#clear and shameless Sun favoritism here

[needfantasticstories]

My Light

The sun was high when Sky stepped out of the house he shared with Zelda—his Sun—in the glen near Lanayru. She was cutting wood for the winter; a task he’d promised to help with before the letter came. Crimson waited for him by the gate, preening a curious Indigo. 

“Any word? Is Groose doing okay, or is he still sulking?” Sun set her ax on the tree stump and looked at the basket of vegetables and fruit she’d set aside from his garden for their dinner. Sky was many things, but a good cook was not one of them, no matter all the training Wild had tried to give him. Growing it was another matter, with Sun’s aid. She sighed, as they both realized their dinners would be lonely tonight. 

“He’s missing. Groose hasn’t shown up in any of the settlements. I’m getting worried. He should have been back by now, and the winter floods are coming soon. But I want to check the mines again. I might be out late.”

“Sky, I’m sure he'll be fine. He just needs time to think about how to make it up to Peatrice. He’s probably rage-building a new track out there. But let me send you out with a few supplies for you both before you go. And I’ll keep a candle in the window for you.”

“You’re the best, Sun. I’ll watch for your light.” 

*** 

Hyrule Castle was a monument to the devotion Sky and Sun felt for their people and their future. They had designed it together, based on the many castles, palaces, monuments, and temples they had seen on their adventures. But they’d always known it would outlast them.

Sky ran up the tower steps, anxious to see his Sun, old joints and sore knees be damned. His daughter, Queen Zelda II, ran up the steps behind him, well into her fifties and yet suddenly a child once more, anxious for her mother.

“Father, what if she doesn’t…”

“We don’t know for certain, my Moonpearl." The old King answered. "We can hope, so let's hold on to it. She’s always been stubborn.”

Despite their hurried climb, Sky paused at the door. He paused, and said one last prayer to the goddess he knew could not longer hear him, and stepped inside. Evening sunlight filtered through a stained glass window showing the Triforce framed by a protecting loftwing. Dust motes danced in the beams that shone on the bed, where lay his Sun.

“The healers said you called for us…” He trailed off when he saw her. Only this morning she had been at rest, if a bit fevered. Now her face was nearly as white as her hair. Her breath rattled loud enough to hear from the doorway. Her shaking hands, once calloused and now soft with age, shook as she reached out to her family. 

“My Sun.” Sky ran to her side, ignoring the healers who stood with heads bowed nearby. He left his circlet and red cloak at the foot of the bed. They were always cumbersome. 

She took his hands, their old and worn fingers interweaving. “I know, my Sky. But…” her breath rattled as she tried to breath. “But Zelda... Help her.”

“How? She’s grown. She doesn't’ need—”

“You helped me once, when the changes came. But you…and I… know… this isn’t… the end of our story.” 

“Mother?” Zelda came cautiously to her mother’s side, and she climbed onto the bed to sit beside her. 

Sun seemed to find strength at seeing her daughter, and took Zelda’s strong hand in her aged one. “Darling. It’s time for you to come into your own power now. You are Queen already, but soon you will be something more . Take it slow. We are both somewhat fragile. But this light is yours now. It’s time.”

She kissed her daughter’s hand, who curled beside her mother on the bed as she used to when she was still a child. Her father leaned over Queen Sun, and kneeling at her bedside he kissed her one last time. He’d never hesitated, never been ashamed of his love for her. And nothing had been able to stand between them. Death was their last enemy.

And she had defeated it before they were born.

“I’ll keep a candle in the window for you,” he whispered as her eyes closed.

“And so will I. I’ll watch…for your light too.” She replied, and fell asleep for the last time. 

***

Night was falling quickly. Link sat in the open carriage, small and wide-eyed between his mother and Grandpa Smith. He admired the massive turrets of Hyrule Castle, where they would be living now. Father rode on his warhorse ahead of the carriage, leading them to the ceremony where he would receive his promotion to Captain. It was a matter of pride and celebration for the whole family. 

As they rode past the gates, Link looked up. High in a tower, a lone candle glowed beside a stained glass window, the image there of the Triforce and two golden wings shone bright in the light.  

[cythena]

TOUCH ME TEASE ME FEEL ME UP

❥ — ꒰ notes ꒱ gojo, yuuji, toji, nanami x fem!reader, making out, public (yuuji), semi public (gojo, toji, nanami), cursing, tit sucking (gojo), there’s no sex but very suggestive, everyone gets cockblocked

❥ — ꒰ synopsis ꒱ you looked so good for them and they couldn’t resist getting their hands and lips on you

SATORU GOJO ✰ BACKSEAT

he always had ijichi take you two around. he still has no idea how he convinced ijichi to drive you both around. satoru decided to take you on a date to a high class sushi restaurant in the city. you deserved it after the stressful mission you had. so you dressed up. you wore a tight deep blue dress (that he bought for you) and these black heels. he loved the way your legs looked in heels. they shaped your body nicely.

as you walked into the restaurant, he rested his hand on your back right before your ass curved. he couldn’t resist touching you when you looked so perfect. when you sat in front of him he admired your chest and collarbone adorned by the jewelry he gifted you. seeing you made the strongest’s ego swell up even more.

on your way back to the car ijichi texted satoru he would be back to the car in a minute and he didn’t mind at all. he didn’t tell you but he did start rushing you to the car just a little. when you were in your seat he pounced.

he protected your head from hitting the window with his hand. his body crawled on top of you and caged you in. he rubbed his hands against your thighs to pull your dress above your hips. you pushed his head harder against your collarbone. he sucked harshly at your skin until he was confident you had a dark purple bruise. “oh! s-satoru! ijichi-”

“isn’t here right now,” he cut you off and pressed another kiss to your lips. he moved to pull the top of your dress down. now he could see your braless tits. he slurped your nipples obnoxiously loud. “you just look so fucking sexy right now. i’ve been so hot for you since i saw you.”

you whined at his words. he sat up and pulled you down to lie flat on the seat. he lifted your ankle onto his shoulder. his lips focused on kissing your soft ankle and higher. your tits were covered in bite marks illuminated by the moonlight flowing into the car. satoru rubbed two fingers right against your clit through your thin panties.

“you wearin’ a thong?” he teased. you nodded with a loud moan when he squeezed your skin. he shifted his arm underneath your waist to flip you over. “shit- ‘ve gotta see that.”

suddenly someone cleared their throat. satoru languidly pulled himself away from you. his fingers still rubbed at your slit. you scrambled to fix your appearance. in the rear view mirror ijichi’s glasses reflected. you shamefully pulled your dress up and smoothed out the bottom.

“these tinted windows shouldn’t be abused,” the driver muttered to satoru. you could only wished to be as shameless as your boyfriend.

YUUJI ITADORI✰ BEACH

yuuji loved the beach. there was only one thing he loved more, your ass. so imagine his delight when getting to combine his two favorite things. nobara was a genius for planning this day. you had on a cute pink bikini. he remembers you picking it and showing him. it looked pretty online but he didn’t imagine it could look so perfect on you.

the small cups hugged your boobs to your chest and at first you had on the matching beach skirt. he held your hand while you walked to a nice secluded spot to hold for you and your friends. when your spot was ready, you untied the knot at the side and let the skirt fall.

yuuji was looking through your bag for sunscreen at the time. you were facing the ocean while talking to him. when he looked up he caught a beautiful sight of you. your skin was barely covered, it was so delicious to look at. it glimmered in the sun too. he could’ve sworn his mouth was watering. you turned around when he didn’t respond to your question.

“c’mere baby, real quick,” he murmured in a trance. he pulled you onto his lap. his hands played with your ass, fondling and squishing it. your tits were right in front his face too. “you look so pretty, my pretty girl right.” he said with a kiss to your shoulder.

he kissed up your neck and onto your lips. you held the sides of his face as your tongues met. your cunt rubbed against his crotch. he groaned into your mouth. your tongues swirled around each other’s.

“yuuj, calm down,” you giggled. he only pouted and leaned back in to kiss you. you didn’t resist him. your nails tickled his scalp from his undercut. he cock pressed through his shorts. he brought his hand to play with your boob from underneath the thin layer of your top. he pinched and toyed with your nipple.

“‘m sorry baby, your lips taste good. i can’t help it.” his cheeks flushed furiously. your head fell back in a laugh. you kissed his cheeks and stroked his hair. he tasted your strawberry lips again. they were so soft and delicious against his own.

“looking hot y/n! i missed you!” you turned around to see nobara, maki, and megumi walking over. yuuji’s mood deflated now. he hugged you to his chest until you eventually freed yourself to say hi. he laid back on the chair with a towel obviously laid on his lap.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✰ ELEVATOR

getting toji out of the house was a struggle. he didn’t want to get dressed and go to your friend’s party. the entire time you were doing your makeup and getting dressed, he was right behind you pawing at your hips.

you were grateful you made it into the building. your friend rented out a penthouse for her birthday. you stared at the buttons on the wall to the elevator.

“didn’t even know they made buildings this damn tall,” your boyfriend grumbled as he tugged on his collar. you looked at the mirror next to you — bending over to reapply your lipgloss. when toji turned to see what you were doing his eyes immediately fell to your ass sticking out for him.

his hand flew to grab a handful. the impact jutted to you forward a bit and you smeared your lipgloss. angrily, you stood back up about to reprimand him when he shoved you against the mirror. your lip gloss tube clattered to the ground.

his hands swooped your wrists together above your head. one hand locked them together while the other took advantage of the full access to your body. he nipped at your neck, exposed collarbone, and took his time in between your breasts.

“look so good, gotta mark ya up, make sure no man looks at you.”

“toji! control yourself!” you whined. he played with your thighs. his tongue licked a wide stripe back up your neck.

“mad i fucked up your lips?” he taunted. your leg wrapped around his waist, shifting your dress higher. the mirror revealed your lacy black panties that you were saving for him for after the party. you nodded with your lip stuck between your teeth. “poor baby.” he pecked your lips and wiped away the wine colored smudge. his husky voiced whispered, “i’m gonna ruin your whole look.”

the elevator dinged once before both doors began sliding open. toji loosened his grip for a second giving you the chance to push him off. you swiped your lip gloss from the ground and frantically reapplied it while toji fixed your dress. as soon as the doors on either side of you were exposed to the crowd of people.

you hurried to greet your friend with a nervous smile. your hands still smoothed out any wrinkles he left. toji followed behind you, blocking out the bit of your ass left hanging out just for him to see.

KENTO NANAMI ✰ OFFICE

kento was so proud of you for getting a promotion. now you got a new office that needed to be moved into. he offered his assistance to move your boxes into the new place. it wasn’t hard but he just wanted to spend some more time with you.

“you look so gorgeous, princess. i’m very proud of you,” he praised you. he picked you up and spun you around. you giggled once he put you down on your desk. he stroked the side of your cheek. you leaned into his touch.

“thank you, baby.” now kento considered himself a higher class man. he would never act on his perverted thoughts but when he looked down, the button on your blouse was open. multiple actually. enough for the plum colored lace of your bra to peek out.

he checked the time. it was about to be your lunch break. your body relaxed in his arms while he kissed up your neck. he kissed your ear and jawline.

“mhm. what’s gotten into you kento?” you sighed. your hand rested in his hair as he worked around your face. your eyes shut to intensify the feeling of his warm lips on your body. his thumbs stroked the dimples of your back.

“you smell good. do you have time?” he asked already knowing your answer. you followed his steps and checked your clock. he pulled away to look into your deep eyes. you gave him a nod and he reflected your mischievous glint in your eyes and smile.

he helped you to your back and rocked against you. he shoved his suit jacket off, disregarding where it landed. your buttons flew open, displaying your bra. he kissed them before his hands could meet them. your legs wrapped around his waist as your pencil skirt rose. he rubbed your thighs and snapped the strap of your garters against them.

“kento… ‘ts good, feels good,” you purred. he breathed in the alluring scent of your perfume. he’d have to buy you more. it had him rutting against you desperately. he grunted into your skin.

he locked hands with you against your desk. he wrapped the side of your panties around one knuckle to pull it down. he just needed to hear more of you. he had to hear you beg for more of him.

a rhythmic tapping sound echoed in the room. it only hit twice before kento was off of you and pulling your panties up and skirt down. you worked quickly to button up your shirt again.

“just a moment,” you called with a shaky voice. he smoothed out your hair and fixed any details you might’ve missed. “come in!”

the new intern walked in with some papers for you. his eyes flashed around the room nervously. they landed on kento, his slightly wrinkled shirt and gray pants. then they landed on the matching gray suit jacket in the corner.

— © cythena 2024. do not share on tiktok, plagiarize, repost on other platforms, copy, or translate.

[yuri-is-online]

Ranted about this elsewhere already buuuuut . . . Hot take: OB Jamil keeping the reader as a pet/slave is pre-relationship.

Jamil's whole shtick is wanting to free himself from servanthood and getting the equality, freedom, and respect he deserves. Why would he not want that for his lover? Hell one of his biggest insecurities is trapping them with him under the Asims and being unable to give them the life they deserve.

A Jamil who's in a relationship where he 10000% smitten, comfortable, and genuinely open with s/o would rip his own heart out before even thinking of trapping them or seeing them as lesser. This goes double for his overblot (we've seen with the Shround's that it is possible for overblots to do things out of love).

So what doth thou thinketh of this scenario: OB!Jamil who's just finished sending the gang to the middle of the desert having the immediate thought "FUCK YEAH! Now I can finally spoil my beloved!"

OB!Jamil just throwing embarrassment out the window and spoiling the absolute shit out of his lover. I'm talking shameless PDA, no filter whatsoever about how much he loves them, giving them just about anything they could want. Feeling hungry? Here's a feast of your favorite dishes and Jamil is the one feeding you. Little chilly? You're now dressed in enchanted fine silk fit for a queen and cuddled up next him. Worried about your friends out in the desert? Now you get an adorable pouty overblot asking for your attention and making it really hard to say no. Ironically any manipulation he pulls will be the light hearted kind he usual do to get their attention. Also worth mentioning that Jamil is calling them every pet name under the sun while being kissed constantly by the snakes.

Just Overblot Jamil willingly and happily going full malewife mode for his Sultana.

God it will be hard to convince him that overblotting it bad, won't it?

You know I usually have a hard time wrapping my head around Yuu being in a relationship with any of the ob boys pre blot, but the events make it pretty clear that the actual order the blots happen in is pretty flexible σ(￣、￣=) so after squaring that in my head:

Pre-Relationship OB Jamil would want to keep Yuu in a cage because he subconsciously knows they aren't his but he still feels the desire to keep them close. The walls of the cage area physical manifestation of Jamil's emotional repression surrounding his feelings towards Yuu but that's not we're brainrotting about today~

Overblot! Jamil (and just Jamil in general really) is pretty hard to convince that overblotting was a bad idea. Granted he doesn't want to die so yes he'll agree that's bad once he comes to his senses but for now he's really pleased with himself. Finally, he gets to have your attention all to himself and there is no one to judge or interrupt him. He made sure to throw the biggest annoyances across the desert, you can stay right here with him in his embrace exactly where you belong. Being kissed by the snakes is such a cute concept TᴖT He has so many things he's wanted to say, so many many kisses he wanted to give, times he's wanted to touch and hold you that he was never able to do because of his place in the world. I like the idea of Overblot Jamil dancing with Yuu while he sings the sappiest love songs imaginable. Anything to make up for lost time, now that he's free there's so much he can finally give you.

That's what you've wanted this whole time too... right?

[heymrspatel]

✨weekly tag wednesday thursday✨

i was tagged by @deedala @lingy910y @sgtmickeyslaughter @jrooc @sleepyfacetoughguy

@mybrainismelted @blue-disco-lights @such-a-barbarian and @lupeloto 🥰💙

name: julissa

zodiac sign: taurus

how many trips have you made around the sun? 34

what time is it where you are right now? 4:54pm

what is your favorite the candy you wish you were eating right now? sour patch kids

would you rather swim in a swimming pool or a natural body of water? natural! i'm a lake and river bitch lol (or pretty blue oceans and clear as fuck rivers back in the little island motherland)

what's the last thing you ate? white cheddar cheese puffs

find the closest book, what's the last two words on the last page of the last chapter? of zeus

what's the last scene of shameless that you've watched? according to my youtube history it was the prison "i'm dumping you! where's the shiv?" scene lmao

what's the next song you're going to listen to? i'm currently listening to music, next on the list is "slut era interlude" by role model

what scent is your body soap? orange blossom

what does your pillowcase look like? white with little blue flowers

when's the last time you did laundry? ..............i can tell you that i will be doing some crazy big loads this weekend

what's the sky look like where you are right now? very cloudy and hazy and white.

go drink some water and put any emoji here to denote completion of this task: 🧸

what was the name of your earliest childhood teacher that you can remember? mrs. o'keefe! she was wonderful!

i'm late and wasn't even around yesterday, so i'll skip the tag. but if you're reading this, i'm giving you a little flower 🌷

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.72 The ambassador

On our way to the Arboretum, I highlighted a few noteworthy features of the neighborhood, including a shameless plug for my yoga classes at the Celebration Center. Clear skies and warm sun made it the perfect day for this tour. Though, there was never a wrong time to visit San Sequoia. Every day was perfect.

"This is Gilbert Gardens," I said, vaguely gesturing around us. "It's my favorite place in San Sequoia because it has so much to do for all ages."

"I can't get over this weather. Is it always this nice?"

"Amazing, right? That's one of the best parts about San Sequoia."

The warm rays beamed down on us while a cool breeze whisked back and forth, ensuring we remained comfortable. Dub glanced around, shaking his head in disbelief at the gorgeous weather.

"Henford is usually covered in snow right about now," he said with a hint of snark.

I chuckled at a memory that popped into my head.

"I've seen snow exactly twice in my life. It doesn't snow much in Willow Creek. That's where I've spent the most time."

"I think snow is overrated," Dub huffed, waving dismissively again.

"You might be right. I mean, it's super cold...you can't see if it's too thick...and you have to clean it up!"

He slapped my arm.

"See? I knew we were in sync."

"Playing in it looks fun, though."

"That's overrated too! I don't like my hands being cold. There's no fun in that!"

He was hilarious and I know he wasn't trying to be, but the fake outrage amused me.

"I might have to agree with you there," I said.

We got halfway around the lake before I realized I hadn't shown him much. I made a terrible tour guide, but I think we both enjoyed the company more; I know I did.

"I teach at that spa over there sometimes," I said.

"What do you teach?"

"Yoga. I also lead guided meditations."

"So, yoga videos and classes? You must really love it."

"I do."

His eyes squinted a bit, like he was processing my words or something. I hadn't said anything too deep. Was he one of those yogi haters?

"A good friend of mine just told me she's into it too," he said. "She says it's for therapeutic reasons."

"Good for her. I think everyone should be into yoga."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's great therapy. I think everyone should learn healthier ways to deal with stress. Sims turn to so many self-destructive ways of dealing with their problems, only to make it worse. Having a healthy body leads to a healthy mind."

"I'm sure Maia would agree. She made me promise to try it with her."

"I hope you do."

I hadn't heard of many men who had platonic relationships with women. Even I had some sort of physical attraction and a bit of lust for my female friends. What was his relationship with this friend?

"So...Maia, huh?"

"Yeah, she's my friend I mentioned."

"I see... Well, I'm glad you'll try it. I think you'll find it helps a lot.

He didn't catch it that time, but I wouldn't let him miss it the next time, and there would be a next time. I was sure of it.

"Over there, you have the splash park. Mostly kids hang out there. We can swim in this lake."

"It's huge!"

"Tell me about it. My dad and I jogged around it once. I think I nearly killed him. There's all kinds of trails around here, but this is my favorite."

As we approached the trailhead, Dub looked around in awe, exactly like I did the first time I visited. The garden was what made it exceptionally beautiful. The way they expertly arranged the flowers and creatively teased the topiaries, it truly was a work of art.

"Woooow. I never would have seen all this back here."

"They call it the Arboretum. You ready to go?"

"Always."

We stretched, and I recommended we take it easy and pace ourselves, but Mr. Funny Man had other ideas. Good thing I was also athletic. I accepted the challenge, but of course, I had to flex on him a few times.

I asked about his family. The fact that he was the oldest of three boys amazed me. With no brotherly figure or close friends in my life, I found it difficult to imagine the dynamics of such a relationship. Would I enjoy little brothers? Would they annoy me? Maybe both because little sisters could be fun and annoying. Dub and his brothers grew up on a farm, and he hated it. Memories of the sights and smells of cleaning out chicken coops and milking cows disgusted him all over again. I would never laugh at anyone's pain, but he was so easily grossed out. I almost wanted to try it to see if it was really that bad.

Naturally, he returned the same questions, and I told him about our family dynamics and how my sister and I bounced between Willow Creek and Evergreen Harbor our entire childhood. I kept it casual and didn't say anything emotional, but he remained silent. Maybe he was contemplating my situation just like I was considering farm life with a bunch of brothers.

We took a few breaks, and he guzzled his water as if he were on fire. I shook my head, secretly laughing at him for dashing off like it was a race. Eventually we arrived back at our starting point, winded but feeling like a million simoleons.

"That was a good run," he said. "Maybe the longest I've done so far."

"Yeah, before I ran around the lake it was my longest too."

"And it was very scenic, like you said."

"You should see it in the summer! It's amazing."

I could tell by how golden the sky was, and the emptiness in my stomach, dinnertime was near. I had another idea I hoped he'd be keen on.

"I'm usually having dinner about now. If you have more time, you wanna go to the best restaurant in San Sequoia?"

"Yeah! Uhh, actually, let me check with Maia first."

See? I knew he'd bring her up again. This dude was in love and didn't even know it, and it was so fun to watch. Even the way he said her name had hearts all over it.

"Of course. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble or anything," I said in a cheeky way.

"Whatever, man!"

He may have sounded offended, but I did not forget that grin. One way or another, I'd get their story out of him. Ugh...I was unquestionably my mother's child.

Wade Banks by @mysimsloveaffair

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Jesse Kivel

Photo by David Katz

Jesse Kivel has been making indie rock music since the aughts, first in the hyper-literate band Princeton with his twin brother Matt and later in synth-dance-y Kisses. Now living in Maine and newly a dad, he recorded his best material yet in the second solo album, Life and Death at Party Rock. In her review at Dusted last month, Jennifer Kelly wrote, “Kivel has suddenly scratched below the surface, finding an unexpected, melancholy beauty in loosely collated daydreams. Life and Death at Party Rock haunts rather than pleases.” Here’s what Kivel has in his listening queue.

Bobby McFerrin — By The Sea

My friend Michael passed me this video years ago and I was just blown away by the talent, skill and concentration displayed in this performance. A lot of times we focus on the recorded version of a song, but in this case, Bobby makes a simple song transform into a technical feat of emotion and beauty.

Oasis — Live by The Sea (full concert)

Oasis was the band that changed everything for me. My brother and I would pretend to be Noel and Liam, snarling and playing Noel’s simple yet powerful solo's. We also snagged all of their live concert videos, including this one. Nothing beats Liam’s swagger in this moment and the energy and excitement this group could bring.

Alessi Brothers — Seabird (live)

This song was on a compilation or mixtape I received a while back. Gorgeous vibes and perfect to play in the early evenings. Also, keeping up with the brother/identical twin theme that has defined my life and creative output.

Linda McCartney — Seaside Woman

One of my wife Zinzi’s favorite songs, this tune has incredibly energy and feel. The lyrics are a touch problematic, and I truly can't be sure that Paul didn't write this one. He is basically singing through the entire thing, and it sounds like his vibe. Regardless, it is a lovely tune and I really like Linda’s solo record.

Beck — Guess I'm Doing Fine: Sea Change

Easily my favorite Beck record. It speaks to some of the natural textures and feelings I was trying to put on my new LP. This record reminds me of visiting a college in Atlanta. I slept over on campus and this record helped me sleep in a strange/unknown environment.

Don Gibson — Sea of Heartbreak

An iconic and classic tune, covered by everyone from Jonny Cash to Van Morrison. Gorgeous and simple, like many of those late 50’s/early 60’s tunes of yesteryear.

Phil Phillips & The Twilights — Sea of Love

I am 38 so most of my friends and peers know the Cat Power version of this. I have love for that cover as it exposed me to the original. I love the crisp and focused way the original is recorded. Eerie and slightly haunting, it is a beautiful tune.

Jesse Kivel — Overgrown Ocean

I would be nothing if not a shameless self-promoter :) This song is about visualizing myself crashing down into Penobscot Bay on a Cape Air Cessna. I wrote the lyrics to this song on my first flight with Cape Air which was incredibly foggy and overwhelming. As we cut through the clouds, an overwhelming calm reached me, and the lyrics are a meditation on death and finding peace with it.

Dennis Wilson — Pacific Ocean Blues

Growing up in Southern California, all I can say is I can relate to Dennis and the blues that often can accompany living in the region. The relentless sun and lack of seasons can really do someone in. Dennis, to his credit, correctly points out over and over in this song that the Pacific Ocean is blue. I appreciate his clear-eyed perception here.

Wilco + Billy Bragg — The Secret of The Sea

Wilco and Billy Bragg both have loomed large in my early musical education. Separately with their early records and then this Woody Guthrie collaboration. My brother and I went to Tulsa to visit Guthrie's museum a few years ago. While the Dylan one was put together more tastefully, I just remember relating to Guthrie as all his notebooks had endless amounts of mundane lists. This captured my heart as this is essentially all I do with my notebooks as well.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Two: Chaos-Bringer

A bad mood. An even scarier visitor. Some dangerous realizations. 

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

-----

CHAPTER TWO: CHAOS-BRINGER

Martin is angry.

He tries to hide it from Jon—to acknowledge the guilt that Jon wears like skin—because it’s obvious Jon is already blaming himself for everything, and Martin doesn’t want to add to it.

But Martin is pissed, and he decides to take it out on firewood.

Jon should have woken him. Chop.

And no, it probably wouldn’t have done any good, and it had been the logical choice, but damn it, Jon needs to stop defaulting to doing this on his own. Chop.

And how dare some fucking monster show up here, now, when they’ve minded their own business, and haven’t called anything, or tempted anything, or done anything to deserve this interruption of hope and future and peace? Chop.

How dare it ask them to damn the whole world?

The axe goes through the firewood into the stump and gets stuck.

Fortunately, no one seems to have noticed his mood. It’s market day in West Village, and everyone is busy setting up their stands, exchanging stories, laughing lightly, focused on their own things.

Martin mutters at the axe as he wrenches it loose, then stands still, studying its edge.

Could the tentacle-god-thing be chopped? Maybe.

Would he survive the encounter? Really, no.

Damn it, Jon, Martin thinks, because Jon can’t help somehow luring these things like he’s fresh bait, but Jon also makes a convenient outlet for frustration.

“Martin!” Julia arrives with a basket of herbs and a smile. She kisses his cheek. “Peter and Mark are looking for you.”

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” he says cheerfully, smiling the way they all do here—bright but vague, never quite making eye-contact, chin up and shameless and sweet.

Too direct, and they grow afraid. Less direct, and they worry about you.

He’d mastered their non-verbal cues in less than a day. And if someone had asked him to explain how, he would not have been able.

“You do not have winter clothes,” Julia suggests in the way they do here without asking questions.

Questions send people toward panic, and neither Jon nor Martin know why.

“Well, I mean—not yet,” Martin says. “But we’ve been saving up, and we have a few more weeks until it gets uncomfortable.”

She smiles. “When it’s time, we’ll help you choose what’s best for our weather. Don’t forget to stop by later so we can trade for bread.” And she goes, swinging her basket, face turned toward the sun, not a care in the world.

For some reason, Julia, Peter, and Mark worry about him, anyway, no matter how he plays the game. He’s not sure why, but he’s grateful. They’ve helped so much.

Those three were Martin’s favorite “family” here—a proper polycule, though they didn't know that word. An open, multi-gender threesome in the middle of this quaint village, wearing homespun, and offering aid when Martin first arrived. Incredible.

Peter and Mark even discreetly helped out when Martin realized he’d need personal lubricant, and had no idea how to go about getting it here.

Vegetable oil, it turned out. Who knew?

There were some ways that Martin loved this place, and this was one of them: no one could be outed. You loved whom you loved.

Not that this helps Jon.

Jon’s problem is not whom he loves.

Jon is eldritch. Jon strikes people as weird, and they don’t know why.

Jon is not human, and he can’t lie worth shit.

So Martin works the people of this village with every ounce of charm he has—for Jon. Martin can lie for him. Martin has made it clear to everyone that he adores Jon, and Jon makes him very happy.

That bit is all true, and easy to communicate.

Thus: the people who like Martin tolerate Jon.

Martin tolerates Jon some days, too. Especially when he encounters a god on the front step and doesn't wake his partner. “Normally, it’s adorable, being him,” he mutters to his axe, setting up the next log. “Fumbling around. Getting excited over bugs, or whatever. But not like this, Jon. Not like this.”

“Mm, love is so confusing, isn’t it? Really makes you wonder if it’s worth the time,” drawls a voice that Martin has never heard before.

What the hell kind of statement was that?

Martin turns, smile plastered on, remembering to lower the axe so he doesn’t seem aggressive (a million little lessons embedded since his final, wild growth spurt in his teens). “Hello! I’m sorry, I didn’t think the market was open yet. I don’t think you’re quite allowed back here, yet? Maybe?” he suggests.

The man laughs. He doesn't look like… anything. Just a guy. Moderately attractive, brown hair, tanned skin, unremarkable clothes.

But that laugh felt weird.

Not quite like the Distortion’s laugh, but it shakes Martin the same way, unnerves him, unbalances him.

It makes him want to peel his own skin off, and that is very not good.

Martin’s grip tightens on the axe. His smile, however, does not waver.

“You’re really good at that!” the guy says, and there is nothing about his grin that should make it the worst thing Martin’s seen since the worms and corkscrew days, but it is, it is, it is. “No wonder how you ended up in such a complicated relationship. Just wormed your way in there, didn’t you? Would he even know you were doing it? Oh, oh—maybe he does know, but he just doesn’t care because he’s so desperate for love, which makes you lucky, doesn’t it, cupcake?” And the man laughs again.

Right, so none of that was good.

Martin doesn’t want to just assume this guy read his mind, but it sure did seem like he did.

Like he knows Martin’s quiet, deep fear that he manipulated his way into Jon’s heart, that Jon absolutely loves him but Martin made it happen, that Annabelle’s comment about getting what you wanted through smiles and shrugs and stammerings had embedded itself in him.

Martin pushes that aside. The more important issue is this guy asked questions.

Nobody asks questions. Nobody talks in such a sharp, present manner here.

This is already brushing up against Martin’s spook-limit, but he keeps it together.

He wants a reaction, Martin thinks, and decides not to provide one. “Sorry?” he says, his eyes wide and worried. “I’m not quite sure I follow. You know, you seem lost. I can always help you go wherever you need to get to. I’m Martin, by the way. Nice to meet you!” And though he’s so afraid he can barely breathe, Martin offers his hand.

It’s not even shaking.

“Oh, now, that’s just talent, isn’t it?” says the man, showing too many teeth. He grabs Martin’s hand in both of his (and they are hot, startlingly hot) and shakes it with wild enthusiasm, grinning the whole time. “Call me Kayne. Nice to meet you, too… plus-one.”

Okay, this had gone too far.

He considers using the axe.

He considers trying to run.

Kayne tsks at him. “Now, after I actually bothered to get your attention, you’re going to run away? Come on, now, Kartin, there’s no need for that. If I was gonna hurt you—” The axe in Martin’s hand breaks, snaps, just pops like a piece of straw, and Martin drops it with a gasp—”I would have.”

Martin’s hand is riddled with splinters, and it throbs with his heartbeat, and he takes two critical seconds to evaluate, recalibrate, shift tactics.

Because (and this is important) if the spooky guy is bothering him, he isn’t bothering Jon. “I’m going to have to replace that handle, you know,” he says, trying for just prickly enough to irritate, and braces himself for the worst.

Kayne tsks again. “Relax, muffin. No consequences for you today. Look around, my darling—it’s all waiting, just for you.”

It is waiting. It’s stopped.

No birds chirping. No movement.

A dog is frozen mid-trot, literally off the ground.

Please be safe, Martin thinks at Jon, though he knows Jon won’t hear because Jon is too far away and at least theoretically respects his mental space. “That’s, uh. That’s… pretty scary?”

“It sure is, my little baklava. Come on, now. Come on! Walk with me. Talk with me! We have some things to discuss. Oh, and a word of advice? The other guy can be chopped (though not to great effect), but I can’t. Won’t work. Wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”

His patter reminds Martin of some sort of cinema carnie, fast and cheerful and aggressively friendly, but Martin still feels the weird, frighteningly literal urge to peel off his own skin.

Hold his attention, he thinks again, and walks where Kayne leads. Which seems to be nowhere, just wandering through the stalls.

Everyone is frozen, mid-prep. Market day is important, and goods are on display, left and right—produce and clothing and tools, spices (mostly salt), and bundles of late summer flowers to brighten homes.

Martin hopes no one’s being harmed by this.

He won’t lead this conversation. If this Kayne actually has something to say, he can say it. Silence is hardly an issue.

“No, it wouldn’t be for you, would it?” says Kayne, reading his mind without so much as a please, and a wave of cold, familiar isolation washes through Martin.

It is just a second’s worth, and already too much.

The Lonely. That was the Lonely, splashed in his face like a glass of water.

Martin keeps it together, somehow, and huffs as if that didn’t absolutely terrify him. “Rude. Can we get this over with? Sorry, just, I’m kind of over the apocalypse, you know? So maybe just say whatever it is you want to get off your chest, and I can go back to work.”

“Oh, you’ve got even more potential than I thought,” Kayne says in a low, pleased tone, hands in his jacket pockets, striding along and watching the sky as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “Creative. So focused. Positively tricksy. Sorry it’s not going to work out that way. Your BFF got visited by the King in Yellow last night, my friend. Things are afoot!”

“That’s... nice?” Martin finally knows who this voice reminds him of—that guy from Tangled. Flynn Rider. Only from hell.

“Ooh, so close! But no. Outer Infinity. Same concept, better amenities. So!” Kayne stops abruptly and claps his hands. “Can you guess why I’m visiting your AnimalCrossing island? Hm? Go on, go on, no wrong answers. Do your best.”

“For Jon,” says Martin without hesitation.

“Mmm, nope, nope, not my taste, I do not want him. Ew. Try again.”

But the thing last night had said… “The Entities,” says Martin softly. “You all want the Fears brought here.”

“Half a point for effort, cupcake. I don’t want that, either.”

What was with the weird pet names? “So… so what are you saying? Then what do you want?”

“Well, not to vaguepost, but some people,” Kayne says, using air quotes, “love a bit of chaos in their stew (excellent flavoring), and some people,” again with the air quotes, “really, really, really, really hate it. Let’s just say I prefer things savory—and the raw potential for chaos your snuggle-muffin brings to the table is causing quite the stir.”

“Chaos,” repeats Martin.

“C-h-a-o-s,” spells Kayne.

The god in yellow’s trigger word. “You,” says Martin, unable to keep his voice steady.

“In person and at your service, sir!” barks Kayne, and bows. He’s produced a full-on feathered cavalier’s hat, which he doffs with a flourish. It vanishes the moment he puts it back on.

Martin’s hand is sticky with blood. The splinters throb. “All right. Well. Jon won’t do it. I mean, I know that. And if you’re so good at reading minds, you know it, too.”

“Well, he won’t yet, sweetums,” says Kayne, “but it’s only a matter of time. You know that, right? I mean, it’s going to happen. It’s just a question of when, and I want it delayed.”

“It’s not a question of when. It’s not going to happen.” Martin feels sick, has to fight the urge to bend over, head down, pushing back nausea, dizziness. “It’s not. You don’t know Jon.”

“But I do. Didn’t like it at all.” Kayne sniffs imperiously. “He just shows everything in his dreamy brown eyes, doesn’t he? Can’t lie for shit, spends half his time in his own head, stabbing himself. Useless. You, on the other hand… there are all kinds of secrets in you, aren’t there?”

“I… I don’t…”

“I mean, you successfully fooled people who could read your mind. That takes some doing, sweet cheeks, and I am here for it.”

Martin has no idea how to feel about that statement. He swallows. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, because, because your affianced is not human. The King can’t just break him or control him (like either of us could do to you) without also breaking whatever it is that can invite all his friends to the party, you get me? And that’s not fair—so we made a bet!”

Martin’s heart is racing. “What bet?”

“Oh, whether he can get the Archivist to do it, of course. I’m going to lose,” says Kayne cheerfully. “But along the way? Drama! Romance! Tears! And since there’s no one who could influence our messy messiah, our herald of the end, our angel of music, better than you—you’re only all the little antichrist thinks about all the time—” Kayne cackles—”I took you.”

Martin takes a step back. “You what?”

Kayne flaps his hand. “Relax, cinnamon bun, I’m not here to kidnap you like an antisemitic goblin. My point, cupcake, is he’ll do what you want. You, the rudder for a nascent and deeply depressed god. That’s quite a lot of power for such a fluffy little pastry, isn’t it?”

This couldn’t be happening.

A bet.

A bet, again, with him and Jon as the game pieces. Anger makes his mouth sour. “You… you made a bet?”

Kayne studies his fingernails. “I just said that, Martin. I don’t like to repeat things. If you’re not going to listen better, I’m not going to come back.”

That is a threat, though Martin can’t fathom what might be worse than his attention. “Jon won’t choose to end the world. Why are you so sure you’ll lose?”

Kayne smiles slowly, like searing flesh, like Martin asked a question that pleases him, then suddenly flings one arm around Martin’s shoulders.

It’s like being encased in hot iron. It hurts, and Martin cries out.

“We are going to have so much fun, you and I!” Kayne says, squeezing tighter in response to Martin’s struggle. “Of course, we have to finish all this folderol first. You’ll do anything for him, he’ll do anything for you, blah, blah, blah, it's all so… so…” Kayne apes sobbing, mimics wiping tears, then switches it off and finally releases him.

Martin stumbles back, shoulders aching. Terror has finally blinded him to what to do next. It’s risen in his throat, lumpy and wet like clay.

“There, there, dumpling,” says Kayne. “Go on back to your crucial, ever-so-important work. You get to tell him all about this when he gets home.”

This can’t wait, Martin thinks.

“Oh, it can. It will. Because your little buddy with a bullseye is learning things right now that he’s going to need, and you don’t want to interrupt that, do you?”

“Then why did you come now?” says Martin.

“Stir the proverbial pot. Plant some seeds. Test your soul’s pH. You know, the usual.” He reaches for Martin’s cheek.

Martin dodges back.

Kayne smiles with poison, with such deep and dire eagerness that Martin almost starts to cry. “Ciao!”

And Kayne is gone.

Except for his cavalier’s hat, which is inexplicably in Martin’s good hand for two seconds, then vanishes.

Everyone is moving again. Time has resumed like nothing happened.

Martin’s bleeding hand aches.

He feels like a monster just put him in its mouth, chewed lightly to test for doneness, then spat him out again.

“Hey, Martin!” calls James, who seems to think Martin’s opinions on the price of cheese matter more than anyone else’s.

“Oh, hey!” Martin calls back, cheerful, smiling, because he is very good at this, very good at not scaring anyone, very good at hiding tears and making sure he’s liked.

And his hand is bleeding, and he holds it behind him while James talks, and only goes to pull out (cut out) the splinters after James has walked away.

#

“So, in summary: in mid-January, year 63, Emperor Turdot died, leaving behind a deeply unstable situation. He’d refused counsel, refused to allow anyone to know what he was doing or why, and the resulting power vacuum and destabilization gave the Church of the Thousand Young what they needed to take over, transforming the last unshepherded empire into an Esoteric theocracy.”

Jon stops, tracking which students are still paying attention (most), which students are making the connections he’s tried to lead them towards (none), and which students are so distracted by matriculation that they can’t fully focus (all).

He’s not sure yet if he likes teaching. It’s deeply intimate, more than a little uncomfortable. And given what he has to work with, it’s also like trying to plow in fresh mud. “Questions?” he prompts, expecting none. “Ah! Yes—William.”

“Mentor, tell us more of the Esoterics.”

Jon listens for the answer and finds everyone around him seems to know the same broad, unhelpful things. “Ancient beings, origins shrouded in eternity, who guide the world through their carefully-formed Churches.” Dear lord. “They control every government to some level, dependent on the individual nation’s history and relationship with their Esoteric One.”

The visitor in yellow had to be one of these things.

His students watch him, rapt. Jon doesn’t know why; he’s too busy gathering his answer to look into that just yet.

“Some nations are, as Gaul now is, theocracies, which means the deity and its underlings are physically present, openly and aggressively. These nations are considered less free by those outside of them, and unpleasant places to live, leading to—” Oh, that’s new—”the tradition that, when refugees appear, they are treated well. It is considered a mark of a good person and a civilized society to show compassion toward those who’ve torn their lives up by the roots to escape their god. It is doomed to be a cursed life—eventually, so goes the rhetoric, the gods catch up to you.”

Well, that explained why being “refugees” had put them in such a position of aid.

The students stare at him, and Jon takes a moment to try to know why.

Ah. They want to know which nation he escaped from, and how. It seems he evinces none of the things they look for as clues to his origin.

(What things? That’s hard to say, but it seems at least one of those nations would have left him with w-shaped pupils, like a cuttlefish. Yikes.)

“Any further questions?” says Jon, trying to keep that image from messing with his head.

Of course there aren’t. Nobody has questions in this place. They’re all staring at him in awe, though, because they think he will be hunted down by an Esoteric, and they’d like to see it happen.

Lovely. “All right—your final test of the season is tomorrow. No excuses—your families have known you’d need the ink all year, so I expect you to arrive fully stocked.”

“And then matriculation!” shouts Donovan from the back, and his whole class—aged fifteen to sixty-four, all genders—cheers.

He still doesn’t know what students who matriculate actually do. None of them seem to have any plans.

Still, Jon smiles with them. “Yes, yes. Go on, now. Be safe, and may the wind hide you.”

Why do they say that? He doesn’t know because they don’t know.

And no one asks.

He just doesn’t understand why nobody asks.

Jon gathers the books permitted for these classes and—per standard—locks them away. (Why did the books have to be locked up? No clue! Nobody knew! Nobody asked!)

He takes his time cleaning up—dusting, straightening, adjusting the chairs and desks so they’re all even.

He’s lingering. He doesn’t quite know what mood Martin will be in when he gets home.

Martin was not happy with last night’s adventure. Oh, he would probably be fine by tonight, but…

Making Martin upset for any reason was something Jon couldn’t really handle. It echoed things neither of them talk about, things Jon would take back if he could.

Things they maybe would never talk about.

Well. At least he had new information, finally.

Year 63 was the end of Gaul’s human rulers. This was year 376.

What was everyone counting up from? Something so significant happened 376 years ago that it changed how human beings reckon time, but no one knew what it was.

Jon sighs. School had always been a place of comfort for him—where what you knew mattered more than who you knew, or what you wore, or any other thing—but here, they all knew so little.

Though Jon doesn’t want to admit it, it’s beginning to physically hurt.

He feels starved. No, dehydrated. No… something.

It’s not a need for statements, he tells himself—which is good, as he has taken none since arrival. It has to be something else.

Sure.

Jon rubs his chest and tries to focus on this new knowledge.

The Esoterics. So strange, so undefined; just other, powerful, out there somewhere. Not that theocracies hadn’t existed in his own world (three concurrent popes all calling each other heretics like in that Spiderman meme remained one of his favorite weird historical moments), but this was different.

Actual deific embodiments. No wonder nobody he’d met here was an atheist.

They just all knew, believed, accepted, did not question. And they did not like his questions, felt terrified when asked, and he did not know why.

It was like pulling teeth to get his students to even comment on lessons.

There was little doubt that an Esoteric had come to visit last night.

Why would any of them want the Fears closer? Surely a god couldn’t get so bored that it wanted competition.

“Knock, knock,” says the Paragon.

“Come in, Mason,” says Jon, packing away the remains of his lunch.

Jon does not like the Paragon.

The Paragon makes him think far too much of Jonah. His eyes are gray. His smile is banal. His mind is heavily shrouded. While Mason is far from the only one whose mind Jon cannot see, it’s worrying.

The Paragon also provides Jon’s guilders, so Jon tries to not to let any of that show.

“So, you’ve done it,” says Mason, smiling and leaning on the door frame, like they’re old friends. “Made it through your first season. It looks like you enjoyed most of it.”

That’s another thing Jon doesn’t like: the man states his guesses as though they are fact, and often, is right.

Jon tried to hint he’d taught before.

Mason hadn’t believed it for a second.

Jon tried to hint they hadn’t traveled far.

Mason laughed like he’d made a joke.

Worrisome. “I did, thank you,” says Jon, taking up his satchel and double-checking the clasp.

“Well,” says Mason, a little gleam in his eyes (Not his fault they’re gray, Jon tells himself every time they talk), “the position is open for next season, if you’re interested.”

Three weeks between seasons, Jon has learned, is normal. A three-year program for those few who qualify, four seasons a year—eight weeks on, during which students are expected to do nothing but learn, and three weeks off, during which they must produce one new fact they learned on their own.

(But still without asking questions, and Jon is bothered.)

“That sounds lovely, assuming I’m not taking someone else’s job,” he says.

“For someone with your vast knowledge, I would make a spot, even if I had to dig for one,” says Mason affably. “Someday, you’ll have to let me know why you didn’t matriculate.”

Jon doesn’t understand what that means, or how Mason knows he didn’t, or why it matters. He focuses on his bag because he knows his face is not neutral. “Someday. Sure.”

Mason doesn’t look like Jonah. He’s younger. Slightly rougher, living in a world without spa days, or whatever Jonah did to Elias Bouchard’s body. But those eyes….

Stop it, Jon tells himself.

“There is one more thing.”

Jon tries not to tense, then decides Mason probably saw it, anyway. He smiles weakly. “Those words usually aren’t followed by anything good.”

Mason smiles back. “They are this time. I would like to invite you and your partner to a mentor’s gathering tonight. We’ll be hosting mentors from the three closest Groves, as well. It’s a good chance to meet your own kind—since I know you’re unfamiliar with our area.”

See, there it was again. That phrasing; it could be read in all different ways. Maybe Mason was trying to figure out where Jon had run from, too. “I’ll ask and see if he’s interested. Neither of us feels overly social just yet.”

“Really.” Mason’s eyes widen. “It seems your beau is quite social, from what I hear.”

“Professionally, of course he is,” says Jon, trying so very hard not to feed his suspicion of this man.

“Fair enough, fair enough. Well, I hope he says yes. I’m heading to London after, so I won’t see you again until next season. Have a good night, Jonathan.”

Jon doesn’t correct his name. He just leaves.

Worth it, he reminds himself, because it is, and he isn’t tied down, and they can leave at any time (quitting was an option here, and he had damn well made sure).

Cresting the hill before their cottage, he pauses, looks; it’s market day, and Martin will be late.

Jon’s going to bake something. Welcome him home with good smells and love.

He checks the dough that’s been proofing overnight, liberally mixed with fresh rosemary; it already smells divine, and he has high hopes for it as he sticks it in the oven.

Happily, he doesn’t have to light a fire. Electricity works here between the hours of five AM and seven PM—even though there are neither wires nor outlets.

It’s wireless power in a place that doesn’t even have radios. Yet another mystery.

What was the world like before that event of 376 years past?

Jonathan was a Hebrew name, and Jon had it because of religious and cultural integration. Others here had names like Mark, which was originally Greek, and—back home—common for the same reason.

There was no Church of Rome, couldn’t be in a world with floating gods, and without the common foundation of that Greco-Latin influence, the language should not be the same. The word theocracy had Greek roots, for crying out loud.

He had to wonder if they were actually speaking English—if the Eye was doing something to ease communication.

But if it was, how would that work for Martin?

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Jon mutters, bringing leftovers up from the narrow, deep cellar.

Maybe the Fears hadn’t been able to come through because this world was so different.

There didn’t seem to be much suffering, at least. Nobody talked about anything frightening, ever; and when he skimmed minds, he never saw the concerns that should, by reason, be there.

No one worried for their future or their health or war or money.

No one worried for their children or their parents or their crops or their cows.

It’s like they were all caricatures of people, two dimensional—kind, hard-working, but unable to think deeply about anything.

How could they be like this in a universe run by terrifying beings like last night’s god?

There is no way to know, of course, (You could know, tempts the Eye, and Jon ignores it), but he highly doubts the yellow-cloaked being is going to be patient with him for long.

Would distance make a damn bit of difference?

Esoterics rule various nations, but the fact that refugees get chased down means fleeing probably won’t help.

Escape might be possible, but it might not—and if it isn’t, running would just piss off the thing that was after them.

There is a London, but Jon’s not found a map. Is there an Oxford? Probably not. The likelihood of there being an exit, another Hill Top Road, is slim to none—and whatever hole they’d fallen through originally was definitely no longer available.

He didn’t want to risk returning to their original world, anyway. What if the Fears continued to follow him, tethered? What if they weren’t as stuck as he hoped?

Jon sighs. “Focus, Sims,” he mutters, because wherever he and Martin land, here or elsewhere, he is determined to make a home for them. No matter what it takes.

Even if that means figuring out a way around a god.

“Hopefully, with no more stabbing,” Jon mutters, chopping everything for a makeshift fry-up.

And suddenly, he knows whose territory he is in.

His hand slips, and he cuts his finger.

Cursing, he runs it under the sink; while it heals, he tries to stay calm.

He hadn’t reached for this new knowledge. Hadn’t asked. Why had it been given to him? Why had—

“Jon?” says Martin from the door. He is very pale, and his hand is bandaged.

Jon drops everything and runs to him.

#

They sit together on their old, broken-down couch, ignoring the springs that press into their backs and bottoms. “What are we going to do?” Martin says, very small.

“I don’t know.” Jon cradles Martin’s bandaged hand. He doesn't mention his own cut, already healed.

“We have to do something. Maybe go somewhere. We—we have enough saved. If we had to buy passage overseas or something, maybe we could.”

“I don’t know, Martin. I don’t think it would help.”

“We can’t just sit here!”

Jon sighs. “I think our visitors are truly in charge here. That whole Esoteric thing… I mean, what kind of a name is the Church of a Thousand Young, anyway? It has something to do with what they call the Black Goat of the Woods. Can’t you feel how terrible that is?”

Martin cannot, but he can see how it affects Jon—disgust and fear, equally rancid—so he nods.

“And do you want to know which Esoteric rules here? I found out while I was… before you got back. Alba belongs to the Church of the Pallid Mask. Do you know what that means?”

“No,” whispers Martin, breathing faster, because something about the way Jon said that was too familiar, tipped him off that Jon got this information illicitly, and if he’s listening that hard, actively searching, then he’s stretching his powers, and he hasn’t needed statements yet, but what if he starts needing them, and—

“A white mask, Martin. Like the King in Yellow was wearing.”

“We’re in his territory? Then we should leave!”

“Even if we got away from him, I don’t think we could from your chaos god.”

“He’s not my chaos god,” Martin snaps, and doesn’t know why he does.

Jon flinches. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Oh, Jon.” Martin pulls him close, sighs against his hair. “No, I’m sorry. I’m on edge.” He sighs. “And my hand hurts, and I had to pretend it didn’t all day because if I get so much as a scrape, everybody’s all over me to help.”

Jon smiles against his shoulder; then laughs. He can’t help it. “Of course they are. My man, the Village stud.”

“Stop.” But Martin’s smiling.

“The mysterious thoroughbred from far away, the most eligible gentleman—”

Martin’s laughing now, too, and he’s red behind his freckles. “Jon, you’re being ridiculous.”

“What, just because I happen to be sleeping with the most strapped, the most—”

“All right, all right.”

“Even Salesa was into you, you know.”

“What?”

“’I like this one,’” Jon mimics in a poor attempt at Salesa’s accent.

Martin gives up and kisses him quiet, laughing against his mouth. “You’re impossible.”

“Yes, I am,” Jon smirks, but then the moment has passed, and his smile fades. “This bet of theirs is insane. I won’t bring the Fears into the world, Martin. I’ll die before I do that to this place.”

Martin is silent for a long moment. “You’re assuming you can die.”

“I assume it because it’s reasonable. I don’t have the power I did back home, even before Jonah’s ritual. Yes, I can gather thoughts, but I don’t need them. And I can’t force people to tell me things—there’s no compelling at all.”

“You’ve tried?” says Martin, softly.

Jon blinks at him. “Well, yes.”

“Jon, when did this happen?”

“I… not long after I started looking for a job. I….”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Jon looks so surprised. “I didn’t want to worry you! Besides, what’s there to tell? You know I’m not the Archivist here. Whatever lingering effects there are, I’m not that. I don’t have the powers, and I don’t have the protections.”

Not all of them, anyway.

“Who did you try to compel?”

Jon sighs slowly. “Just a shopkeeper. I haven’t gone back. I… I just needed to know if I could do it.”

Martin is silent.

Jon feels suddenly ashamed, though he hadn’t a moment before. “Martin, I had to figure out what remained inside me. I doubt I can look anyone to death, either.”

“No, I’d assume you couldn’t do that. But Jon, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was important.” Which is the truth (because Martin was right and Kayne was right and Jon can’t lie for shit). “I just did a few tests, realized I can’t compel, can’t just know everything—but I also don’t need statements. I don’t have to feed the Eye, Martin.”

“I know you don’t, but….”

“I’m sorry we haven’t talked about it,” says Jon, softly, looking up (and Martin wants to melt into those eyes, wants to kiss away the pain he sees there, the lingering sorrow and shame). “You’ve been so focused on just keeping us afloat here. So have I. We just… haven’t talked about not needing statements.”

They haven’t talked about a lot more than that.

Martin sighs. “I felt like if I did, I’d be pushing our luck. Jinxing it.”

Jon’s smile is not a good one. “If you don’t want to be jinxed, you’ll need to stay far away from me.”

“No. No,” says Martin, firmly, uncomfortably reminded of Kayne’s comment about Jon mentally, repeatedly stabbing himself. “None of that. You know better.”

Jon neither confirms nor denies.

Martin cups his face. “I am with you because I love you. I choose you,” he says. “I didn’t know it would be this way, but that’s how all love is. That’s how life is! I mean, if I’d known it would be like this, I would have stabbed Jonah in the back of the head or something, but I’d still be with you. And we’d be in Honduras.”

“Honduras?” says Jon with a little smile. “Why?”

“Non-extradition treaty,” says Martin. “I looked it up.”

Jon manages a small laugh. His smile fades, changes into something intense, eldritch, too much to bear, and Martin has to fight not to drop his own gaze. “I don’t deserve you,” says Jon.

“Stop that,” says Martin. “Also, I think I smell bread.”

“Damn, the bread!” Jon says, and leaps away to get it out of the oven.

Damn Jonah is what Martin thinks, because he sees the wounds, he sees the scars, sees how brilliantly Jonah destroyed whatever confidence Jon had once had.

Of course Jonah had. He hadn’t wanted the god he’d created to come after him.

And Martin doesn’t know how to heal him.

It angers Martin that his love isn’t enough to reach the bottom of the wounds Jonah left.

I’m just jealous of everybody, aren’t I? thinks Martin, considering his reaction to Oliver Banks, and has to laugh at himself. “What a pair we make,” he mutters.

“Safe,” says Jon. “Rosemary bread tonight. It’s going to be lovely.”

Not nearly as lovely as Jon’s expression, Martin thinks, studying the way his eyes crinkle, studying the way he actually shows his teeth with a smile this real.

Why can’t we have this? Martin thinks at the universe. Just let us have this.

The universe does not reply.

(part three)

NOTES:

It's ALMOST AS IF they really need to talk about some stuff. Hmmmm!

[motivationisdead]

Some things in Chapter 51 of Mo Dao Zu Shi (ExR translation) that caught my eye for various (but often disturbing) reasons:

“-Are you the same as others? Who knows which sewers other people will be splashing in, but you’re going to be the leader of the Jiang Sect!”

You can really see where Jiang Cheng got his sense of superiority and classist view from.

Wei WuXian stood forward, accustomed to it. Madam Yu scolded, “You’re like this again! If you yourself don’t seek progress, then don’t drag Jiang Cheng along to fool around with you. You’re going to be a bad influence to him.”

Wei WuXian looked startled, “I don’t seek progress? Why, am I not the one with the most progress in the entire Lotus Pier?”

You tell her!!!

And more proof that Wei Wuxian doesn’t have low self confidence and has no problem standing up for himself.

There’s also something extremely pointed about Madam Yu saying this after the narrative just had Wei Wuxian display archery skills better than everyone else in the sect.

And also they’re literally practicing their archery??? Which is a form of training? I don’t see the problem. There isn’t one really. It’s just that Madam Yu has to makes a problem out of everything even when one doesn’t exist.

Hearing this, an air of hostility appeared over Madam Yu’s forehead. Jiang Cheng hastened, “Wei WuXian, shut up!”

He turned to Madam Yu, “It’s not that we want to shoot kites in Lotus Pier but, right now, isn’t it that none of us are allowed to leave? The Wen Sect assigned all of the night-hunt areas to itself. Even if I wanted to night-hunt, there isn’t anywhere for me to go. To stay at home and not go outside to provoke or fight for prey with the Wen Sect—isn’t this what you yourself made clear to Father?”

You know, I think this is one of the only times I’ve ever seen Jiang Cheng try to defend Wei Wuxian. And even then, he’s not so much defending Wei Wuxian specifically here as much as Jiang Cheng is justifying his own presence and actions. In fact Jiang Cheng makes a point to phrase it as if they are all only doing this because they have little choice and not because it is an enjoyable activity. And notice the switch from ‘we’ to ‘I’?

The sentence just as easily could have been, ‘Even if we wanted to night-hunt, there isn’t anywhere for us to go.’ And yet Jiang Cheng makes a point to only refer to himself here. And the reason this is noticeable to me is because nights hunts are normally done with a group of disciples so the other way would make more sense wouldn’t it? As a sect heir I doubt Jiang Cheng would be allowed to night hunt alone after all.

Even Jin Ling (with one uncle apparently actively sabotaging him—looking at you Jin Guangyao) usually took night hunts if not with Jiang Cheng and his disciples than at least with them nearby. And Fairy was normally with him too.

So unless this is a translation thing he’s clearly making a distinction between himself and everyone else to try and stay in his mother’s good graces.

There’s a lot of interesting nuance anytime the Jiang family interacts with each other because their home life is so fraught.

Wei WuXian, “Well, they think they’re the sun shining above all sects. It’s not the first time that the Wen Sect is so shameless. Taking advantage of their large sect and strong influence, it had been prohibiting the other sects from night-hunting ever since last year. Just how much prey, how much land has it stolen?”

Jiang FengMian was sitting at the foremost seat, “Watch your words and eat.”

Wei Wuxian, speaking the hard truths no one likes to hear like always.

And that last part is interesting because Jiang Cheng and Yu Ziyuan always made it sound like Jiang Fengmian treated Wei Wuxian like he was above reproach but here, in our second meeting with Jiang Fengmian, we clearly have him scolding Wei Wuxian. The text is literally directly contradicting their words before we’ve even heard any accusations of favoritism from them at this point to try and give us an unbiased account before we hear their imagined grievances.

And the text did this earlier in the chapter too when it displayed Wei Wuxian’s prowess as an archer right before Madam Yu accused him of not seeking progress. All this is to clearly show how reality differs from Madam Yu’s and Jiang Cheng’s viewpoints because the ones they have are incredibly biased.

Madam Yu scolded, “Of course you’ll go! Or else would your sister go? Look at her, still happily peeling lotus seeds. A-Li, stop peeling them. Who are you peeling them for? You’re the mistress, not somebody’s servant!”

Hearing the word ‘servant’, Wei WuXian didn’t mind much. He had finished all of the lotus seeds in the dish all at once, chewing as the soft, refreshing sweetness filled his mouth. Jiang FengMian, on the other hand, raised his head slightly, “My lady.”

It’s really amazing how little Wei Wuxian seems fazed by the Jiang’s having an argument right over his head. He doesn’t even react at all. Especially when the text seems to imply that Madam Yu is saying this specifically to undermine Wei Wuxian’s heritage.

And noticeably it’s this implied insult to Wei Wuxian’s father that has Jiang Fengmian speaking up in contrast to how he later stays silent when Madam Yu insults Wei Wuxian’s mother in a much more frank and crass manner. I didn’t even have to put the ‘My lady’ in bold. The text already had that there to emphasize how serious he is here.

I think it’s supposed to illustrate which one of Wei Wuxian’s parents Jiang Fengmian cares about more. And it’s not Cangse Sanren.

It’s also possible that I’m reading too much into it and Jiang Fengmian is simply reacting to the slight done to Wei Wuxian himself. But we also never really see Jiang Fengmian take active steps to cease his wife’s behavior towards Wei Wuxian normally. So why does this veiled slight, of all the many different insults Madam Yu has directed towards Wei Wuxian’s person, the one that spurs him to scold his wife?

Madam Yu laughed harshly, “How wonderful. He can go if he wants to. If he doesn’t want to, it’s definitely possible for him to stay. Why is it that A-Cheng has to go no matter what?-“

She says as if she literally didn’t say so herself a few moments earlier that Jiang Cheng had to go because the Wen Sect specifically asked for one disciple from the clan (presumably meaning from the main family) to be sent along with some of their disciples. Wei Wuxian get’s a choice precisely because he is not a member of the Jiang Clan. Which is exactly what Madam Yu wants in the first place—for Wei Wuxian to not be considered part of her family.

The novel even follows it up by saying this:

There was resentment within her heart. She simply wanted to let out the rage, even if it made no sense.

So the “favoritism” she’s apparently perceived Wei Wuxian getting clearly isn’t what’s actually happening right now.

“-Just how did I give birth to a son like you?!”

- Madam Yu, direct quote.

Glancing around, Wei WuXian remarked, “As expected, people came from Gusu as well.”

He didn’t know why, but all of the boys sent from the GusuLan Sect looked somewhat pallid. Lan WangJi’s face was especially pale, but his expression was still as frosted as usual, distancing him from everyone else. The sword Bichen on his back, he stood alone, with nobody around him. Wei WuXian had wanted to go up to him and say hello, but Jiang Cheng warned him, “Don’t cause any trouble!”

And so he could only forget about it.

Just Wei Wuxian immediately zeroing his attention in on Lan Wangji like always.

And just Jiang Cheng being a roadblock between Wangxian, also like always.

With confidence, Wei WuXian unstrapped his sword and handed it over. At the same time, he couldn’t help but glance across at the GusuLan Sect’s side. He originally thought that Lan WangJi would definitely refuse to hand it over. Unexpectedly, even though Lan WangJi’s face was frighteningly cold, he unstrapped his sword anyway.

Wei Wuxian’s confidence in himself here is very sexy.

Also it’s just a little funny how Wei Wuxian really can’t seem to help himself when it comes to Lan Wangji being the focus of his attention.

The one who suffered the most was Jin ZiXuan. He grew up having been cupped within the palms of his parents. He had never undergone such humiliation before. If not for how the other disciples of the LanlingJin Sect stopped him and the fact that Wen ZhuLiu wasn’t easy to deal with, he would have willingly killed himself along with Wen Chao on the first day. On the other hand, Lan WangJi seemed to be in a state of inner peace and absolute indifference, as though his soul had already risen out of his body. And, Wei WuXian had been through years of Madam Yu’s diverse methods of scolding when he was at Lotus Pier. He began to laugh whenever he stepped off the platform, hardly blinking an eye to such moments.

There’s something about this paragraph that is really amusing and just highlights the differences between these people.

You have Jin Zixuan, who is used to being spoiled and getting what he wants, and also simultaneously doesn’t seem to grasp the full seriousness of this situation, nor the consequences his actions could have. It is almost, cut and paste, the same traits that led to his death. Both his misjudgment and mishandling of the situation leading to him being killed and escalating the situation to something worse. Here, at least, he has people to stop him.

Then you have Lan Wangji, who is painfully aware of the consequences his actions could have after the burning of the Cloud Recesses and seems to have just completely shut down and dissociated.

And then you have Wei Wuxian, who is just so used to such treatment that he can laugh it off with a smile. Take a moment to think about that.

Wen Chao’s treatment of him here doesn’t phase him because Madam Yu treats him worse daily. Wei Wuxian even describes such treatment as ‘diverse methods of scolding’ when Madam Yu does it. Even though the text quite clearly sums up how Wen Chao’s treatment of them is abhorrent and meant to humiliate them. The implications are chilling.

Given how Wei Wuxian downplays his own suffering we can safely assume that ‘scolding’ is a massive understatement and ‘abuse’ would likely be the more fitting term. A literal indoctrination camp is literally no worse than the way Wei Wuxian is treated at Lotus Pier. Absolutely horrifying.

[mcmansionhell]

Coronagrifting: A Design Phenomenon

We now interrupt our regularly scheduled content to bring you a critical essay on the design world. I promise you that this will also be funny. 

This morning, the design website Dezeen tweeted a link to one of its articles, depicting a plexiglass coronavirus shield that could be suspended above dining areas, with the caption “Reader comment: ‘Dezeen, please stop promoting this stupidity.’”

This, of course, filled many design people, including myself, with a kind of malicious glee. The tweet seemed to show that the website’s editorial (or at least social media) staff retained within themselves a scintilla of self-awareness regarding the spread a new kind of virus in its own right: cheap mockups of COVID-related design “solutions” filling the endlessly scrollable feeds of PR-beholden design websites such as Dezeen, ArchDaily, and designboom. I call this phenomenon: Coronagrifting. 

I’ll go into detail about what I mean by this, but first, I would like to presenet some (highly condensed) history. 

From Paper Architecture to PR-chitecture

Back in the headier days of architecture in the 1960s and 70s, a number of architectural avant gardes (such as Superstudio and Archizoom in Italy and Archigram in the UK) ceased producing, well, buildings, in favor of what critics came to regard as “paper architecture.” This “paper architecture” included everything from sprawling diagrams of megastructures, including cities that “walked” or “never stopped” - to playfully erotic collages involving Chicago’s Marina City. Occasionally, these theoretical and aesthetic explorations were accompanied by real-world productions of “anti-design” furniture that may or may not have involved foam fingers. 

Archigram’s Walking City (1964). Source.

Paper architecture, of course, still exists, but its original radical, critical, playful, (and, yes, even erotic) elements were shed when the last of the ultra-modernists were swallowed up by the emerging aesthetic hegemony of Postmodernism (which was much less invested in theoretical and aesthetic futurism) in the early 1980s. What remained were merely images, the production and consumption of which has only increased as the design world shifted away from print and towards the rapidly produced, easily digestible content of the internet and social media. 

Architect Bjarke Ingels’s “Oceanix” - a mockup of an ecomodernist, luxury city designed in response to rising sea levels from climate change. The city will never be built, and its critical interrogation amounts only to “city with solar panels that floats bc climate change is Serious”  - but it did get Ingels and his firm, BIG, a TED talk and circulation on all of the hottest blogs and websites. Meanwhile, Ingels has been in business talks with the right-wing climate change denialist president of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro. (Image via designboom) 

Design websites are increasingly dominated by text and mockups from the desks of a firm’s public relations departments, facilitating a transition from the paper-architecture-imaginary to what I have begun calling “PR-chitecture.” In short, PR-chitecture is architecture and design content that has been dreamed up from scratch to look good on instagram feeds or, more simply, for clicks.  It is only within this substance-less, critically lapsed media landscape that Coronagrifting can prosper.

Coronagrifting: An Evolution

As of this writing, the two greatest offenders of Coronagrifting are Dezeen, which has devoted an entire section of its website to the virus (itself offering twelve pages of content since February alone) and designboom, whose coronavirus tag contains no fewer than 159 articles. 

Certainly, a small handful of these stories demonstrate useful solutions to COVID-related problems (such as this one from designboom about a student who created a mask prototype that would allow D/deaf and hard of hearing people to read lips) most of the prototypes and the articles about them are, for a lack of a better word, insipid. 

But where, you may ask, did it all start?

One of the easiest (and, therefore, one of the earliest) Coronagrifts involves “new innovative, health-centric designs tackling problems at the intersection of wearables and personal mobility,” which is PR-chitecture speak for “body shields and masks.” 

Wearables and Post-ables

The first example came from Chinese architect Sun Dayong, back at the end of February 2020, when the virus was still isolated in China. Dayong submitted to Dezeen a prototype of a full mask and body-shield that “would protect a wearer during a coronavirus outbreak by using UV light to sterilise itself.” The project was titled “Be a Bat Man.” No, I am not making this up. 

Screenshot of Dayong’s “Be a Batman” as seen on the Dezeen website. 

Soon after, every artist, architect, designer, and sharp-eyed PR rep at firms and companies only tangentially related to design realized that, with the small investment of a Photoshop mockup and some B-minus marketing text, they too could end up on the front page of these websites boasting a large social media following and an air of legitimacy in the field. 

By April, companies like Apple and Nike were promising the use of existing facilities for producing or supplying an arms race’s worth of slick-tech face coverings. Starchitecture’s perennial PR-churners like Foster + Partners and Bjarke Ingels were repping “3D-printed face shields”, while other, lesser firms promised wearable vaporware like “grapheme filters,” branded “skincare LED masks for encouraging self-development” and “solar powered bubble shields.” 

While the mask Coronagrift continues to this day, the Coronagrifting phenomenon had, by early March, moved to other domains of design. 

Consider the barrage of asinine PR fluff that is the “Public Service Announcement” and by Public Service Announcement, I mean “A Designer Has Done Something Cute to Capitalize on Information Meant to Save Lives.” 

Some of the earliest offenders include cutesy posters featuring flags in the shape of houses, ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home;” a designer building a pyramid out of pillows ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home”; and Banksy making “lockdown artwork” that involved covering his bathroom in images of rats ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home.” 

Lol. Screenshot from Dezeen. 

You may be asking, “What’s the harm in all this, really, if it projects a good message?” And the answer is that people are plenty well encouraged to stay home due to the rampant spread of a deadly virus at the urging of the world’s health authorities, and that these tone-deaf art world creeps are using such a crisis for shameless self promotion and the generation of clicks and income, while providing little to no material benefit to those at risk and on the frontlines.

Of course, like the mask coronagrift, the Public Service Announcement coronagrift continues to this very day. 

The final iteration of Post-able and Wearable Coronagrifting genres are what I call “Passive Aggressive Social Distancing Initiatives” or PASDIs. Many of the first PASDIs were themselves PSAs and art grifts, my favorite of which being the designboom post titled “social distancing applied to iconic album covers like the beatle’s abbey road.” As you can see, we’re dealing with extremely deep stuff here. 

However, an even earlier and, in many ways more prescient and lucrative grift involves “social distancing wearables.” This can easily be summarized by the first example of this phenomenon, published March 19th, 2020 on designboom: 

Never wasting a single moment to capitalize on collective despair, all manner of brands have seized on the social distancing wearable trend, which, again, can best be seen in the last example of the phenomenon, published May 22nd, 2020 on designboom:

We truly, truly live in Hell. 

Which brings us, of course, to living. 

“Architectural Interventions” for a “Post-COVID World”

As soon as it became clear around late March and early April that the coronavirus (and its implications) would be sticking around longer than a few months, the architectural solutions to the problem came pouring in. These, like the virus itself, started at the scale of the individual and have since grown to the scale of the city. (Whether or not they will soon encompass the entire world remains to be seen.) 

The architectural Coronagrift began with accessories (like the designboom article about 3D-printed door-openers that enable one to open a door with one’s elbow, and the Dezeen article about a different 3D-printed door-opener that enables one to open a door with one’s elbow) which, in turn, evolved into “work from home” furniture (”Stykka designs cardboard #StayTheF***Home Desk for people working from home during self-isolation”) which, in turn, evolved into pop-up vaporware architecture for first responders (”opposite office proposes to turn berlin's brandenburg airport into COVID-19 'superhospital'”), which, in turn evolved into proposals for entire buildings (”studio prototype designs prefabricated 'vital house' to combat COVID-19″); which, finally, in turn evolved into “urban solutions” aimed at changing the city itself (a great article summarizing and criticizing said urban solutions was recently written by Curbed’s Alissa Walker).

There is something truly chilling about an architecture firm, in order to profit from attention seized by a global pandemic, logging on to their computers, opening photoshop, and drafting up some lazy, ineffectual, unsanitary mockup featuring figures in hazmat suits carrying a dying patient (macabrely set in an unfinished airport construction site) as a real, tangible solution to the problem of overcrowded hospitals; submitting it to their PR desk for copy, and sending it out to blogs and websites for clicks, knowing full well that the sole purpose of doing so consists of the hope that maybe someone with lots of money looking to commission health-related interiors will remember that one time there was a glossy airport hospital rendering on designboom and hire them. 

Enough, already. 

Frankly, after an endless barrage of cyberpunk mask designs, social distancing burger king crowns, foot-triggered crosswalk beg buttons that completely ignore accessibility concerns such as those of wheelchair users, cutesy “stay home uwu” projects from well-to-do art celebrities (who are certainly not suffering too greatly from the economic ramifications of this pandemic), I, like the reader featured in the Dezeen Tweet at the beginning of this post, have simply had enough of this bullshit. 

What’s most astounding to me about all of this (but especially about #brand crap like the burger king crowns) is that it is taken completely seriously by design establishments that, despite being under the purview of PR firms, should frankly know better. I’m sure that Bjarke Ingels and Burger King aren’t nearly as affected by the pandemic as those who have lost money, jobs, stability, homes, and even their lives at the hands of COVID-19 and the criminally inept national and international response to it. On the other hand, I’m sure that architects and designers are hard up for cash at a time when nobody is building and buying anything, and, as a result, many see resulting to PR-chitecture as one of the only solutions to financial problems. 

However, I’m also extremely sure that there are interventions that can be made at the social, political, and organizational level, such as campaigning for paid sick leave, organizing against layoffs and for decent severance or an expansion of public assistance, or generally fighting the rapidly accelerating encroachment of work into all aspects of everyday life – that would bring much more good and, dare I say, progress into the world than a cardboard desk captioned with the hashtag #StaytheF***Home. 

Hence, I’ve spent most of my Saturday penning this article on my blog, McMansion Hell. I’ve chosen to run this here because I myself have lost work as a freelance writer, and the gutting of publications down to a handful of editors means that, were I to publish this story on another platform, it would have resulted in at least a few more weeks worth of inflatable, wearable, plexiglass-laden Coronagrifting, something my sanity simply can no longer withstand. 

So please, Dezeen, designboom, others – I love that you keep daily tabs on what architects and designers are up to, a resource myself and other critics and design writers find invaluable – however, I am begging, begging you to start having some discretion with regards to the proposals submitted to you as “news” or “solutions” by brands and firms, and the cynical, ulterior motives behind them. If you’re looking for a guide on how to screen such content, please scroll up to the beginning of this page. 

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If you enjoyed this article, please consider subscribing to my Patreon, as I didn’t get paid to write it.  

[razorblade180-heated]

More

[Smut!]

Midday on Menagerie, Ilia was getting ready for her favorite place, bed! Community service for past mistakes meant getting up so early, so while others days were revving up, hers was coasting down. The young faunus made her way up her massive tree house and walked through the front door. Immediately her shoes came off and postured slouched as she made her way to her couch.

“One more day over with. At least I got lucky and got cargo moving instead of trash.” Her body sunk into the sofa. The peaceful mood of her home wrapped Ilia in comfort. From the gentle sunlight, cool breeze, the delicious smell of pasta coming from the pot simmering on her stove, even the way Sun wore a ridiculous apron as he-

“Wait, what the!?” Her body sprung up onto her feet. “Sun!?”

“Oh hey. Took you long enough.” He smiled, watching Ilia’s face go through a vast amount of expressions before settling on a smile. She gave him a running hug filled with surprised laughter. “Aw, hehe, glad you’re as happy as me.”

“I didn’t know you were visiting. Wait, did I forget something!? Did we plan anything!?”

“No. This is a bonafide surprise from yours truly. How was your day?”

“Same shit different day. Only today is now better than most.” She placed her head against him. “Not that I don’t appreciate the smell of pasta, but I already ate before I got home.”

“That’s fine. Consider it left overs. At least now you have more than takeout for a while.”

“Takeout is perfectly fine. I’m gonna change into something comfortable. I expect no more lifestyle judgments when I get back.” Ilia took off down the hall and into her room.

“What’s the point of a dirty clothes hamper if you put the clothes next to it?” Sun snickered, waiting for Ilia’s face to pop out of the doorway. He wasn’t disappointed for a second to see her squint at him.

“Don’t enter my room like you own the place!”

xxxxx

Time seemed to go by a little quicker when Sun was around. Afternoon had arrived in the blink of an eye with the sky turning shades of red and purple. Ilia had made herself cozy yet again on the couch but with Sun acting as a big spoon. The white t-shirt and light blue basketball shorts she had chosen made cooling of all the more easier. This moment should’ve been perfect, yet… it wasn’t. Sun never did anything without a reason. As much as she enjoyed this surprise visit, something had to have sparked it. Ilia turned her body towards him and studied his gaze before it was directed towards her with curiosity.

“What’s up?”

“You tell me. You look a little tired, Sun. What’s eating at you?”

“Me? Nothing. The flight was longer than usual so I guess I’m a bit tired-” Her right hand held his face. Sun looked into grayish-blue eyes and found himself sighing.

“Hey, aren’t you the one always telling me to lean on you when I need to? Don’t try the cool guy act. You can lean on me too.”

“I know. I… it’s hard to explain.”

“Was it a fight with Neptune?”

“No, nothing like that. Honestly, I just really, really missed you is all.” His arm draped over her back, keeping her close. “I know it sounds a bit silly but lately I keep missing you.”

Now that was a shock. “Missing me?” Ilia blushed watching Sun rest his head on her while his arms hugged her body gently, “S-Sun?”

“Outside of meetings twice a month and calls, I go about my normal routine. Missions, hangout spots, it all feels like a loop recently; and all I want is the thing that makes it all worthwhile. The time with you just never feels like enough. My head has tons of things to think about but it wants you to be a part of all of them.”

“What’s so silly about that?” Ilia pulled Sun away to get a good look at his face. There was sadness, a longing in his eyes. One she easily recognized. She pressed her forehead against his. The warmth of his body swallowed her whole, drawing her in and erasing the loneliness she saw in him. “I miss you everyday, but it makes these moments all the more worthwhile.”

The typically cheerful blonde remained silent, basking in this moment. Without words, they both leaned in gently to kiss briefly. Seconds after, they found themselves once again getting lost in each other’s looks; the mutual feelings making Sun give Ilia a longer, more passionate kiss that she gladly melted into. His lips alone made her heart flutter. Sun really missed her, more than ever. The shift in his weight turned them over until Ilia was under him. Her hands came around his back and her voice escaped from her the longer their kiss. She had no intent on denying him, but even so, the feeling of Sun tenderly nipping her bottom lip and playing with her tongue made her body feel weak with pleasure.

“He’s so…vulnerable.” She felt his hands grab her legs, propping them up on either side of his body before sliding them up under the shorts, gripping her hips the way she liked. This desire he had for her filled Ilia’s thoughts. “Maybe, I’m not loving him enough? No, stop that. You know he doesn’t think that. Still…” Their lips found a moment to separate for a moment of air. “Sun, am I loving you right?” Her voice was soft and a bit pleading from all the kissing.

Sun gave a soft smile. His hand ran through her long brown hair as he kissed her forehead. “Your love is perfect. It’s why I want more. Ilia, I want to be with you more. I want to love you more. Everything about you, I just…” his thumb traced over her lips, “want more.” And so he went for it. Sun continued to kiss the woman who stole his mind and claimed his heart. He felt her fingers grip his short and tug it until it fell off his shoulders. Sun found the patience to stop again in order to remove it altogether. Not that it took long.

Ilia in her flustered state took the break as a moment to calm her beating heart. She slipped out of her t-shirt no problem and let out a yelp feeling Sun raise her hips. He pulled down her shorts, tossing them on the ground and leaving her in dark blue lace panties. Ilia felt her heart rate quicken the moment his fingers slid in between her labia.

“Ahn~”

“You’re already this wet. Not to mention wearing something like this is never your first pick.” Sun leaned closer over Ilia, who’s eyes fought desperately not to close. “Are you wearing these for me?”

“You…ah- know the answer, jerk.” She moaned, arms holding him close again. A sudden burst of pleasure and slight pain hit her neck as she felt his teeth gently bite the sensitive flesh, marking her. The heat of his mouth on her was second only to his tender rubbing along her slit. Her hips raised instinctively and Sun took the opportunity to pull her panties away. Ilia was so caught up in all these little actions that her body tensed the moment she felt the head of his aching dick press at her entrance.

Her face may have been hidden over his shoulder, but it made hearing her contained whimpers all the sweeter as rolled his hips forward; opening her up agonizingly slow as he was greeted with warmth and her walls pulling him in until Sun completely buried himself inside her. Sun didn’t even have the strength to pull more than halfway out before sinking back into her again and again, picking up the pace after each thrust. Ilia’s whimpers grew louder until she began panting.

Sounding needy was always what Ilia tried avoiding, but that became increasingly difficult when there was someone who didn’t think twice about expressing theirs. The sound of Sun’s lustful groans and erotic breathes hitting her ear only turned Ilia on. How he was able to be so shameless about it was beyond her, but she never wanted him to stop. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t feel like flames. The body pressed against her, the lips that devoured her neck, and most of all, the rock hard length that filled her up to the point her waist felt numbingly good. Somehow…it just kept digging into the exact same spot.

“W..Wait! I’m…ngh~” her toes curled against the couch. Despite her attempt at words, her body didn’t want him to stop. Sun finally pulled away from her neck but went straight back to assaulting her mouth. Her entire body shivered from him dominating and stealing her tongue from her control. If that wasn’t bad enough, Sun took liberty of pulling her left arm off his body,taking her hand in his to hold against the couch. Ilia could no longer put up a fight. Her body all but melted into the couch as her heart danced and voice let out a muffled cry while her legs trembled throughout her orgasm.

Sun winced, his girlfriend squeezing him in every way. He stood on his knees to give her space to actually breathe, her chest constantly falling from all their kissing. The freckles on her face were red and though she didn’t look at him, she refused to let go of his hand. Not that he wanted her to. Sun groaned, pulling out of her, his own climax still far away. That was fine, because he wasn’t done seeing her like this.

Ilia’s head was slowly getting itself together. They’ve had memorable times but that felt good. Like…drunk sex kind of good. Her mind barely registered watching Sun reach down for his jeans and pulled out a condom he swiftly tore open with his teeth before rolling it over his cock. Ilia couldn’t comprehend fast enough on what went through her own mind let alone Sun’s as he grinded against her sensitive pussy. That was…until he slowly dragged it down a bit lower than expected. The haze Ilia experienced cleared the same time her heart skipped a beat and blush overtook her face. “Wait are you-” was all she got out before her voice gave out, her lungs exhaling everything in her as she felt her ass accommodate Sun’s throbbing cock. A guttural moan rose from the base of her throat. Ilia’s eyes shut tightly and her back arched, unable to fall back down to the couch thanks to Sun holding it in place.

He managed to free his other hand to grab her waist in order to themselves, then, he fucked her just how she loved it. Unlike with her pussy, Ilia wanted it rough and hard here; her dirty little secret that she hated to admit. Sun’s moans were drowned out by Ilia’s cry of ecstasy. “There’s those moans I love.” Ilia did nothing to stop them but that didn’t stop her from placing her arms over her eyes while her entire body went pink with bright red freckles.

She’ll kill him. This time for sure she’ll do it! There wasn’t a nerve in her body that wasn’t feeling him ravage her completely, sending her into bliss too strong for her to think. Sun was giving it to her without a second thought. His hips smacked against her ass. The hand on her hip went down to her leg and raised it until her foot was over his shoulder. It wasn’t too much of a change until he leaned forward ever so slightly and plunged deeper.

“AHHH! FUCK~ SUN!” Tears welled up. Ilia turned her head towards the couch pillow and bit down, hard.

Sun listened to all of her gasps, moans, and whimpers; each one spurring him on while he watched her pussy flow like a river. He wasn’t even touching it anymore but it twitched violently with each thrust he gave. He dared to press a single finger into the nectar and feel it grip him while her hips began shaking. “That’s right! Cum whenever you’re ready. I’m so close~” he sped up again.

Ilia felt herself get dizzy, the haze returning stronger than before until everything went white. Any feeling of embarrassment was pushed away, and Ilia screamed into the pillow like it actually did anything. She felt the condom inside her begin to swell with Sun’s cum that felt hot and heavy enough to burst right through it. Thankfully it appeared to stay contained. Ilia’s body went limp, exhausted from her second orgasm. A small moan left her lips feeling Sun leave her body as he placed her softly on the couch. Ilia couldn’t decide what was worse. The fact that yelling at him would hurt right now, or the fact she didn’t want to yell at him at all. She finally looked at him, eyes half opened and still riding her high. She saw just how sweaty he had gotten and the used condom already safely put aside for the moment. He was still right in between her legs with a gaze that saw only her.

“Ilia…”

“I know.” She cooed. His eyes said it all, and she knew hers did the same. Her arms reached out, inviting him back into her grasp. “I want more of you too.” This time their kisses were less hungry but still every bit as passionate. Right down to the way she moaned his name as Sun slid right back inside her soaked core. Ilia could feel every inch of him glide effortlessly through her in great detail. Somehow he felt bigger than earlier.

“Are you okay?” He could feel her quiver in his arms.

“I’m good. Not so fast this time okay? I want this to last.” It was the truth, but Ilia couldn’t bring herself to mention that she wouldn’t be able to withstand another intense round. It was already challenging to not cum on the spot. Sun listened to her request, rolling his hips into her like waves swaying a boat. “Yeah. Like that.” She gasped, hugging him. Her legs looked locked around his lower back before getting washed away in the moment. She felt her lips graze his again multiple times, continuously demanding attention.

Sun laughed as he felt Ilia’s hands comb through his hair. The moans she tried hiding were all to clear for him. As was her trembling pussy. With each move, he felt her clench tighter and kiss a little deeper. “Cumming again?” Just asking made Ilia hold on tightly. “I’m close too. Cum if you need to.”

“No.” Her voice whined, happily tired. “I wanna cum with you.” The weight of his cock pressed straight down into her, throbbing immensely in a way that made her overwhelmingly weak. His raspy breathing hit her ear.

“I love you.” Sun gasped, his limit finally reached. He pressed his hips right up against Ilia’s, burying his cock in her as he came. Ilia’s limps clung to him for dear life. The way he felt her insides wring him out as Ilia let out a voiceless cry sent him completely over the edge.

Ilia desperately wanted to return his words but try as she might, all she could was hold him close while her body let her orgasm rush through her body, and even down Sun’s shaft. She could still feel it giving her everything it had until it finally stopped, softening enough to slip out of her. Her legs finally freed her blonde, but his body remained on her; Sun’s head on her chest while he still groaned from the pleasure. He didn’t meet her gaze but his arms still held her close. Ilia could see his ears burn bright red. Giggling to herself, Ilia rubbed the top of his head. Now he was embarrassed?

“Sigh, so needy, but who am I to talk?” Ilia put her other arm around him. “I love you too.”

xxxxx

After a well deserved and comforting moment in her arms, Sun sat at the dinner table across from her. A little embarrassed from earlier, he wanted to talk to Ilia but the girl silently stuffed her face with pasta and avoided his gaze. He wanted to believe his cooking was just that good but the fact her skin was still pink gave him other thoughts.

“Maybe I went a little overboard this time?” Watching her flustered face pout from his actions was always cute, but he did feel a little guilty. After all…he did go for all of her this time around. “Ummm.” He didn’t know what to say.

Ilia traced her fork around the plate. By no means was she upset at him. It was just hard to say anything when what happened was on repeat in her head. For both their sakes she worked up the will to speak. “Two weeks.”

“Huh?” Sun watched Ilia’s cheeks get redder. “Two weeks?”

“Yeah. That’s how long I have left until my community service is officially down. So….maybe we should celebrate? A proper vacation, just you and me.” Her eyes finally met his, “I want it too ya know? Being with you more I mean. I…can’t think of anything better; coming home to see you here made me really happy. So let’s plan a long vacation together.”

Sun got up from his seat and walked over to her. Ilia could see the joy in his eyes and the gentle smile on his face made her lips curl up. She closed eyes, already knowing he was going to kiss her. It was just as lovely as all the others that came before and would be as incredible as the ones bound to come after. She opened her eyes to look up at him, his forehead against hers.

“Let’s do it.” He cuffed the side of her face, watching her lean into it. “Ilia?”

“Hmmm?”

“I don’t think I can let you sleep tonight.”

Honestly, what was she going to do with him? It was like his love was spilling over, and so was hers.

“Okay❤️”

[lilyclawthorne]

Pepa & Lillith for character meme

I’m glad my love of the owl house hasn’t been forgotten despite this blogs change

Pepa

1- Favourites thing(s) about this character?

She’s a lot of fun! I like her energy. She makes me love the color yellow again. She’s very pretty. I love her outfit. I love her personality. She was an initial favorite of mine as well because I was really interested in her gift, and the subsequent anxiety and emotional issues she clearly has because of it. I love her relationship with Félix. We don’t see too much about her with Dolores and Camilo, but we see how much she cares when she’s worrying about Antonio. Also love that she’s absolutely ready to give in and talk about Bruno despite acting like she didn’t want to.

2- What song(s) remind you of this character?

I have a few, but I’m gonna say Second Child, Restless Child by The Oh Hellos for now.

3- Do you like this character?

Pls look at my url. Look at my icon. Look at my top posts. You tell me.

4- Would you write about this character?

I have and will continue to do so!

5- What do you not like about this character?

How dare you ask me that

6- Favourite thing this character has said?

I answered this here

7- What do you like most about this character?

Her frazzled anxious energy was something I related too tbh! Then the more I paid attention to her every time I rewatched, I just fell in love with her personality and her ways of showing affection, as well as her kinda petty and dramatic nature!

8- Do you think this character is underrated or overrated?

Refer to question 6

9- What’s your favourite headcanon(s) for this character?

I know a lot of people say they believe she actually is in control of the weather, but she lets her emotions control her. I think her emotions DO control the weather, but the actual problem is the way she’s been taught to associate different types of weather with specific emotions. If she could see the positives and negatives of all weather, it would allow her better control no matter what emotion she’s feeling.

10- Who do you like to ship with this character? (If you do of course) Is it another character from the cast or is it an OC?

Me. Félix of course.

11- Who do you not like to ship with this character?

I thin we know the answer by now based on the rest of these character asks.

12- Have you read any fics about this character? (if it’s not an OC)? Can you recommend anything good?

Bestie buckle tf up

First of all, shameless self promos here:

Clear Skies

No Clouds Allowed In The Sky

Now for others:

Should I Be Worried?

I Still Love The Rain

Bracing For The Winds I Always Summon

Rebellious Teenagers

Positively Beaming

Come Into The Light

After Everything, There’s Still You

the constellations shift

Can’t Hear The Miracle

Clear Skies, Pepa Madrigal

little cloud

14- What outfit would you really like to see this character wear? Or what’s your favourite outfit of theirs?

Pls I’m just in love with her dress, and all the little details in it. The sun pattern around her neck, the lighting bolts on the hair band and near the bottom of the skirt, the ver subtle raindrop pattern across most of the dress. It’s got a lot of cool details

16- What do you think would improve this character? Like, character-arc wise?

We can probably assume how she got to suppressing her emotions, and how clear skies became her thing to calm down, but I think I’d be interesting to learn more about the events in her life that lead to her feeling unable to really express herself.

17- Have you ever had a crush on this character…?

Look at me. Look me in the eyes. Look at my blog. You have your answer.

18- What’s something you associate this character with? E.g. a certain colour, object or scenery?

Sounds of thunder, sun showers, the whole spectrum of colors in a sunrise or sunset, braided hair, the feeling of laying on the pavement while it rains, the sound of raindrops hitting the roof, bright yellow, sunflowers,

19- What would the show/book/movie be like if this character wasn’t present? (if it’s not an OC)

Who else is gonna lead her whole half of the family in a choreographed musical number to tell Mirabel about Bruno?? Julieta?? I think not! We need Pepa so she can learn more about Bruno.

21- Wild card! Talk about anything to do with this character! Anything at all!

I’d really like to explore her relationship with Julieta more as well. I think they would’ve been compared to each other often as kids, with Julieta being favored by others, and I think Pepa would have some built up resentment about it, even if she doesn’t want to. It’d be interesting to see them talk it out. I also think Julieta may have missed out on a lot of her childhood for the sake of Bruno and Pepa, and this could be something Pepa never really realized, so I’d be interested in how that kind of talk would go down as well.

Lilith Clawthorne

1- Favourites thing(s) about this character?

I love a good morally gray character, especially one who starts on the bad side and realizes what they’ve done wrong, and strives to improve themself! I love how she’s become a happier person, and has really shown more of her true personality after leaving the Emperor’s Cult Coven. She fucked up real bad, but overall she truly deeply cares about her sister.

2- What song(s) remind you of this character?

I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young

3- Do you like this character?

Yes absolutely! A fave from the owl house. I’ve literally cosplayed her.

4- Would you write about this character?

I have already!! Several fics about her on my ao3, they’re not the greatest but they sure are there.

5- What do you not like about this character?

Lilith, honey, bby, you’re a little dumb. This whole mess could’ve been avoided if you just talked to your sister as kids. Also you tried to chase fire bees with a wooden stick. I love you still tho.

6- Favourite thing this character has said?

“I am a witch, UNHINGED!” But also at the end of Separate Tides you can hear her say “things are finally starting to feel alright again” and i love that cause you have to wonder how many years it’s been since she’s been able to feel that way, like 30+ probably.

7- What do you like most about this character?

She’s complex, and while she can never undo the things she did, I think she’s really genuinely trying to be better for her sister, for the people around her and for herself as well.

8- Do you think this character is underrated or overrated?

Hmm not one or the other, She got a LOT of hate in season 1, but now a lot of people love her.

9- What’s your favourite headcanon(s) for this character?

Omg it’s been awhile since I’ve had to think about this. Always a fan of the idea that she had a petty past relationship with Odalia, and the two fucking hate each other now. It makes for good humor. Also I love the headcanon that Lux gave Lilith the low battery shirt, told Eda the joke, and Lilith still has no clue what the joke is.

10- Who do you like to ship with this character? (If you do of course) Is it another character from the cast or is it an OC?

Lilith x self-improvement

11- Who do you not like to ship with this character?

Belos, Hooty.

12- Have you read any fics about this character? (if it’s not an OC)? Can you recommend anything good?

It’s been awhile but here’s some good ones I remember

Famous Last Words

Heavy Is The Head That Wears The Crown

we can’t function alone

living arrangements, shovel talks

Accidentally An Aunt

14- What outfit would you really like to see this character wear? Or what’s your favourite outfit of theirs?

Give me them a badass new wild witch Lilith outfit okay!! The battery shirt is humorous, but I need her to kick it up a notch and accept her newfound wild witch nature and look like a bad ass like Eda.

16- What do you think would improve this character? Like, character-arc wise?

She had many opportunities to talk with her sister before things got so much worse. I’d love to see her become someone who takes action way more often, and doesn’t hesitate because she’s scared of what will happen to her.

17- Have you ever had a crush on this character…?

yes absolutely!

18- What’s something you associate this character with? E.g. a certain colour, object or scenery?

Royal blue, round glasses, ravens, well-loved books and well-used notebooks, night skies,

19- What would the show/book/movie be like if this character wasn’t present? (if it’s not an OC)

Would Eda even be the Owl Lady?

21- Wild card! Talk about anything to do with this character! Anything at all!

Tbh I’m still worried that since she went to be with her mother, that it’s a way to keep audiences from really thinking about what she’s up to/worrying about her, and then bam we gonna found out she’s held hostage by the Emperor’s Coven or something. Especially cause I think Belos may have a stronger grudge against her for betraying him.

[blxetsi]

Imagine pampering Reiner. I would love to kiss him silly 🙈 is it obvious he’s my favorite character?

id like to kiss him silly too 🤩🤚 tysm for the request !!!

pampering reiner after a long day (modern au)

warnings: taking care of ur man 😁👍 uhh construction worker!reiner (of age, obv), gn!reader, face care n shit idk, cute names like baby and love, mentions of sexual harrasment/assault in a workplace.

living in the city had it ups and downs. well, so did everything in life, but you never really thought about that until you moved into the city. you and reiner both came from a small town, and then went to the same college in a bigger town, before you two decided to move to the big city together. downs happened more often than ups, but anything was an up if you were with reiner. rent was expensive, especially for the shoebox of an apartment you two live in, but youve both made it into your home, a cozy little sanctuary away from the rest of this chaotic world. another down was that the city never sleeps, someone, somewhere was always working, and you too found yourself taking nightshifts at the diner you worked at. it was minimum wage, and middle aged men and women would come in and flirt (more like harass), but your coworkers were nice, and if you made sure to dress up a bit you'd get a fat tip.

you and reiner originally thought that you'd get well paying jobs as soon as you moved into the city, which was a lie. considering the time, effort, and money you both put into getting your degrees, you thought you were more than qualified for certain jobs, but you werent, and that sucked, and now your boyfriend over works himself physically building houses while you let freaks make weirdly sexual comments about you so you can earn more money. it sucks on both ends, but you know that you'd do anything to be with reiner, so you could take a couple of gropes and sleazy jokes.

today you had gotten off work early, your boss closing the store because of a family emergency. you felt bad for the man, he was nice, and offered to switch you to dish duty when he'd seen older people be weird with you, you'd declined knowing that you wouldn't earn as much in the back. he was a family man, and generous, and cared about others, which was a nice change from other employers in the past. you were surprised reiner wasn't home yet, because today was friday, and he usually got off fridays around six, but now it was almost nine, and you were starting to get a bit worried.

just as you started gnawing on your lip, your phone vibrated beside you. grabbing it you saw it was reiner calling you, and quickly paused your episode of shameless to answer. "rei, where are you ?"

"just got off work baby." he sighed.

he sounded exhausted, and you could hear cars honking so you knew he was outside.

"do you need me to come get you ?"

"no, its okay. jack's giving me a ride home."

you let out a breath, at least he didn't have to wait for the bus, getting a ride meant he'd be home faster. "okay my love. you want me to run you a bath for when you come home ?" you knew how sore reiner got from working, and being out in the sun all day. with the weather becoming warmer it would become harder on him, and he'd always forget to wear sunscreen which meant he'd burn.

he let out a soft moan. "that sounds great baby, thank you so much."

you heard talking from his end, assuming it was jack. you tried to keep listening but reiner's voice cut in again. "only ten more minutes and im back to you."

you smiled, getting excited that he'd be here so soon. "okay lovey, i'll get that bath started. i love you."

you could hear his smile on the other end. "i love you too baby, thank you so much."

you quickly said your goodbyes before hanging up, cutting him off. you felt a bit bad but quickly brushed it off as you walked to your bathroom. you got everything together, moving from the bathroom to your bedroom and back again. you set out a clean towel, a pair of sweats and a white tank top for him, as well as a hoodie if he was cold. you filled up the tub, making sure it was hot, before adding a cup of epsom salt and stirring it around with your hand. you got up again, going to the kitchen area of your little home and filling up a cup with a jug of cold water from the fridge. you brought it back to the small bathroom, sitting it on the tank cover of the toilet. he needed to be hydrated.

you were changing the sheets of your shared bed when you heard the from door open, close, then lock. reiner dropped his backpack and toed off his shoes. he hung up his jacket before slowly walking around the apartment, cracking his neck and stretching his arms above his head. "baby ? where are you ?"

"in here rei, just changing the sheets." you called out. you could hear his heavy footsteps make his way down the hall towards you.

he thought you looked beautiful. dressed in just a tee shirt (his tee shirt) and plaid pyjama pants, the lights from the city reflecting all around the room and on your body, a small lamp which casted a soft warm glow around the room, made your eyes shine.

"you don't have to change the sheets baby." he whispered, making his way over to you. he helped you put the comforter over the bed. a simple grey colour, which matched the baby pink sheets and pillow cases.

"i wanted to. you always feel good sleeping in new sheets." you answered, making your way around the bed to him. you wrapped your arms around his torso while he wrapped his around your shoulders, pulling you close and kissing your head. he sighed, and just held you while you rubbed his back.

"your bath is ready, and i left you clothes for you there too." you whispered. he hummed in response before squeezing you tighter.

"i missed you so much." his words were soft, but held a lot of weight, and your heart hurt because you knew he was working himself to the bone.

"it's okay baby, i'm here now."

he nodded before kissing your head again. he smelt your hair, sighing before pulling back to look at your face. "did you shower ?"

"when i got home, yeah."

"okay. i won't be long then."

you shook your head, moving your arms so you could hold his face in your hands. "no rei, take all the time you need. i'll wait for you." you knew that reiner was too tired to fight you on that, so he simply nodded, giving you a soft kiss before stripping down to his underwear and leaving the room.

you put his clothes in the hamper, putting his wallet on his bedside table and plugging his phone in to charge. then you opened up the window so the cool breeze could come in, you knew reiner liked the room to be a bit cooler at night.

slowly you made your way to the bathroom, peaking in to see him in the bath, the water up to his neck as he was almost fully submerged. his eyes were closed and his breathing was slow, you could see his tan lines from working. his muscles that bulged even when relaxed and the crinkles in his eyes from smiling so much, even when he was so young. his stuble which was just a bit darker than his sandy blond hair, and his calloused hands from his labour, wrapped around his torso in a hug. those hands that held you, that protected you, that tickled you, that loved you. you never got to admire reiner often, usually because he'd notice early on and tell you to stop, he'd get all flustered and his face would turn red, getting all blushy that his lover wanted to look at how beautiful he was. and he was, reiner was gorgeous, and its a blessing to call him yours.

his voice was raspy from not speaking for so long. "baby, stop looking at me like that." you could see the apples of his cheeks turn pink while his lips quirked up into a small.

"i can't help it, you're just so pretty." you replied, walking into the small bathroom and closing the door behind you. it took less than two steps to get towards him, and you crouched down beside the tub to look at him closer.

he slowly opened his eyes, like he was in a daze, before peeling an arm away from his body and holding it out for you to take. you grabbed his hand with both of yours, rubbing his palm and fingers while you softly kissed his knuckles. you two never looked away as you did so, relishing in the soft moment together.

he closed his eyes again, and sighed while moving deeper into the tub, making the water go from his neck to his chin, and his long legs stick out of the water at the knees. "you know that face mask you have baby ? the one that peels off and makes your face smooth ?" he asked, his voice echoing throughout the room.

"yeah," you mumbled against his hand. "you wanna use it ? want me to put it on for you ?"

he nodded. you slowly put his hand back into the water before crawling to the cabinet under the sink, reaching for your peel off face mask, you turned around and went back to your love, shifting as close as you could ger before the toilet got in the way, before opening the tube and squeezing some onto your hand. the clear gel felt cool on your finger tips, and you rubbed it along both pointer and middle finger on your two hands, before leaning over the side of the tub and rubbing some on his face. you made sure to keep it away from his facial hair and his eyebrows. after rubbing it in you rinsed your hands off in the bathwater, before moving them to hold reiner's hand again. "if you cant peel some if it off after its dry just rinse with warm water, okay ?" reiner nodded before squeezing your hand. "thank you baby."

you two sat in silence for a couple of minutes, just listening to each others breathing and the slight swish of the water. "i'm gonna make some tea, would you like any ?" you asked.

reiner shook his head. "i'll just steal a sip of yours."

you chuckled before kissing the back of his hand, a smile on your face. "okay my love, i'll wait for you in the bedroom."

he leaned over quickly, grabbing your face with his free hand and giving you a soft kiss, over and over again. his lips were a bit chapped, which caused your own to tickle, but to him it felt great. this was so domestic, so simple, it made him feel safe, it made reiner forget all about his horrible day. all he could think about was you, all he could feel was you.

because of your kiss some of the product from his face mask had transferred onto yours, causing him to giggle before wiping it away with his pruny hand. "i love you so much baby. i'm so happy to be with you." he whispered, his face millimetres from your own.

"thank you rei, i love you too." you responded. you loved him so much, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. and you're sure you will.

you pecked his lips before kissing his hand one more time, then you got up and left the bathroom, reiner's eyes on you as you went.

you went about tidying up the living room, putting away reiner's dinner on the table (if he didn't scarf it down when he came in, you knew he wouldn't touch it until tomorrow) turning off the tv and folding up the blanket you were snuggled up with on the couch almost an hour ago.

you quickly boiled your water for your tea, getting out your favourite mug and putting the tea bag in. then you went into your bedroom, where you moved through the open window to sit on the fire escape. the breeze of the night brought with it a chill, and you wished you'd brought that blanket with you. the lights and the cars moving down brought comfort to you. after living here for over a year, the noise became berable to you, just second nature.

you could hear faint shuffling inside the bedroom, before reiner's head popped out of the window. "i was looking everywhere for you."

you gave him a sheepish smile. "sorry my love, would you like to join me ?" he nodded and crawled out of the window too, which was a bit hard considering his long limbs. he sat down beside you, his skin looking soft and smooth, his hair wet and all dressed in his hoodie and sweats.

the two of you huddled together, watching people walk by and cars drive around, looking into the windows of other apartments and stores, seeing if you could see the people inside doing weird things. you two passed the mug of tea between each other, before all that was left was the wet tea bag at the bottom of the cup. reiner reached up and set it on the window sill, before pulling you into his side by your shoulders.

"do your muscles hurt still ?" you asked.

reiner shook his head before replying. "not anymore, thank you again for the bath."

you giggled, turning your head to look up at him, he looked down at your own head, resting on his shoulder, and matched the smile that painted your lips. "you don't have to thank me so much silly, i love taking care of you."

he rubbed his nose against your own. "i love taking care of you too. which is why i was thinking of looking for a new job."

your eyes opened again and he watched your reaction closely. "that tech company near downtown, they're looking for a new software developer. i've already set up an interview, i just didn't know when to tell you." he whispered.

your eyes lit up as you smiled again, leaning up and smacking kisses all over his face. he let out a loud laugh before cupping your face with his hand, guiding your head away from his own so he could speak, but you started talking before that could happen. "i'm so happy for you. i hate seeing you come home so tired and in pain."

he nodded. "and i hate seeing you come home with a new story of some creep making moves on the love of my life." he replied, giving you a soft kiss.

you two sat in silence again. reiner felt happy that you weren't upset about his idea for a new job, he had a degree, and a great mind, and he somehow knew he'd get this job.

"y'know," you started. "that new art museum that opened near the science centre, they're hiring too. said on their website they're looking for tour guides."

reiner pulled you closer to him, if that was even possible. "baby you'd be great at that. you know so many art things."

"'art things?'" you laughed. "yeah, maybe i'll call and see if i could get an interview."

reiner nodded. "that sounds great baby. but tomorrow, your tea made me so sleepy and now i just wanna sleep." you shook your head with a chuckle before pecking him on the lips again.

you two made your way inside, closed the window, and got ready for bed. while you put the mug back into the kitchen sink, reiner took off his hoodie and unfolded the comforter from the bed, ready to get under. when you came back inside you shut off the lamp and got in beside him, where reiner immediately pulled you into his chest.

your head rested on his bare pec, and you could hear his heart thumping. he was calm, content, and happy with you in his arms. and you two went to bed that night with dreams about your future together.

not me going overboard with that one 😁👍 anyways love u all stay safe requests r open 😍🙏

[pseudofaux]

headcanons for comte, dazai, + your choice when they hear their s/o having a spicy dream next to them?

Oooooooh, I like this one a lot, and I liked it even more when I saw this follow up:

THANK YOU! 🥰 Ohohohoho, gonna have a field day with this one. This is a really great request, thanks for including my two favorites in there and letting me choose the third! 😚 Dazai’s gets a little dark/jealous and Mozart’s is... different... so if that’s not to your tastes, may wanna skip them (there are clear breaks between each character). I guess cw on all of these that I took the requester’s (A+) ask to heart. These situations are all in partnered relationships of great care and regard, but explicit consent is not here by the nature of the request. No one is in danger, these characters would never hurt each other, but these scenarios flirt and high-dive into >> dubcon << territory and two are a little dark. Please don’t read if that’s a fiction combo that makes you uncomfortable.

Comte takes her beauty rest seriously and takes great pride (and pleasure) in giving her the good sleep, so if she seems unsettled in her rest in his arms, he’s immediately alert and peering at her. He’ll brush any hair back from her brow and sniff-nuzzle at her temple like he can catch the scent of her dreams. He might be a bit of a fool generally but never in this: his woman is aroused in their bed, that’s not something a gentleman leaves be. Her rest is important, but her pleasure is paramount.

So he takes a middle path. There are things that he can do, as a pure blood, that lesser vampires cannot. And there are some things he, as himself, can do that others cannot, not even other pure bloods. They include whispering suggestions as he touches her (with so much gentleness and care), little scenes for her mind to make bloom in her dreaming. He thumbs one of her nipples through her nightdress and seeds the spring ground of her sleeping mind with erotic fantasies of being loved in front of a coliseum of people, public and shameless and loud. He brushes the lightest kiss imaginable against the top of her ear and whispers what he’d do to her underwater.

He’s very careful not to wake her. But he does continue to touch her as she relaxes into the dreams, and once she’s cum on his fingers, well. If her beautiful lashes and lips both part in blissful confusion, it’s his responsibility to make sure she closes them right up again, on his kiss, as he reminds her body what they can do in the waking world. Especially in the dark when their bodies are close and warm and she smells like bliss and he aches for her.

—|—

Dazai watches her without interacting. He doesn’t have Comte’s sureness of what’s going on inside her head, but he’s slept with more women so he has some sureness all the same. The tiny, unagonized moans in sleep... he knows what those mean. It makes him playfully, very lightly cruel, because petty jealousy simmers up fast. What’s she dreaming about, hmm? He can’t know it’s him, humans can never know each other’s minds so well. No matter what she’s say upon waking, he actually does try to wake her up, or at least test her wakefulness. He does it in soft ways: a whispered “Toshiko-san?”, a gentle drumming of his fingers on her shoulder. But when that makes her posture fall open in the bed next to him, his golden eyes narrow to see it, and his teeth come out. He puts a hand at either side of her head to hold him body over hers, does not bother to move her slip, and scrapes the top of her shoulder with his fangs, and when that has her whimpering and rubbing her thighs together— maybe one of her hands rubs dreamily as well— he puts just a little more pressure behind his teeth, enough to drag trails of heat over her chest. Whimpering becoming gasping makes him press his mouth to hers, firmly... it’s only the give of the pillows and the way they catch all the pressure that keeps her from waking then. He gets moody and kisses her with the intent of waking her up and fucking her, but her sleepy arms going around his back still him.

I was having the nicest dream, she confesses.

He hmphs.

You were nicer in the dream.

That melts him, and when his fingers touch her they’re mollified and apologetic, and he does what she likes best when he finds how wet she is. He gets her wide awake, so wide awake her eyes go wide for him, and his jealousy seems so silly and so small a thing.

But he keeps fucking her and keeps her awake until the sun rises. Just in case.

—|—

Mozart has zero idea what’s going on, he only knows that she’s not sleeping peacefully. Their hearts are intertwined but they don’t cling to one another in sleep, so he actually turns his back on her at first (!) and tries to go back to sleep himself... until she reaches out for him, hand slapping and then stroking his back when she finds him. Her touch is that way of hers, lingering and warm, and moving down the plane of his back and over his hip. It turns his brain to useless noise and he sputters and turns over before she can reach him. He grabs for her wrists with a frown but her sleeping face is so etched with need— he didn’t know, but now that he looks at her there’s no way not to— and her body is gently undulating on their sheets. He touches his forehead to hers and she’s warm, impassioned. He’s about to tut at her unconscious foolishness and figure out how not to hold this against her when his name comes out of her mouth, as though the breath hopes to travel to his own dreams.

“Wake up,” his whispers. She only sighs and her arm goes lax in his grip— she is somehow never doing as she is told! “Wake up,” he says again, now pleading and far from sure what to do with her.

“Bite,” she moans in her sleep. Never, ever does she do what she is told, what she should. “Please, please.”

Her hand surges forward and he is too stunned at the inhuman quickness to stop her. She throws the arm over him senselessly and seeks out his mouth as though it is some key she needs for an escape neither of them can really see. Her leg gets itself over his hip, unslow and fevered the way they only are with each other. His body goes hot like it must match hers degree for degree, and when she rocks against him he groans and grits out one more “Wake. Up.”

She hum-whines instead, ridiculous in her sleep, and he can stand that even less than her core grinding against him though the satin she wears to bed, all that she is arousing him beyond reason. So he puts his mouth on hers to stop her noise but her lips open and he falls into her mouth like always, seeking her as she sleeps and seeks him.

It doesn’t even work to shut her up, now there are whimpers studding their kisses, pinning all the world in place, especially the two of them tangled in one another. She slides her hand down her back and it is not done with the love she shows when she is awake, it is rapid, a wash of heat against the muscle that protects the side of his ribs. Her hand is already on him before he can do anything but choke out a cry that finishes just in time for her “touch me, too” to register in his useless brain.

What else is there to do? He touches her, fingers finding her sopping and trying to calm her as he arouses her. And he enjoys her touch, the precise feel of her hand a joy that he knows, the way it touches him foreign, proof she is not entirely herself.

She pulls him close, pushes herself closer to him, and uses his body as they continue to kiss, their tongues so much slower than their hands. She is sigh so sweetly and peacefully into his mouth as she fits herself around his fingers and uses the head of his cock against the needy—has he ever known such a need? even for sustenance, or for a perfect arrangement of notes?— crown of her sex and rubs him back and forth until they both begin to shudder. He spills in a mess, ground against her skin, one hand half tucked inside her and the other palming her bottom to keep her close. The stretch of his fingers should not be near as pleasant as he finds it.

Her sigh of his name is so satisfied it is as if some magic cast on her has fled the room and given her back to herself. She murmurs his name and shifts against him. He hates the squelch, sticky and unrefined, but something in the back of his brain itches to see it.

“Wake up or go to sleep,” he tells her. She does not answer, already well beyond him in dreams. Or so he must hope.

So he takes his time and looks his fill.

[f0rever15elf]

They Were Roommates: Part 1

Modern!AU:  Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5  / Part 6 (coming soon) Pairing: Pero Tovar x fem!reader Rating: NC-17 Word count: 9,509 (I ain’t even sorry)  Summary: A dangerous night leads to an interesting living arrangement between you and one grumpy Spaniard. 

Warnings: Violence, blood mention, death mention, alcohol mention, food mention, reader in danger, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, no beta reader, shameless use of the roommates trope

A/N: So this was gonna start out as just a fluffy little fic and then it turned into something a little bit steamier. I have lost all control of these characters, I’m sorry (not really). 

Masterlist |  Ao3

You should have run. You should have turned on your heel and gotten out of there as quick as your legs could have possibly carried you. You knew better than to go sticking your nose into things that could get you in trouble, Dad had raised you better than this. But Mom had raised you with that tender heart and soft soul, and ultimately they won out over your sense of self preservation. And now here you are, surrounded by a group of brutish looking men who all reek of the cheapest vodka you've ever smelt. The contents of your stomach churn as they banter, joking about all of the things they were going to do to you, and tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you do your best to keep your knees from knocking together. 

You should have walked the other way. 

But the man on the ground was being beaten. Five on one was hardly ever a fair fight, no matter how strong and rugged the one seemed. And so you had yelled out to get their attention, telling them to back off. And it got their attention alright. The new target was you, and they wasted no time in cornering you against the brick wall. 

"Please, please just let me go. You can have everything in my purse, and I won't tell anyone about this. Please..." You hate the way your voice sounds when you beg, but if it meant surviving, your pride could take the compromise. The one you could only assume was the ringleader barked out an obnoxious sounding laugh and shook his head. 

"No can do toots. We were getting bored with our little punching bag over there. You showed up at just the right time." The four other goons all chuckle and make various sounds of agreement, closing the circle in on your tighter. Your mouth is dry as the Sahara when you try to swallow and your ears are beginning to ring. 

"P...Please don't do this..." you manage to squeak out as the leader slinks up in front of you, bracing a hand by your head as he stares at you with feral eyes. You close your eyes tightly, trying to shrink away from the stink of cheap booze on his breath when a sharp crack from behind the leader breaks the tension. Your eyes snap open to see the man who they were beating standing there with a short piece of pipe clutched in his hands. In front of him, one of the men lay crumpled and motionless on the ground, red staining the ground around his head. Your stomach couldn't take it any more and you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach right onto the ringleader's shoes. Sputtering and gasping for breath you stand back up as the remaining four descend on the dark haired man, leaving you your opportunity to escape. Dark eyes catch yours for a brief moment before the man nods, swinging his pipe again. You decide that's your cue, and turn tail, taking off into the night.

----

The next morning, the blaring sound of your alarm rouses you from a restless sleep. Resisting the urge to chuck it through your window, you instead turn it off, slamming it back down on the bed side table. Sleep had eluded you in favor of nightmares of the men cornering you. Even in your dreams the smell of alcohol was sharp and nauseating. With a groan and a sigh, you toss back the covers and stumble into the bathroom. 

"...I look like shit." The reflection stares back at you with sunken eyes surrounded in dark circles, her hair an absolute mess. 'Death warmed over' is how your mom would word it, and to be honest, it pretty accurately describes how you're feeling this morning. Did you really need to go to work today? One more glance in the mirror and you decide that is a firm "No." Marcy would understand when you call her about it, you know she would. "I should get cleaned up, at least," you mutter, quickly going about your morning routine. 

The shower certainly helped, and with a little under-eye concealer the bags were mostly hidden. Mostly. Today was a me day, you decide, grabbing your purse and heading out the door. First order of business? Caffeine. 

The little coffee shop down the street was your favorite spot for a decent cup of coffee, and the owners were always so sweet. As the bells in the doorway chimed over your head, Samael, the owner, looked up to greet you, smiling as he recognized you instantly. 

"Well, well, well! Good morning to our favorite regular!" 

"Morning Sam. How are you and Anita doing?" You smile as you approach the counter, already digging out your wallet. 

"Well, today. A bit of a busy morning, but busy is a good thing! Will it be your usual today?"

"Please, with an extra espresso shot."

"Long night?"

"You have no idea." Sam just chuckles and shakes his head, ringing you up before going to make your order, muttering something about what it is to be young as he does. 

With your artificial energy securely in your hands, you make your way outside. The sun was shining brightly today, and a cool breeze kissed your skin, beckoning you to spend time enjoying it. The park it is. Lost in your own thoughts, you didn't even notice the man making his way towards you until it was too late. A hiss leaves your lips as hot coffee drenches the front of your blouse, causing you to jump back. "Son of a-! I am so so sorry!" You look up to see who had been unfortunate enough to wear the other half of your drink and your heart nearly stopped in your chest. "It's...you..." 

"Clumsy," he mutters under his breath before scowling back up to you. "You should be more careful." A heat rises in your cheeks and you clear your throat, readjusting your bag on your shoulder. He had an accent, you noticed. Spanish, perhaps? Regardless, it sounded wonderful coming off of his lips, and almost didn’t match the irritated look he wore. 

"I'm honestly really sorry about that, I wasn't paying attention." The man just grunts in agreement, slipping off his coffee soaked hoodie. 

"Clearly. Like I said, you should be more careful." He stares you down with dark brown eyes and you get the feeling he isn't just talking about the coffee incident. In the daylight, you could finally get a good look at him. Dark, curled hair stuck out in almost every direction on top of his head in an organized chaos. His eyes had a hard edge to them, the edge of a man who had seen too much. His skin had an almost golden hue to it, but the most notable feature was the scar that ran along his left eye, now paired with a blooming black bruise. His lip was split and a bruise was creeping its way along his jawline as well. "It's rude to stare." 

The comment sends a jolt through you and you jump, clearing your throat. "Right, I'm sorry I just...You...you're the guy from last night, right...?" You lower your voice as you ask, worried about someone overhearing, though you weren't sure why. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, staring you down with an intensity that made you feel only inches tall. 

"Maybe." 

"...Thank you, then. For..." you wave your hands, trying to complete your sentence, but the thought of what he had saved you from brought a sour taste to your mouth. 

"We're even." His matter of fact tone catches you off guard and you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, so you close it, kicking the ground. The whole time, his eyes never leave your face. 

"Did you, uhm, get those taken care of?" you ask, gesturing to his face. 

"They'll heal on their own." 

"So, that's a no then. I have a cold compress back at my place. A-and I can wash your hoodie since I got coffee all over it. It's the least I could do." What are you doing? Inviting a strange man over to your place? A man whose name you didn't even know? A man who literally beat someone with a length of pipe right in front of you last night? If Dad could see you now he'd be reading you the riot act for sure. The mystery man just blinks, considering it for a moment. "And I could make us some lunch...?" 

"Sure." Ah, so the way to this man is through his stomach. That's easy enough to handle. You offer him a gentle smile and nod, turning to head back to your apartment, and he follows just behind you, hands still in his pockets and grumpy countenance still on his face. 

The walk is...strange. Not necessarily uncomfortable, but there was a palpable tension in the air between the two of you, and it was clear this man was not going to be initiating any form of conversation. Clutching at your bag, you clear your throat. "I don't think I ever got your name." You look up at him, curiosity in your eyes. 

"Tovar is what most call me." You nod, testing his name on your lips. 

"Tovar...Spanish, right? That sounds like a Spanish name," you muse, and he just makes a grunt of affirmation. Clearly, this man was the pinnacle of conversationalists. The corners of your lips perk up at your own little joke. You offer him your own name and he nods. "Are you from around here?" The look he gives you absolutely screams "what do you think?" and you felt that heat rise in your cheeks again. 

"Spain. The Eastern region. Moved here about a year ago." 

"Well, welcome to The States." You rummage around in your bag, pulling out your keys to let you both in. You kick off your shoes as soon as you cross the threshold and drop your keys in the bowl you keep by the door. "Home sweet home. Pardon the mess, I wasn't expecting to bring someone home today." The man called Tovar was silent, standing in the doorway with an awkward hunch in his shoulders. "You can come in, you know. Make yourself at home. Ah, and I'll take your hoodie." He hands it off to you without question before slipping off his own shoes, following your farther inside. He remains standing, looking over the pictures you have hung over your walls.  When you return from changing into a clean shirt and starting the laundry, he's found one particular picture that he's picked up off the bookcase to look over and you feel your chest tighten.

"That's my parents." Your voice is smaller than you were expecting it to be, and Tovar looks up at you when he hears it before looking back at the picture. "They passed away a couple of years ago. Car accident." He nods, setting the picture back down. 

"You look much like your mother." His observation brought a small smile to your lips as you turned to head into the kitchen. 

"Most people said I looked more like my dad. But I appreciate the compliment. How do some grilled cheeses and tomato soup sound?" He grunts again, coming to sit at the bar that runs along the side of your kitchen. Mulling over what to talk about as you get out everything for lunch, you decide it was best to jump in head first. "What did those men want with you last night?" You hazzard a glance over to him to see him staring at his hand he’s resting on the bar. When he doesn't reply after a moment, you gently call his name and his head snapped up, as if you broke him from a daze.

"The leader owed me money." Now you're really confused. 

"The big one owed you money, but you were the one getting beat up? Isn’t it usually the other way around?" The first sandwich sizzles in the pan as you flip it before looking back over your shoulder. 

"He called his friends to...deter me from taking what I was owed." For some reason, the way he said that made your blood turn to ice in your veins. 

"Ah." What else could be said? It suddenly felt hard to breathe in the little apartment so between sandwiches, you moved to open a window, feeling Tovar's eyes on you the whole time. 

"That... sounded bad, didn't it?" You look back at him as he speaks up, and you could swear you saw a nearly...sheepish...light in his eyes. But as quick as you saw it, it was gone, replaced with that glowering look he always seemed to have.  "I just did some work for him, and he's shorted me in the past so I didn't want it to happen again." You nod, setting a plate and bowl in front of him, for which he thanks you quietly before hunching over his food. Walking around the bar, you set your own food down and sit next to him as he eats like a man who hasn't seen food in weeks. You pick at your sandwich, thinking. 

"Tovar...what is it you do?" You feel his eyes on you again, electing to keep your gaze on your soup. 

"You're awful interested in business that is not yours," he grumbles before taking another bite.  

"Can you blame me? This isn't exactly a normal situation." 

He sets his spoon down and sits back in his chair with a sigh. "I do whatever I can to make ends meet. To get food to eat. To save for a place to live." You splutter into your soup, grabbing a napkin to wipe your mouth before turning back to him. 

"You don't have a place to live? You're homeless?" 

"I am." That matter of fact attitude astounded you. 

"What the...How can you be so...okay with that?" He just shrugs. 

"It's how I've lived for years since I left the Spanish military. No job, no family, no friends, nowhere to go. I came here to see if I could find something else." His eyes leave yours and he picks up the spoon again, playing in the soup. You sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to wrap your mind around this. He was homeless, probably struggled to ever get a good meal which would explain how voracious he was when you put the food in front of him, and had no one. Your heart begins to ache as it always did when you were met with someone in need. 

"I...have a spare room..." The words are out of your mouth before you're able to second guess them. The look of surprise on Tovar's face as he looks up at you makes your heart stutter for a moment. 

"Are you offering it to me...? I can't pay you yet, I have almost no money." You shake your head and wave him off. 

"I'm not looking to make a profit off you, Tovar. If you need a place to stay, you can stay here for as long as you need. Just help out around the house. The nights are gonna start getting colder." 

"Amiga, you are far too trusting." For the first time, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, oh so slight, but you're sure it's there. 

"I know, and my dad is rolling over in his grave because of it." The laugh that leaves your lips is gentle and light and is the closest thing to music Tovar has heard in a long time. Perhaps things would be alright after all. 

---

It’s been almost two months since you invited Tovar into your home, and it’s nearing a point where you’re finding it hard to remember what living alone felt like. Life with him was comfortably simple. He never asked for much, and did as you asked in terms of helping to keep the house clean. Tovar kept odd hours, a by product of taking odd jobs to try and start amassing some semblance of savings, and it wasn't uncommon for you to come home from work to find the grumpy Spaniard knocked out on the couch with the TV on Telemundo. And every time it brought a smile to your face. When he was sleeping, his face looked so much less grumpy, the frown lines smoothing out as he dreams. You would drape a blanket over him and turn off the TV before heading to your own bedroom to sleep. 

What you weren't expecting was after a night of working late to come home to the smell of popcorn. "Tovar..?" You called out, confused. Normally at this time, he was either out on a job or passed out on the couch. 

"Amiga, you're home! Good!" He comes out of the kitchen, a large bowl of popcorn in his arms. You set your purse down by the door, walking over to him with that puzzled look still on your face. 

"Work held me a little late today. What's with the popcorn?" He hands off the bowl to you before grabbing two beers from the fridge. 

"A celebration is in order." 

"Celebration? For what?" 

"As of today, I am employed!" You blink as a slow recognition lights your face. 

"The security detail job got back to you?" The excitement in your voice is unmistakable and he nods, proud. 

"I start tomorrow." 

"Tovar, that's great!" He nods again, grunting as he moves past you to the living room. 

"So tonight, let's watch a movie together to celebrate." He plops himself down on the couch, spreading out and making himself comfortable, drawing a chuckle from your lips as you move to join him. It wasn’t often that he acted happy, usually staying quiet and reserved even when you knew he was excited about something, so this was a welcome change of pace. 

"As you wish," you grin as you set the bowl down before settling in next to him, pulling a throw over your lap. 

"What shall we watch?" he grumbles, flicking through Netflix. You shrug, popping a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth. 

"Dealer's choice, gruñón."  He rolls his eyes at the nickname you had for him before settling on some Spanish flick you had never seen before, remembering to turn on the subtitles for you. Exchanging the remote for his beer, he settles in, turning off the light on the side table and plunging the room into darkness, save the light from the TV. 

You aren't sure when exactly you fell asleep, You really aren't sure when you ended up leaning against Tovar, and you are EXTREMELY unsure as to when his arm found its way around you. The only thing you are sure of is that this grumpy man holding you to him while he slept was one of the most comfortable feelings you had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. At least, that is what your sleepy haze told you. When it finally clicks that you were cuddled up to your roommate, your heart leaps into a sprint and you tense in his arms. You shouldn't be doing this. You were roommates. Oh my god, you were ROOMMATES! This was crossing all sorts of lines! Wiggling slightly, you do your best to try and worm your way out of Tovar's grasp, but the movement stirs him just enough that he grabs you more securely to him, turning you so your cheek presses against his chest. 

"Hermossa..." His words are but a breath on the top of your hair and you freeze, the sound of his heartbeat strong and steady under your ear. Had you heard that right? Maybe it was just the rustling of fabric. Yeah, that was it, the fabric. Heat was rapidly rising in your cheeks and the tips of your ears were on fire, but struggling too much more to get out of Tovar's grasp would surely wake him, and you knew he needed to be well rested for his first day of work. And so you choose to stay in place, cradled against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat strong in your ear, the sound that slowly lulls you back to sleep. 

---

You thought the morning was going to be awkward, but Tovar never gave you the chance. The sun's golden light pouring through your curtains is what wakes you, alone, on your living room couch. Sitting up, you wipe the sleep from your eyes, your cheeks getting hot again as you recall what you woke to earlier that morning. "Tovar...?" You called softly, standing up to look for your roommate, but only finding a note on the kitchen table, telling you that he had headed in to work with an approximation of when he would be home. He must have tucked you in before he left, and this thought did little to cool the heat burning in your cheeks. 

You slap your cheeks quickly, letting out a frustrated groan as you make your way to the bathroom to get cleaned up for your day. You were friends, that's all. Roommates. Sometimes friends fall asleep on each other, no big deal. So why is it that whenever your mind wandered to the thought of being in Tovar's arms, your cheeks grew hot and your pulse quickened? Why was it that the only thing you could bring yourself to think of was how strong and sturdy he felt as he held you to him? Why was "hermosa" said in his sleepy voice the only sound you could hear as you tried to go about your day? Looking into the mirror as the steam slowly starts to fog it up, you had your answer, proudly displayed in the shine in your eyes.

"...Fuck...I'm falling for my roommate..." 

And so, you do the only thing you can think to do when you find yourself bogged down in thought. You clean. Today was an off day for you, so you had all the time in the world, and the countdown to Tovar's return from work was quite possibly the longest countdown you've ever been faced with. All the better to clean with, you decide, throwing on some music. Working from room to room, you clean every surface that COULD be cleaned; counters, cabinets, walls, baseboards, floors...The apartment would be SPARKLING by the time you were through with it, so help you God. Tovar would inch back into your thoughts time to time, and in retaliation to the errant thoughts, you scrub harder or faster, as if the scrubbing would cleans the thoughts away. So absorbed are you in your cleaning that you don't even hear the door open, or the keys clatter into the holder. 

"Scrub any more and you'll need to replace the tile." You nearly jump out of your skin, letting out an embarrassing shriek as you wheel around, brandishing the bottle of cleaner as a weapon. You're met with Tovar's bemused expression, eyebrow cocked as he leans against the door jam of the bathroom with crossed arms. 

"Jesus, Tovar, you scared the crap out of me!" 

"Thought you heard me come in," he shrugs. "All I can smell is cleaner, have you been cleaning all day?" 

"...Maybe." 

"Why?"  You open your mouth to respond then snap it closed, fidgeting, still on the floor. You couldn't just tell him it was because you had been thinking about him all day, you couldn't make things weird like that. You were roommates, just roommates. 

"Just felt like cleaning is all." 

"Amiga, you are a strange one." He holds out his hand to help you up, his face still disgruntled looking, and you take it. Your knees protest and you groan, stretching as you make it to your feet. 

"How was your first day?" You ask, moving past him, oblivious to the look on his face in response to the borderline lewd groan you let out. He swallows thickly, following you back to the kitchen. He grunts as he sits down, rolling his eyes. 

"I work with a bunch of idiots." You can't help but chuckle, unsurprised at his response. Tovar tended to find most people to be idiots. "But it's steady pay. Better than the odd jobs I was working." 

"That's good. I'm sure you'll be able to take care of any of the idiots at work in short order." You flash him a grin before ducking down to put the chemicals back under the sink. "I was thinking paella for dinner. I splurged on some saffron and seafood at the store when I went shopping the other day." You pop up from behind the counter just in time to see the surprise on his face before it falls back into the resting grumpy face he wears so well. 

"You know how to make paella?" His voice is incredulous, and you nod, grinning. 

"I learned on a trip to Spain several years ago, actually. I just don't normally cook it 'cause my paella pan is really big and well, seafood is expensive." He lets out a grunt, sitting back in his chair and nods. 

"If you mess it up, I'll judge you forever." 

"I would expect no less from you, Tovar." Pulling off your gloves and tossing them under the sink as well, you head back to your bedroom. "I'm gonna shower then get started on dinner." He grunts again, and you don't catch it as his eyes follow you all the way back to your bedroom. 

Fresh from the shower and dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, hair still wet down your back, you make your way to the kitchen to start on dinner. Tovar is nowhere to be seen, so you assume he's hiding in his room. The man enjoyed his privacy. Paella had seemed so intimidating  to you at first, but after having someone walk you through the steps, you picked it up quickly, electing to stick to the more traditional rendition of the dish. After slapping the lid on the paella pan and setting a timer for it to simmer, you walk to Tovar's door, tapping on it. You were just going to tell him that dinner was about 20 away, so you were surprised when the door opened. The sight before you took your breath away. 

He was standing there, shirtless in some loose hanging sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair was damp, the occasional droplet dripping from it to roll down the expanse of his chest. Your eyes drifted down for a moment, taking in his muscular physique graced with scattered, faded scars. 

"It's rude to stare," he states simply, but the smirk is evident in his voice. You snap your eyes back to his, your face on fire. His eyebrow is arched and the smirk is firmly on his face. "What do you need amiga?" 

"D-Diner," you squeak out. "Dinnerintwenty!" The words run together before you turn and all but sprint down the hall to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. You lean against your door, sliding down to hide your face against your knees as you attempt to calm your racing thoughts. The way Tovar looked had been positively SINFUL, and your mouth is dry at the thought of how those drops of water looked rolling down his skin. 

"Stop stop stop," you chant, smacking your cheeks again. "None of that, noooone of that." After a few more deep breaths, you're able to compose yourself enough to dart to the bathroom and rinse your face with some cold water before heading back to the kitchen to check on dinner. You notice Tovar has come out to take up residence on the couch, flipping through the channels. He's apparently elected to put a shirt back on, and you'd be lying if you weren't a little disappointed in that fact. He must have felt you staring, because he turns to look at you, eyebrow still arched, and you quickly avert your gaze to the dish in front of you, grabbing a fork to test the rice. Satisfied with the taste and texture, you grab out two plates, serving up a large portion for Tovar, and a significantly small portion for yourself. Two months, and he still ate like a starving man every meal. You had no idea where he managed to put it all. 

"Dinner's ready, Tovar." He grunts, coming back to the bar from his place on the couch to take his seat as you place down two glasses of white wine before hopping into your seat next to him. You watch him anxiously as he picks up his fork, heaping a large bite into his mouth. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as he takes a few more bites before he grunts appreciatively. 

"It won't be winning any awards back home, but it isn't bad." The backhanded compliment was more than you had expected, and a wide smile crosses your face. Satisfied that he enjoys it well enough, you join him in eating quietly. Tovar never really talked while he ate, usually too busy stuffing his face to get a word out even if he wanted to, so dinners were typically silent. You couldn't help the feeling of pride when he helped himself to an equally large second serving. As he sat back down, his knee bumped yours and you squeaked, drawing his gaze. 

"What was that?" 

"N-nothing, just startled me a bit is all." You cram another bite into your mouth, hoping he would drop it. 

"You're jumpy today, amiga." He takes a few more bites before he continues. "Something happen?" 

Oh, you know, just came to a realization that I'm falling for my roommate who I still know so little about and I can't get the thought of you wet and shirtless out of my head, but yeah, I'm totally fine....

Is what you wanted to say. All you were able to say, however, was a simple "No." He nods, scraping up the last few bites on his plate before clearing both of your place settings. You down the rest of your wine in a gulp, hoping it would still your trembling nerves. Tovar loads the dishes into the dishwasher before turning to lean against the sink, arms crossed as he stares you down. "What?" You ask incredulously. He's silent as he stares at you with that grumpy, inquisitive gaze, sizing you up like some sort of quarry. "What is it? Something on my face?" you ask again, unable to bare the intense silence. Eventually, he just shakes his head, pushing off of the counter to walk past you. 

"I have work early tomorrow, so I'm going to sleep," he states, continuing down the hall. The sound of his door shutting is followed by you slumping in your chair, resting your head on the counter. You bang your head against the counter a few times before standing up to clean the kitchen. Once all of the dishes are put away and the counters wiped down, you head down the hall to your own room for the night. A sound coming from Tovar's room causes you to pause. It sounded almost pained, so you stop to listen, concerned he might have hurt himself at work and didn't tell you about it. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time he had done something like that. You can't help the little gasp that escapes your lips when you hear him moan out your name, the shock of it causing you to stumble back from the door, pressing up against the wall adjacent to his door. Wide eyes bore holes into his door as your name drifted through it once more, laced with the lewdest sounding moan you had ever heard. 

Deciding you had heard enough, and feeling rather embarrassed for such a blatant breach of privacy, you bolt for your door, shutting it quietly. Your heart is racing, thrumming loudly in your ears, and your cheeks burn so hot you feel like you could combust just standing there. There could be no mistake, your name had come from Tovar's lips mixed with the unmistakable sounds of pleasure. 

...How the HELL were you supposed to sleep tonight? 

---

The next week or so, you try your utmost to act normally around your roommate, still preparing meals, or covering him with a blanket if you come home late and find him on the couch. But every night plays out the same once you’re safely behind your bedroom door. Those lewd moans lacing your name in his gruff, husky voice. The thought of them caused the heat to pool in your belly every time, without fail. You'd find yourself seeking your own high, getting off to the thought of him over you, moaning your name in your ear. God how you want him. 

There were times where you thought you had built up the courage to tell him that you had heard him, but as soon as those dark eyes meet with yours, all thoughts vacate your mind and you end up a babbling wreck. This was going to kill you, you were sure of it. 

The desperation and desire does nothing but mount the longer this drags on, to the point where even at work you can't seem to manage to keep your thoughts off of the handsome Spaniard sharing your small apartment. Word from your manager saying you're able to head home almost an hour early is a welcome reprieve and your home is a welcome sight as you cross the threshold before immediately making your way to your room, kicking the door closed behind you. Or, mostly closed, anyways. That didn't matter, Tovar wasn't going to be home for several hours. You'd be cleaned up and calmed down by then for sure. 

Shedding your clothes, you sprawl on your bed, slowly dancing gentle caresses over your skin. The pads of your fingers ghost around your nipples before you squeeze both breasts. You let out a quiet sigh as your eyes slip closed. Your imagination runs wild as you picture Tovar above you, his warm breath brushing over your skin, raising goosebumps along it. You shiver at the thought of him whispering your name against the shell of your ear, yearning to feel his stubble scratching against your cheek as he drags kisses down your jaw. 

Your hand finally dips between your legs, spreading yourself and coating your fingers in your own arousal before drifting back up to twirl around your delicate bundle of nerves. Your hips arch up off of the bed under your ministrations, wishing it was Tovar's fingers drawing these moans from your lips rather than your own. His name slips out before you can stop yourself, completely lost in the fantasy of your roommate pinning you to the bed, the image of him in just those loose sweats urging you forward as the heat coils tighter in your stomach, your fingers moving ever faster as you pleasure yourself. "Fuck...Tovar...haaa..." You hiss between clenched teeth as you continue to work, drawing yourself ever closer. It's when you imagine him whispering terms of endearment to you in his native tongue that sounds so good on his lips that you lose yourself completely, tipping over that precipice of pleasure with a long keen of his name, back arched. 

You fall back against the bed, panting as the waves of your orgasm slowly abate, leaving you in a happy haze as you get up to go and clean yourself. You're a mess, aren't you? Unable to think of anything but your roommate pleasuring you, which is definitely not what he signed up for when he agreed to your offer of a place to stay. You ponder how much longer this living arrangement is going to last. He has a steady job now, a steady paycheck. That, coupled with what he already has saved...he would probably be off to find a place of his own soon, and that thought made you sadder than you would care to admit. You can always ask him to stay, but would that be too forward? There was no harm in asking, right? He'd understand, right? Tovar was a bit of a grump, but he was at least understanding with most things....usually. With a grumble that sounds a bit too much like your roommate's, you finish your shower, getting dressed before heading to the living room, nearly hitting the roof when you see Tovar sitting on the couch, playing on his phone. He glances up at you when he hears your gasp, that damn eyebrow quirked up again before his gaze fixes back on his phone. 

"I wasn't expecting you home for another couple of hours, Tovar." You try to make the comment sound offhand as you head into the kitchen to raid the fridge for dinner ideas. 

"Got off early." Oh God, his voice was gruffer than usual and the heat was already pooling in your core again. 

"Well that's good. You've been working late pretty much every night since you started." You settled on just grabbing two beers from the fridge, bringing one over to him after opening it. He just nods, taking a sip of his drink. 

"They let me off because apparently threatening to break William's arm for being an idiot isn't proper etiquette." Your mouth falls open and your eyebrows raise as you stare at him. He looks up at you and you see the glimmer of humor in his eyes, causing your shoulders to relax and a smile to cross your face. 

"Tovar, I never pegged you for a joking man." You chuckle as you make your way back into the kitchen, pulling out the takeout menus. "I don't feel like cooking tonight, come figure out where you wanna order from, what do you want?" You lean against the counter, flipping through menus with your back turned to him, doing your best to keep your mind from wandering to the man sitting on your couch. You jump a little when a hand finds your left hip, the other bracing against the counter as Tovar leans up against you. Instantly your face grows hot and your mouth goes dry at the feeling of him so utterly close to you. The hand on your hip feels electric and you struggle to keep your breathing under control. 

"What I want, hermossa?" His voice is low as he brings his head down level to yours. "Are you an option?" Your knees give then and there and if you hadn't been holding on to the counter, you would have hit the floor. Tovar's grip on your hip tightens and he presses up against you, pinning you to the counter as you tremble against him. "Well?" he nearly growls into your ear, and you squeak out an affirmative as his nose trails a line from your ear down your neck to your shoulder where he places a kiss at the junction before nipping it gently. A shudder runs through your body and you're sure at any moment your eyes would open as you wake from this delicious dream. There is no way this could be real. 

You could feel him pressing up against your backside through your clothes and you swallow thickly at just how big he feels. Your imagination had not prepared you for this. The fingers of his left hand dig into your hip as his lips attach to your neck, sucking and nibbling till a dark mark is left. The sound he makes after leaving his mark is proud and dammit your knees just won't stop shaking.  

"Pero," he whispers suddenly into your ear and your eyes open. You turn your head to look at him, confused. "The next time I hear you moaning my name, I want it to be my proper name." His eyes were so dark and lust blown, they caught you so off guard that you almost didn't put two and two together. 

"N...next time? What do you mean next-." You cut yourself off as you freeze in realization. "Oh my God...you...you heard what I was...earlier you heard..." Pero smirks wickedly and nods. 

"You should really close your door, hermossa, if you don't want to be heard." His hand that had been resting on the bar comes up to turn your head just a little more, gripping your chin to bring your lips to his in a firm kiss that you quickly find yourself melting into. For as gruff as he sounded, Pero's lips were so damn soft. You crane your neck to press deeper into the kiss, drinking him in as much as humanly possible as you press your backside against him. He growls into the kiss as you grind against him, his hand letting go of your chin to run his fingers down your body, slipping under the hem of your tank top. Goosebumps break out along your skin the feeling of his calloused fingertips running along the skin of your stomach. In a sudden moment of boldness, you grab his wrist and lower his hand, helping to slip his fingers under the waistband of your pants and he groans into your mouth. Taking advantage of the situation, you lick up into his mouth, desperation and a burning need tinting every single action. His tongue dances with yours as his fingers rub you through the thin fabric of your panties, drawing a whimper from your lips. 

He's the first to break the kiss, chuckling darkly against your lips. "You are a mess. Already so wet for me. Did your fantasy do me no justice to quell that ache between your legs?" All you can to do to respond is let out a high pitched whine at his lewd question, grinding down on his fingers, desperate for that delicious friction. 

"P-Pero...Please..." Your voice is a whimper as you open your eyes to look up at him, the desperation in them clear as day. He leans in, grabbing your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, pulling back until your lip slips from between them with a gasp from you. 

"I like the sound of your voice when you beg, maravillosa." You didn't think his voice could get any lower than it was, and the sound of desire that laced his words would have hand you on the ground if he hadn't been holding on to you. His fingers slowly slip under your panties, rubbing your mound before parting your lips to coat his fingers in your slick. "So fucking wet for me." You whimper again, nodding as you cling to his arm, grinding down your hips. A jolt fires through you as he finally swirls the pad of his finger around your clit, and you let out a strangled cry, clenching your eyes closed. Pero chuckles in your ear, nibbling at the lobe before moving down your neck to suck another mark as his finger rubs the most tortuously slow circles against you. You were losing your mind and needed so much much. 

"I'll beg all you want, please, PLEASE Pero, give me more. I need more," you keen, bucking your hips against his hand. Thankfully, he obliges, slipping a finger inside of you with ease and you let out a content sigh, grinding down against his hand. He curls his finger against your walls, searching for the perfect spot that he knows will have you seeing stars. When you nearly scream, he grins against your skin, nipping at his latest mark before adding a second, then third finger, slowly thrusting them in and out of you, meeting the thrusts of your hips. The stretch of his fingers is delicious, the bump of his thumb against your clit with every thrust bringing you closer and closer as your nails dig into his arm. 

His lips trace along your ear still, and he whispers to you with that voice so low it draws a groan from your lips. "I want you to cum for me, hermossa. Cum and let me hear my name on your lips." He punctuates his demand with a nip at your ear and you lose it, coming undone around his hand. Your walls clench around his fingers as you throw your head back against his shoulder, your arousal absolutely coating his fingers as his name pours from your lips as reverent as a prayer. He coaxes you gently through your orgasm with slow thrusts before slipping his fingers from you. When he puts them in his own mouth, moaning deliciously at the taste of you on his fingers, you could swear you were about to cum again just from the erotic sight. Your hands moving on their own, you grab his wrist and pull his fingers from his mouth. Looking up at him with the most innocent eyes you can manage, you bring his fingers to your lips, taking them in your own mouth. You moan at the taste of him mixed with your own arousal, running your tongue along the digits. The light in his eyes turns absolutely feral and he spins you around, reconnecting his lips with your, one hand holding your hips to his, one hand at the base of your skull, crushing your lips to his with a passion that literally takes your breath away. Your arms wrap around his body, pulling him closer to you as you drag your nails down his back, relishing in the shiver that runs through his body as you do. 

When he breaks the kiss to trail kisses down your jaw, you let your head fall back to grant him better access, trembling in anticipation and he forces your legs apart with his knee, bringing it up to grind mercilessly against you. The whimpers he draws from you only spur him on further. 

"P-Pero I need you. Please," you beg shamelessly, all rationale replaced by the burning desire for the man who currently had you pinned to the counter. The growl against your neck goes straight to your core as Pero drops both hands to your ass, giving it a rough squeeze before hooking his hands under your thighs, hoisting them around his waist, holding you up against him. Your own arms wrap around him, tangling in the curls at the base of his neck as he turns, carrying you to his bedroom. The blood in your veins courses with such excitement that you couldn't help the giggle that bubbles out of your throat. 

Gracelessly, he tosses you on to the bed and you bounce, grinning up at him like some Cheshire cat as he strips out of his shirt. You take your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes rake up and down his figure. Taught skin covered corded muscle, something you know he worked very hard to maintain given how often he used the gym at your complex. He joins you on the bed, crawling up to you with the most intense look in his eyes. His fingers tug at the hem of your tank, tugging it up. 

"This. Off with it," he growls and you nod, nearly ripping the offending article from your body as he watches approvingly. Reaching around you, he quickly undoes the clasp of your bra, tossing it to join the discarded clothes. A hunger for you shines in his eyes as he takes you in, the intensity of his stare bringing a sudden shyness to the forefront of your mind. You shrink in on yourself, bringing your arms up to cover your chest, but he is having none of it. He takes your wrists, pulling your arms away from your chest as he looks up at you. "Hermossa, do not hide your glory from me." The gentle command sends a rush of adrenaline through your body and you nod, arms relaxing in his grasp. He lays you back, rough hands running up your arms and over your chest where he massages your breasts, pinching the nipples just hard enough to cause your back to arch off the bed before they continue down over your stomach, finally coming to rest on your hips. The feeling was better than anything your imagination could have possibly dreamt up. "How many times I have dreamt of this..." 

He leans over you to press a fierce kiss to your lips that quickly migrates along your jawline, following the line of your neck down to your chest. His stubble rubs deliciously against your skin, raising bumps along its path. Your fingers tangle in his hair, hips bucking up against him as he takes your left breast in his mouth, alternating between sucking, nibbling, and lavishing it with kisses until it borders on sore before switching to rain the same attention over the other. A whimper of longing escapes your lips and he glances up from his ministrations with a predatory grin before he trails kisses lower, over your naval and down to the hem of your pants. Greedy fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them off with a quick motion, your panties along with them. The cool air on your core sends a shiver rocketing through your body. 

"Such a beautiful sight," he mumbles, his hands grabbing your hips firmly as he makes himself comfortable between your legs. You do your best to still the trembling in your legs, but to no avail as he runs his nose up the inside of your thigh, his warm breath sending tingles across your skin. He repeats the gesture for the other side before letting go of one of your hips to drag a finger up your dripping slit, gathering your arousal on his finger. The gasp you let out is one of the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard, and he craves more. He wants to see just how many sounds he could draw from those pretty lips of yours, but his patience is wearing thin, his self control slipping. He presses the flat of his tongue against you, licking the whole of you before spreading your lips to suck your swollen clit into his mouth, running his tongue around it in quick circles. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging on it and he groans at the feeling, his cock twitching in his sweatpants. Your hips buck against his mouth, and he lays his arm across your hips, holding you in place. 

As he continues his ministrations, begs and moans spill from your lips in an endless, nearly incoherent stream, and each time you say his name he drags his teeth lightly over your clit, sending an electric shock through your entire body. Your moans grow higher and higher in pitch until you are screaming his name, tugging harshly on his hair as you cum for him the second time, spilling over his tongue as he eagerly licks it up. He pushes himself up and off the bed, licking his lips as he watches you laying on his bed, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath from your orgasm, eyes hazy with pleasure. He quickly rids himself of his pants and smirks when he sees how your eyes widen at the sight of him. Opening his bedside table, he pulls out a condom, ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on, hissing at the feeling before he crawls back over your body, connecting his lips to yours. The taste of yourself on his lips draws a moan from you as you pull him against you, wrapping your legs around his waist. With a bite to your bottom lip, you feel him pressing against you. You break the kiss and gaze up into his lust filled eyes with a gaze that surely rivaled his own in terms of need and want and he hesitates, watching you. You lean up, ghosting your lips across his ear and he shivers as you speak. 

"Fuck me, Pero." 

You need say no more as your words start a fire inside of him. He presses into you and your head falls back against the pillow, your jaw going slack at the stretch as he fills you. With shallow thrusts he works his way into you until he is fully seated inside of you, his own body trembling at the feeling of your heat totally encompassing him. He groans as his head falls against your neck when your walls flutter around him, the stubble and mustache tickling at your skin. 

"Te sientes como el cielo..." He mutters against your neck, your pulse racing under his lips. 

"Pero, fuck, please move. Please, I can't take this." You cry as he snaps his hips against you, lifting his face from your neck enough to watch your face contort in pleasure as he sets up a brutal pace, fucking into you hard enough to shake the bed. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging into the skin there which causes his hips to stutter for a moment before he regains his pace. Mutters in Spanish pour from his lips in the most gorgeous song you have ever heard as he ruts into you. When his hand moves to where the two of you are joined to rub aggressive circles against your overly sensitive bundle of nerves, you scream his name in a way that has his stomach tightening. 

"Won't...last..." He grunts, but all you can do is nod and cry out. His face falls against your neck again, stubble scratching at your skin. His teeth find purchase against the soft flesh of your neck and that is all you need to come tumbling over the edge. Your walls bare down on his cock and he growls against your skin, pulling you through your orgasm before his hips slam against yours, the moan of your name on his lips as his own release washes over him. He stills inside you, panting against your neck as he tries to regain his breath. Your arms hold him to you for as long as you can, worried that when he pulls away this would all disappear and you would be standing in your kitchen as if nothing had happened. 

After a few moments, he slowly slips out of you, propping himself up on his elbows over you to look over your face. His face still carried that borderline grumpy look, but the edges were softened, gentle. His fingers lift to delicately trace along your jaw and your eyes flutter at the feeling, leaning into his touch. 

"Of all the times I have imagined this very thing, nothing compares to the actual feeling of you..." You open your eyes to look up at him, your heart swelling in your chest. You open your mouth to speak, but once again find yourself at a loss for words. He gives the smallest glimpse of a smile before getting up to clean himself off, coming back to join you in bed. He gathers you into his arms, pulling the blanket over the both of you. Once again you find your ear pressed against his chest, the heartbeat strong and steady.  Your mind begins to race at the thought of what had just happened, and Pero feels you stiffen in his arms. His fingers trace lines along your spine in an attempt to soothe you, grunting in question. 

"Please don't leave..." you whisper against his chest, so quiet he isn't sure he hears you. 

"What was that?" 

"Please...please don't leave. You have a job now and you're making money and can afford your own place and I know I said this was a temporary thing till you got back on your feet but," You look up at him with watery eyes. "But I don't want you to leave...I want you to stay here, with me." He looks down at you with an unreadable face, his fingers stilling on your back. 

"Maravillosa... I would not do such a thing to you." His gruff voice was still coated in the honey warmth of his own release, and it warmed you through. "I will go nowhere, I swear to you."  At his words, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you had been holding, relaxing into his arms to let your cheek rest against his chest. 

Pero Tovar is not a soft man. He is war hardened. A man of few words. His face always borders on a scowl when he is awake, but when he looks at you, his eyes soften just a touch, the crease in his brow smoothing ever so slightly. Pero Tovar is a grumpy Spaniard, but he is your grumpy Spaniard, and that is all that mattered. 

-----------

Translations:

gruñón : Grumpy Hermossa: Beautiful Amiga: friend Maravillosa : Marvelous or gorgeous Te sientes como el cielo... : You feel like heaven

Tag list:  @yespolkadotkitty​, @lackofhonor​, @cryptkeepersoul​ Tag list is open! Requests are open!

[bellakitse]

Congratulations, punk! #19 made me LOL, so I'm picking that one!

Hope you’re cool with some Mama Reyes, punk. 💗💗

Carlos Reyes’ favorite place to cook has always been his mother’s kitchen. It’s not as modern as the kitchen he has at his condo – though he and his sisters have been slowly swapping older appliances for newer ones when their mother isn’t looking – it’s still his favorite place to cook because of the memories it brings back. It’s where his mother taught him every traditional Mexican dish under the sun, from  Buñuelo to Pozole Verde, Chilaquiles and Mole, Tamales and Birria. His mother taught him every dish with care and affection, laughing and talking as they prepared the different plates. While his sisters always joined in, cooking has always been a special bond he has with his mother, and it all started in her kitchen, making it a place of refuge for him.

Right now, though, with his gorgeous boyfriend sitting on the kitchen counter, staring at him as he eats a cup of Fruta con lechera his mother handed him, it’s becoming a place of torture.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says sternly. He keeps his eyes on the potatoes he’s peeling for dinner and not on the temptation that is currently taking up space in his mother’s kitchen.

“What else am I suppose to look at?” TK questions. Carlos can hear the amusement in his voice; the little shit knows he’s getting to Carlos without even trying. “Besides the fact that I like looking at you. You won’t let me help. So I have nothing to do.”

“You are a guest in this house. Mami will box my ears if I make you help,” he answers, finally looking over at TK just in time to see him lick some condensed milk off a piece of strawberry. The smirk TK gives him as he stares at him is way too pleased with himself.

“Want a bite?” he asks playfully, his green eyes sparkling as Carlos drops the potato peeler in the sink and starts to make his way over to him.

He stands in front of TK, his hands going to his thighs as he steps in between his knees. He feels his heart spike at the teasing smile on TK’s full lips, shining from the fruits’ juice. He scoops up a piece of fruit with his spoon, bringing it up between them.

“Choo-choo,” TK says mockingly, swaying the spoon back and forth. “Open up for the train,” he continues his teasing, grinning at the dry look that Carlos gives him.

He leans forward to take the piece of offered fruit, only for TK to pull the spoon back at the last minute and eat the fruit himself, smirking as he chews.

Carlos shakes his head, amused despite himself at his boyfriend’s antics. “Spoiled brat,” he murmurs, warmth spreading through him at the delighted laugh TK lets out in response. He reaches out, touching his thumb to TK’s smile, swiping at the drop of condensed milk on his bottom lip.

TK stops laughing, his breath catching as Carlos continues to touch him, tracing his lip softly.

“Carlos – “

“Mmm?” he questions absently, his focus now on TK’s beautiful mouth.

“If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it,” TK starts, the warning in his voice clear as he presses his knees to Carlos’ hips, pulling him in closer. “Then I’ll have to take matters into my own hands. I will take you right here on this counter.”

Carlos feels his lungs seize, his body going hot at the visual TK’s words make. He goes to answer, already trying to figure out how to sneak TK upstairs without his mother, who is in the other room noticing, when the woman herself walks in.

“Not in my kitchen, you won’t,��� she says, coming to stand by the archway. She gives him a look, eyebrow raised as she takes in the way he and TK are wrapped around each other. “Can’t leave you two alone for five minutes while I take a call from your Tia Lucy. Owen said you two were like horny teenagers, but I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

Carlos feels himself blush from the root of his hair to his toes. He tries to take a step back, but TK doesn’t let him. Shameless as always, TK hangs off him unconcerned; he knows Carlota Reyes loves him too much to really blame him for this. Instead, TK gives her a curious look.

“When did you talk to my dad?” he asks, puzzled.

“We have our own chat,” Carlota answers with a shrug. “We made one for the parents the last time we all had dinner together; we added your mom too.”

“I don’t like that,” TK frowns.

“And I don’t like you trying to defile my baby boy in my kitchen, yet here we are, Tyler Kennedy,” she answers pointedly. It doesn’t fool Carlos for a second. He can see the amusement in her eyes.

TK doesn’t buy it either. He gives her that boyish grin of his that always gets him his way with any of the Reyes. “Then you shouldn’t have made him so pretty, Carlota.”

Carlota shakes her head, muttering under her breath even as she fights a smile. “Come on, if we want to eat today, you need to leave the kitchen, or you’ll never let Carlos finish. Out, into the living room with you.”

“Fine,” TK pouts, releasing his hold on Carlos, but not before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “To be continued, babe.”

TK hops off the counter, giving Carlota a kiss of her own as he walks by her, laughing when she slaps his shoulder.

Left alone, his mother looks at him again, chuckling when he shifts under her gaze. “You got your work cut out with that one, nene,” she tells him, amused. “At least you’ll never be bored.”

She leaves him in the kitchen, letting him get back to cooking in his special place. Distantly he can hear her and TK chatting and laughing together. He smiles as he goes back to his potatoes, grateful for another beautiful memory made in his mother’s kitchen.

[lavendersuh]

what a feeling

johnny x fem!reader | badboy!au, too much fluff | 2.4k words

warnings: mentions of nicotine addition, alcohol

based off of this moodboard and au idea created by @neo-cult-ure!! thank you luv for allowing me to play around with this au idea! I originally wrote this bc i loved the idea and just wanted to self indulge in some writing a few nights ago. I probably could’ve fleshed this out more, but i’m in the middle of exams so i probably shouldn’t even be writing fic rn haha (fair warning tho there is so much fluff help) hope u enjoy!!

~~~

“I need your help.”

Haechan looks up to see an unexpected face peering over him. It wasn’t every day that resident bad boy Johnny Suh was asking a drama student for something. While the two of them ran around in slightly similar circles due to their mutual acquaintances, Haechan can’t remember the last time he spoke one-on-one with Johnny.

“What do you need my help with?” he asks curiously, as he shuts his locker. 

“There’s this girl.” Johnny says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “She’s different, Haechan, I need your help.” 

Johnny has always been the most confident person Haechan knows. He always admired him for that, but now it appears that the tall boy has a rosy tiny covering his cheeks, along with a sheepish smile. 

“My help? I can’t imagine being much help compared to Jaehyun… isn’t he your wing man?” Haechan responds.

He begins walking away, heading for his next class. He didn’t hate Johnny, nothing even close to that, but he was a bit suspicious of why he was coming to a self-proclaimed nerdy, drama student for help. 

“This is different…” Johnny mumbles as he catches up with Haechan, “Do you know that diner a few blocks from here? The Neo Zone?” 

Haechan looks over at him, “That neon, throwback place? Yeah, the theater kids go there after practice sometimes.”

“There’s a waitress there.” The older boy says, “She’s pretty, her laugh is like a song, Haechan, she’s perfect.”

“The problem, then?” Haechan asks. Johnny didn’t seem like the kind of person to have trouble with the ladies.

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

Haechan can’t help the laugh he lets out, “Did your usual flirting not work out for you?”

Johnny wasn’t a terrible guy, in fact, he could be very respectful (despite the cheesy pick-up lines sometimes), with a nice sense of humor and friendly smile to go along with it. But he had some bad habits. He refused to buy a helmet for his precious motorcycle. He smoked more than he should. He wasn’t always present during school hours. But underneath the leather jacket and torn up jeans, the boy wasn’t all that bad. He loved to flirt and fool around, but he never took things farther than someone wanted.

Johnny frowns at Haechan’s laughter, “I was hoping you could help me. She’s interested in 80s films, and I know you’re into stuff like that. You have a huge collection, don’t you? Could I borrow The Breakfast Club? Sixteen Candles?”

“Yeah, I can lend you some of them this weekend.” Haechan stops in front of the door to his next class, turning around to look back at Johnny, who’s grinning with appreciation.

“But Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s gonna take more than just flirting and watching her favorite movies. You gotta get to know her.” 

Johnny throws him a classic smirk, his confidence returning to his face, “Will do, Haechan.”

~~~

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn around without Johnny seeing the roll of your eyes. After his shameless flirting last weekend you knew he would probably be back. 

His flirting wasn’t creepy; it was actually a little bit flattering. You couldn’t count on your hand the number of men that had spoken their fair share of sleezy comments to you. Johnny’s flirting was refreshing (but maybe that was just because he seemed to be your age instead of thirty years your senior). He asked about your favorite movies when you had mentioned liking 80s films. He complimented the sneakers you painted yourself. 

But alas, he was also a walking stereotype, with the leather jackets and motorcycle parked just out front. When you waited on his table last time, you nearly coughed over the smell of nicotine that followed him around.

“Hi, Johnny,” you say, leading him to a booth in the corner, laying out the menu on the table.

“I watched some of the movies you told me about,” he says, smiling brightly at you, “Got any more recommendations?”

You can’t help but feel a bit flustered at the fact that he watched some of the stuff you recommended. He was paying you a lot more attention than you had previously thought. 

While you take his order and bring out his food, Johnny flirts and makes jokes. You can’t help but smile at some of the things he says, despite yourself. By the end of his meal, you bring out his receipt, showing him the list of movies you wrote on the back in black pen. 

“Thanks! Maybe I could take you out and we could talk about them sometime?” he asks, a hopeful gleam in his eye. 

You roll your eyes at him, “You’re gonna have to do more than just watch my favorite movies for me to change my mind about you.” 

“Am I really that bad?”

“You aren’t bad, Johnny. I just feel like I deserve more than just someone who smokes and rides a motorcycle without protection.” You say, walking off to ring up his order and get his change. 

He huffs as you walk off. What was he to do? 

~~~

‘This is stupid,’ Johnny thinks to himself as he pulls up to the diner, a week and a half later. He was driving Haechan’s car, but that wasn’t the only thing he had borrowed.

When Johnny had reconvened with the boy, Haechan told him he needed to change up his act in order to impress you. 

And somehow this is how Johnny ended up walking into the diner with a dorky sweater and his hair neatly combed on a Friday evening. The neon sign of the diner glowed into the car, casting shadows on the funny pattern of the sweater.

He felt so stupid, but he was also kind of desperate. It was Haechan that had come up with the plan after suggesting he dress a bit nicer. 

“I don’t know if I have any ‘nice’ clothes, Haechan,” Johnny had told the other boy.

“Then you can borrow some of mine!” Haechan looked up at how tall his friend was, “Or maybe my brother’s…”

Johnny knows he went overboard but he also really wants to see your smile again. He supposes it’s worth it. 

“Welcome in,” you say, but as you turn around, you pause, “...Johnny?” 

He smiles, reminding himself that he can be confident without the bad boy clothes and aesthetic. “Does your shift end soon? Could I take you out for ice cream?”

Somehow you can’t help but find the outfit change endearing, so you find yourself nodding. The boy was clearly trying to impress you, so you should at least give him a chance. And ice cream sounded excellent after a long shift. It couldn’t be all that bad, could it?

~~~

It ended up being quite nice, actually. 

Johnny took you to an ice cream shop on the edge of town, leading you to a picnic bench after getting two cones of ice cream. As the sun fully slipped away and the stars started to come out along the purple sky, you both discussed movies, the future, your favorite foods, everything.

He was a good listener, holding eye contact and asking questions, full of attention. He told lovely stories when he wanted to, as well. You couldn’t help but find yourself to be a bit drawn to him when you finally gave him the time of day. His humor, his soft smiles, his contagious laugh. It was clear to see it would be easy to fall for someone like him.

It was hard though, knowing the reputation he held. He did risky things, a cigarette in one hand, his motorcycle keys in the other. From his stories, you knew he cut class. He never wore a helmet, either.

Just because he wore a nice sweater and borrowed a friend’s car didn’t change these things.

“I hope we can do this again, sometime.” 

Johnny lightly holds your hand as he stands outside of your front door while dropping you off.

You looked up at him, his face soft under your front porch light. There was so much hope in his eyes, hope for the idea that you would give him more of your time, more of your smiles.

“Oh, Johnny,” you say, slowly, “This is really sweet, but this isn’t you.”

He looks confused for a moment, protesting, “Of course, this is me. I just cleaned up my act, like you said.”

You frown, “Sure, I did say that, but you changed all the outside pieces of yourself.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks.

“What? Johnny, no, of course not!” you exclaim, “I don’t care if you have this ‘bad boy’ act, and drink, and ride motorcycles. I just hate that you are so careless with yourself. You smelled like smoke every time I saw you. You never wear a helmet. You refuse to go to class sometimes. It hurts me seeing someone so bright, someone I’m enjoying getting to know, do nothing but hurt themselves.” 

You squeeze his hand, hoping to offer some form of comfort while you speak your truths. “Just cause you changed your clothes doesn’t mean you are changed for the better.”

“What are you saying?”

“I like you, Johnny. You.” you say, taking his hand in yours, “Not this dressed up, masked version of you. I just want you to care about yourself. So I can care about you, too.” 

Things are quiet for a moment, as Johnny stares at the ground. Finally, he looks up at you, an unknown flicker in his eyes. 

You let go of his hand, “You have some stuff to work through. You’re sweet, Johnny, and I’m happy that we’ve gotten to know each other. Please call me when you figure things out.”

You go inside, leaving him frozen in place. 

~~~

“Has Johnny come in lately?” 

You are startled out of wiping down tables at the diner when you hear someone speak to you. You look up to see a honey-haired boy, who you recognize as Haechan, one of the drama club kids from school. 

“You know him?” you ask, your eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” Haechan rubs the back of his neck, “We’ve become friends recently. He told me he liked you. Asked to borrow some movies and stuff.” 

Realization dawns on you that Johnny had probably gone to Haechan to get some guidance. The thought makes your heart squeeze. You’d been curious about where Johnny was getting the knowledge from. You recall Haechan being in the after school film club as well. 

“He stopped coming in a while ago,” you say, “I gave him my number after we went out once, but I didn’t hear from him.”

You try to keep the feeling of sadness from washing over you, but you’re surprised at how affected you are by Johnny’s absence in the past few weeks. While his flirting could be a bit relentless sometimes, there was no doubt that he respected you through all of his charming antics.

“Hm..” Haechan seems to be deep in thought at your words. 

You ask him if he wants to order anything, but he declines, thanking you for the offer before leaving nearly as soon as he had entered. 

~~~

“Hey.”

You look up on your way out of the diner after your shift, startled by a voice. Johnny stands in the parking lot, next to his motorcycle, a soft smile across his face. He has his leather jacket back on, but surprisingly, you notice he has a helmet tucked under his arm, too.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, walking up to him, “You haven’t come in for a while.”

“Thought I’d come stop by,” he grins. “I heard you missed me.”

You look down shyly at the pavement, “I never said that… but yeah, I guess.”

It was a surprising feeling as you confessed that small truth to Johnny. It was boring around the diner without his conversations and flirting words. It felt nice to let those words out.

Johnny leans behind him, grabbing another, smaller helmet, “Wanna take a ride? I wanna take you out for another date. I even bought you a helmet. Hope you’re not scared to go a little fast.” 

You nod, unable to keep the smile off of your face. It was nice hearing Johnny’s bluntness again. He seemed more relaxed, more comfortable with himself.

You run over to your car quickly, shoving your bag into the backseat before walking back over to Johnny. You climb on to the bike behind him, feeling him place the extra helmet on your head. While he adjusts it, his fingers brush across your face, sending chills down your spine. 

Once he’s back in position, you boldly wrap your arms around his torso, letting your head rest across his jacket. You take a deep breath, expecting to smell the nicotine that follows him around, but his leather jacket smells fresh.

“Did you quit smoking?” you ask, as he turns on the motorcycle.

“Yeah, I quit after our date,” he explains, “I was kinda unbearable for a while there… That's why I didn’t come into the diner. After a while, I figured you woulda forgot about me.”

You let out a laugh as he pulls out of the parking lot, “How could I ever?” 

You both ride along in silence, aside from your nervous laughs as the motorcycle speeds through traffic. You notice the elevation getting higher as he rides outside of the city.

Finally, he pulls off next to a scenic outlook overlooking the metropolis. The sun is starting to set, casting shadows along the buildings, along Johnny’s face. You can’t tell which you find more beautiful.

“I want to thank you.” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you to look at him. 

“For what?” 

“For caring about me. I didn’t even care about me.” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek.

You smile up at him, his soft words making you bold. You lean in, kissing his lips in response. After you pull back, Johnny wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the warmest hug of your life. 

It seemed simple, really. As the sun set with an orange glow, marking the end of a day, it also marked a new beginning. It left you both with a warm feeling. And what a feeling it was.