away.

Your third glass of wine remained tucked between your fingers and your words remained tucked behind your lips. Both, untouched and craving for attention. 

“I never got to congratulate you on finishing your Masters.” 

You blinked, lips parting every so slightly before a chuckle brushed away the significance of his words. “Not something that needs congratulating.” You managed to say, his face contorting in disbelief. 

“Now that is the understatement of the year.” He protested, arms crossing against his chest while he shook his head in amusement. It was. You knew it. As did he. If anyone could testify to the series of struggles you had experienced throughout your masters, it was Felix. 

A shoulder to cry on. Open arms to celebrate. Kisses of encouragement. Words of comfort. He did it all. He went above and he went beyond. So yes, it was something to congratulate. Who were you to downplay his efforts. Who were you to downplay your own. 

“Thank you.” You said, barely audible. Still, he heard you for he smiled, satisfied. 

“Australias been good to you?” You continued, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. On cue, he turned away from you, his chest fully rising before sinking back down. “Yeah....yeah it has, more than what I could ask for.” He admitted, his arms falling to his lap, fingers tangling with one another. 

“That’s good.” You looked away from him. “I know you missed it alot.” 

You could feel your arms begin to tense, his jacket no longer defending you from the low temperature of the night. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was cold.

“I think I have the tendency to miss a lot of things.” He stated. 

“That’s only normal—” You met his eyes, and you suddenly felt the need to cry. For you recognized what it was to long for someone, the feeling settling in the back of your mind when he first entered the house. The same feeling flowing to your chest, then to your stomach and now to your eyes. Your eyes that reflected his. You recognized what it was to long for someone in him, as he looked at you. 

“I'm relieved actually.” A hand lifted from his lap, the back of his fingers gracing your cheek sending warmth throughout your face. “It was as if there was something about you that I couldn’t quite remember.” He retracted his hand, almost hyper aware of his actions led by his sentiment. The gentleness in your voice, the face you made when you were about to cry, the way your whole body shook when you laughed — he wasn’t quite sure what it was. But you were here now, and he no longer had to reach into his memories to maintain these details, to maintain you. 

“That happens.” You spoke softly acknowledging the absence of his touch more than you wished to. “It's been two years Felix.” He looked at you, the corners of his lips slightly downwards before they lifted into a fine line. “It's only been two years Y/n.” 

You said nothing — fingers numb, glass wine in hands, tears ready to fall, mind a mess, heart longing. He continued to stare at you — fingers aching to hold, skin cold to touch, necklace forever in place, head clouded, heart hopeful. 

“You left (me).”

“I did.”

“Do you regret it?”

“When I think about you, yes.”

“Do you regret not coming (with me)?”

“When I miss you, yes.”

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo This was in my drafts for a year or so, totally inspired from the song 'about you' by The 1975. Hope you enjoy my intepretation of the song. Happy holidays! Cheers to a colourful and beautiful year :)

𝙎𝙏RAy𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍r★

[clrasecretdiary]

You're just a little bit too much like me | Spencer Reid x Reader

Enemies to lovers | angsty fluff

Word count: 1755

Warnings: Normal criminal minds type of violence, mention of guns and gunshots, age gap (Reader is about 25, and Spencer is in his late 30s)

Content: Spencer being an asshole because he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings and how you remind him of his older self, past Spencer trauma (implied but not directly mentioned), self-doubt, Post prison! Spence

It was a difficult situation, only your second week on the job and the first time you had to make that kind of decision. You went alone to a location where the suspect might have been at, all of your teammates were further away so, as reckless as you now recognize it was, you went there alone, instead of waiting like Spencer and Emily asked you too. You didn't want to lose your chance, there were more than 3 days on the field at stake here, you did not want to disappoint your colleagues and just stand there waiting like a dumb newbie, so you made the decision.

“I'm going in” You warn your teammates in the radio, not waiting for a response before storming into the unsubs house.

You bust the door open with your feet, storming into the house. As you look inside, you find the unsub taking his gun from a drawer. Thinking you had an advantage as his back was facing you, you rush to try and immobilize him, but somehow he managed to turn around and shoot you.

You growled in pain as your body dropped to the ground, just before you passed out completely you heard the sound of rushed footsteps. You heard two voices, one you recognized as Emily's going after the unsub, and the other as Reid's talking to you.

“Please don’t go to sleep, we need you awake” His voice was soothing, far different from the tone he always used with you ever since you joined the team this year, but he sounded so worried, and you really did try to stay awake for him, for your team, to show that you were okay and that they needed to go after what's important, the unsub, but you couldn't. The last thing you heard as your vision got black was him yelling at his radio, “Medical, we need medical right now”. And then, everything went black.

You are now back at your first day on the job. Still at your house, confused as to what outfit you should use, so anxious about being so young at the top team of profilers, even thought it was a last year internship you hoped to impress them enough that they would hire you officially for the team, so your anxiety was through the roof wondering whether you really deserved to be there (goddamn that impostor syndrome). But most of your worries went away when you met the team, you would never imagine that the best profilers in the FBI and maybe in the world would be such good, kind and even funny people. They all welcomed you, seeming excited to be able to work with you, except from one of them.

Doctor Spencer Reid, you had read about him and his genius mind, you even went to a couple of his lectures on forensic psychology, honestly? You were a fan, and you were so excited to meet and work with someone you looked up to. Unfortunately, he didn't seem as eager to meet his new coworker. He just stood there in the back, staring at you while you introduced yourself to the team, the most he did was mutter a “morning” when you sat next to him in the briefing room.

Never meet your heroes, they say.

Now, you're back at… Where are you again?

Your eyes begin to open, you're completely adrift until you finally begin to recognize the awful white light, and the coldness of the room. You're at the hospital, no idea as to how much time has passed.

Jennifer comes into your line of vision, holding your hand, “Hey, how are you feeling?” her voice is calm, as she watches you sit up in the hospital bed.

“I'm fine, I think... I didn't even realize what happened back then. Oh shit, did you guys catch him?” You abruptly try to sit up, remembering how you couldn't get the unsub when you got shot, guilt washing over you as you started to piece together what happened

“Hey slow down, Emily went after him and made the arrest, the victim was rescued. He shot you, but it just grazed you. You did lose a lot of blood, that's why you passed out, but the doctors say you'll be fine to leave today. Don't worry.” She says as the doctor comes in to do his final checking.

You just agree with your head, lost in your own thoughts. You knew it wasn't your fault that you got shot, but still you felt so stupid. The hurt of not being able to catch the unsub might've been even bigger than the one from your wound, all of them had been in even more difficult situations than you and made it out without so much as a scratch, and you couldn't even catch an unsub that was alone?

After a few hours, you were back on the jet, finally heading home. The guilty was still bothering you, and you even apologized for the mistake. Hotch just asked you to be more careful and follow instructions next time, but overall, the team seemed genuinely happy you were fine. Except, of course, for Spencer, who ever since you got in the jet was staring daggers at you.

Later, the jet finally landed, and you were eager to get home. You quickly went to the office to get a few of your things, Unfortunately, you and Spencer were now all alone in an uncomfortable silence waiting for the elevator.

“That was reckless” Spencer mutters under his breath

“I'm sorry, what?” You turn in your heels to face him, had you heard that right? Is that the first thing he's going to tell you after you just got shot?

“What you did on the case, was reckless and naive. You should've followed our instructions, you can't just do what you feel like doing” he's looking in your eye now, his voice coming out angry but with a hint of… worry?

“I'm sorry ok? I tried to do something, I just did not want to just stay there waiting while he could be doing god knows what inside that house” Your voice comes out more shaky than you wanted it to, the weight of the guilt pressing into your chest

“Still, it was reckless and stupid, you should never just storm into, alone, a place where an unsub might be, you never know what he might do to you, what might be waiting inside.” His gaze is cold, almost as if he's not actually here talking to you, but somewhere inside his head and his memories.

“Trust me, I know that. I regret my decision, but I wasn't doing what I felt like, I tried my best, Reid.” You turn to look directly in his eye. Yes you did something wrong, but you wouldn't let him out of all people talk like that to you “I might be the youngest on the team, the one with less experience but trust me… I'm not dumb, I earned my place here.” Your voice shaky when you said that last sentence, the insecurity you felt showing through your words.

Something in his gaze shifted after that, his expression became softer, almost sympathetic. “Listen, I'm not saying you're not qualified, I'm sorry if it came off like that, just be careful… That could have ended a lot worse, trust me I know”

“ I will” The air between you two less intimidating now but still heavy with tension, you two step in the elevator, the whole way to the garage an awkward silence until you two finally reach the bullpen's garage.  

Even thought you felt like now maybe he didn't absolutely want you gone from the team, you were still curious as to why he is so cold to you

“Sorry, I need to ask… Why do you hate me?” You turn to him, after finally gathering the courage to ask this question

“What do you mean, don't hate you”

“Yes you do, I mean you're not obligated to like me but since I joined, you didn't even meet me yet and just gave this cold look”

His eyebrows furrowed as he processed your words, clearly taken aback by your directness. He sighed, a hint of regret in his eyes, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's not about you personally," he finally admitted, his voice softer than before.

“What is it about, then?”

He takes a deep breath before starting to talk “You're only 3 years older than me when I joined this team, I know what it does you, to your mind. I guess I just saw way too much of me, of who I used to be, in you, and it terrified me to be honest” His cold facade disappeared completely now, in its place a soft and genuine expression.

“So you were, and I'm sorry for the words, an asshole to me because you were worried?” You almost can't wrap your head around it, all this time you felt like one of your biggest references in the BAU hated you, but instead he was caring for you.

“Yes, I see how it comes out as “asshole” behavior, but my brain just went full shutdown when i saw you” His face turns slightly red when he notices what he just said – Freudian slip or just a bad choice of words? He doesn't's know for sure – His hand goes to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck “I mean… for the resemblance, of how I acted when I had just joined, of course”

You give him a small smile, and just like that your side that has been a fan and read all of this man's articles comes back to life “Of course. Thank you for worrying but maybe instead of hating me you could… I don't know, if it's not too much of a bother of course, help me? I value your worries Doc, maybe you could help me not make the same mistakes you did”

He nodded, a hint of relief washing over his features. "I'd be happy to help," he said, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "I might not have all the answers, but I can definitely share what I've learned along the way."

“I'm happy to hear that, thanks, Doc. Reid” You wave at him as you begin walking over to your car.

“Hey, just call me Spencer” He smiles warmly at you

“See you tomorrow Spencer”