#enough to be a bit shaggy but still not unkempt

[arom-antix]

Here's Yuuri by himself because he's the bestest of boys and deserves some spotlight

Viktor spotlight

Full drawing

[comphy-and-cozy]

love it if we made it - mat barzal

Pairing: Mat Barzal x OC (f)

Summary: Aurora Foster and Mat Barzal are friends. Sometimes with benefits, sometimes with unspoken feelings, but always with a little something extra. When they have the opportunity to close the cross-country gap between them, will they be able to overcome the skinny love and take their relationship to the next level?

Word Count: 9.2K

Author's Note: My first ever Barzal fic written for @thewintersoldierdisaster for @wyattjohnston's Winter Fic Exchange! You are such a talented writer and I really wanted to make this a good one - I hope I managed to get the Garden City details covered correctly. 😉 It was a blast to write for someone new even though I am still reluctantly slowly joining the Barzy train. Enjoy, my dear! Thank you to @smileysvech, @pyotrkochetkov, @jostystyles, and @Demi for all of your help in brainstorming, editing, sending inspirational Barzy pics, and the usual general insanity. Couldn’t do it without y’all. Also, just for the record, Mat has hair in this entire fic. No bald Barzy allowed.

Warnings: Mutual pining, angst, alcohol use (characters get drunk), Mat being a bit of a fuckboy. Smut (18+ ONLY); unprotected sex, general sexual tension/sexual themes. Masterlist

July 2013 - Vancouver, British Columbia

The crackling of the fire melds with the gentle splash of waves on the shoreline, crickets chirping happily amid the cool summer breeze. Smoke billows up, wafting to a deep sky sparkling with stars, not a cloud in sight. 

Aurora Foster watches the flames, absorbing the warmth on her legs. There’s a blue koozie on the armrest of her Adirondack chair, holding a Diet Coke. She allows herself to sink into the warm, worn cotton of her Burnaby Winter Club sweatshirt, sighing contentedly. 

“Anyone want more pizza? I’ve gotta rock a piss.”

Rolling her eyes, Aurora scoffs as the rest of the group murmurs no’s. “Charming, Fabbs.”

The next voice that rings out is clear. “Anyone wanna go for a late night dip?”

“Yeah, I’ll go.” This time of night is Aurora’s favorite time for a swim, when the lake is all but glass and the water feels like a lukewarm bath; not warm, but certainly not cold after spending a day baking under a bright British Columbia sun.��

There are no other takers, so she looks expectantly across the fire. His dark hair is shaggy, unkempt, air-dried after a day in the lake. His brown eyes lock with hers, and he jerks his head toward the dock with a grin. “Race you.”

Mat Barzal. 

A name that holds the burden of promise. He’s going to be drafted in a few years, to the Show—and he’s going to be good. Not I’m just saying that because he’s my friend and I’m supposed to say that—no, he’s going to be good, potentially even great.

Here, though, he’s just Mat. He feels weird about the weight his name is starting to hold, not really knowing what to do with the slight level of fame. He’s made a vow to himself that whatever happens, he won’t let it get to him, won’t let it change the fabric of who he is—this guy, right here, feeling the warm breeze through his hair as sprints down the wooden dock, two smaller feet pattering rapidly behind him.

“You first,” he grins, gesturing toward the ladder.

“What if there’s a big monster waiting right there and it eats me?”

“I’ll jump in and save you,” he says, like there’s no hesitation. He glances down to double check that there is no actual sign of danger. Aurora doesn’t notice, her eyes also on the dark water, illuminated only slightly by the brightness of the moon.

“You promise?”

“I promise.” The way he says it is so sure that it actually comforts her for a split second, enough time for her confidence to reach the appropriate level to jump in with a splash. 

Her body is immersed in cold for the briefest of seconds before she’s enveloped in warmth. The splash next to her tells her that Mat has joined her beneath the water. He rises to the surface a few moments later, letting out a scoff as he shakes out his hair.

“Shit. You like this?” he asks, swimming out toward the trampoline floating a few meters away. 

“It’s nice!” she says, following him. “Refreshing.”

“It’s cold.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a big macho hockey player?” 

He ignores her with a roll of his eyes, rising back out of the water to climb the ladder to the trampoline. Aurora opts to swim around a while longer, feeling the weight of the water gliding over her skin. It’s nice, heavenly even, how the water makes her weightless.

When she approaches the trampoline, the blast of cool air against her wet skin makes her shiver, goosebumps instantly covering her body. Mat glances at her, sees the way her arms have wrapped around herself in an attempt to warm herself. He extends an arm, his own skin almost dry. “C’mere.”

His arm curls around her frame, warmth of him already heating her skin. He’s not sure if it’s his heart or hers that he can feel beating—maybe it’s both, beating in a steady, sure rhythm next to one another. 

Aurora’s toes nudge his, the gesture comfortable and affectionate; a silent thank you.

June 2018 – Vancouver, British Columbia

By all accounts, it’s a normal Thursday evening in June; Aurora’s housemates are getting ready to go out to the bar—there are plugged-in curling irons, loose cans of hairspray, scattered makeup brushes all over the counter alongside an assortment of cups in varying stages of empty. A half-full fifth of Smirnoff is there too, the cap misplaced somewhere.

On any other occasion, Aurora would be right there with them, blasting Taylor Swift and chattering about if Brad will finally make a move on Carley. Tonight, though, she’s opted out in favor of spending the night on the couch in her favorite sweatpants. Just not feeling a bar tonight, she’d said.

The silence when the door finally closes behind her friends is almost deafening; she hadn’t realized how loud it was in the chaos of the pre-night-out ritual. With a contented sigh, Aurora plops down on the couch and tugs a blanket over her legs, opening Netflix and starting an episode of New Girl. 

She's part way through her second episode and her first glass of wine when she gets the text.

[Mat:] what’s the play tn

Mat. Of course. He’s home for the summer now, back after his first year in Long Island, and recently returned from winning the Calder trophy. Aurora still had a hard time connecting that this Mat, the one that she’s known since they were 12, the one who she grew up hearing make stupid dick jokes with his friends, is the same one that just won Rookie of the Year in the National Hockey League. 

Instead of typing out a message, Aurora snaps a photo of the wine glass in her hand and blanket in her lap with the TV in the background. It doesn’t take long for the response bubble to pop back up, and soon enough the whoosh of an incoming text sounds.

[Mat:] want some company?

Aurora’s heart freezes in her chest. She hasn’t spent any time alone with him since that sorority formal her sophomore year, the one she bribed him to attend with her so she wasn’t the only girl without a date. It was platonic—that didn’t even need to be discussed—and it had been nice to have a familiar figure by her side; it didn’t hurt that he was starting to make a name for himself in the hockey world as a top draft pick headed for the NHL.

What started as a simple, friendly night ended with her leg wrapped around his waist, leaning against the bathroom door of the venue, moaning his name. She didn’t know how they ended up there, but what she did know was that it was passionate, mind-boggling, life-altering sex. 

At least, to her it was. He’d never mentioned it since. 

At first, it lingered on the tip of her tongue every time he was around, waiting to be blurted out when the sinking confusion became too much to bear. But one month, two months, three months passed, with no recognition or acknowledgement that anything happened between them. 

For a while, she began to believe that she’d dreamt it; that her mind conjured the hottest, dizziest, most viscerally real dream possible. But then she’d see his eyes flick to hers during the sex scene in a movie and feel the spark of electricity when his hand would brush hers. Just briefly, but enough for her to confirm that no, she didn’t imagine it all. 

Needless to say, Aurora can’t help the rising suspicion at the seemingly random text. Surely, he couldn’t be thinking about one night years ago when he had the pick of any girl he wanted at his fingertips.

Before she can stop herself, she's typing ‘bring chocolate’ and soon, she hears her front door open. There’s a shuffle, the sound of shoes being shrugged off, before that handsome face is rounding the corner. His eyes land on her in an instant, a predatory gaze simmering behind an unassuming smile. In his hand is a plastic bag from which he fishes out a pack of peanut M&M’s, tossing them at her.

Aurora squeals, eagerly tearing open the packet and immediately tossing three into her mouth. After an expectant eyebrow raise from him, she heaves herself off the couch with a dramatic sigh and runs the short distance to him before launching into his arms. 

“Thank you, Matty,” she says, voice muffled by the black Acme sweatshirt he’s wearing. He’s warm. And big—bigger than he was before he left for New York. “And congratulations.”

He hums a response, following her as she resumes her spot, this time making room for him beside her. “You didn’t want to go out tonight? Celebrate that enormous trophy?” 

Mat shrugs, placing her feet in his lap and securing the blanket over both. “Could take it or leave it. Can’t leave you to be home alone and bored.”

She rolls her eyes and nudges his leg with her foot. “Shut up. You didn’t have to come over.”

“Honestly, I need a break after that media circus,” he confesses. “So much press, so many questions, so many pictures. It’s exhausting.”

Aurora nods understandingly, though she can only imagine being put on public display the way he is day in and day out, the attention only heightened now that he’s won the Calder. She’s seen the pictures, the articles, all of the buzz, feeling a slight tinge of jealousy—not of him, but that she has to share him with the rest of the world now.

Mat settles in, and casual conversation filters in amidst the episode, pausing at moments to hear the dialogue before another one of them is adding commentary or snorting at someone’s Instagram story. It’s so casual, so normal, his place beside her on the couch; like finally finding that one pivotal puzzle piece she’s been looking for for hours. He’s calm, relaxed, and once again she begins to wonder if she’s been creating something out of nothing this entire time. If the flood of nerves in her chest is an overreaction.

“You still seeing that frat guy? Tim, or whatever his name is?” 

The question comes out of nowhere. Aurora can’t help but wonder if she detects a hint of jealousy.

“Was never really seeing him,” she replies, leaving a heavy pause, enough time for him to fill in the blanks. It’s true, but maybe she chose her words intentionally, curious to see if that lilt in his tone really was jealousy. 

He doesn’t react much outside of a nod and an over-engineered nice, but she sees the very slight tick in his jaw. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, instead supplying, “You really gonna give me shit, Mr. Hot-Shot-NHL rookie?”

“Listen,” he grins, “it’s not my fault there’s a million single girls in New York.”

This time, Aurora does roll her eyes, if only to hide the sting she feels deep in her chest. She wouldn’t say she has feelings for Mat Barzal, but—well, it’s complicated. It’s always been there, buried deep beneath the surface, veiled as fond affection for a friend who’s grown by her side since they were 12. 

“But none of them are as pretty as you.”

Aurora has to laugh, can’t help but laugh, rather than feel the discomfort that sinks in when she processes what he said. He’s always like this—these seemingly harmless, flirty comments—but those are the ones that keep his hooks latched into her, keeping her coming back for more, dangling by a single thread of hope.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“M’not. You’re so pretty it hurts.”

She moves to kick him—playfully, mostly—but his hand catches her foot in an instant. Before she has a chance to protest, barely processing the evil grin that hatches on his face, he’s tickling her arch. Aurora shrieks, legs flailing in protest, doing her best to scramble out of his grasp. Mat’s laugh is mirthful as his strong arms easily overpower her, hands moving to her hips to pin her to the couch.

“You’re gonna—” he pauses to wrestle her down, “—hurt yourself.”

“Fuck off,” she shouts playfully, hands shoving wildly at his hands in a weak attempt to stop him from tickling at her sides. “I—I hate you!”

In a flash, Aurora finds her arms pinned above her head, large hands pressed into her wrists. She shrieks again, but the laughter dies in her throat when she realizes he’s paused, hovering over her. Her legs stop their thrashing, breath caught in her throat while her heart thumps in her chest. She isn’t sure how long they sit like that, frozen in time, staring at one another; she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing she is, flashing back to the night spent inside the dimly lit bar bathroom.

And then he’s kissing her, desperate, his open mouth pressed against hers. It consumes her, the feeling of his lips, in a way that makes her wonder how she’s survived the last two years without his touch. The thought of stopping is unthinkable, unfathomable, unbearable. 

Mat’s hand slides down her arm to cup her jaw, thumb brushing against her cheekbone while his tongue finds hers. With her now free hand, Aurora instinctively moves to run her fingers through his hair, soft and smooth. It’s long, long enough that she can wrap the locks around her knuckles, offering a firm hold that has him exhaling lowly against her mouth.

With just the simplest, subtlest move, Aurora’s flipped the switch inside of Mat that transforms him from doting, passionate lover to desperate and unrestrained. His lips pivot to nip at the base of her jaw, offering a subtle bite on his way down to her neck. 

She can hear his heavy breath, feels it hot against her skin. His palm draws warmth up her side, rucking up her t-shirt to expose her bare stomach before his hand dives beneath the hem of the cotton to press flat against her ribcage. It’s shameful how quickly Mat can render her little more than a lolling, whimpering mess, back arched eagerly to chase his touch; she wants to kick herself for giving in so easily.

His hands move in tandem with his mouth, caressing, kneading, aiding her slow descent into madness. When he tugs the cotton over her head, grateful there’s no bra impeding his view, Mat swoops down to her breasts like a starving man getting his first taste of food; with a groan, his tongue swipes over a pebbled nipple. 

Aurora’s afraid to say his name, afraid that if she calls attention to the moment, he’ll snap out of it and stop. 

And she can’t have that. 

Hands roam, chased by hot breath and wet kisses, until she’s all but naked on her living room couch, as if she lives alone and doesn’t have roommates that could come home at any given moment. 

He doesn’t even bother to take her panties off, instead ripping them to the side and wetting his tip with her slick, teasing her folds for just a moment.

Mat pauses at her entrance, breath heavy in his chest. His eyes trail up to hers, and Aurora’s heartbeat ticks, afraid he’s going to change his mind right now, when she needs him more than she’s ever needed anything in her life.

And then his eyes slink over her body with a smirk, admiring her breasts, her curves, the way her legs have wrapped around his hips—when did that happen? Mat’s dick twitches when he realizes he has nowhere to go but inside the dripping wet cunt in front of him, perfect and tempting and waiting to be filled up. He lets the low groan rumble in his chest while his lips return to the spot he sucked into her neck.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty like this,” he murmurs against her skin. “Always think of you like this.”

Mat waits for only a moment, so brief that it flits by almost unnoticed, before he’s pushing in with a low groan. Aurora gasps at the sensation, infinitely better than everything her imagination conjures when her fingers slip between her thighs at night. Nothing replicates the feeling of him buried to the hilt inside her wet heat.

“How long you been thinkin’ ‘bout this, sweetheart?” he rasps once he grows accustomed to the way she squeezes him. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout you for a long time.”

Aurora’s fingers settle into the dip of his shoulders, breasts pressed into his chest. She tries to answer, but all that comes out is a moan. How can he expect her to speak when his hips are punching into her like they’re getting paid for it?

He’s smug at the way he’s rendered her speechless, entranced by the way she feels. Sensing he might not make it long, Mat focuses on his rhythm, finding the one that has her nails scratching down his back so he’ll have a perfect reminder of her wrapped around his dick.

When her moans escalate, he brings a hand between their bodies, watching the way her eyes flutter shut when he rubs at her clit. “Bein’ so good and so pretty for me, ‘Ror. Wanna feel you squeezin’ me while you come.”

She likes when he talks, judging by the way her breath hitches and her cunt tightens, so he keeps talking, muttering pretty, filthy somethings in her ear while he circles her clit. Before long, his whispers are covered by the sound of her crying out his name—she sounds the same as she did two years ago, sweeter this time now that he knows what she feels like when she comes. 

Later, when he slips out into the night, Aurora presses her fingers against the hickey on her neck, memorizing the feeling of his lips against her skin.

July 2019 - Vancouver, British Columbia  

Aurora takes a seat in the chiavari chair beside Gina, offering Dante a wave. A string quartet plays softly, ushering in wedding guests taking their seats before the ceremony. She’s there more out of obligation to the Fabbros, the bride a cousin of theirs that she’d grown up with, too.

Mat sidles in far too close to the start of the ceremony, plopping himself into the seat next to Aurora. He bumps shoulders with her, offering a grin when she mouths “hi” as the precessional begins.

The ceremony is sweet, the food is excellent, and Aurora can’t help but tear up at the best man’s speech during dinner. Afterwards, everyone is on the dance floor, moving and grooving to a Bruno Mars mashup. 

Everyone except two people.

Outside of the tent, Mat and Aurora are sitting on a bench, watching the sunset. Not feeling this song, Mat had murmured to her before jerking his head toward the tent opening, and who was she to say no to accompanying her friend to take in a Vancouver sunset?

“You think you’ll do all this?” The question is abrupt but curious, like his mind had been wandering and he blurted it out as soon as it appeared in his head.

“What? A wedding?”

He nods, gesturing around. “Yeah. You know, the flowers, the fuckin’… doilies, and shit.”

Aurora’s eyebrow raises as she hides a smile. “Do you even know what a doily is?”

“No, but it feels like something that would be here,” he says with a shrug. Dante’s loud laughter echoes from inside, piercing the quiet reprieve from the music. 

A few moments pass, the silence comfortable. “Yeah, I think I’d like to get married someday. Do the whole thing. No doilies, though.”

Mat snorts, nudging her knee with his. “Wonder what the guy's gonna be like.”

Aurora considers for a moment. In the few minutes they’ve been outside, the sun has slipped beneath the horizon, its dim, fading light still splaying out from behind the trees. Dusk looks good on him, she thinks. “He’s gonna get me flowers. And take care of me when I’m drunk. And he’s gonna be really, really good looking.”

Mat hums, impressed. “Damn. Sounds like a catch.”

“Duh. I’m a catch,” she says, to which Mat nods in agreement. “How about you?”

“She’s gonna have a great rack,” he replies, grinning so wide he almost ruins the delivery of the joke before he’s doubling over. Aurora snorts but joins him in laughter with a playful smack to the shoulder.

Inside the tent, the DJ makes some announcement that Aurora only half hears—something about grabbing a loved one. Mat extends a hand, smiles wide, and she ignores the thump of her chest as she slips her fingers against his palm. 

The anticipation pangs in her chest as he leads her to the dance floor. She feels a sliver of apprehension as he turns to face her, placing his hands respectfully on her waist. Instantly, there’s a flash of the night on the couch, of his lips against her skin; if he’s thinking about it, too, he doesn’t show any outward indication.

Any trace of discomfort dissipates once she gives in to his gravitational pull, hands lacing together behind his neck. He’s strong, sturdy, solid—the way he’s always been, ever-present and a constant in her life since she was 12. His eyes are warm, enveloping Aurora in his gaze until she forgets that there’s anyone else around. 

They sway through the remainder of the song, and when notes begin to slow, she finds herself wishing it would last longer. Fortunately, almost like the DJ is privy to her thoughts, the beat picks up, slow song melding into something more upbeat. Mat blinks, the bubble surrounding them popping unceremoniously. He can’t bring himself to let Aurora go, not when she feels so right in his arms.

With a dramatic pull, Mat spins her around, hand supporting her back as he dips her backwards. Aurora squeals, hand clutching onto his as her footing almost loses balance. Laughter bubbles out of her throat as Mat pulls her back upright, his eyes glowing with amusement. Suddenly, he’s looking to do anything to keep hearing that sound.

It takes a truly revolting love song for them to finally leave the dance floor, beelining toward the bar in search of liquid refreshment and a break. The rest of the evening is easy, full of elation and conviviality, the kind of night that makes your cup overflow and runneth over. 

That night, when Aurora slips into bed tipsy at 2AM with a contented sigh, she falls asleep dreaming of brown eyes and a crooked smile.

December 2022 – New York, New York

When Mat saw the text informing him that Aurora had a job interview for a Software Engineering Lead at TekStack in New York, he offered up his spare bedroom before she could even tell him the date. It would be a waste of money to stay at a hotel when he had an apartment he barely used, he said, and she could make a long weekend out of it and he’d show her around Long Island.

The grin on Mat’s face grows the instant he sees her, a gray coat draped over her arm as she wheels her carry-on behind her. He opens his arms and she falls into them, the way she has a hundred times. “Welcome to New York.”

“—it’s been waiting for you!” 

“Set you up for that on purpose,” he says, offering to take her bag. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” she replies. “But I really want to get the airplane off me first. Maybe takeout for tonight?”

Mat smiles. “Say no more. I know exactly the place.”

A few hours later, Aurora is seated at Mat’s counter, a spread of styrofoam across the quartz. Her suit is hanging in a garment bag on the back of the door to the guest bedroom, waiting to be pressed before her interview. It’s so familiar, the fondness, the sense of comfort, the shared laughter over a plate—or several—of food, but it’s no longer Dante’s family’s lakehouse or the Barzal family’s finished basement. This time, it’s Mat’s fancy apartment in Garden City, the rent alone more than what Aurora makes in a month.

But it’s still the same Mat sitting across from her. Same crooked smile, same easy laughter, same silly, unabashed personality. Admittedly, she was anxious wondering about how things would be; they’d hung out plenty over the summer, kept in touch via the group chat, but their one-on-one time had been limited the last few years.

Despite the apprehension, Aurora is surprised at how quickly they shake off the rust, barely needing any recoil time before it feels like old times. Of course, the camaraderie and pleasantries aren’t nearly enough to build up an immunity to his gray Lululemon sweatpants or the peek of his sculpted Adonis belt when he raises his arms in a lazy stretch. She wasn’t sure how she’d feel when she saw him, but she reluctantly accepts the steady beat of her heart in her chest that tells her her crush is, in fact, still holding strong.

They stay up chatting far longer than Mat anticipated, bedtime delayed even further when he offers to help her prepare for her interview, shrugging with a, I’m not tired anyway—anything to spend just a little more time with her. He Googles ‘Top Interview Questions’ and spends over an hour posing them to her, letting her work through how she’d answer each. Admittedly, he had never really had much practice in the way of a job interview outside of the pre-draft conversations he’d had with various NHL GM’s, but he had more than enough experience at preparing for an onslaught of questions—and how to shake off the nerves beforehand. 

“The thing I’ve learned most is to be concise,” he says, thinking back to when he first did NHL-mandated media training. “Don’t be afraid to take a few seconds after the question to think through what you want to say. That helps so you don’t ramble.”

“Don’t ramble. Got it.”

“And listen to some boss bitch music that hypes you up on your way in. It makes a difference. I promise.”

Aurora raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna need to know what type of ‘boss bitch’ music you’re listening to pre-game, Barzal.”

“Megan Thee Stallion is my top preference,” he says with a grin, “but if you tell anyone that, I’ll deny it and say Drake.”

“Any last expert advice for me?”

“Get a good night’s sleep,” he says, then glances at his phone at the mention of the time. “Which means we’re about two hours behind schedule. Let’s get you to bed.”

Mat offers to carry her bag to the guest bedroom—decorated straight out of a West Elm catalog—and Aurora thanks him before bidding him good night. After changing into her pajamas, she quickly shakes off the urge to pad down the hallway and slip into Mat’s bed with him, reminding herself that that isn’t why she’s here. 

Instead, she settles into the soft sheets, feeling herself slipping right back into the old, familiar flutter in her chest. 

—

Serendipitously, the scheduling worked out perfectly: the interview was Friday at 1PM, and the Islanders hosted the Predators on Friday night at 7PM, which meant Dante would be in New York and around for post-game dinner, drinks, and a little mid-season reunion for the trio of friends. Aurora shook away the feeling that fate was somehow intervening.

Friday morning arrives, and Mat has morning skate, so he wishes her good luck with a tight hug before he shoves a protein bar in his mouth on his way out the door. For good measure, he sends a string of emojis (💪👩🏽‍💼✅💰) once he arrives at the rink, hoping they’ll give her an extra boost of confidence. 

Practice is relatively easy, more of the opportunity to move his body and run through some plays—nothing intense, preserving energy for the actual game. He’s thankful for a pretty painless practice as his mind continually floats to Aurora, wondering how her interview went. Mat isn’t quite sure why he feels so invested in her landing this role until he realizes that if she gets it, she’ll be moving to New York. 

“Barzy, you trying to go out after the game?” Oliver asks across the locker room. Mat’s tugging on a pair of sweatpants, fresh from his post-practice shower.

“He can’t,” Matt pipes in with a lopsided grin. “His girl is here.”

Mat groans, pressing a hand to his face as he points a middle finger in Marty’s direction. Next thing he knows, the chirps and wolf whistles fill the room and he feels Pierre aggressively nudge his shoulder.

“A girl?”

“Yeah, the hot brunette. Total smokeshow,” Casey fills in for him. 

“Woof woof, Barzy!”

“Get it, Matty B!”

“Fuck off,” Mat huffs, a dismissive hand directed at no one in particular. “She’s not my… girl.”

“She stayin’ at your place?” Dobson asks. “Gonna be at the game tonight?”

Mat nods, earning another chorus of whistles. He rolls his eyes as he tosses his gloves and practice jersey in the bin, ignoring the no pre-game sex jokes (“Can’t play 3 periods if you’ve already played one in the sheets”).

“If she’s not your girl, I’m definitely gonna make a move, then.”

“Fuck off, Dobber.”

—

Aurora arrives home from the interview to find a jersey folded on the bed, along with a handwritten note–thought you might want to have something to rep the home team. She sends back a text to Mat to thank him and respond to his inquiry about the interview before setting off to change and make her way to UBS.

The game is disappointing, if you’re an Islanders fan. But while Aurora is sporting the blue and orange jersey, she’s waiting excitedly for a Nashville Predator to meet her in the designated area Mat directed her to. 

When he rounds the corner, hair still wet from his shower, she runs up to him and leaps into his arms. Dante grins as he embraces her in a tight hug. “Feel stupid now for wearing the wrong colors tonight, huh?”

“I have to support my host,” she says with an eye roll. 

The host in question appears as if he’s been summoned, moving to hug his old friend, but not before his eyes drag over the 13 on Aurora’s arm. The three of them together just feels right, the dynamic shifted—but complete.

Once they’ve been seated at a high top in a bar in Rockville Centre, Dante turns to Aurora. “‘Ror, how was the interview?” 

“It went great,” she grins, accepting the fist bump Dante offers her. “I aced the coding exercise.”

“You’re such a badass. I picture you like one of those hackers in the movies.”

Aurora snorts, shaking her head. She thanks the waiter who places her drink in front of her. “It’s not really like that, but thanks.”

Conversation flows easily amongst the trio–only one comment from Dante razzing Mat for the 4-1 loss–and eventually the food arrives, along with another round of drinks. 

“So… you really gonna join us and become a Yank?” Dante probes over his meal. 

“To be honest, I don’t even know if I’d accept it,” she says quietly. Mat watches the way her lip disappears between her teeth as she contemplates; he doesn’t envy the gargantuan decision that lies ahead of her. “It’s a big move to make.”

As dense as he knows he can sometimes be, Mat recognizes this as a pivotal opportunity for him to share his own experience moving across the continent. He doesn’t have much in the way of advice, the distance something he just grew accustomed to in time, but he knows what it’s like; feeling the divide between him and the rest of his life like a bruise that won’t quite heal, the precious few-hour window where phone calls and texts make 5,000 kilometers feel like 10.

In so many words, he tells her so, aided by Dante’s supporting murmurs in a rare serious moment. Aurora absorbs it, if nothing else, comforted by the fact that they understand—kind of. It’s a little different moving cross-continent when you’re going to make millions of dollars, but money certainly doesn’t make the distance less of a burden to carry.

“FaceTime is your best friend,” Dante says, and Mat nods in agreement.

“Oh, is that why I get one FaceTime from you every two months?” she sticks her tongue out at Dante. Mat makes a mental note to FaceTime her more often. If she moves to New York, he won’t have to.

“No, that’s ‘cause you’re not my best friend,” Dante jokes, and Aurora scoffs playfully, eyes rolled in annoyance. 

Sensing the end of the semi-serious moment, Mat stands up. “Gotta rock a piss.”

“Charming, Barz.”

Dante watches Mat’s retreating figure, eyeing the brown locks until they disappear down the hallway toward the restrooms. His gaze moves to Aurora’s, lowering his head conspiratorially. “Is something happening?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You two. You seem… different.”

Aurora’s eyebrows raise. “Different how?”

“Just… different,” Dante shrugs, then takes another swig of his drink. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t know you’ve been in love with each other forever.”

Jaw dropping in shock, Aurora feels her face suddenly get very hot. “That’s not true!”

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were still in denial,” he says, feigning self-defense and fighting a smile. “My bad. I’ll go back to trying to ignore the way you googly eyes each other.”

“I do not make googly eyes at him!”

“Man, ‘Ror, that acceptance is really buried deep down in there, huh?” Dante grins, dodging the french fry she launches in his direction. Then, he’s back to serious—kind of. “I know it’s a big leap to take when you’ve been friends for so long, but you haven’t been subjected to seeing the way you look at each other. I wish you’d just make out already. It’s disgusting.”

Aurora doesn’t have the heart to tell him they’ve already done far more than make out—multiple times—and part of her is relieved that Mat never divulged that information to his best friend despite every opportunity to. This way, it’s their little secret, something for just the two of them to have. 

Mat’s return effectively ends the conversation. They pay their tabs—Aurora ignores Dante’s pointed look when Mat picks hers up without a word—and make their way to the next bar.

Several hours and far too many Palomas later, Mat unlocks the door to his apartment. He struggles slightly under the stumbling weight of Aurora, who’s latched onto him as she drunkenly giggles. He’s not much better off, but the Uber ride sobered him up enough to think to order DoorDash, conveniently arriving a few minutes after they get in the door.

Coaxing her to eat is a bit of a struggle, but he finally manages to get her into a barstool, munching contentedly on chicken tenders.

“C’mon, ‘Ror,” he murmurs once he sees she isn’t going to finish the third tender. He wraps an arm around her waist, helping her out of the seat to stand her up. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

“Carry me!”

Without any additional warning, she’s leaping into his arms. Mat lets out an oof but manages to secure her in his arms as he carries her to the guest bedroom. When he places her on the mattress, her legs don’t untangle from his waist, and Mat feels the near instant pulse in his groin. Aurora’s eyes are closed, but her hips move, subtly, and he allows himself to revel in the feeling of her brushing against him. It doesn’t take long for his dick to become hard as steel, aided massively by the soft, sleepy whimpers that leave Aurora’s throat.

“Matty,” she whispers, hands seeking out the dips in his biceps.

Mat wants nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and devour her like he’s been aching to from the moment he saw a glimpse of her in a towel coming out of the shower this morning. He’s got just enough booze in his system to cloud his judgment, hand trailing up her side and savoring the warmth of her body against his palm. His dick twitches in his pants when he glides a hand over Aurora’s breast, yearning to tug the cups of that stupidly sexy corset down to repeat his fantasy.

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he summons every single ounce of self-restraint left in his body and tears himself away from her tempting frame. Much to his chagrin, Aurora lets out the most devastating, disappointed mewl and Mat swears he can feel his heart (and dick) shatter at the sound.

“‘Ror,” he whispers. “We can’t.”

“Why not? S’not like we’ve never… done it before,” she slurs, reaching to run her hands across his pecs. He indulges in the feeling for just a brief moment, his resolve fleeting with every second.

“Not like this.”

“Y-you—” she hiccups, then frowns when he gently takes her hands off of him, “—you don’t… want me.”

“No,” Mat says quickly. He’s pretty sure she won’t remember in the morning, but if she does, he wants her to remember this. “I do. But I don’t want it to be like this.”

“Only wore this so you’d take it off,” she murmurs, and Mat groans, the devil on his shoulder whispering very strong reasons why he should give into temptation.

Ultimately, the good guy in him wins the battle, ignoring the throbbing of his dick when he helps Aurora to shimmy off her skintight leather pants. He does his best to avoid staring at the flimsy scrap of fabric between her thighs and pretends not to notice how little it covers. Her body is almost entirely dead weight as he tries to figure out how to remove her corset, eventually tugging it over her head; her breasts fall free, and he chokes on his own spit as he desperately looks around for something to cover her with. 

Dashing to his room, he grabs a t-shirt—only a little bit intentionally selecting an Islanders tee in order to see her wearing his colors again; on his way back, he pours a glass of water and grabs a bottle of Advil from the bathroom. When he returns, Aurora’s breathing is heavy and she’s lying in the same position he left her in, finally asleep. 

Mat places the water on the nightstand, then notices her phone and plugs it into the charger. Gently, he slides the t-shirt over her head and maneuvers her arms through the sleeves, then situates her and tucks her in before pulling the blanket up to her chin. With a kiss on her forehead, Mat quietly steps back to return to his room, ready to palm himself off, the image of her tiny panties and her tits seared into his brain.

Just before he shuts the door, he hears a quiet whisper of his name, a soft Matty in the darkness. He pauses, waiting for her to speak again.

“Stay.”

Something in her voice makes his heart ache. He stands, frozen in place, hesitant to return to her; afraid that he won’t have the willpower to resist her if she makes a move again. Like an unruly stepchild, his dick throbs as he adjusts himself.

“Please?”

Her voice is so sweet, he can’t help himself. His feet move of their own accord, back to the bed before he’s crawling under the covers beside her. Aurora’s arm immediately wraps around his stomach, snuggling into the crook of his shoulder. As he listens to her dozing off, Mat pretends it’s the alcohol that blankets his heart with warmth and not the girl sleeping soundly in his arms.

—

Bright light wakes her first. There’s a few, beautiful seconds of peace before the throbbing begins.

Aurora groans loudly, hand flying to shield her eyes. Timidly, she stretches her legs out slowly, to avoid the wave of searing pain through her skull. She has a memory of Mat’s hands touching her, dragging their way up her body, but she can’t decide if that was real or just a dream. Judging by the empty space next to her in bed, she assumes it was a dream.

She gropes for her phone on the bedside table—thankful that she had the foresight to plug in her phone in her inebriated state—and opens Instagram. Dante’s green Close Friends story bubble is one of the first she sees. The video that lies within makes her groan: it’s Aurora, illuminated by the dim, disco lights of the bar they ended up at in Rockville Centre, making an absolute fool of herself dancing. If you can even call it dancing. It’s more like a series of unhinged, discombobulated movements that barely follow the pulse of the music playing over the speakers.

But Mat Barzal is in the background, watching her like she put the stars in the sky. His eyes are warm, and the smile on his face is soft, relaxed; a look of adoration. Of love.

[Gina:] Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Mat? [Gina:] Dude is looking at you like you just birthed his firstborn on Dante’s story  [Gina:] Wait, he didn’t knock you up, did he?

Aurora snorts at the texts from her pseudo-sister. 

[Aurora:] Funny enough, your brother asked me the same thing [Aurora:] And no, he did not knock me up  [Gina:] Still waiting on the answer to my first question

Aurora is halfway through typing a message (“I’ll call you when I get home”) when she hears the front door open and close. A few seconds later, there’s a gentle knock at the door before a messy-haired Mat pokes his head in. “G’morning, sunshine.”

She groans, throwing the blanket over her head in an attempt to shield herself. “Can you stop yelling?”

He laughs, and though it’s lovely, the sound pierces her brain with a fiery stake. “So you don’t want me to tell you there’s bagels in the kitchen?”

Aurora peeks her head out from under the comforter. “Bagels, you say?”

“Bagel sandwiches,” he corrects. “Best on Long Island.”

Contemplating for a moment, Aurora glances at the glass of water on the nightstand, along with the two Advil sitting by it. He must have put them there this morning. She downs then, throws on a sweatshirt, and trudges into the kitchen behind Mat.

Aurora is convinced the bagel sandwiches have magic in them, reinvigorating her brain and hitting just the right spot. The two of them chew in silence for a while, Mat choosing to give her a few minutes to come back to life.

When he senses the medication might have kicked in, he speaks, slowly. He isn’t sure why he’s feeling so nervous. “Are you sure you have to go back today?”

She laughs and nods. “Sadly, I do have to get back to my actual job that I haven’t quit yet.”

“Just saying, you can come and be my roommate–free of charge. You just gotta do the dishes and help with a little laundry.”

Aurora’s eyebrow raises, taking a long sip of the hot mug of coffee he’d placed in front of her ten minutes ago. “So you want a live-in maid?”

“Well, when you say it like that…” Mat trails off with a laugh. “Really though. When are you supposed to hear back?”

“They just said in a couple weeks,” she shrugs. Only a few more weeks before life could change forever.

Something in their goodbye is different; a little bit timid, maybe even hesitant, but neither call it to attention. Mat gives her a squeeze in the departures lane, wishing her a safe flight, and Aurora promises to keep him updated on the job.

He watches her slip between the sliding doors, watching her figure retreat until he can’t see her anymore.

January 2023 — Vancouver, British Columbia 

Aurora huffs, blowing the hair out of her eyes as she concentrates on her phone in her hand. She types, deletes, then re-types her message. 

I got the job. 

Her finger hovers over the button to send, heart pounding. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous, not exactly, but she knows there’s a lot of weight behind those four words, knows that they have the potential to change everything. For her. For him. Everything.

[Mat:] Congratulations! Told you you’d kill it. 😊

The text is followed by a gif of Buddy the Elf, and Aurora almost snorts at the stupidity of it. She takes a breath, almost… disappointed? If nothing else, she was expecting a bit more excitement, more fanfare. 

Aurora presses down on the message and gives it a thumbs up.

Three hours later, she’s on the phone with Gina, gushing over the excitement of her job offer. She hasn’t even accepted it, but she’s still wistfully dreaming of how she might decorate her Manhattan apartment, anticipating the charm—among other things—of being in the greatest city in the world. 

Gina senses Aurora’s hesitation before she even says anything. “But…”

“…but if I go, I’m pretty sure I’m going to get my heart broken.” She can hear Gina contemplating on the other line, probably debating how to deliver her latest blow of hard-hitting advice.

Gina’s next sentence is quiet, but confident. “You just need to talk to him, ‘Ror.”

“I know.”

Aurora’s phone buzzes, but it isn’t until she gets off the phone with Gina a few minutes later that she sees the second text appear on her screen.

[Mat:] so, we gonna do this? [Aurora:] do what?

She watches the text bubbles appear, then disappear. The seconds feel like an eternity before a FaceTime call is popping up, a photo of 17-year-old Mat with upside down sunglasses on. Sliding to answer, she’s greeted by the sight of Mat, arm resting behind his head, silver chain peeking out of the hem of his white t-shirt. His hair is ruffled, and he’s looking at the camera with a knowing smirk.

“You and me,” he says simply. It takes Aurora a few moments to realize he’s responding to her text—and a few more before she realizes what he’s saying.

“You–are you—what?”

“You know, give it the old college try.” He offers a cheeky shrug of his shoulders, a flash of his charming smile.

“Mat, are you asking me out?”

“Were you expecting a grand proposal with roses and champagne?”

She ignores his snigger, too frenzied to acknowledge his sarcastic quip. Instead, she opts to get to the real question she has burning a hole in her chest. “Where is this coming from?” 

“I’ve been waiting for a chance with you since we were 15, ‘Rora. Jus’ never had one ‘til right now.”

Aurora’s jaw drops, words completely absent from her brain. This was everything she’d wanted to hear for the better part of a decade, and here he is, as casual as if he was asking her to pass the salt at the dinner table. 

Mat’s waiting for a response, so she shakes off the surprise and does her best to gather her composure. She isn’t sure what to feel: elated, irritated, and skeptical, and everything in between. “And you never thought to tell me you felt this way?”

He shrugs. “Jus’ did, didn’t I?”

Aurora resists the laugh at the simplicity of his Boy Brain. “Mathew Michael Paul Barzal, if you are fucking with me and this is some shit idea of a joke—”

“Why would I joke about something like that?” he says, then a glint takes over in his eyes. “I would like to be fucking you, though.”

An exasperated sigh leaves her throat, though she begrudgingly notes the way her stomach flips at his statement. “Can you not do—that—for five minutes, please? This is a lot of information to take in.”

Mat hums an apology, not really sorry. He watches the way she puts her phone down, his view now the slowly spinning ceiling fan in her apartment bedroom. He can hear the sigh, the sound of her feet padding slowly on the hardwood floor–pacing.

“I’m serious, Aurora.” He announces it out, loudly, maybe a little more formally than he expected. 

Her forehead peeks over the camera, frizzy, unstyled post-shower waves falling over her face. “Fuck, Mat.”

“You could come live with me in Garden City,” he says. “Take the subway in on the days you go into work. Could set up an office for you in the den.”

“Mat, I’m not fucking moving in with you when I don’t even know what this is,” she says, exasperated, ignoring the thought he’s clearly put into it all. She hears the words he’s saying, but after almost a decade of missed connections, crushed hopes, and mixed messages, she’s hesitant to really take them to heart. It’s a defense mechanism, not willing to trust him even though she’s pretty sure he’s serious. “Do you realize how insane you sound?”

“M’not,” he says, shakes his head for emphasis. “It’s always been you, Ror.”

At that, Aurora has to sit down, the weight of the words smacking her clean in the chest. She can feel the magic, the warmth, the fuzzies enveloping her heart, ready to soar into the clouds at what he’s saying. At the same time, she’s confused, uncertain, maybe a little angry. More frustrated than mad, really, but she knows she deserves an explanation all the same.

“Why haven’t you said anything this entire time? It’s been years, Mat. I’ve loved you since we were fifteen—waiting this whole time to hear you say this, to give me any fucking clue that maybe you felt the same way.”

He looks like a puppy who has been scolded for destroying a roll of toilet paper. Then, “You think I don’t want to be with you?”

“You never gave a sign. You never even acknowledged what happened between us.”

It’s the first sign of any remorse when Mat sighs, his eyes cast down from the camera. “I—I thought it was casual. We’ve lived so far apart I just thought—”

“—thought it wasn’t worth it?”

“No,” he says quickly, looking up to meet her gaze. “I thought you wouldn’t want to do it. The distance.”

“Thought you regretted it,” she admits. Her voice is so quiet Mat barely hears it.

“Regret sleeping with the girl I’ve been in love with since I was in high school? Yeah, okay,” he snorts. “My only regret is that we haven’t been doing it all this time.”

Aurora hums, overwhelmed by his confession—if you can call it that—and the influx of feelings that have inundated her chest. What he’s saying makes sense, in a twisted, boy-math kind of way.

“What does being—” she swallows the word girlfriend like a disgusting cough syrup. “—together look like?”

“Whatever you want it to look like.”

“What do you want it to look like?”

Mat hums. He thinks, envisions what calling Aurora his girl—for real, not just when he’s getting razzed by his teammates–would look like. A picture of waking up with her in his arms, sleepy and smiling. Eating takeout on the couch, her feet in his lap, sporting one of his t-shirts while they catch up on Succession. Seeing her in the stands at UBS, wearing his number on her back. Laughter, comfort, happiness. Home. 

In other words, the entire weekend he spent with her.

“Don’t say something stupid like, ‘unlimited sex’,” she adds, the dreamy smile on his face alerting her to the idea that some of his thoughts may, perhaps, be unsavory.

“Wasn’t gonna,” he replies, “but now that you mention it…”

“I’m going to hang up.”

“I’m just joking, ‘Ror. I mean, don’t get me wrong, that would be top of my list. But you gotta know that you’re way more to me than just great tits and a fat ass.”

“Mat!”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he says, holding a hand up as if to defend himself from her scathing tone. Aurora’s eyes roll and she scoffs, though Mat swears he sees the corner of her lip turn up just slightly. “I’d… want it to look exactly like this.”

Aurora blinks, not expecting such a simple answer—not that she had any idea of what to expect out of his mouth, ever. The concept that they’re already there, minus the labels, is… overwhelming. A little bit unnerving, because everything that flicks through her mind just feels like more and more evidence that he’s right. Dante, Gina, everyone else saw it—she’d just been blind to it the whole time.

“So,” he says slowly, afraid to pop her thought bubble. “What d’you say?”

“Wish you were here and not on FaceTime,” she mumbles, embarrassed at the vulnerability that slips out.

“I’ll get a flight to Vancouver right now, if it helps.”

Aurora smiles melancholy, and it tastes bittersweet. She knows he’s serious, would be by her side as soon as humanly possible, if she asked. But she also knows his influence will only sway her in one direction, and she needs to make sure she’s making an unbiased decision.

“Ror?”

“I–I need some space, okay?”

“I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

—

The next week is a blur, a mess of emotions and running through the same scenarios in her head over and over again. Aurora sits at the countertop on FaceTime with Gina, dissecting the options for what feels like the thousandth time. 

“I don’t know what he doesn’t understand about space but this sure isn’t it,” she says, glancing at the bouquet of flowers sitting in a pretty—and expensive—glass vase.

“I think it’s sweet,” Gina insists. “Besides, we all know he isn’t the smartest.”

“It feels like he’s pressuring me, Gin,” Aurora says.

Gina rolls her eyes. “So he wants to show you he cares after years of burying his feelings. Sue the guy, why don’t you?”

Dusting a crumb off of the kitchen counter, scrolling through the relocation document TekStack had sent her along with her offer, Aurora sighs. Gina’s right; other than the flowers, he’d cooled it on everything else, and she missed it—the stupid memes, the goofy texts, the random (and gross) Snapchat series of him peeing in different cities. Missed him.

“Can’t wait to visit you. Keep the sex to a minimum while I’m in the guest bedroom, ‘kay?”

“Shut up!”

February 2023 — New York, New York

Mat fidgets, wiping his hands on his sides before glancing at his watch for the 16th time in five minutes. 3:17pm. Any minute now.

When he sees her coming down the catwalk, he doesn’t think twice; his strides quicken, along with the tick of his heart, and his fingers itch in anticipation. When he reaches her, he ignores the look of surprise on her face, hands cupping her jaw and pulling her mouth to his in a kiss that takes her breath away.

“I love you,” he says breathlessly when she pulls away, an expression of pure shock on her face. “Should’ve been telling you that for years. Please, please, please be mine. For real.”

The corners of Aurora’s lips twitch before they curl into a smile, and Mat has to resist the urge to kiss her again before she can even answer.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna do an elaborate proposal,” she says with a laugh. 

“Would, if that’s what it took,” he mumbles. He knows he’s being a simp, but he’s not missing this chance now that it’s right in front of him, so close he can taste it—literally. Her chapstick lingers on his lips, subtle but enough that he knows it’s all her.

“Lucky for you, Barzy, I think an airport love confession is the perfect amount of elaborate.”

SIMILAR CONTENT

The Mystery of Love* Third Time’s the Charm* Adore You

[atopvisenyashill]

I just wanted to say that one of the things I love about “the starklings’ third eyes start opening sooner” AU is Robb getting fully magicpilled. fully with Grey Wind. giving Jon and Theon the 'I told you!' chatting with Meera about this is how it goes.

yeeeeeeeeees okay one thing that's interesting to me that I think is a bit underdiscussed is that Robb comes into his warging abilities just as quickly as Bran - and why wouldn't he tbh?? Like Bran, he is in constant contact with his direwolf and has the time to build that connection and start dreaming. i mean this exchange here-

“Did you hear Summer howling last night?” “Grey Wind was restless too," Robb said. His auburn hair had grown shaggy and unkempt, and a reddish stubble covered his jaw, making him look older than his fifteen years. "Sometimes I think they know things … sense things …" Robb sighed. "I never know how much to tell you, Bran. I wish you were older.”

this happens in Bran V. They haven't even left Winterfell yet to raise the banners!! He starts dreaming early on and with dreaming comes warging, accidental or on purpose. The reason we don't get Jon actively warging is because Jon doesn't want to. It takes several more months for Arya to get the hang of warging and she still figures it out on her own, warging cats, dreaming with Nymeria, etc. And Robb seems to use his abilities to help in the war immediately. Even if he's just dreaming this and not actively using Grey Wind to search while he's awake, he's clearly using the information he gathers as Grey Wind to help-

“He never took it. He slipped around it in the night. It’s said the direwolf showed him the way, that Grey Wind of his. The beast sniffed out a goat track that wound down a defile and up along beneath a ridge, a crooked and stony way, yet wide enough for men riding single file. The Lannisters in their watchtowers got not so much a glimpse of them." 

There's no way Robb doesn't realize he's magic and he's clearly freaking out about it. So imo I think of all the Starklings, Robb is the one who would go full magicpilled right away. This is like, a cool Stark thing that he can do, and he's blessed by the gods now, and he's not in the middle of a war so he can investigate. I think Jon absolutely would still be in denial about it, same for Theon (because Theon, in another parallel to Jon, is also just ignoring his magical tendencies), and the little ones who would agree with him (Arya, Bran, Rickon) are suuuuper young so he can't rely on them to back him up without looking crazy.

So yeah that's why I decided that the minute the Reeds get there and start talking some weird shit about magic he's like "so.......in the stories..........do people ever like.................i don't know, crazy thought here, but do they share a body with their animal companions perhaps?" and Meera is jumping up and down with excitement as an even tinier Jojen is solemnly explaining how serious being a warg is. The three eyed crow doesn't even need to open anyone's third eye because Robb is pushing up his sleeves, holding his siblings down, and wrenching those lids OPEN so he has someone to talk too lol.

[jennagrinsoverml]

Any good fics featuring Marinette or Adrien akumatized?

There sure are! (And wow did I ever get a lot of asks for this!) Now, to be clear, I won't be reccing any Chat Blanc fics, since that's a category in and of itself (and as a result this list favours akumanette). But let's have some akumanette and akumadrien!

Confessions by @spuk-goodness

S04 Alternative beginning where Marinette shares her biggest secret with her partner and where 'We are a team' means 'I love you'.

Or the one where Hawk Moth notices that Marinette is a bit overwhelmed and decides to take advantage. A new akuma appears in Paris the very next day and Chat Noir has to fight by himself. Where could his Lady possibly be?

One-shot. Akumanette. This is a different take on akumanette than we usually see, which I loved. I absolutely think it makes sense for an akuma to target Marinette with how overwhelmed she is, especially in early season 4, and I love the way that it was handled here.

when you weren’t mine to lose by @bugsandchatons

Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

Multi-chapter. Akumanette (Akuma!Ladybug, really). This is what happens when Ladybug loses Chat Noir. It hurts in all the best ways and the writing is absolutely gorgeous and somehow we still get a happy ending!

Lovelace by @p-artsypants

Convinced that he's unlovable, Adrien is quickly thrown for a loop when Marinette confesses her love for him out of the blue. An akumatization and reveal later, he changes his mind about being unlovable.

One-shot. Akumadrien. I love when Gabriel is a horrible bastard and that results in Adrien being akumatized, and this fic is aboslutely perfect for that! It's also an original take on akumadrien, which I love.

Echoes of You by @kittinoir

In the day time, she’s Marinette - a normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with…

Multi-chapter. Akumanette. Marinette gives up the miracle box and her memories, and Chat is frantic trying to figure out what happened to his Lady. (And the love square content, including a lot of Marichat, is fantastic!) Meanwhile, Chloe is trying to do better following the events of Miracle Queen.

A Different Approach by ShawnaCanon

Adrien finds out Ladybug's true identity. Since Cat Noir has been thoroughly friend-zoned, he figures maybe he can woo her as Adrien. But that means doing it without his mask. And that's scarier than any supervillain Hawk Moth could throw at him.

Multi-chapter. Akumadrien. It takes a while to get to the akumadrien, but I really enjoyed the journey. This poor boy is so romantically inept, but ultimately that's not what leads to his akumatization. This is a different take than we usually see and it's very much Adrien that is akumatized, rather than Chat (or any kind of Chat Blanc variation).

A Sound of Thunder by Tempomental

“Bye-bye, little… actually, that’s your line, isn’t it? Sorry.”

Ladybug stared at the man in front of her. Tall. Shaggy, but not unkempt blond hair. Oh yeah, and he was wearing a Ladybug costume.

“Who - who are you?”

“Oh, right, sorry.” He drew himself up to his full height and proudly announced, “My name is Adrien Agreste, and I’ve come from the future to rescue you!”

Multi-chapter. Akumadrien. In our time, Adrien and Marinette use their traditional miraculous. However, Adrien also comes back from the future to help out with the ladybug miraculous. It’s extremely intense and well written and every time I thought I had spotted a problem in the writing, it turned out to be a plot element but holy shit I thought I was going to die with how intense this is. If you like plot, you will absolutely LOVE this fic.

some truths are as loyal (as the shadows we lead) by @carpisuns

When Marinette wins a design contest hosted by Gabriel Agreste, it seems like a dream come true. Until everything goes wrong. (A Marichat akumanette fic)

Multi-chapter. Akumanette. This was actually the first akumanette fic I ever read and it gave me a bit of a taste for it! @carpisuns is an amazing writer, and I always enjoy everything she gifts us. This is no exception! My favourite part of this was seeing just how much it took to break Marinette, as well as Gabriel being The Worst.

too little, too late. by @madibug

“Ladybug.” Chat’s voice cuts in like molten steel. It’s a tone that Ladybug hasn’t heard him use with her before and so it surprises her into turning to him and - It feels like smacking into a wall. Chat is no more than a foot away from her but when their eyes meet, it hits her just how much distance has grown between them. Her heart hiccups out of rhythm, as hearts often do when something feels… wrong.

Multi-chapter. Akumanette. I really enjoyed this one, especially all of the different plans and how the crew adapted. This is @madibug's answer to the Ladybug version of Chat Blanc, and it's really creepy and interesting!

fleeting. by @agnes-writes

e·phem·er·al (/əˈfem(ə)rəl/), adj. - lasting for a very short time. But no matter how fleeting Ephemeral's powers may make things, the damage has already been done. And Ladybug pays the price. OR: A drabble based on what I want to happen in Episode 100: Ephemeral.

One-shot. Akumadrien. I really enjoyed this alternate imagining of Ephmeral! It was written before the episode aired, so it's not entirely consistent, but it's still really interesting and well done.

And, for a bit of a self-rec, The Closest Thing to Love features akumanette, if you're interested in fake dating and PRPR 😊

[cyberrat]

72nd Batch Of Fics: 6th Fill

Hanzo/Cassidy – Rough and Tumble AU – Part 9 – cont B67F6 – premature ejaculation – Cole is still fighting with that pesky premature ejaculation problem he's got :')

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Hanzo throws a leg over Cole’s hips, hands pushing down against his hairy chest. His usual lovers are all nice and shaved but there is something that always stays his tongue when he is about to order Cassidy to go and do the same.

He curls his fingers slightly, pinching the crips hairs between his fingers and pulling until he sees tears shooting into Cole’s eyes. He hisses and shifts a little beneath Hanzo… but other than that he stays nice and put.

Here, at least, his training is showing through.

His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows thickly, staring up at his sugar daddy in anticipation of his order, though he must already know what Hanzo wants of him.

“You will not come until I tell you to,” Hanzo says in a low voice. He reaches behind himself with one hand, briefly searching for his stud’s cock. It is big and warm and practically leaps into his palm. He holds it still while he drags his ass crack along the shaft.

Hanzo can feel it flexing in his grip, throbbing nice and slow in time with the heartbeat he can feel against his palm.

“Do you understand? I am sick of your pitiful little demonstrations of your… stamina.” The last he says with enough disdain to have Cole shift again, his cheeks becoming ruddy red beneath his unkempt beard. His lovely dark eyes shift to the side but he hisses and looks back up at Hanzo when he once again gets his chest hair tugged on.

“Yes, Sir,” he rasps obediently.

Hanzo can feel a fat droplet of moisture against the sensitive inside of his wrist. He lifts one brow, staring down at Cole in challenge as he slowly lifts on his knees and situates his cock against his loose hole, wet with lubricant.

He arches his back and positions himself before slowly letting himself slide down on Cole’s cock. It’s big and warm and feels absolutely perfect inside him. He’s already addicted to this idiot mutt’s dick… if only he would finally learn to properly use it.

Hanzo is not overly fond of sitting on him; he rather likes to spread is legs and let his studs do all the work; but the last few times he’s let Cole have a go at him, he pumped his load so ridiculously fast that he thinks this might be better after all.

Even though he doesn’t sound like it. He already whines like a puppy, briefly gripping at Hanzo’s legs before quickly letting go again.

No roughhousing and leaving marks.

Hanzo enjoys the feeling of fullness for a moment or two, just breathing through it and trying to find a position for his legs that will let him ride Cassidy for a bit before his muscles start cramping.

It doesn’t really help. He’s only gotten in a few slow, delicious drags up and down when the mutt already starts to beg.

“Uh… S-Sir? Sir, please- I… I’m aboutta-” Cole’s lovely deep voice has crawled up an octave or two. There’s a tremble of absolute desperation in it, his brown eyes huge and panicky.

Hanzo’s hand shoots down, grabbing a hold of the young stud’s shaggy beard to pull on his head. “You won’t!” he gasps, insides clenching down on the juicy young man cock he’s riding. His whole body is primed for release itself. “You won’t! Not yet!”

He rides faster, harder, desperate to get his own release before Cole has a chance to disappoint him again and pump out his gooey, warm load before Hanzo.

Cole wheezes. It kind of sounds like a sob which Hanzo definitely likes. Gets him far closer to his own release, in any case. He does not mean to keep his claw-like grasp on the young man’s beard but he holds on either way. He is too focused on his own body; the burn in his thighs as he desperately pumps his body up and down, fucking himself on the stud cock.

Determined to carve an orgasm out for himself before Cole has a chance to ruin everything again. No matter how mean he is playing with him over and over again, the hairy idiot finds a way to disappoint Hanzo all over again…

(Not that he isn’t flattered by just how hot and horny Cole is for him. How obviously the idiot is head over heels for this older, distinguished gentleman and the abuse he can dish out for him. It might be the only reason that he keeps him around in the first place.)

Cole’s wheezing becomes whimpering. Against his orders, he grabs Hanzo, his big hands warm on his master’s thighs, fingertips digging into his muscles. Oh, he will put bruises on Hanzo’s flawless skin.

This mutt…

“Sir please- Fuck- your pussy feels so damn good-” He shifts, nearly toppling Hanzo as he digs his heels into the bed and lifts his knees behind him.

Hanzo’s eyes flare, his hand immediately tightening on Cole’s beard, pulling on it until he sees his face lightly twisting in pain. “Don’t!” he hisses at him. But those pretty brown eyes are looking at him in apology.

They both know what will happen now. That Cole can stop it just as little as Hanzo can as his hands slip from Hanzo’s thighs up to his hips, holding on to him tight and pumping his hips up to meet him.

Hanzo grits his teeth, closing his eyes, trying to let the feeling of this unruly hooligan so easily manhandling him push him over the edge himself… but no. No, his annoyance over the lack of discipline wins out and his orgasm slides back into some murky depths while his hole gets used by Cole as if the mutt had any right to it.

He grunts with the effort of snapping his hips up once, twice, thrice – his fat cock drilling into Hanzo deeper even than he had been able to do sitting on those wide, sturdy hips.

Cole sounds absolutely too triumphant when he pushes up and into Hanzo one last time, his back arched and his head thrown back because all Hanzo can do at this point is to brace himself on the young man’s hairy chest and hold on so he wouldn’t get thrown off like a ragdoll.

He can feel that fat young cock flexing inside him, twitching in the desperate clench of Hanzo’s intestines before pulsing out his thick, nasty load. Hanzo wonders if it is his cum that he can feel spreading inside his tummy, hot and gooey, or whether it is his own anger over having been stolen his own orgasm just before the goal yet again.

This… absolutely won’t do. Hanzo digs his nails into Cassidy’s chest until the pain pulls him somewhat out of his orgasmic daze.

His pupils are blown so wide, there’s only a thin ring of whiskey brown around them. He looks up at Hanzo, his face still slack for a moment until his brain starts to kick into gear and his mouth opens, then closes again.

At least he has the grace of looking embarrassed as he glances away.

But this time… Hanzo won’t just leave it at scolding and ridiculing him.

[unboundtravels]

SHORT TRIPS; UNBOUNDNOVEMBER 13/23: THE SIDEQUEST

On the edge of space, The Doctor is attempting desperately to return a lost witch back to her home. When a strange and ethereal being drags the duo off of their pre-set course, The Doctor & his companion are brought face to face with an offer they literally aren't allowed to refuse.

Featuring additions by @primewitch / Pichu !!

Ivory white walls and bright round indents are connected by a steel floor and ceiling. There is a soft groaning & wheezing that echoes passively across the air, drowned out by the ambient hum of the Control Room. Slowly, The Time-Ship TARDIS spins its way through the Time-Space Vortex. It passes stars, planets, moons, skies, and soars across the fields of time without much of a care in the universe. The control console in the center of the room is a bright green, with many buttons and switches scattered across as the column in the center begins to sink up and down. This is a Type 40 Time Capsule, and it’s owned and operated illegally (with notice) by a Renegade Timelord known simply as 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫. He’s recently undergone a facelift. This new incarnation is pale, with bright blue crazy eyes— like a man who hasn’t slept in weeks, but still seems to have enough energy to go on very long tangents about very unexpected things. His hair was a shaggy silver, and it was very, very unkempt. 

He seemed a strange man. At least initially. He was apparently an alien. He definitely appeared like one, wearing very baggy clothing. Right now, he was wearing a tan dress shirt, with a brown waistcoat and a tan cravat. His pants were also baggy, but they were a bit of a darker brown. He was wearing dusty sneakers and a cotton blue overcoat. The most egregious part of his outfit had to be, however, the long flowing scarf that went down to his knees. She’d been trying to help him pick a new outfit for days. 

Oh! That’s right. 

The Doctor isn’t alone. Across from him, is a woman who, even if seemingly more…. Human, still very strange, indeed. She knows when to speak and how to dress, she also knows when to laugh (even if the joke is far too corny to be funny), and when to cry or yell- But who is she, exactly? In tones of purples and with a hat that certainly one wouldn’t miss, or with her honey brown hair cascading on her left shoulder… No matter how strange she might appear to some, one thing is certain: She is a sight to admire when she walks by. Slightly tanned skin covered in freckles in places, green eyes as bright as a green button pom flower, and a voice that makes it seem like she is always singing. Ah, yes… But why would she be found with him, of all people, of all places? She doesn’t want to be here, or at least. If she can, The Doctor can’t tell. Their meeting was a bit chaotic, or at least… he can’t quite remember everything that happened. He often tells her that he thinks he was shrugging off a death-induced hangover promptly before he’d met her. 

The ship was in flight for a long time, however. Not by choice, though. If The Doctor could get rid of Lisa, he would— he doesn’t like her, and she doesn’t like him. Despite that, though, they’re stuck together. While he can’t quite remember how, his TARDIS seemingly found it’s way to the other side of the universe. He’d just woken up from a refreshing nap and had even gotten a new body. That had it’s own hiccups, but he took the time to make sure everything in his brain was working before they departed. The main issue, seemingly, revolves around which way they came… Which he doesn’t know. Neither does his ship and certainly— neither does Lisa. The Doctor was trying to get her home, of course. As quick as he could! He just had this particular of getting sidetracked wherever they landed. Getting her involved in all sorts of crazy misadventures that usually involved thwarting evil aliens who shouted, “Curse you, Doctor! You’ll die for this!” Which he never did. Well, enough was enough.

Between them was a yellow board that stood upright. Several black and yellow pieces were rested in them. This had been an attempt to distract his attention whilst his ship flew from one corner of the universe to another. That was really all that could be done, really. Just fly from one corner of the universe to another and hope they hit Teyvat. For now, all the two could do was play this game to pass the time. The Doctor stared at it very intensely. The Witch looked at it rather unamused. Bored, perhaps? It was the scientist’s turn. He held a black piece in his hand, tapping it softly against his knee. He’d been staring awkwardly for a couple of minutes. After a while, he decided to block off one of her attempts to connect four. From what he saw, this move would give him the advantage. At the very least, he could get connected four in the next turn or two.

The Doctor grew smug, afterward, chuckling wearily at his recent move. 

“You had a good run, Miss Minci. However~! I have the advantage of being slightly ahead of you. Sometimes behind, but very mostly ahead. It’s a timelord thing, I’m sure you understand.” He nodded, proudly. That sounded smart, at least to him. 

The Witch can’t help but roll her eyes, and even dares to wave her hand dismissively. “Whatever you say, darling- Just hurry up with your move already...“ A yawn escapes her lips, and she shrugs almost immediately. Laying down in the middle of the room (Of course, a pillow summoned so she can rest her head on top of something comfortable), staring at the ceiling… Not her definition of fun, no- But certainly more fun than looking at the man doing absolutely nothing. Oh look, there she goes, counting the lightbulbs again!

The Doctor moved to hold his piece over the board, chuckling heartily as his move intended to set her back a few steps was proceeded by getting up off the floor. Walking over to the console, The Doctor seemingly began to shrug the game off as if he’d already won. He had a bit of an ego like that. A bit only being a vast understatement of its actual size. 

“Finally…“ She whispers to herself quietly, rolling over the moment he gets up to go do whatever it is that he did (What a strange man! And she has had her experience with a few of them already!). She sighs, the little circular piece floating as she moves it, placing it over one of his pieces before she lays down again. “Your turn again, Doctor- Try not to be so fast this time! ”

From the other side of the room, she saw him whip his head around. “RUBBISH!!!” He moved back to their board, squatting back down in front of it and examining what she’d done. He shoots a glare at her and moves to instantly pick up a piece again, preparing to sit down again—

What happened next can only be described as hitting the brakes very very suddenly. The lights in the ship pop out with a BOOM as the ship suddenly grinds to a halt. The board is swept away, and The Witch can feel The Doctor instantly grabbing her in a very protective manner as an almost instinctual response. No crash happens, no lights or explosions go off. There’s just… silence. Darkness. The ship has just stopped. No ambient noise, no humming, no engines. Just the sound of their breathing, before The Doctor breaks the silence. “Are you alright?” 

A gasp leaves slightly colored lips when the place simply shifts drastically, no other word to describe it. She almost shocks the other the moment he grabs her, though she calms down considerably in the moment of stress- Instead just grabbing something to hold on to. “Yes… Just peachy.“ She huffs, slowly getting up. “I know your little toy box sometimes breaks a little, but…“ Never like this. “What happened?“

The Doctor scratched the back of his head and huffed out. He seemed unsure, but he stood up with her and cleared his throat. “Well. We stopped.” He said very suddenly. He moved toward the console, flicking some of the switches up. No response. Totally dead. He tapped his finger against his lip suddenly and cleared his throat again as if he really had nothing better to do. “Well…” he parroted. “We’ve…. We’ve… er…” Now that he was thinking about it… Was this even possible? The more he began to think it out, the more he wondered what exactly had stopped his ship. “We’ve… er… Stopped.” He repeated.

The doors suddenly swung open, and a bright golden light suddenly dripped into the room. It was angelic, almost sort of refreshing. The Doctor covered his eyes, and for some reason he thought he heard a choir— or at least some kind of organ music. Either way, he had to squint at the light, pushing his hand away. 

“Lisa, I thought I told you to put a no solicitors sign up—”

“And what did I tell you about that?“ To be exact, she told him to do it himself, for she is just a guest! A temporary roommate!! This place wasn’t hers. She covers her eyes with her hat, though her other hand is already covered in a purple-like mist, electricity shown in it too. Whatever visited them, well, she was ready if the situation needed to escalate to such things.

“Doctor.“ It echoed, a male voice… soft, like someone’s father. Or some kind of familiar figure. “Lisa.“

The Doctor put his hand down a bit and gestured for Lisa to stop with the… electricity thing. If not for the fact they were still inside The TARDIS, then for the clearly angelic voice that was speaking into his ship. The Doctor cleared his throat.

“Present.”

“Present, but it’s Ms. Minci to you.“

“You’ve been summoned …"

The Doctor paused, giving Lisa a side-eyed stare before he cleared his throat. “Ah! Yes, er… Well, I don’t mean… I don’t wish to be rude but… Well, would you mind telling me who it is you are, exactly?” He moved to slide his hands into his pockets, giving a head nudge toward Lisa. “Of course! I know who you are, but what about Ms. Minci, here? She’s curious, I’m sure.” He didn’t want to get caught off guard, here. He was eight hundred years old (the last time he checked). What if he’d run into this vague immortal voice, before? That’d be rather embarrassing. 

And immediately she glares at him, even going as far as poking him on the side with shocks to really shake him up. “No no, please do explain who you are! To us both, especially him-“ And another glare is given, as well as a little huff as she walks closer ever so slightly. “I apologize as well for how he greeted you, mind you- I am sure you don’t like for us to make assumptions. I don’t like it either.“ 

“You’re rambling—” The Doctor pointed out, quietly. 

The Voice silenced them, speaking up.

“Do you even need to ask?”

As if that was enough. The Doctor nodded quietly. If this was the person who’d stopped his ship, that’d mean they were probably very terrifyingly powerful. He gave Lisa a look and shrugged his shoulders quietly, sort of quietly miming to her that they should probably go outside and greet… er… well. The Man. The penultimate— Thing. He scrunched his eyebrows together and she noticed him trying to make sense of it in his head before he grabbed his hat off the hat stand and exited the ship. It was either now or never.

The Police Box had materialized (or maybe it was dropped. Who knows how this all works?) in the middle of a sort of… rocky desert. The Doctor rested a blonde fedora over his head. There was a small foot-wide river between Lisa, The Doctor, and a man sitting in a wicker chair underneath a dead tree. He wore an all-white suit, with a red rose in his lapel. His hat had a wide brim, but was more… lounge-wear, in nature. There was a small table next to him, and he had a glass of what seemed to be sweet tea. He had a silvery white beard, and his eyes were also a matching silver.

The Doctor leaned down to Lisa, and the man in white noticed this— but said nothing.

“So. Are you going to ask him, or should I?”

“I don’t know if I should… I mean, how would I without sounding rude?“ It’s almost as if, even with their differences, they knew exactly what the other was thinking. Perhaps that is why they often grew upset at each other. “But well, if you insist…. What are you?..“ The Witch couldn’t deny the curiosity that grew more and more as she looked at the other, now that he had a form that is.

The Man in white sipped at his iced tea softly, before resting it aside and crossing his legs. “Ms. Minci… Did you study all those years just to be rude?” He asked, seemingly very genuine in his questioning. “I am not a what, I am a who.” He exhaled softly, resting his hands against his thighs softly before staring. He didn’t blink. Not at first, anyway.

“Ah! That’s on me.” The Doctor raised his hands, “She’s new to cosmic traveling, I’m still teaching her the 101’s in basic greetings—” 

“Stand up straight when you talk to me, Doctor. Childish antics and obscene behavior can stay inside The TARDIS.” He shot a glare toward The Timelord, who stood up straight and took his hat off. He nudged Lisa to do the same. 

“So, is this what Celestia looks like?” He mumbled to her.

“How should I know? I never went there…“ She sighs, and while she doesn’t remove her hat ( It is rude to even suggest for a lady to do so! ), she bows a little in respect. “My apologies. Who are you? And what made you bring us here?..“ After all, everything had a reason.

“For simplicity’s sake, you may call me The White Guardian.” He spoke, and The Doctor’s eyes suddenly popped as wide as he could get, “Ah, er. Hm.” He dragged out his hums quietly before he moved to aim a finger toward The White Guardian, turning him and Lisa to face their back toward him. He leaned in to whisper to her. “One moment, please—”

“Guardians. There are usually only two of them. They represent the forces of good and evil.” He mumbled, remembering what he’d read back at the Academy on Gallifrey. He dragged his thoughts out, “Probably… not… who we think it is…” He mumbled, “Unless you rank the manifestation of all that is good in the universe above that…?” He raised his eyebrows, shrugging lightly at her. He was out of his element, here.

Was he trying to discuss religious ideology right now? In front of said implied religious diety?

She allows it to happen with, once more, a glare. But nothing was said, the woman just listened carefully with a small nod. “I see…“ And so, Lisa turns back to the other with a small, even walking towards him with a little strut in her pace. “Mind if I sit down?“ She asks sweetly, eyeing the tea a little as well. The Doctor might have been out of his element, but she certainly was in hers.

“Certainly,” He gestured. There was a wicker chair behind her now. The Doctor hadn’t even noticed it appear. He stared with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. The Guardian continued, “But you won’t be sitting for long.” He explained, “The Two of you have been selected for a task. A task of vital importance.”

“How very flattering, sir.” The Doctor mumbled, kicking another rock. Bullocks.

“It concerns an object, called The Key to Time.” The Guardian explains, examining their reactions to see if they’ve heard of it. The Doctor scratched the back of his head, again, still out of his element. Though the name did sound familiar. Maybe a myth. “Are you familiar with the object?” 

“Maybe… Stories, legends, myths—”

“It is not a myth, Doctor.” He said this very sternly, which made The Timelord look flustered for a moment.

“Yes, of course. Sorry sir.”

“The key to time is a perfect cube. It controls all equilibrium within the universe. It is the lynchpin that balances the harmonious nature of dark and light.” He explained, holding his out to show this perfect cube. It had cracks in it, but those cracks were perfect… as if the cube was some kind of puzzle. “It consists of six segments, that are scattered across the known cosmos. Every single one of them is hidden…” He clenches his fist, the image of the cube fading away as his hands return to his side.

“When the segments are assembled, they create a power which is too dangerous for any being to possess.” He paused, allowing them to absorb this information. He gauged their expressions. The Doctor seemed a little bit bored, and a little bit apprehensive. As if he was receiving some kind of lecture he’d never even asked for.

“How interesting, sir...“ Her curiosity was peaked at this very moment, head resting against her hand as she stared up at the other. “But I must ask… Why do we need the key to time? It feels like there’s some missing information there.“ Of course, if he didn’t wish to tell them that, that was fine with her as well- But Lisa knew she wouldn’t rest until she found out the actual answer, anyway.

Though, truthfully, she was excited. Even being in the presence of such a being was exciting to her already. She could feel his power, and whether he was who he claimed to be, didn’t matter to her. Some things never changed with the Librarian over the years, and this was certainly one of them; The desire and wish to always know more and more, no matter the risks.

The White Guardian leaned forward, and suddenly before Lisa was a plate of small tarts for her to enjoy. They tasted like home, but a little bit of all her homes mixed together. As if he was extending an olive branch as he continued explaining. “There are times, Ms. Minci— when the forces within the universe upset the balance to such an extent… that it becomes necessary to stop everything.”

“Stop everything?” The Doctor parroted, growing a bit concerned at that kind of language. The Guardian took another sip of his sweet tea and nodded, “For a moment. A brief moment, only.” That seemed to relax The Doctor, allowing the Guardian to continue. “Such a moment is rapidly approaching.” He explained to both of them. “The Segments must be traced and gathered… so that the balance can be reset.” He explained.

A brief moment of silence passed before The Doctor let out a hesitant chuckle. There was amusement, but also a little bit of anxiety in his laugh. He did not cross the stream toward the side of Lisa and The Guardian, he remained firmly where he was. He did, however, scratch the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.” He apologized for laughing but continued questioning. “You… want Lisa and I… to gather the key to time… essentially so…” He just blurted it out.

“We can turn the universe on & off again?”

“In simplistic terms, yes. The segments must be gathered and used before the universe is plunged into eternal chaos.” The Guardian explained, looking between the two for a moment to let them process the severity and intensity of said task.

Somehow, Lisa seemed… Calm, about this. She understood completely the severity of what was being asked of her and the other, but there was a strangeness about the way she appeared so relaxed. “And when do we start?“ There was the feeling that, perhaps to her, this was just another Tuesday. But she never did anything like this, of course- And she wouldn’t lie about it, either. But perhaps past experiences made this process a tad easier.

The Witch just sighed, however, holding one of the tarts in her hand, not yet eating another again. She looked at the Doctor, tilting her head, before looking at the White Guardian again. “ And do I really need to work with him on this? I’d rather do it alone, truth be told. “

The Doctor suddenly piped up, “Yes. Exactly! I’m sure there are plenty of other good, faithful, reliable Timelords who would do this job for—”

“I have chosen you two.”

The Doctor snapped his fingers, “Yes I was thinking you’d say something like that—” The Doctor looked at Lisa and then toward The White Guardian. He pondered this question for a moment.

“What if we—” He stopped, “What if I say no?”

The White Guardian sipped at his drink for a moment.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?” The Doctor replied, eyebrow-raising.

“Nothing at all.” He repeated, “Ever.”

The Doctor hummed, quietly. He looked toward Lisa and slid his hat back on, hands in his pockets as he exhaled. “How will I know what these pieces look like? It’s a big universe there? I don’t imagine they’re painted with the big bold letters saying Segment here.” No, no. The Doctor huffed. That would be too easy. 

“They contain the elemental forces of The Universe. They can be disguised as any object of any size located within the universe, taking any shape or size.” He turned toward Lisa, holding his hand out. “Your vision, Ms Minci.” He requested it of her, waiting patiently for her to pass it toward him. 

She blinks, now raising an eyebrow at him and resting her covered hand over her chest, over her vision. “I apologize, but my vision is not to be messed with.“ The Witch knew the power within it and the price for even having it in the first place. She wouldn’t dare cast another curse on herself without a proper reason, to her at least. “Care to explain in another way?“

“It is nothing like that,” He explains. “You will need something to locate the segments. Your vision can be enhanced by my own power to assist with that.” She was distrusting, even of the man in the wicker chair. The Doctor half expected her to be smitten down by the hand of The White Guardian. He clears his throat and fumbles through his jacket. 

“I, er… Let’s see…” The Doctor eventually crosses the split in the river to stand next to Lisa. He offers this small cylindrical object. The White Guardian stares at it for a moment and then looks toward The Doctor.

“You realize by making the locator a component for your ship, you’re not only volunteering for the task, but I will have imbued my power into something that can be used by anyone to locate the key…” The Guardian warned.

“Not the first target I’ve painted on my back.” He gives Lisa a nudge on the shoulder, “Let’s not give Lisa a first she doesn’t need, eh?” He offered out the component for his ship. The Guardian gave it a tap, and white energy briefly flourished on the object.

“Good luck to both of you.” The Guardian gave a small head tilt before he set his drink aside. “Oh… And one more thing, the both of you.” He looked at them. “I am The White Guardian,” He reminded, “To create a balance within the universe… there must also be a Black Guardian. He too, is seeking the segments of the key to time. You must… under no circumstance… allow him to have these components.” He advised them.

“Sounds like a piece of cake, right Ms. Minci?” The Doctor gave her a look, although his tone was certainly drenched in lots and lots of sarcasm. This wasn’t going to be easy. Not at all.

“Oh, surely.“ She chuckles a little, getting up and fixing up her dress. The woman bows once more, smiling again, towards the Guardian- Never one to be caught being disrespectful or rude towards one ( at least, when they were watching ). "It was a pleasure meeting you, Sir. And the tarts were lovely, too.“ 

“Ah, yes. That reminds me.” He whispered to Lisa, leaning forward. The Doctor squinted. Were they sharing secrets? Awfully rude of them, wasn’t it? Regardless, The Guardian whispered to Lisa. “Although you have been selected for this task, I understand there is a certain affliction that is harming you. It is beyond my power to remove it, but for now… I have paused your hourglass. For as long as you are seeking out the segments for me.” He leaned back.

Green eyes widen slightly at his words, another nod given once he is done talking. “Right…“ She quickly clears her throat, though, not letting the Doctor wonder for long about what was said. “Thank you, sir…“ She turns to the one and only, her companion on the various little trips they have had so far ( And to think they were all about trying to get her home… What exciting disappointments ), gesturing her head towards the police box. “Shall we?“

“Doctor.” The guardian called out.

“Hm?” He looked from The Witch to The Entity.

“Beware The Black Guardian.”

“Beware The Black Guardian?” He raised an eyebrow. Suddenly he felt this itch in the back of his neck.

“Beware.” The Black Guardian has selected quite the candidates for his search.

No longer was the man in the wicker chair. For now, it was empty. The Doctor felt a cold chill running up his spine as he exhaled firmly. He looked towards Lisa, the locator in his hand as he slapped it lightly against his palm. He waited for about two minutes. Just in case. When he knew for certain The Guardian was gone, he released the longest exhale. As if a weight was on his shoulders.

“That was not God.” He immediately slammed it down on the proverbial table of discussion.

“I’d reckon he was! Did you see how he vanished? Can you explain that, Mr. Sciency?“ She is already walking ahead of him, not caring at all. Though, of course, he wouldn’t be able to see the smile on her face as they began to go at it again.

“My people invented teleporting! That was teleporting! Like The TARDIS! Maybe he teleports! Can’t you teleport?” He questioned loudly, catching up to her as they made their way toward The Police Box. He fished the key out of his pocket but looked down at her slightly for a moment. He paused, for a moment. They certainly did bicker a lot. Didn’t they? He paused for thought.

“Er…” He scratched at his cheek, “...He said us. So… Together, then?”

“Not like we have much choice, Doctor.“ And then, she simply gestures to the box. “Let us go, then. For I believe that a big adventure awaits us..“ 

“I think you’re right.” He holds the door open for her, letting her back inside The Police Box. “How am I going to get rid of you?” He said, but it was teasing. Something peeked into the back of his mind, but he kept it to himself. 

At least it’s Lisa. He thought to himself.  

[morealias]

True story. For a while our offices were open on the weekends, AEP (Oct 15-Dec 07) through OEP (Jan 01-Mar 31) season, and I closed. Now we didn't have enough management to actually have in office management to close the weekends, that was me, a Team Mentor (glorified regular agent who has done the job for so long I knew how to do everything). We had a single WFH manager who handled any backend stuff, like adding hours, fixing schedules, etc, but in the offices I handled any agents who needed assistance. And closed and locked the building after everyone left... As AEP transitioned into OEP and the work volume slowed to a trickle, less and less agents were needed and less and less wanted to work the weekends (less calls equals less enrollemnts equals less commissions). Eventually everyone would be gone on the weekends by 2pm. Leaving just me, in a sea of cubicles, with it growing dark outside and all the lights clicking off area by area. Including the one in my area because I didn't care, I can work in the dark.

One night I'm chilling, watching something spooky on Netflix on the big screen (I didn't mind working the weekends for this reason, popcorn, a big screen, and getting paid to basically catch up on my tv/movie backlog? Sure, why not) when the lights click on in an department on the other side of the building.

No one should be coming in, it's an hour till close, WTH? I get up, move as to avoid the light's motion sensors, I mean if it's thief or a vandal, I'd like to avoid confrontation while I dial 911. And if it isn't, well, still no need to advertise till I'm sure, right?

So I'm slipping along through the cubicles, staying low, and I come around the corner into the lit area. I'm standing, because, well lights are on, my fingers on the dial button. Don't see anyone.

Now I'm actually a bit spooked. Before, when the lights snapped on, it was a mild jump scare, since I was watching a spooky movie, but now? Whoever came in (it better a whoever) didn't leave this area, or if they did, they also avoided activating lights… and there is no one here.

So I'm cautiously moving along, checking down each cubicle lane for vagrants. We'd had issues when we first moved into the building with them getting in and sleeping under desks, but, that was back when people left outside doors open, and the building didn't bother with the alarms. A few break-ins later, building management having to replace expensive workstations for multiple building clients, and they started using the alarms.

So, here I am, figuring someone went and left on outside door open, or forgot to turn on the alarm, and some vagrant slipped in and bypassed our door keycard system (way easier than security wants to believe). So I'm moving along, paying 100% attention to the cubicle lanes and not the locked offices, because the locked offices have actual door locks and easily slipped card systems.

So, I'm standing right in front of a 'locked' office door, scoping the cubicles and I hear the door open behind me. I turn and all I see is a stick as I get a face full of broom handle.

The cleaning lady, who has a keycard and keys to all the offices, had come super late to clean up… and when all the lights were off she thought everyone had gone home. When she opened the office door and saw a huge guy, with a shaggy beard and vaguely unkempt hair with his back to her she thought some homeless bum had snuck in somehow.

So… yeah. Sometimes it's a horror story, and sometimes it's just a face full of broom handle. I was fine, my foreheads pretty solid and she recognized me after she hit me (so she only hit me once, even though she was super scared). Thankfully it was the broom and not La Chancla.

This'd be a fun setting for a horror game. I'm alone in an office that's a converted warehouse, and all the lights are on motion detectors.

Everyone else left hours ago, so naturally Ira very dark here. That's not super creepy, but the fact that the shop's light just turned itself on, yet there doesn't appear to be anyone in there? That's a tad creepy.

[aldbooks]

”when was the last time you ate?” Elucien (Elain asks lucien)

Angsty Prompts

Oooh, I've been waiting for an Elucien one. I love Gwynriel, but a lot of these prompts are better suited to Elucien.

I'm setting this one probably a year or two after ACOSF. Koschei is dealt with, Beron is dead, he's learned Helion is his father, Vassa has returned to her throne on the continent with Jurian, he still hasn't made much progress with Elain and Lucien is... not dealing well...

This is kind of a long one

---

It had been a surprise to everyone when Tamlin arrived unannounced on the border on the Night Court. Elain had been sure Rhysand was only one snide comment away from tearing the male's head off, but he'd been smart enough to remain firmly inside the bounds of the Day Court.

At the very least, she expected that he and her sister would not even deign to hear him out had he not looked quite so aggrieved. And after the aid he'd provided during both the conflicts with Hybern and Koschei, she rather thought they might have softened towards the male just a little bit.

Elain, of course, had not actually been present for this particular conversation, but she'd had a vision of his coming just before they'd received word of his arrival, and Rhysand had opened his mind to her, rather surprisingly, not long after they'd gone to meet the High Lord of Spring.

The reason why, she'd discovered not long after.

"I don't know what else to do," Tamlin said, looking defeated. "It was bad for several months when he first arrived in Spring- after Jesminda, but this..."

He shook his head, shaggy, blonde hair swishing around his shoulders. He looked better than the last time Rhysand had seen him outside of a battlefield. Not quite himself yet, but not so wild and unkempt.

"Back then, he'd been emotional. He'd have bouts of furious anger and sadness. Now and then he'd hide away and wallow in his guilt and sorrow, but mostly he still tried to participate. Tried to distract himself from the grief. Now... it's like he's barely alive. I'm not sure he's said ten words altogether since he arrived and it's been a month."

"And what exactly do you think we can do for him that you cannot? You are his oldest friend," Feyre said cautiously.

Tamlin sighed, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. "Honestly, I don't know. But I don't know who else to turn to. He's turned away anyway who's come to visit, even his mother. I thought perhaps... your sister-"

"I will not involve Elain in this," Feyre interjected. "She has shown no interest in him or the bond, I will not force her to interact with him. Whatever is bothering him is not her burden to bear."

Rhys, surprisingly, said nothing. His silence seemed rather pointed. Not at his companions, Elain realized, but at her. Whatever his thoughts were on the subject, he did not share, but it was rather obvious he wanted her to hear.

"No one is forcing her," Tamlin growled in frustration. "But it would not hurt to ask. I've exhausted every other possibility," he said quickly, before Feyre could retort. "I would not be here otherwise," he added bitterly.

Rhysand's gaze shifted to his mate who studied Tamlin, arms crossed over her chest and expression uncertain. Still, he offered no opinion.

Tamlin's sigh this time sounded heavier. "I'm worried about him," he said quietly. "He's been through so much already, I-I'm worried what he might do..."

The implication hung heavily amongst them, seeming to hit her sister hard. "I will ask her," she said after a long moment. "But I make no promises."

"That is all I ask," Tamlin said gratefully, nodding to them both before he disappeared.

---

Elain was still staring out the kitchen window, where she had been at the time Rhysand had allowed her into his mind. She'd gone there to help the twins, who were making bread, in an effort to expel the sudden nervous energy she'd felt after informing Rhys and her sister of Tamlin's arrival.

Now she blinked, refocusing on the room. Her hands were still sticky and covered in flour, one hand pressed down on the ball of dough she'd been working. Nuala and Cerridwen stared at her worriedly and she realized she was crying. Barely, but enough to wet her lashes.

"Are you alright, Lady?" Nuala asked.

Before Elain could answer, Rhys and Feyre returned, walking straight into the kitchen.

Her sister wrung her hands nervously in front of her, seeming to carefully consider her words. "Elain..."

"I know," she whispered. Elain's eyes slid to Rhysand's who was watching her silently. There was no emotion on his face, but she thought she could see it in his eyes. He knew what she'd decided, and he approved. "I will go."

Feyre threw a glare at her mate before she took a step forward, reaching out a hand. "You don't have to-"

"I know. I said I will go."

Truth be told, the decision had been an easy one and not just because she was the sort of person who could not bear to see another suffering when there was something she might do to help.

Despite the tug of the bond that she had been consistently ignoring for the last four years, she did not dislike her mate. In truth, she barely knew him. But she did feel compassion for him. She was not a monster.

Even so, it was not the only reason she'd decided to go. She hadn't even realized it until she'd made the choice but... she was dying to get out of this house. She loved her sister but ever since she'd come to live here in the Night Court, she'd felt... smothered. Like she couldn't quite take a full breath.

True, she was comfortable and cared for, had every luxury she might desire but... The others, her sisters especially, still treated her like a fine doll. Delicate and breakable, in need of protection. At first, she had appreciated the security, but now it was almost stifling.

No one ever said so explicitly, but she was hardly permitted to leave the house without an escort, let alone the city. Even with all of the fear and awfulness that had come with the two battles she had now seen (from the sidelines at that, safely tucked away in her tent - with guards) it had almost been a relief to be outside of Velaris.

Beyond the carefully protected city, she had only seen the worst of Prythian thus far. Battlefields and uninhabited parts of territories. She well remembered her sisters descriptions of the Spring Court when she had first returned to them. Of its beauty and peacefulness. She wanted to see it for herself. Perhaps she would ask him to show her. Perhaps it would stir him from whatever depths he had sunk himself into...

---

The heady scent of flowers and the gentle warmth of Spring were the first things she registered when they arrived. Feyre had initially wanted to send one of the Illyrians with her for protection but Elain had insisted it was not necessary. Neither male, she knew, was overly fond of the High Lord, and she did not want to risk provoking a fight when she was there for a different purpose entirely. Feyre and Rhys were also out of the question as they still had a tendency to quarrel with Tamlin.

The compromise, had been the blonde standing at her side, carefully scanning the manor grounds around them as she nearly glowed in the sunlight as golden as her hair.

"Well," Mor said. "It seems most of Tamlin's court still has not returned, though his gardeners, at least, seem to have been hard at work."

Indeed, the gardens were just as exquisite as her sister had described. Even if they did look a bit sparse, having clearly been recently redone, old or dying plants stripped away to give more room for the still healthy ones to grow. There was a riot of color spread all around her and varietals she'd never seen before. She itched to explore, but the low, steady beating that reached her ears from inside the mansion, reminded her why she was here.

Mor waved a hand, gesturing for Elain to stay close as she followed her towards the massive wooden front doors. They opened before they reached them and they were greeted, not by a footman or housekeeper, but by the High Lord himself. Tamlin's expression was guarded, but she could see the flash of relief in his eyes.

"You've come," was all he said.

"As you see," Mor replied tartly. Green eyes flared at her tone, but he refrained from responding in kind.

"Where is he?" Elain asked.

In reply, the High Lord turned on his heel and nodding with his head for them to follow. He led them through the sparsely decorated hall, over checkered marble floors. She could easily imagine how it must have looked before he had destroyed it, though great pains had clearly been taken to restore it as much as possible. She could see the faint cracks that had been patched up, the faded spots of paint and carpet where pictures were now missing and furniture had once sat. It made her sad.

They stopped in front of a large oak door in a shadowy hallway, Tamlin laid his hand on the doorknob but seemed to hesitate. "I should warn you," he said, words little more than a breath so they might not be overheard by the room's occupant. "He- does not look like himself. As you would have known him..."

Even Mor seemed uneasy at this. It was hard for Elain to imagine the male as anything other than the vibrant, kindly one she had met over the years. "I think," she said eventually. "It might be best if I go in alone, for now."

Mor tensed, and even Tamlin seemed uncertain before nodding. "As you wish." He turned the knob and silently pushed the door open, making room for her to pass. Once she entered the room, he shut it behind her with a soft click. On the other side, she could hear whispered arguing which she did her best to ignore as she took in the space before her.

It was a library, she realized, though it had taken a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lower lighting she had not expected when the rest of the house had been full of natural light. No, not a library, the space was too small for that, a study. There was a fire on the far end of the room, a faded green couch spread before it. Colorfully woven rugs covered the floors and large bookcases covered the walls on either side. A scratched wooden desk sat to her left, a pair of mismatched armchairs on the right.

She did not immediately ascertain his location, though she could detect his scent. With soft steps, she padded further into the room, her skirts rustling about her legs the only other sound beyond the crackling fire.

She caught a glimpse of a familiar shade of red over the arm of the couch and moved around it, just barely holding in a gasp when she finally saw him.

"I should warn you... he does not look like himself..."

Indeed, if it were not for the bond that thrummed faintly between them, and the scars that ran down the side of his face, she might not have known him.

Lucien.

Something broke in her as she took him in. His long red hair was loose, draped haphazardly around his face and shoulders and did not look as though it had been washed or brushed in some time. His usually pristine clothing was rumpled and dirty and appeared much looser on him than it ought to. His golden skin was paler than she'd ever seen it, his cheeks not as full as she remembered, making his features look sharper than before. Dark bruises circled under his eyes which stared unblinking at the ceiling and he lay so unnaturally still that for one horrible moment, she was afraid she'd been too late.

Then his chest rose and fell on a breath that might have been a sigh, and his fingers twitched, the bottle he'd been holding beneath them falling to the floor. Empty. As she approached him, the smell of alcohol wafted off of him in heavy waves.

He did not move as she drew closer, did not even seem to register her presence as she knelt on the ground before him, bringing their faces almost level.

"Lucien," she said quietly. He blinked, but did not otherwise respond.

Remembering their first true meeting, she reached inside of herself for that golden thread she tried so hard to keep buried. Following its path to the male before her, she gave it a light tug. He jerked slightly. Finally, his gaze moved oh so slowly in her direction.

His face seemed darker at this angle, shadows from the flickering flames dancing over his mouth and cheeks, glinting off the golden metal of his eye. The russet one, stared blankly at her, so hollow it nearly tore her apart.

Her chest tightened at the utter emptiness she saw there. Whatever had caused this, it wasn't just eating at him- it was consuming him. The bond tugged and pushed between them, instinct demanding she soothe him and she did not fight it as she reached out a hand, softly trailing her fingers along the side of his face, tucking away a strand of hair.

Some unnamed emotion flickered in his eye, there and gone before she could determine its origin. Still, he said nothing. Did nothing. She traced the line of his jaw. "Lucien," she breathed.

His lashes fluttered slightly, chest filling with a deeper breath than before. Still not much of a reaction, but more than the first time she'd said his name.

Again she followed that strand that connected them. When she reached the gate to his side, a massive thing of intricately sculpted iron tangled with vines and umber leaves, she chose a different approach. Rather than tug as she had before, she gently pulled, as though reeling in a line, trying to draw him out of the darkness that held him.

Gradually, the life seemed to return to that molten stare as he focused fully on her for the first time. He blinked, once, twice, then said- his voice deep and scratchy from disuse. "Lady."

She almost sobbed when she heard it and, instead, smiled faintly. "Hello."

"Hello."

She breathed in a slow breath. He was speaking. His gaze never left her face, almost unnerving in its intensity, but he was responding to her. And that was a start.

She wasn't sure why it was the first words out of her mouth. Perhaps it was his too pale skin, or his slightly sunken cheeks, or the clothes that did not fit as they should, but an undeniable urge to care for her mate rose in her as she said "When was the last time you ate?"

---

I'll probably write a part 2 to this but it's late and this was already getting long so, here you go for now 😅

[theanonymousfoxsimp]

Incubus! Karl x pagan!reader drabble before the fics

Nothing suggestive, Just a short drabble

You had just gotten off of work and went to visit the local pagan shop for a new book. Deciding to delve down into reading about the world of demons and inhuman entities. You could tell their presense was real,feeling spirits and small unseeable creatures scatter when you stepped into the shop and began to wander around. The shop was frustratingly hidden due to being in a less than welcoming area for wiccans and pagans. Not that you complained,the prices were cheap,books were labeled accordingly.

You grabbed a particular book that caught your eye,a book about demons and tricky entities. It was on sale-despite the odd aura it radiated when you picked it up. The store clerk gave you a small weird look when you payed for your items,not minding you slipping only cash onto the table. He nodded,bid you a farewell then you were off back to your home. The trek back was short,knowing what safe shortcuts to take in order to get back to your home. In a few short minutes,you were back home and happily running up the stairs to pull out the odd black book from your bag. You discarded the wrapping,coughing when dust came off of the book when you opened it.

The first page was an image,four creatures around the title "Miranda's guide for demons and incantations". The next page was a chapter list,deciding to scroll all the way to the section specifially for entities and their summoning rituals. Scrolling through,one particular ritual seemed almost too easy,like it was begging for you to do it-with a small warning at the bottom saying "an offering of chocolate goes a long way with this entity". Simple enough right?

Setting up the ritual was easy,however old valentines day chocolate from a few days ago was the only thing you had. It was still relatively full,so you took all of the choclates out and put them on a plate with marshmallows. A sugary offering you were tempted to eat there and now but completing the ritual was still your top priority.

The summoning words were spoken,nothing happened at first until the warm shifted from ice cold to warm like being underneath a heated blanket. You became confused then yelled out in shock as the plate infront of you began to float and the chocolate was slowly eaten. The plate seemed to be held in the air by an invisible source, but in a blink of an eye-it was visibly.

Clearly a demon,protruding horns coming from the top of his head,a pointed tail whipping behind him and a small pair of wings twitching everytime he practically swallowed the chocolate pieces. He didn't even notice you at first until he went for the plate of marshmallows held out in your hand. His hands were massive compaired to yours,easily covering it as he grabbed the plate and ate the sugary treats.

"First kind soul to ever offer me something in a long while sweetheart" the man spoke,voice deep and smooth as he took in your exicted look.

This has never happened before for either of you-mainly you never being able to properly summon something,let alone see it and speak with it. The way you laughed happily and stood up on the bed which was the only way to even remotely be face to face with the demon. Your thoughts racing as you examined him,hands running over his inhuman bits. A wet object running across your cheek brought you out of your thoughts,viving him a warning look as a bit of a forked tounge stuck out of his mouth and a "I didn't do that" look was on his face. You sat back down then tilted your head,one question ringing in your head, "what is he?". Mind scrawling down every detail of his form,shaggy silver hair,a scratchy unkempt beard,practically naked minus the pair of sweatpants he wore.

"So...you wanna do it or..?" He started. Your face contorting to one of confusion as he watched your movements.

"Tell me you read my description before summoning me sweetheart" he said in a bored tone. You shook your head,shrugging at his words.

"Ritual seemed easy enough, didn't seem to bother me to read it all-I didn't even think this would happen!" You said the last part in an excited manner. You did read a small bit of his description as the book floated over to you.

"Karl heisenberg

A higher level incubus, a part of Miranda's circle of dangerous and cunning demons"

Thats all you needed to read before you mentally scolded yourself. One being thankful you didn't have a partner to walk in and see a strange looking man infront of your bed. He sighed,crawling onto the bed to easily pin you down on your back,a smirk appearing on his expression.

"A deal perhaps....you clearly didn't read my description on what I do minus that little bit,how about I show you what I can do-you can back out anytime before we start but a fair warning. I don't stop till we are both satisfied " his voice lowered an octave, hoping and hoping you would say yes.

"Yes" you could tell yourself it was soley for reaserch purposes but the pent up side of you wanted this. Thats all it took for him to grin,lean down a place a gentle quick kiss on your lips.

"Oh we are going to have so much fun little bunny" he said happily.

You looked forward to this.

[mxvladdy]

Oof, my little heart couldn't hold all of the feels you elicited with "Worth", so good. You were very thorough

Can I request a NSFW continuation later that afternoon?

Maybe a bit of praise kink since his little Giglio needs reassurance? (Also, 👀 demon daddy dick in a tiny human can't be easy)

A/N: *ears perk up* How did you know all of my weaknesses?

Pairing: Diavolo x GN! Reader

Warnings: Little bit of size kink, little bit of daddy kink, smut (18+)

Word Count: 4.6k (there is a lot leading up to it lol)

You decide to take the rest of your meal to Diavolo’s private solarium. While his inner chambers were comfortable enough. If you were going to take the day to yourselves you didn’t want to spend all of it in the bedroom. No matter how tempting the idea was. Dia takes you through the maze of corridors and hidden doors, both of you still in your night things, unkempt but happy to be so. Normally Diavolo wouldn’t be caught dead outside of a pressed suit or his uniform, but this was a treat for both of you after all. So now he strolled through his kingdom in nothing but a pair of sleep pants and sleepers, you nestled comfortably in his arms grasping a basket of leftover food and drink tucked in your lap. No stuffy clothes today or polite word play, just layed back pleasures.

Artificial sunlight greets you as he pushes the large glass door open to his garden with his shoulder. The warmth of it cuts through the thin fabric of your sleepwear, chasing away the last vestiges of drowsiness that clung to you. You unfurl in his arms, stretching out like the plants around you. Smiling up into the sun you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. The breeze circling around you was sweet with the smell of blooming spring flowers and crisp creek water.

The first time Diavolo invited you into his secret garden you were in awe. He boasted proudly to you that he had designed it and planted the gardens himself back in his younger years before his duties took up almost all his time. It was a wild place. The plants growing free and unmolested by controlling hands or others' judgment of what beauty was. It reflected the unique characteristics of the Prince beautifully. To be given access to this place was an honor. Not even the brothers knew of this area. His personal beach was a place he didn’t mind sharing with his closest companions, but the gardens? The gardens were just his. Only he and Barbatos knew of it. Until you came along.

“Where shall we sit mio giglio?” His gold eyes sweep his grounds before looking down at you with a tender smile. “By the willows? They are in bloom, or perhaps the lake.” He nods his chin to the south following a clean well maintained brick path. Both of these places were your favorite places to relax after school.

You look down at the basket in your lap in thought. “No. How about the veranda by the hedge garden?” That was his favorite place to lounge.

He hums in delight, agreeing readily. “Wonderful! The cosmos should be in bloom by now.” He turns to the north traipsing through soft overgrown grass and sprouts of spongy moss. He didn’t have a path for this area.

“You can just make them bloom whenever, right?” You ask.

“And where would be the fun in that?” He shoots you a wink. “Magic doesn’t need to be used for everything you know.”

You huff. “Says the guy that can do magic.” He laughs but doesn’t disagree. The sound of a babbling brook grows louder and louder as you both venture further into the heart of his garden. The trees and bushes tickle your body as he walks through the grove of overgrown branches and vines to the most secluded part. Breaching one more dense shrubbery you arrive. He lets you down with a tender kiss before going about collecting the discarded floor cushions and blankets scattered about the patio. He works in silence creating a semi-circle of puff by the edge of the deck. You let him work placing the basket by the little nest forming and go to lean over the low railing separating you from a short drop down to the flowing waters traveling underneath you. The air was cooler here from the freshwater. It gives you goosebumps up your bare legs. “Careful,” Dia calls to you, looking up from his work. “The wood is slick there.”

You nod showing him that both of your hands were on the railing as you venture over to the bright blue and yellow flowers pushing their way through the gaps in the wood. They sway innocently up at you. Their petals are soft and forgiving under the pads of your fingers. They looked like human plants, but you were certain. “Everything here is safe for you to explore.”

Turning to your prince you laugh. His large body now splayed out over the nest he had just finished. His body faces away from you towards the unlit fire pit. He looks at you upside down, his head draping over a large bolster pillow. “Oh? Does that include you?” You match his teasing smile stopping inches away from his outstretched hands. He scoffs in frustration, making grabby hands at your thighs to make you join him.

“Of course tesoro. This day is for us… for you. If you so desire.” His voice is calm and light but his eyes are predatory.

“I do like that idea.” You inch closer bending down to trace a finger over his bare chest. You follow the swirling marks of his heritage up his chest and arms to his parted lips. “I do have some ideas…” You trail off feeling claw-tipped fingers circling your calves and travel up to your inner thighs. The tips of which brush dangerously close to the edges of your underwear.

Diavolo beams. “Dia!” You yelp in shock as he takes your knees out from under you. You tumble forward into his warm body and pillows. His laugh is jovial and bright, way too pleased with his little stunt. Straightening yourself out on his chest you match his gentle rolling laugh with your own breathless one.

“Mio Giglio.” He comes up to kiss the laugh lines curling around your lips. “Cosa c’é che non va?” He hugs you closer. You laugh accepting his affections. “Such a beauty.” He marvels. “Even with the dried drool.” He swipes at the corner of your mouth before you could protest.

“Hey!” You wiggle in his embrace elbowing his stomach in jest. “I do not!” You rub your warming face just to make sure. “Though, you would too if you slept like the dead. Mister toss and turn all night.” Dia chortles.

“I do not know that colloquialism.” He raises a red brow. You can see the excitement lighting up in his eyes at the thought of learning something new, something entirely human. “You do not reek of death.” He sniffles obnoxiously for comedic effect. “You smell alive and wholly mine. Though the latter is fading.” He nips your shoulder. “Has it been that long since we have lain together?” Your silence as you thought was enough of an answer for him.

“Apologies-” He growls. “I have neglected you more than I thought. Shall we rectify that?” Two warm hands grasp your bottom grinding you down slowly on the growing hardness between his legs. You groan letting him set a slow leisurely grind to your hips. You rock for a while capturing his lips with yours. His kisses leave you breathless. “May I?” You don’t know what he was asking for but whatever it was you knew it was going to be good.

With your eager nod of encouragement, Dia flops back down onto his back and holds you firm to his chest. With his eyes on yours, he slides forward till his shaggy head disappears underneath the hem of your sleepshirt. His hot breath dampens the skin of your inner thigh. You squirm feeling a definitely inhuman tongue trailing up to your center, tasting the salt forming there. Relax my flower, let me in. His voice echoes deep within your head. Its low thrumming helps your body relax under his skilled mouth and hands. Your eyes close, more than ready for Diavolo to consume you in the best possible way. His purr trails up your spine while his face nuzzles deeper into the fabric of your damp underwear.

Then your stomach rumbles-loudly.

“Ha!Ha!” In a flash, Diavolo pops out from beneath your legs. His fangs glistening while he laughs. “My darling, have I now neglected one of your base needs?”

“You’re neglecting me now~” You try to grab his shoulders to continue, fighting like mad not to glow even hotter with embarrassment as your stomach roars again. He laughs louder. It booms out ricocheting off the wooden floor.

“Come now. I will claim you soon enough beloved. First, let us sate your other hunger.” Righting your clothes he nestles you in beside him reaching over for the basket. He chuckles, not letting your pouting get to him. He swats your ass teasingly making you squeak. “Coffee or tea?” He rubs the spot he just hit and pulls out two large insulated carafes.”

You eye him. “When did you plan this?” He smiles, serving you up a plate of goodies and a cup of coffee.

“This morning when Barbatos came to rouse me for my morning meetings.” He pops a piece of smoked meat in his mouth and looks out into the sunlit garden. “I suggested instead of getting my uniform ready, perhaps he would kindly bring some warm drinks and extra pillows to the solarium before leaving us to our own devices.” He leans back into the tufted blankets and pillows. “I thought some “air” would be good for-err...me. To clear my head a little before- you know.” His cheeks pinken.

“You’re hungover.” You snort into your toast. It wasn’t a question and he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he goes to pour himself a large cup of black coffee.

“I thought by the time you woke up it would pass.” He shrugs. “But I believe the fresh air and sun wouldn’t hurt either,” Diavolo pauses in thought before continuing. “Plus, I always wanted to fuck you out here.”

You choke. “You could have just said so.” You poke his leg.

“And ruin the surprise?” He pokes you back.

You eat your fill of the basket, topping each piece of the crusty pieces of bread you pull out with soft cheeses and savory prosciutto, sprinkling the tops of each with pine nuts and a drizzle of honey. All the while Diavolo sips at his coffee deep in thought. You catch his eyes several times while you eat, his eyes following the trail of your tongue as you try in vain to clean the sticky residue left from the sweet syrup on your fingers. The last time you catch him you offer him a tacky finger, getting dangerously close to his stubbly cheek. “Want some?”

The prince chuckles, tilting his head away. He grabs your wrist gently. “What a mess, my little human.” He licks one of your fingers, sucking the tip for a moment before releasing you. You pull your hand back, scrunching your nose up in distaste.

“I didn’t expect you to actually lick them!” He laughs, pulling a napkin out for you. You take it and wipe your hands.

“Please, you act like I haven’t tasted all of you before.” His playful gaze flashes hungrily over you for a moment. He takes your empty plates from you and places them to the side. “Come here piccolo giglio I believe we had some unfinished business, no?” You clamber up his lap spreading your legs wide to straddle him. Diavolo chuffs, the sound rattling your chest. “Shall I start where I left off?” He rucks your shirt up higher revealing inch after inch of soft skin till it bundles one your waist. His callous fingers skirt over your underwear to tug at the waistband.

Dia pulls you in for a searing kiss, teeth grazing over your lips and tongue. You follow his pace, his kisses languid. Before long he begins to lead your hips in a slow grind over his covered dick. His hands rolling your hips in time with his kisses. The slow tempo doesn’t last long. While he may have the patience of the saints you most certainly didn’t.

He grins into your kiss when he feels you huff in annoyance. Your hands come up to cup his cheeks in warning. “Stop teasing me.” You separate from him with a whimper. He grins taking a thick finger to the seam of your underwear.

“Is it not the devil’s job to tempt?” His gold eyes flash in warning before the world turns upside down. You land on your back, the cushions catching your tumble. Your shout of surprise turns into a high pitch whine of pleasure as Dia’s head buries itself between your splayed legs. His tongue follows the line his finger had just traced earlier. “Getting to indulge my sweetheart in a paradise like this? I am upset that I had not thought of this sooner.” He whispers to himself. He pauses, pushing away to look at you. The air around him grows thick. “Tell Daddy what you need.” You shiver, breath catching at the sharp drop in his tone. His jovial teasing was gone, replaced with a tone of authority that makes your toes curl. His hot whisper caresses your ear and your mind goes blank.

What did you want? What did you want first? You wanted his fingers stroking you to completion, his lips kissing every cry that spilled from your lips. You wanted his solid body covering yours rocking deep inside of you. You wanted him to erase every fear and anxiety that the court had instilled in you. “You.” It was all you could manage to say, but it was enough for him. Pushing you onto your back he grabs your hips and pulls them into the air, throwing your legs around his broad shoulders. You wiggle your shoulders deeper into the pillows grinning up at Diavolo as you squeeze your thighs around his ears. Groaning in satisfaction, he leans forward. Your underwear doesn’t last long now that he has you where he wants you. The soft fabric tearing in his haste to remove them, the tattered remains of the cotton thrown off into the bushes to be forgotten. There is no preamble anymore. His tongue laps broad patterns across your entrance.

“D…” You arch your back upwards, grinding yourself onto his face. “Dia.” Diavolo rumbles back, squeezing your quacking thighs to comfort you. He pulls you closer still, eyes locking with yours to watch your reaction as he circles your hole. He waits there playing with you until he sees something he liked in your expression. When he sees whatever it was that he was looking for he strikes, sinking his tongue deep, groaning with you at the feel of tight muscles relaxing around his intrusion. You cover your mouth trying hard to muffle your sounds in the silent garden around you. Even if you were alone, just the thought that you could be overheard sent a shudder through you. You could hear your heart hammering in your ears as the demon slowly worked you open. You wail, forgetting your previous attempts to be silent when you felt a large finger join his tongue.

He rubs against you slowly twisting and pulling his finger and tongue in mind numbing patterns to bump along your sides till you choke. He hums sucking noisily in triumph. Bringing his hands up, he spread your cheeks further apart burying deeper. “Dia-please.” You pull at his hair unsure if you were asking for more or less. You could feel a fire starting in your toes, static clouding your mind.

He pulls off, lips glistening with slick. “Say it properly.” He nips your leg in warning. You bite your bottom lip, worrying it between your blunt teeth. Your eyes blur with tears of frustration. You were so close… a finger toys with you pressing in on the edges of your entrance waiting.

“Daddy-please.” Your reward was instantaneous, his fingers thrust in, curling up to mimic the motions his tongue had done just before. He curls over the top of you covering you with his warm body. His lips brush against your temple and mouth to distract you from another finger slipping in alongside his forefinger.

“So good for me, so good, my little human.” Diavolo moans against your mouth before his tongue pushes past your lips once more. You tremble in the cage of his arms, soft mews falling from your open lips while he stretches you. It hurts, just a little sting, but it reminds you just how distant you two have been of late. Gripping onto his arms you struggle to take him. Even with your prince doing his best to distract you from the discomfort you feel it was a lot. He whispers praises into your sweaty skin while he peppers your shoulder with kisses. “Easy love, think you can handle one more.” Gods you were already overwhelmed, but still so greedy for more. You knew what to come would be even more. You nod. Anything to hurry him up.

He rewards you with a hard kiss before slipping in a third finger, his thumb coming up to rub soothing circles into your skin. You cry out in a daze. The rough pads of his fingers catch on your walls pulling strained notes from you with each stroke. He pumps in slow sporadic patterns just skirting over the areas that drive you crazy. He coos to you, singing your praises while his eyes linger on how your body clings to him each time he tries to pull out. But soon the burn disappears altogether and is replaced by the nagging pressure on your shoulders. The position leaning up against his kneeling form begins to agitate your neck and back.

Squirming in his attentive hold you tap his bicep in rapid succession. He stops immediately feeling your sign and pulls away. “Speak to me.” He looks you over. His tone turns soft once more, his domineering demeanor vanishes quickly. “Is this too much?”

Shaking your head you plant the balls of your feet into his shoulders and push him away. He moves away so you lay sprawling out in the cushions. Your body thanks you, popping and groaning as you stretch out. “No, no it’s perfect. I just need to change positions. I’m not as big and strong as you.” You wink. He chuckles sitting back onto your haunches to give you a moment to center yourself. He can only keep his hands to himself for a moment before they are on you again. He rubs up your ankles and knees, messaging any tense muscles he feels until you are melting, your body warming up again to the idea of him on you. “There,” You sigh popping your neck. “Now, where were we, Daddy.” You wrap your legs around his strong waist coming up to your elbows to tug at the waistband of his pants.

Hand around his thick cock you stroke up toying your thumb over his head. Diavolo grunts going rigid at the feel of your wondering fingers. Harsh words in his native tongue fall from his lips. He covers your slowly moving hand with his own to guide you just how he likes. “Gods, I miss this. How long has it been since the last time we have had time to indulge like this?” He watches your hand through half-lidded eyes, the gold of his irises molten.

“Too long.” You agree. You lean back and close your eyes enjoying the feel of him in your hand. “Did you?”

“Basket, left hand side.” He nods at the discarded wicker basket.

You give him an appreciative squeeze and lean over to rummage through the forgotten food. “Thought of everything, huh?”

“I promised to be attentive today, did I not? I always want to treat my little human right.” He twists his hand over yours upping the tempo of your strokes till he is hissing around gritted fangs. “I-was hoping at least.” He breaks his gaze from your joined hands. His cheeks tint pink beneath his dark skin.

You crane your neck up to kiss the strained expression from his face. You feel him vibrating beneath your touch, ready to spring. “Let me prep you?” You ask while reaching for the bottle you placed between your thighs to warm it.

“I don’t need much.” He admits moving away. “You drive me crazy.” He groans hearing you pop the cap and feel the slightly warm drizzle down his cock. Your hand returns with a smoother glide, faster this time. Your other traveling down to squeeze his balls. He gasps, losing control of his steel restraint for a moment to grab your shoulders. He arches into your ministrations groaning in great detail just what he was going to do to you into the cool air of the back garden. His blood is boiling in his veins when he finally pushes your hands away to lay you down.

“How do you want me?” You finally strip your sleep shirt away excitedly.

“Just like this for now.” He growls lifting your leg up and back over his shoulder while he wraps the other around his hip locking it down in his strong grip. “I need to see you.” He squeezes your hip lovingly. “Lay back.” You drop baring yourself fully for his perusal. Your arms spread up and over your head to wrap themselves in the rumpled blankets.

He thanks you with a light kiss to your ankle before lining himself up with your entrance. His breathing grows heavy, deep chuffs emerging again in his excitement. He can taste your eagerness mixing with his in the air. He teases you, playing his head against you, pushing in only enough to breach you before pulling out again. He plays with you like this till your mewling, your blunt little nails leaving tiny crescent shaped indentations in the tawny skin of his arms. The sharp little sting of your nails trying to break through his thick skin along with the feel of your body clenching around him in a futile effort to suck him in is finally enough for him. Setting his hips thrusts forward.

He steals the cry escaping from your mouth with a kiss. The smooth feel of his tongue and teeth pull your senses in twain scrambling your brain as he stretches you open more than his fingers ever could. You should remember the feel of him. After all the times you two have spent together he still takes your breath away.

The stretch was immense as always, your legs shaking in his hold despite your best effort to stay still. Another inch slips in and you yelp. Your hands fly up instinctively out and press against his tense abdomen to halt him. “I-a moment.” You are both shaking for different reasons while you will your body to relax, your muscles squeezing him to the point of discomfort. He waits halfway in and breathes deeply through his nose. Diavolo hunches over you, careful not to jostle you. Resting his head on your shoulder he whispers words of praise to you in languages lost since lost to mortal ears. His lips trace nonsensical patterns into your shoulder and chest. You melt bit by bit into his words and skillful caresses till you are relaxed and pliant.

You nod when ready, your body screaming for a release. His reaction is instantaneous, hips curling to push in with vigor. By the time his hips are flush with yours, you are on the verge again. “Dia, God-” Your words were cut off after a hard thrust from him.

He laughs breathlessly into your shoulder. “God? In my gardens? Such blasphemy…” His claws emerge, the black and gold tips rip into the cushions around you. “You would call for another in my presence? Must I remind you who warms your bed?” You bob your head eagerly, your heart leaping into your throat at the look he gives you.

He starts up again, his rhythm steady and solid, much like the man himself. The sound of skin slapping skin slowly begins filling the space between you. Diavolo is silent as he moves against you, his hands unable to find a permanent place to land. They roam your body, squeezing your hips and ass before traveling up to your pert nipples. His mouth follows his hands licking the valley between your pectorals and lavishing your neck with fresh blemishes the colors of the flowers around you. You love the solid weight on him pinning you to his front, but the tempo was too soft for his words.

“Thought you were going to leave your mark on me? Make sure I never utter another being's name from my lips again.” You pant tugging at his hair sharply pulling a deep grunt from him. “Make me yours Dia- you promised.” Your words did the trick. He grabs your hips once more, nearly folding you in half to sink deeper inside. You howl, the stretch of him pushing your borders brings you closer and closer to that sweet precipice. The devil bearing down on you was just what you needed.

The heat of him on top of you is dizzying, making your headlight and fuzzy. You can feel the small compacted muscles of his abdomen and stomach stretch and twitch with each smooth thrust of his hips into yours. Too soon for his liking, the fire building in his gut began to unravel. “Ah-mia dolcezza. Somo vicino.” The prince grounds out into your heaving chest. While you didn’t understand the words, the raw desperation in them sends a carnal shiver down your spine. You begin to beg, voice high and breathless as his thrusts quicken.

You lock your free leg around his waist while your hands drift down to touch yourself. He slaps your hand away only to replace them with his own strong fingers. His fingers sever the thin tether keeping you from coming and you tip. Dia’s own roar of completion was all but muted white noise in your ear. You gasp looking up blindly through a sweaty curtain of red hair as Dia twitches and spills deep within you. He falls atop of you crushing you into him, but you couldn’t give less of a damn. He was a safe space in this realm. He was your safe space. His purs melting on top of you as you massage his scalp comfortingly. The two of you bask in silence for the moment. “I can’t feel my legs.” You admit finally feeling a tingle starting in your toes and calves.

“In a good way?” His voice is muffled by the pillows by your head. You hum.

“Very- and you?” He chuffs, raising onto shaking arms, and slips out of you. He watches his seed trickle out lazily. He rumbles in pride as your body tries to keep it all inside. Already the smell of his claim was covering your natural clean scent.

“At ease and wonderful.” He flops to his side scooping you up to cradle you against his chest. His arm comes around your middle while his chin rests on the top of your head. Exhausted, you relax in his arms, eyes already too heavy to stay open. Soon he hears your breathing even out becoming deep and steady in your slumber. Diavolo smiles to himself looking out to the creek. He’ll let you rest, for now, already he could feel himself stirring once more his instincts to coat you in his scent pushing him into overdrive. He was far from sated. Hopefully, you felt the same.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place Like This 2

Warnings: this short series will include dark elements including noncon, possible violence, mentions of mental illness, and other explicit content. I’m not your mother, curate your own consumption.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start asking questions but you might not like the answers.

Note: I’m a filthy liar and this is gonna be obv more than two parts and I dunno what I’m doing.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your office was the room across the hall from Andy’s, just beside the bathroom and furthest from your mother’s.

You had a routine; it helped you keep on track. You woke up, had a coffee and a small breakfast, and climbed back upstairs to begin your work. At noon, you took a break, you went for a walk or just sat on the porch with your mother if she wasn’t in her room. You returned to work and later in the afternoon you came down to remind your mother about her pills. Then you started dinner as the day was in its final decline.

Andy only changed that slightly. He woke earlier than you did and was on his way out as you got up. He came home around dinner time and you left a plate for him in the oven if he was late. He was quiet, he ate, and went upstairs. The first week went by as such. You almost pitied him for living in what seemed a crowded isolation.

Then the weekend came. Like the other lumber workers, he had those two days to himself. It would be the first real test of your arrangement.

You woke at your usual time and went down to make your coffee. You only wrote for a couple hours on weekends. Breaks were good. You measured the grounds into the percolator and filled it with water. You turned on the decades old stove and turned as you heard the old stairs groan.

Andy appeared in the door. He wore jeans and a thick knitted sweater. His hair, overgrown and shaggy, was pushed away from his face, his beard a shade darker and starting to puff out from its length. You suspected that as a lawyer, he never looked so unkempt and yet even now, he still managed to look refined.

“Hate to be selfish but you think there’s enough for me?” He crossed to the table and sat. 

“Should be,” You rubbed your hands together. You wore an old sweatshirt with a grizzly on the front and your old faded jeans with the bleach stain on the knee. Unfashionable but warm. ‘“Cream, milk, sugar?”

“Black’s fine,” He said as he scratched his chin. “I was thinking today I could stock us up on wood for the fireplace. Since it’s snowing now, it’s better to get it done before the winter is really here.”

You squinted at him and played with the frayed cuff of your shirt. “So, you got a lot of snow in the city?”

“Not as much as here, I’m sure.” He let out a long breath and you saw the cloud in front of him. 

You paused and listened for the rattle of the furnace. “Fuck.” You pushed yourself away from the counter. “I gotta light the furnace.”

“Where is it? I’ll do it.” He offered. “Since you made the coffee.”

“You sure?”

“Think I can handle it,” He stood. “City boy and all.”

“Basement door’s outside. It’s a pain but this place is old and not very well put together.” You said. “There’s a lighter in the drawer.” You pointed at the counter. “Thanks. Oh, and the key too. Hanging by the door with the green tag.”

“Alright,” He crossed to the door. “Think I’ll figure it out.”

He disappeared down the hall and returned with his big boots. He put them on before the back door and unlocked it. He tramped down the steps as the door clattered behind him and you listened to his crisp footsteps. 

You wrung your hands as you thought. Nice enough, you surmised, but evasive. Maybe he wasn’t running from some heinous offense but he was trying to get away from something. You could tell by the way he always seemed to direct the conversation, especially when it turned on him.

You heard the sudden rumble of the furnace and the vents hissing. You turned as the percolator began to shake almost in tandem and the small glass knob bubbled with brown coffee. You took it off the burner as the basement door squeaked and the jingle of the key accompanied the snowy steps across the yard.

Andy kicked off his boots and slipped through the back door. He hung the key and he shook the snow from his hair and smoothed it back. He left his boots on the mat as you poured two mugs. He approached and you slid one to him. He took it with a soft thank you.

You added milk to yours and sat at the table as he did the same. You regretted it almost immediately. You should've taken it up with you and hid in your office. 

"Any plans today?" He asked. You blinked and he rested his palm against the hot mug. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

"Nah, nothing planned," You replied. "So you just plan on chopping wood on your day off?"

"Not much else to do up here. It's nice. Mindless." He shrugged.

"You have a lot you don't want to think about?" You wondered.

His jaw ticked as he eyed you and his lips curled slightly.

"Don't we all?"

"You'd have to to come all the way up here from wherever you're from." You commented. 

"Hmm," He chuckled under his breath. "You'd make a good prosecutor. You don't miss a lot."

"I'm a writer. I write about people, so I gotta study them closely."

"I thought you wrote about animals."

"That's what I'm paid to write about but… I have my own projects." You lifted your mug and tasted the rich brew.

He sucked his bottom lip in as his thoughts wrinkled on his forehead. "Uh huh," He uttered carefully. "Guess that's true then."

"So… is it too much to ask why you ditched being a lawyer?" You asked.

"You do anything long enough and you get bored."

"And you never did anything else? Never got married?" You prodded.

"Well, what about you?" He challenged as he hooked two finger through the handle of his mug. "Not many fish in this pond, huh."

"Touche," Your lips slanted, "You definitely are the lawyer type."

🍂

Later that day, after you gave your mother her second round of pills, you ventured out into the forest that skirt around the old property. The snow was only just past your ankles, the powder fell in spurts but didn’t seem to get much deeper. When you were met with a block or an impasse in your writing, you always came out to the trees to clear your mind. You were done for the day but you had a long week ahead of you.

You kicked the snow of a fallen tree by the river and listened to those critters not yet in hibernation in the blanket branches above. You thought about the man staying in the room next to yours and the answers he would give you; the questions you were too afraid to ask him. 

He wasn’t telling you everything, perhaps he didn’t owe you everything, but the lines in his forehead, the crinkles beside his eyes, the depth of his irises as they watched you. There were things you needed to know about a person and you feared you didn’t know enough about this stranger you’d invited in. You had been too intent on the money, on your own keeping.

Or maybe you were paranoid. You were starting to sound like your mother when she claimed the birds were listening to her and taking the messages back to the monsters of the forest. When she had barricaded herself in her room and refused to come out for fear you were one of them in disguise. The day it had all fallen apart.

Your nose was numb and tingling. You pulled your scarf up over your face and turned back. The snow was crisper now. The temperatures fell with the sun and that happened quickly in the winter. The sky was a dark grey as you came back to the house, the chimney billowed up toward the quarter moon and a soft amber light shone between the curtains of the front room.

You dusted your boots off before you stepped inside. The voice didn’t stop as you took off your coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. You slid your boots off and listened. The scene was unexpected as you peeked into the front room.

Your mother sat with her favourite blanket over her legs before the fire. A fresh stack of wood sat beside it, the basket full of split logs as well. Andy bent to poke at the embers and send up sparks as he got the fire going higher.

“So, this book you’re reading,” He said as he set the poker aside. “Did she get away yet?”

“I don’t think she’s gonna,” Your mother replied as Andy stood and brushed off his jeans. “I don’t think that’s what the story’s about.”

“That’s too bad.” He looked up and his eyes met yours. You moved so that you stood in the doorway. “But I guess that’s truer to life. Not everyone gets their happy ending.”

“Well, I’ve been taking my time because it doesn’t have an ending. Yet.” She explained. “I’m waiting for her to finish.”

Your blood went cold. You crossed your arms and cleared your throat.

“What book is this, ma?” You asked.

She looked around the chair at you and blanched. Andy sat on the sofa and you pushed yourself away from the door frame. Your mother shook her head. 

“I told you not to read my stuff.” You grimaced as you came closer. “It’s a first draft. Unfinished, unedited. It’s… personal.”

“From what she says, it’s pretty good regardless,” Andy offered. “Can’t blame her for her curiosity.”

You looked at him sharply and sighed as you dropped your arms.

“Whatever. Just don’t look at it again til I’m done.” You reprimanded. “Please. I’ll give you a look when I’m ready.”

“Dunno why it’s such a big deal. You write for the magazine all the time.” She grumbled.

“Because this isn’t an article on leaf fauna, ma,” You rubbed your cheek. “You already eat?”

“Just about to. Andy put a casserole in the oven.” She smiled. “Never knew a man who cooked. Your father, he couldn’t even salt his own eggs.”

“Mmm,” You sniffed as the smell of the burning wood melded with another more savoury scent. “Well, thank you, Andy. That was considerate. I’m sorry I waited so late, I was a bit distracted.”

“No problem,” He shrugged. “Really, the least I can do.”

You glanced between him and your mom. She hadn’t been this awake in ages. Her meds usually had her napping until dinnertime and asleep just as quickly after. She was vibrant and more friendly to this man than people she’d known for decades. You felt as if you’d walked in on something. 

“Well, let me know. I’ll be upstairs.” You backed up. “There’s some strudel left from yesterday we can have for dessert.”

You left them and stopped at the bottom of the stairs as you looked back into the front room. Andy’s voice droned as he spoke to your mom and as she chuckled his eyes found yours. They narrowed for just a moment before he turned back and smiled at the older woman. 

Nice enough, you presumed, but why didn’t you believe it?

🍂

The next day, you watched Andy through the window. The snow was thicker, a harbinger of the storm that had been brewing for over a week. He crossed to the trees, his boots barely higher than the blanket below. He sank down with each step. Only a fool would venture out as the windows billowed and flung the snow errantly.

You tore yourself away and pulled the curtain shut. You crept out into the hall and listened. Your mother slept late that day and when you gave her her pills, she’d just rolled over and fallen back to sleep. 

You neared the door of Andy’s room and your hand hesitated on the knob. You took a breath and twisted it. You entered and were struck by the man’s smell; of his sweat and the deodorant that always lingered around him. The bed was made and the room barely looked lived in. 

You walked slowly to the closet. Flannel shirts and jackets hung within above a single suitcase.

You felt a pang of guilt. Had you not just chided your mother for her snooping? You bent and unzipped the bag. It was empty. You checked the pockets; empty too. You stood and slid the door back into place. You went to the bed, the table next to it with the drawer that didn’t quite shut all the way and you wiggled it open.

The bible your mother left in there as if it were a hotel and pack of smokes. You’d never seen Andy smoke, never even smelled it on him. You took the carton and flipped open the top. Inside, a folded picture. You tiptoed to the window and looked out. His footprints faded into the trees.

You slid the photo out and opened it with shaky hands. It was Andy, shorter hair, trimmed beard, smiling, his arm around a dark-haired woman and a young boy in front of them. You folded it quickly and pushed it back behind the sticks in the pack. You placed it as you had found it and forced the drawer shut. 

Was he running from his own family? Or maybe, what had happened to them?

You fled his room and closed the door guiltily. You were only more confused than before. You descended the stairs and hastily pulled your coat from the hook. Your hat was pulled on carelessly and you tied your boots without thinking. You pushed your hands into your gloves and angled yourself out the door. It was fucking cold; the fleece lining of your coat made little difference.

You grunted as you forced your boots through the snow and followed Andy’s tracks as they filled with a new layer of powder. You weren’t sure what you were doing, why you were doing it. What could he be doing all the way out in the woods which would be incriminating?

You went on, even as the questions floated in your mind. You followed his large boot prints, placing your feet in them as you followed his path. You came to a stop before the river, the overturned tree showed where someone had brushed aside the snow. The tracks veered off away from the log and you looked around.

You were forced back into an upright trunk, the breath knocked out of you as Andy pinned you with his arm across your chest. His eyes seared into you as he leaned his weight into you and you gasped for air as you smacked his shoulder.

“Why are you following me?” He growled.

“What? Andy, let me--” You gasped, barely able to breathe, the snow clumping in your lashes. “And--”

“Hmm? I see you watching me. I see the way you look at me.” He hissed. “I help you, help your mother and what? What do you think I am?” He grabbed your chin, his hide glove rough against your skin. “Am I that villain you write about? Is that what you think?”

“No, I…” You smacked him again and again. “I was just---” He let off just a little as you gulped for air. “There’s a storm. You shouldn’t be out here--”

“You think I can’t handle a storm?” He snarled. “You’re not a very good liar and trust me, I’ve known a lot of liars.”

“Let go of me.” You pleaded. “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I followed you, okay? I was just… curious.”

“Uh huh,” He turned you and forced his arm around your neck as he bent you over. You kicked as he dragged you through the snow towards the river. “WHat do you think? I’m hiding some big secret like one of those books you read?”

“Let--go,” Your feet slid through the blanket below. “Stop! What are you--”

“You think I’m what? A criminal? A murderer!?” He pulled you up and spun you away from him. You stumbled backwards as you faced him. 

Your boots slid beneath you and you hearth the hard thunk of your sole against the the ice. Thick but not thick enough. You held out your hands as you looked down at the river coursing below the brittle surface. Your heart raced in your ears. You tried to take a step forward but he was at the bank, watching you.

“Ah ah,” He raised his hand. “You stay where you are.”

“What are you doing?” You pushed your feet apart. “Andy--”

“Terrible accident you falling through the ice like that. There’s just so much snow, you can’t really tell where the water begins.” He smiled and tucked his hands in his pocket as you heard the slow crack beneath you. “Your mother will be devastated.”

You swallowed as your eyes wetted and you looked between him and your feet. You lifted your boot and the snap below you had your heart in your throat. You plunged into the freezing water with a shrill shriek, your arms flying up to grab onto the ice. 

The frozen sheet broke as you tried to latch on and you kicked as the water soaked your coat and dragged you down into the depth further. You flapped helplessly and spun in circles in the waves. The water filled your lungs and you choked and you stared up through the frigid foam, the blurry shadow staring down at you.

The cold bit deep into your flesh and your limbs weakened the more you struggled. The water smothered you and your body spasmed in the thralls of finality. Your eyes rolled back and the dark water flowed around you in welcome.

[dongtopus]

Loktober Day 4: The Hounds

Whinnies and cries rang out from the stables. 

Thomas, the eldest of the boys, stood watching from one of the windows of the landing overlooking the courtyard. Under frayed moonlight, he could just barely make out the movement in the near pitch blackness.

Every night the stables were attacked. Seemingly wild hounds had mixed with wolves.

Hungering, Fervorous. In the morning, the losses would be counted. A foal was taken at the start of the week, and its mother had to be put down the following day. Both horses belonged to the youngest, William.

It was the duty of each brother to look after their own horses, extra locks and shackles were on the purchasing list for the following day. Thomas made a mental note to see the blacksmith, perhaps he could have some sort of spiked bar fitted for added protection overnight.

Marion left his room, bleary eyed, his hair unkempt.

“What’s going on, Tom? I’d only just drifted off.” The middle child yawned, rubbing his forearm to warm up a little.

Thomas stood still, eyes narrowed and hands cupped around the glass.

“It’s the hounds…” He muttered, careful not to fog up the glass, “There’s something about them. Their eyes shine in a most peculiar way. Like they know us.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve not had dogs on the grounds except wallace.”

“No… We haven’t, have we.” Thomas wiped the window with his sleeve, having failed to avoid fogging up the glass.

A door to the left creaked open.

“It’s the hounds again, Will.” Marion motioned to the window, leaving against the glass too. He couldn’t make out any of the movements.

Clouds parted just enough, the crescent moon shone down squarely onto the stables. 

The oldest pair froze.

Not a breath passed in their lungs. Hearts held off on their next beats. Hair stood on end. Goosebumps.

“Ma-” Thomas stuttered, his voice broke. 

Marion attempted to reply. Air lodged in his throat. He had nothing to say either way, his mind went blank with fear.

There, in the moonlight, stood a wolf, or a shaggy wild dog.

Like a man.

Light glistened off of its arms and snout, bathed in gore. Eyes shining right back at them. Heavy breaths illuminated with the help of a pulsing chest. The brothers went pale.

William attempted to see what his brothers saw, nudging Thomas’s sleeve.

Thomas bit his tongue, whirling around and punching his youngest brother square in the face.

William toppled to the floor, bursting into pained tears, cupping his now flowing nose.

“Will! I’m so sorry! You scared the-” Thomas looked around for something to stem the flow as Marion darted back into his room, returning with a pristine handkerchief. 

“Use this- tilt your head back Will, you’ll be okay.”  Marion barked at his older brother

 “Tom!?” He wiped the tears from the corners of William’s eyes, attempting to gently soothe him.

The colour had not returned to Thomas’ face. 

“You saw it too. I know you did! You saw what was out there and it’ll-” Thomas struggled to breathe, clutching at his chest, “It’ll come for us when the horses run out!”

Seeing the eldest brother of the family panic caused another stream of tears to flow from the still bleeding William.

“Don’t be so ridiculous Tom. We’re tired. It was a trick of the light!” Marion gritted his teeth, trying to now calm down his younger brother with significantly less efficiency. “It’s okay Will, Tom’s just being silly. It’s just a few dogs. I’ll ask father to put a few men together tomorrow to hunt them. It’ll be fine, you’re okay Will, it’s okay”

Marion gave Thomas a knowing, concerned look.

I saw it too but we can’t get hysterical, not in front of will.

He nodded down to the floor. Below them was the foyer, and the front door. Thomas took a deep breath, clenching his teeth and fists. He gave a grave nod and headed down the staircase. 

In the main parlour, Thomas picked up a set of fireplace pokers and held onto them tightly. A set of small drawers and cupboards were pushed in front of the front door. If anything tried to get into the mansion, at the very least, they would not enter silently.

Thomas made eye contact with Marion on the landing between the sets of stairs leading back up to the first floor. Marion nodded in return, encouraging the youngest to pick himself up and return to his room.

The crying had stopped, but the sniffles hadn't. The door creaked shut.

Marion met with Thomas on the landing of the stairs, taking a poker from him.

“You’ll have to really make it up to him for that, you know. I’ve not seen him bawl like that in a long time, not since his chicken got taken by that fox” Marion shifted the pokers weight around in his grip mindlessly as he analysed his brother.

“Marion. You and I both know what we saw. They’ve been roaming the woods for a few weeks, I knew something was off. They don’t bark or howl like usual dogs or wolves do and they ‘watch’ us, like their scheming. Something is up, Marion, and we have to do something about it- I’m not losing Grace, I spent a fortune keeping her coat clean and glossy.”

“Do you know where the guns are?” Marion looked at the dull point of his poker, it was perhaps three feet long if he was being generous. Not enough to protect themselves from a fairytale werewolf beast creature.

“I have an idea, if you don’t mind a dressing down by father in the morning.” William turned on his heel, signalling for Marion to follow.

The pair each silently prayed the other was a better shot than themselves.

[masterjedilenawrites]

Blueberries and Cowboys: Chapter 3 (Cowboy Path)

A choose-your-own-adventure style fic. Refer to this Masterlist for previous chapters and alternate paths.

Chapter 3: The Preparation (Cowboy Path)

Pairing: Eli x reader

Content: Light swearing, reader is an awkward pining idiot, no indication yet if your crush likes you back, but we’re just warming up here…

Length: 1.6k

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

It really would be best for you to go to the gala with Thrawn. It made sense. He was an alien and you were the only girl at the Academy willing to be seen with him. And while Eli wasn't exactly popular, you could easily count how many girls would gladly be his date to a dance. It was just that plain and simple.

So then why did you feel so... glum?

You gave yourself a once-over in the tiny mirror of your dorm. You supposed you looked nice, better than you usually did anyway. You'd managed to find a decent dress on sale, and your hair cooperated with you for once. But there was something off. You stared at yourself, looking for something, but not knowing what. Only the soft knock at the door pulled you from your pondering.

You had been excited before. Dressing up, dancing, drinking.... You'd rarely had the time for such things over the last year, and never as an official, Academy-approved event.

But now you weren't sure if you'd be able to enjoy any of it. Thrawn only occasionally spoke about it the week leading up to the event, and when he did, it was exclusively in terms of the plan. You'd helped successfully get Arden and Eva to go to the gala together as dates, and already Commander Burdick was pissed about it. But Thrawn had arranged a system for how the three of you would observe, and possibly even intervene, to ensure Burdick decided to pin his sabotage on Arden. It did not sound like a night of fun to you.

And even worse, you wouldn't be able to wallow alongside Eli, your only comrade in times of such misery. As predicted, Eli had had no trouble finding himself a date. Sadie Amiko. She was a cute, petite thing with curves, clear skin, and a dazzling smile. You knew she was in a few of your classes and got good grades. And all Eli had mentioned was she had been excited to accept his invite. And that he seemed pretty eager himself.

You were surprised, then, to see the person who'd been knocking at your door was Eli.

Surprised, and just a little bit flustered.

"Do you know how to tie a tie?" he asked with a sheepish smile, holding up a wad of navy blue satin. You gulped, trying not to let your eyes wander over him too noticeably. He was actually wearing a suit, fitted to his slim frame, and with shiny shoes and snazzy cufflinks to complete the look. The only thing he hadn't seemed to pay attention to was his hair, which was still in its usual, shaggy style. But it honestly made him look that much better. He was classy, but not fancy. Rugged, but not unkempt.

"Um," was all you could say. He looked at you expectantly, and after a moment you finally processed what he was asking for. "Oh. Um, sure, I think I can figure it out."

He heaved a sigh of relief as you let him into your dorm. Thankfully you didn't have any roommates; your old one had transferred out of the Navy halfway through the year, and no one seemed rushed to get you a new one.

Eli stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as you took the tie from him and tried to make sense of it.

"Thrawn was no help?" you asked just to fill the silence between you.

"He's been out all afternoon. Somethin' about preparing for tonight." He rolled his eyes. "And I don't think he meant it the way you and I are."

"Yeah," you said quietly, finally getting the tie around his neck and under the collar of his crisp white shirt. "He's obsessed with this plan."

"I would be, too, if my grades were on the line."

You nodded. You understood, but that didn't mean you had to like it.

Eli seemed to sense your low spirits. "You okay? I thought you'd be more excited about all this."

"I was... I am." You caught Eli's disbelieving look and sighed. "I don't know. It's just... we're not going so we can have fun. We have a mission. And Thrawn doesn't seem the type to want to dance all night. So... I guess I'm just resetting my expectations."

He gave a little laugh and for some reason you could start to feel your heart beating. That was odd. "You never know, Thrawn could surprise you and whisk you right off your feet."

You only glanced at him pointedly before continuing to fumble with the tie. You'd looped it around a couple different ways but nothing seemed right. You finally huffed and let the material fall against his chest.

"I give up. This isn't as easy as I thought it'd be. Sorry."

Eli shrugged as he pulled it from around his neck and rolled it in his hands. "Eh, it was worth a shot. I can go without it, right?"

He held his hands on his hips and did a playful little pose which made you laugh for the first time all day.

"Yeah, you look..." you hesitated, suddenly conscious of the fact that you found him incredibly good looking in this moment, but that you absolutely did not want to admit it. Eli was your friend. And this was just a dance. There was no reason to get sentimental about any of it. 

"You look good," you finally settled on saying, getting the words out quickly and turning around to pretend you were cleaning up your desk, so the compliment wouldn't seem like it was more than it was.

"Sure beats those wrinkly uniforms we always have to wear."

You couldn't help but look back at him over your shoulder. "Um, excuse me, but my uniforms are perfectly wrinkle-free. You know, because I actually do my laundry...."

"Oh, excuse you," he said dramatically, "but so do I. And they still look like shit."

"Must be that Wild Space curse you have," you laughed. "Forever doomed to look like a nerf herder."

"Wow, you really know how to flatter a guy, don't you."

"I said you looked good!"

"Yeah, yeah..." He didn't keep up the banter, having noticed your mirror and now self-consciously checking himself in it. Now you felt bad for the nerf-herder comment. You'd really meant it as a joke, but you couldn't exactly explain that his scruffiness actually made him attractive, not without making things really weird.

"Well, I better get goin'. I told Sadie I'd meet her there at six." He stopped fussing over his shirt and looked at you. "Comin' with?"

You shook your head, trying to ignore how casually he referred to his date, as if Sadie was someone he'd already been with for a while. "No, Thrawn said he'd come by for me. Should be soon."

"Alright," he shrugged and started heading for the door. You followed and definitely did not cast a few glances at his rear end. He paused in the doorway, looking back at you with a sincere smile. "And hey, how about I reserve a dance with you? In case Mr. Serious doesn't ask. I'll make sure you have a good time."

"Deal," you smiled back.

You let your back fall against the closed door, shutting your eyes in an attempt to steady your breathing. You couldn't believe you had acted like that. Your friend puts on a nice suit and suddenly you're into him? You're such an idiot, you told yourself.

A knock on the door made you startle out of your inner lecture. You turned to open it and found your date on the other side.

"Good evening," Thrawn said courteously, holding out a blue hand. You panicked, not realizing it was already time. Eli had really distracted you.

"Shit! Sorry, one sec!" you called over your shoulder at him as you rushed back into your room. "I need shoes!"

Thrawn was patient as he waited for you to finish getting ready and finally joined him in the hall. You didn't like feeling this frazzled. You had given yourself plenty of time to prepare just so you wouldn't have to rush and make the evening worse than it would probably be.

"Is everything alright?" Thrawn asked, naturally picking up on your mood. You avoided his discerning gaze, not wanting to encourage him to ask too many questions.

"Yeah, sorry, just lost track of time."

"I see," was all he said, thankfully. He turned to align himself next to you and held out an arm, which was clad in a very nice white suit. You briefly wondered if he had looked into these gentlemanly customs or if they were similar to Chiss culture.

You looped your hand through and lightly rested it on his arm, allowing him to lead you toward the gala.

"Eli said you disappeared this afternoon," you said, trying to find something to get your mind off the thoughts you'd had earlier. Maybe it would end up being a good thing, having this plan to focus on for the night. Maybe it wouldn't be fun, but at least it gave you something other than your suddenly confusing feelings to think about.

"I did not disappear," he said plainly, not quite understanding the figure of speech. "I was merely putting a few final details in place for the evening."

"Such as...?" You knew it was futile to ask but you tried anyway.

"You will see soon enough," he answered as predicted.

You nodded and continued the walk in silence. This would surely be an interesting evening, if nothing else.

Next Chapter: The Party >

Blueberry Path | Thrawn x reader

Cowboy Path | Eli x reader

[smallerinfinities]

Quarantine Day 26

a/n: in which Shawn gets a haircut

yeah...I couldn’t help myself. I watched so many youtube videos for this 😂

warnings: 2.6k of fluff and like a whisper, A HINT of smut

“That sounds nice…”

Shawn’s fingers paused against the vibrating strings. He leaned back against the couch toward your disembodied voice rounding the corner. You walked into the living room with a glass of red wine, your cheeks already fully flushed from the alcohol, wearing one of his Givenchy sweatshirts and a pair of little hot pink sleep shorts.

“Just working on something to record later,” he smiled, continuing his strumming and plucking, little head nods on heavy beats to mark the time. “I’ll send it to Teddy later...she misses the studio.”

He’d been shacked up with you for twenty-six days in your tiny apartment. When the stay-at-home order came down from the city, he’d rushed over, just an overnight bag full of clothes and his guitar case, not wanting to be alone and not wanting to be in chaos at his parents’ house. Aaliyah was doing remote school and whining about college applications everyday, he’d said, not a place he wanted to spend an indefinite amount of time. Sometimes you thought it was a lie, seeing how easily he fit into your life. He belonged here with you. Especially when he’d come up behind you while you waited for your morning coffee to suck on that place behind your ear. It always ended up with the two of you back in bed for an hour longer than you should have been. It had happened again this morning. Thank God it was a holiday.

Now, he was stretched out on your L-shaped couch, the only luxury you’d allowed yourself when you moved out of your parents house. It was the dominant feature in the room, heavy and royal blue, one of those couches that you sank into when you sat down. His legs were propped up on the ottoman in front of him with his acoustic in his lap.

You sat down next to him, pulling your knees up to your chest and using one as a makeshift coaster for your stemless wine glass. He stopped playing again and shifted closer to you, patting his lap for your legs. You smiled at him, stretching your legs out across his thighs, and let him rest his guitar on top. When he started plucking the strings again, you could feel the vibration of the sound against your skin.

He hummed random words and noises to the melody with his eyes closed, lost to creating but content to be here touching your skin. Your legs rubbed comfortingly against his own bare ones. He’d taken to just wearing t-shirts and boxers around the apartment, no need to get dressed if he wasn’t running to the grocery store or to the door to get the food delivery. You reached out and ran your fingers through his floppy curls, one of them getting caught in a tangle.

“Baby,” you said, causing him to strum slower, “you need a haircut.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, changing to a minor chord to amplify his woe, “it’s been bugging me for awhile but I don’t have anything to cut it with. Not even at home.” You rolled your eyes, knowing he hadn’t had anyone but Anna touch his hair in five years.

“I can cut it.”

He stilled immediately, his eyes bugging a little as he loudly swallowed.

“I….I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” you swung your legs out from under the guitar excitedly. The instrument protested with discordant vibrations. “I have some clippers left from my last dumbass boyfriend who was obsessive about his stupid sideburns. I can watch a YouTube video. This could be fun!”

The reticence in his eyes was screaming at you, but you were on a mission now. You sprung up from the couch, half sprinting over to the closet in the hall to dig out the gray plastic box that held the clippers and all the attachments.

“See?!” You showed him the case, already turning on your heels toward the bathroom.

Shawn sighed again, knowing it was a lost cause now. At least my hair grows fast. He would probably be able to hide out for as long as it might take to grow back. He leaned his guitar against the couch cushions and pushed himself to stand, following you to the bathroom. When he got there, he had to swallow a chuckle.

“I’m trying to find some hair cutting scissors!” You yelled, digging underneath the sink, even though you were only a couple of feet away from him. He bit down on his fist, his shoulders shaking. You were bent over, hot pink shorts stretched over your gorgeous ass just tight enough to see the black lace hugging your curves, but the hood from his sweatshirt had come up over your head so you looked like a sexy burglar.

“Take your time,” he snorted.

“Shawn!” You whipped around, missing scissors gleaming in between your fingers, “so help me God, I will cut off your favorite curl if you laugh at me.”

“Okay, okay,” he straightened, gulping, “where do you want me?”

You grinned, “well, I always want you between my thighs, but for now can you grab a chair from the breakfast table?”

He nodded and disappeared back down the hall, his curls shaggy and swaying with his walk. You plugged in the clippers and set the scissors on top of the set of towels you’d pulled from the linen closet. Satisfied that everything you’d need was accounted for, including the overgrown mop you’d be cutting as Shawn returned with his chair, you pulled out your phone and opened up YouTube.

“Sit,” you said, pointing to the chair but not taking your eyes off your phone. You pulled up a quick video about cutting tools and how to use them, running through clipper sizing and how to blend. Simple enough.

“Okay, okay, this seems pretty easy,” you nodded, staring at Shawn’s reflection in the mirror. He looked….petrified. He was breathing shallow. His shoulders looked like they were glued to his ears. Your eyes widened and you leaned over him, “honey, are you okay?”

“I don’t know why I’m freaking out, it’s just hair,” he looked up at you like a lost puppy.

“I know you don’t want me to fuck it up, and I promise I’ll stop if you don’t like what I’m doing, okay?”

“Okay,” he exhaled in a rush, his shoulders relaxing down to their normal position. “Have you done this before? Like used clippers ever?”

“Once or twice,” you said, not inviting more questions on your qualifications. You didn’t want to tell him that you’d done this exactly once on your best friend in high school who wanted an “alternative” haircut when she came out to her parents. It looked basically like the picture afterward, think Hayley Williams but a lot shorter...and half buzzed. The 2000s were weird.

“Now take off your shirt,” you instructed, pointing the scissors at him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he couldn’t help but smirk as he stripped his vintage Sting tee off. His skin was still just barely freckled from his Mexico holiday vacation. You traced them with the tips of your fingers until he shivered, moving your hands down, through the unkempt hair there and back up to squeeze his shoulders. He melted in your hands, dropping his chin to his chest and moaning.

“Good,” you said, “now turn and lean back.” Turning on the sink, you reached for a comb, “we’re doing this salon style.”

He did as you asked, dipping his head almost all the way under the faucet. You combed through it, making sure the whole mop was wet. He looked a little like a water spaniel wading through a lake. You grabbed his expensive shampoo that smelled like bergamot and patchouli and lathered it into his hair.

With everything going on in the world, outside, in their city, the act of washing his hair was soothing. Simple, task-oriented, clean. You understood why people did this for a living. Shawn let out a moan when your fingers dug deep into his scalp and your knees buckled a little. You washed out the suds and applied conditioner, turning off the sink to let it sink in.

“This is nice,” he whispered with his eyes closed like it was a secret. You wiggled your fingers above his face, letting little droplets fall, giggling when one fell on his nose. He scrunched his face up and let it fall down the side of his face.

“Did you know,” you said as you flipped the water back on to give him a final rinse, “that I’m very happy you decided to come quarantine with me? I would have gone insane.”

He opened his eyes and smiled one of those big Mendes toothy smiles, “I didn’t even really think about it. I just packed my bag.”

You grinned back at him, turning off the water and grabbing at a towel to dry his curls, but before you could get back to him he shook his head, sending a shower of man-smell infused water everywhere.

“SHAWN, WHAT THE HELL?!”

He doubled over laughing, catching the towel you launched at his head. He scrubbed vigorously at his hair while you toweled off, slipping off his sweatshirt and revealing the bralette you had on underneath. It barely concealed your nipples. If he was gonna distract you, he was gonna get distracted. When he out from under the towel his curls were frizzed out, sticking out from his head at all angles. His breath stopped on a quick inhale and his face immediately flushed.

“Honey, I,” he stuttered, “I can’t focus with you like that.”

“Oh, good thing I’m the one with the scissors around here,” you quipped, pushing him back in the chair and draping the damp towel over his shoulders.

You grabbed a random hair tie from the counter and parted out the top section of his hair, the part that would stay longer after you trimmed the back and sides. His eyes were closed again, probably to block out the anxiety of watching you in the mirror. You took a minute to say a little prayer. Please, God. Don’t let me fuck this up. The fucking fangirls will murder.

You flipped on the clippers.

His hair fell to the floor in little tufts, coloring the floor with dark clouds. You used the second longest setting, making sure he wasn’t losing the wave in his hair at any point. The reference picture in your head was from around the Seoul show last year. It was a good length. Curly all around but not too unkempt. It was your favorite hair.

You stopped about three-quarters of the way to the top section, switching to the longest setting to blend up to the top of his head. There was something to be said about hair just long enough to grab onto. You’d test it out later.

The top was going to need scissors. You flipped off the clippers, returning them to the case, and picked up the sharp shears. Shawn gulped again, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily.

“I saw that,” you chided through the comb in your teeth. If you were being honest, it looked pretty good so far. No weird lawn mower tracks or weird chunks missing. The waves were still there. A whisper of labradoodle but not full on sheepdog. That was the goal. Nothing crazy.

You took his hair in inch wide sections from right to left, trimming about an inch off everywhere, a little more in the wilder areas. He reached up to run his fingers through it before you were finished.

“Hey!” You swatted his hand away, “let me finish before you check my work!”

He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and bobbing his knee up and down. Impatient bastard, you thought, snipping a few more curls. The only ones you didn’t really touch, maybe a quarter inch here and there, were the curls toward the front. The ones that dropped down into his face and across his forehead. You liked those, loved to push them back in the morning when he looked down at you, naked and pressed against his chest. You ruffled his damp hair to see how it might curl and retract.

“Shawn,” you leaned down to whisper in his ear, “you can look now.”

He slowly peeked with one eye, then with the other, his eyes growing wide when he saw it fully. He got up out of the chair to lean up to the mirror, inspecting and combing his fingers through it about fifty times. You grabbed some oil off the side of the sink and ran it through the top, letting it soak in and tame the frizz drying into the curls.

“So,” you needled, “do you like it or what?”

“I…” he rifled around in his toiletry bag, pulling out a little black box of hair paste, “I think I love it.” He smoothed some of the cream between his hands and fingered it through the ringlets. They snapped and bounced back on top of his head.

“Holy shit, thank God,” you exhaled in a rush, sitting on the lid of the toilet while your heart rate slowed.

He stopped and looked over, his big green-brown eyes asking questions.

“I mean, I wasn’t worried,” you backtracked, stopping when he lifted an eyebrow. You huffed. “Okay, I was a little worried...the fans...they’re vicious! And it’s your hair! You could probably trademark it for fuck’s sake!”

He tipped his head back and laughed loud and long, some stray cut hair falling from his neck to the floor.

“You know, I thought about halfway through that it’s good I look so sexy in backward baseball caps.” He waggled his eyebrows at you, obviously suppressing a laugh at his own bad joke. You got up and shoved him in the shoulder, crossing the hall to your bedroom. He followed closely behind.

“I don’t give a fuck what the fans think about my hair, you know that,” he leaned on the door frame and watched you dig for a dry shirt. You pulled out an oversized Maple Leafs tee and bent to throw it on.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he stopped you, catching at the shirt and letting it fall to the floor. “You gave me a haircut, so now it’s my turn to give you something.” He threaded his fingers with yours and led you to the edge of your bed, setting you down and stepping back.

“Now, do you like my hair?” he asked, kneeling in front of you, busying himself with untying your shorts. He mouthed at the inside of your thighs, pausing only to grip your shorts and panties in one hand and drag them down your legs. His lips returned to your skin, closer and closer to where you wanted him.

“Yes,” you moaned, widening your legs and combing your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Yes, what?” he smirked against your pubic bone. His hand slid up your belly and pushed up the barely-there bralette, pushing you back to lay against the rumpled sheets. He traced your lips with the tip of his tongue, not dipping inside until he got his answer.

“Yes! Oh, God,” you fisted the waves at the nape of his neck. Perfect. “Yes, I love your hair!”

“Good,” he reached up to kiss you just once before returning to his throne between your legs, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen, aching clit, “that’s all that matters.”

Words were lost to moans and shaking limbs and muffled curses. It turned out his hair was, in fact, just long enough to grab onto.

taglist: @justanotherfangurl272​  @siennarossi​ @trustfundshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @harryandmolly​ @thatindiannerdygirl​  @mendesromano​ @fromthicctosticc​ @esoltis280​ @softmendesss​ @sinplisticshawn​ @nedthegay​ @september-lace​ @itrocksmysocks​ @disaster-rose​ @mendesoft​ @luvluvxx​ @i-play-video-games​ @ihearthemcallingforyou​ @gentleshawn​ @kitykatnumber​ @enchantingbrowneyedgirl​ @ijustreallylikeshawnokay​ @shhhawnmendes​ @shawnsblue​ @imaginashawnns​ @mendesficsxbombay​ @shawn-youth​

[anemonenemerosa]

Oops sorry!! I just assumed with oknutzy! Maybe 17 for Wolfstar 🥰

No worries, anon! Since your request was already written by @mooncat457writing (read it, it’s sooo good) and no other prompt of the list was simliar, I thought of a new one and wrote something for you. I hope you ike it!

"The door fell shut behind me while getting the mail. Now I'm stuck outside on a windy October day"

The bright side of locking yourself out 

It was 1 pm when the insistent ringing of the doorbell jerked Sirius out of his dreams. He grumbled for a few moments before his brain caught up and reminded him that he'd ordered a replacement for the broken gear-belt of his motorcycle. And Sirius really needed to get the bike repaired 'cause taking the tube to and from work was just the worst. So, he jumped out of bed and raced to the door of the building – there's no way he's missing the mailperson! Tough luck, Sirius was just in time to see the backlights of the delivery-truck disappear behind a corner.

"God, damnit!" He cursed loudly, mentally just warming up for a full-on rant when a particularly forceful wind-gust shoved half a ton of leaves in Sirius' face and caused an unfortunate bang behind his back.

No. Please no. Slowly, as if keeping off looking might undo what the dreadful noise promised, Sirius turned around, finally staring at the firmly closed door. It is just now that he realised that he's not only stuck outside on a rather unpleasant mid-October day, no, he's stuck outside barefoot, only wearing his pyjama bottoms and a worn shirt. No phone, no keys. It began to rain, no umbrella. What. A. Day.

Just two months ago, Sirius still lived with James and that wouldn't have been much of a problem. Back in the day, James was still writing his final assignment for his degree and stayed at home all the time.But since he graduated, found himself a paying job and moved in with Lily, Sirius lives alone for the very first time in his 25 years on this planet. And while he loved Lily dearly, Sirius couldn't always stop himself from feeling a bit abandoned and lonely, which was ridiculous, of course. Since they got together, James and Lily never let any doubt creep in that Sirius was anything but loved and treasured by both of them.

But the sentiment was of no use just then. In that moment, he needed to find a pragmatic solution. What does one do, trapped outside with no phone, no keys and no shoes? Sirius sighed in resignation. One does walk to the next cafe, beg them to use their phone without coming off as a complete nutter and call James to rescue him.

About five steps from the door, Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, quest forgotten. Walking right up to him was his neighbour from upstairs, the most intriguing person Sirius has ever met, or almost met, seen that they had never talked before.

The guy seemed very unassuming the few times he saw him in the stairway with his knit sweaters and washed out jeans. He was very quiet in the mornings as if he unknowingly considered that Sirius, as a bartender, worked during the nights and really needed his mornings to sleep. During the afternoon however, enjoyable music wafted down through Sirius' open windows together with the delicious smell of freshly cooked food.

The neighbour -Lupin, it said on the mailbox- stared at Sirius with wide eyes for a moment before he stepped closer, holding his umbrella over both of them.

"Erm." The other man said instead of greeting him.

"Please don't ask." Sirius implored him, completely done with this day already. But then again, Lupin had a nice voice.

"Right", Lupin laughed, "You live in the basement, right? Black? I'm going to ask anyway... aren't you cold?"

Not what Sirius expected to be asked. Naturally, his response was eloquent, he was absolutely not caught off guard, "Uhh -yeah, I live here. And- and I'm cold... but I thought you were-"

"-going to ask why you are out here?" Lupin laughed again, a really nice sound, "You clearly locked yourself out. No one goes around in the rain in October like this. Want to come in to mine? Dry off and call someone?"

With that he looked pointedly at Sirius, who took the glance as a clue to have a look at himself. So, summed up, he was drenched, with dirty feet and unkempt hair. Not the first impression he wanted to make on his neighbour. He's a proper adult now. Anyhow, this was by far his best option "That would actually safe my day."

Without another word, Sirius was led upstairs, offered a warm shower and some soft clothes, which were a bit too big for him (Lupin was at least half a head taller than himself). Clean and dry, Sirius sits in Lupin's little kitchen for his next task: calling James, who couldn't leave work for another three hours, meant that Sirius either waited for another four hours or paid 600 pounds for key-service to open his door, which he found out in the next call. He got a string of curses off his chest and was met with an astounded look of Lupin, who had poked his head though the door. Today, Sirius was impressively good at presenting himself at his worst.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, not looking at his generous neighbour.

"Nah it's fine." Said one just shrugged, "What did your friend say?"

"Another four hours or 600 pounds." Sirius supplied, feeling a little miserable.

"Oh, unfortunate. Do you want to wait here? I have some work to do but you can hang out if you want."

"No, thank you. That would be too much" It really would.

"No. Really, it's no bother. I wouldn't offer if it wasn't alright." Lupin waved him off, "I'm Remus, by the way. And before you ask: Yes, Remus like in the Roman mythology"

"Nice to officially meet you, Remus, like in the Roman mythology." Sirius bowed mockingly, "I'm Sirius, and before you ask, yes, like the star and yes, I've probably heard all of the serious-jokes in existence by now."

With introductions out of the way, Sirius was sat on the big and comfortable couch in the living room with a nice cup of milky tea. He had no idea what to do now and felt a bit awkward, but his neighbour seemed unbothered by his surprise-guest.

"Sorry to be such a bad host but I have a bit work to do, I didn't get to do last night. If you like, feel free to take whatever book sparks your interest from the shelves." Remus apologised and put on some quiet music over his phone while settling in a cosy armchair across the couch with a stack of papers on his lap. It was only then, that Sirius realised how good-looking Remus was. His hair, light brown, wavy and a bit shaggy was falling slightly into his bright hazel eyes, focused on the papers in front of him. Suddenly, Remus huffed, scrunched up his slightly crooked nose (dusted with freckles that spread over his cheekbones) and lifted his left hand to his thin-lipped mouth to gnaw at his thumbnail.

"Displeasing literature?" Sirius heard himself asking before he could check the question in his mind for stupidity.

"You have no idea." the other man grumbled, "That one actually wrote that the inhabitants of Egypt are the mummies!"

Sirius couldn't help but bark a laugh at the affronted tone of Remus' voice,

"So, you're teaching history?"

"Yeah." Remus sighed and plucked a red pen from the little table beside him and began vigorously scribbling onto the paper.

The conversation felt to be over for now as Sirius' host seemed, indeed, quite busy. So, Sirius took up the offer to have a look at the bookshelves lining three walls of the room. The carped felt warm and soft under his bare feet while he strolled along the shelves. Quickly he recognised several of his favourites among the countless books and when his eye caught on The Little Prince, he couldn't resist to take it with him back to the couch.

When he was settled again, Remus looked up to see what Sirius had picked and smiled around a soft hum "I've read so many books and this is still one of my favourites."

Sirius couldn't help but smile back. "Mine, too."

From then on, they sat in a far more comfortable silence than before, both engulfed in their literature. Now and then, Remus huffed or snorted and shared some of the more entertaining mishaps of his students. It felt like they've been spending their afternoons together like this for years. Sirius was simultaneously at peace and properly creeped out.

After a while. Remus got up and returned with a fresh cup of tea for both of them. Steeped for exactly long enough, with the perfect amount of milk in it.

"It's wild that I've been living here for a little over two months and we barely even saw each other, isn't it?" Sirius commented, cradling his new cup in his hands while Remus got once again comfortable in his armchair.

"No, not really." The other man supplied with a slightly sad smile, "See, I teach evening classes from around 7 pm to midnight, get home around 1 am and because I'm an absolute night owl, I usually do my grading and preparations right after until 4 or 5 and then sleep 'till noon. And while I thrive in my rhythm, it's a bit hard to meet, or just come across, people... or get to go out for breakfast. It's silly but I love breakfast and until I get up, most places have switched to the lunch-menu already."

What are the chances. "And here I thought that you were so quiet in the mornings because you are psychic and just know that I sleep during that time." Sirius couldn't help the chuckle bubbling up his throat at the puzzled expression of the man across him. "I'm a bartender and work from 8 to 3 in the morning during the week and until 5 on Fridays and Saturdays." He elaborated, "after that I'm often too riled up to go directly to sleep, so I often go to bed around 6 and sleep until 1."

Remus just stared at him. "Our schedules are nearly identical."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply when the sound of the doorbell interrupted them. Remus got up to open the door to a hurried James, who handed Sirius the spare-keys, kissed his cheek and stormed off again.

"So, this was James. Is he your boyfriend, then?" The cosy atmosphere dissolved with the appearance of a wary look on Remus' face.

"Nah. He is my best friend, practically brother. I know, kissing is rather uncommon between two male friends, but we've been doing that since we met fourteen years ago, and I don't give a shit about convention." Sirius explained with a fond smile on his face.

After that, they parted rather quickly as both men needed to get ready for work, but a lot still lingered in the air, unsaid. His shift went over much too slow for Sirius while he brooded over the change in the atmosphere at the end of his stay with his neighbour.

The next day, Sirius woke up with a plan. A potentially humiliating plan, but worth the risk. He got up much quicker than usual, fired up the oven and began preparing. Around 12:30 Sirius knocked at his neighbour's door and was met with a sleepy Remus in pyjamas.

"Hey- erm... good morning! Here are your clothes!" Sirius began far too loud. All he achieved was a furrowed brow on the other man's face.

Get a grip, Black! "Uhh...OK. Listen, I really like you. Would you like to have a breakfast-date with me?" He tried to put on a winning smile while lifting the tray in his hands a bit.

Remus, who had blushed furiously during Sirius' rambling, blinked at him once before a wide grin spread on his face and he stepped aside to let Sirius and the warm croissants in.

[thedeaconj]

A Cup of Sugar (Parts 1 and 2)

(So this is a longer piece I wrote up a while back, I’m putting the first two parts up as the very first part is extremely tame on its own. The second part is a little tame too, but well, you’ll see when the rest goes up why a slow burn can be all the more satisfying)

Part 1

         Life in the city was tough, there was no denying it. It was already proving difficult for Sophie, who at the age of 19 had just cast off the shackles of parental oppression, then up and moved to the city against their wishes. Not that there really were shackles in her case, her parents never really tried to bring any order or discipline into her life. Instead, she brought her own in, with a fierce independent streak. Sure, she may not have been academically gifted, but she was headstrong, willing to work for her money. She may have looked quite petite and short but was surprisingly strong. This led her to her job at the warehouse, it was back breaking work, but she earned enough to keep herself afloat, and pay the admittedly extortionate rent on her small, dingy apartment.

The city was a fair bit warmer than where she was from, but Sophie still dressed conservatively, in many layers. Thick coats and jumpers, jeans, there wasn’t much of a trace of femininity to her, aside from her long, black hair. Her light skin stood out too, the heat of the city not quite having got to her complexion yet. It was getting to her physically though, that and her work. She’d came up the stairwell to her apartment, dead tired from her shift, only to find another obstacle to her already disaster of a day. She’d ordered a package online, given specific instructions of delivery time, only for them to have come early, missed her and left it with her neighbour, Mark.

         Within the two weeks she’d lived there, she’d only bumped into the man twice, and didn’t much care for him on either time. A tall, lanky man who dressed in tweed and always seemed to look a little out of place. A shaggy mess of brown hair on his head, a rather unkempt beard and thick glasses obscured most of his face. He was easily twice her age, not that she knew much about him or what he did. The first time they’d met was when she was moving in, he offered her a bit of help, and introduced himself, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day. Why should she? She’d moved here on her own, she’d got the job on her own, and would have this place to herself. Besides, the way he looked at her, there was something a little off about it. The other time they’d crossed paths was earlier that day as she was heading off to her shift, Mark mentioned he’d be having a gathering of people soon, and that she was welcome to come. She pretended not to hear him, then hurried off to work. Now it was looking like she didn’t have much of a choice though. She wanted that delivery, she’d just have to suck it up, knock on his door and ask for it. It killed her a little to even have to do this, but she’d spent money on the delivery, and she couldn’t afford to put principles ahead of that right now.

         Sophie knocked on his apartment door with a light knock, she didn’t want anyone else in the corridor to notice her. They’d no doubt find it odd she was going in there, maybe spread some nasty rumours. How could she be with a guy like Mark anyways? He was far too old for her. In an instant, she heard the door become unlocked, Mark pulled it open, formally dressed as ever.

‘Ah hello Sophie, how are you?’ he said.

She looked up at him with a tired look on her face, not willing to entertain the man.

‘Hey, do you have my parcel?’ she asked.

Mark chuckled, which sent a shiver down Sophie’s spine, he sounded all too old to be chuckling like that. He swung the door open, and invited her inside.

‘I’d rather if you just got it for me,’

‘Please Sophie, you look exhausted, at least take a seat for a moment while I get it,’ he said.

She sighed, then marched into Mark’s apartment. The first thing that came to mind was she’d be having a firm discussion with the landlord after this. His place was easily three times the size of hers, an open plan with a large sitting area, an adjoining bathroom and bedroom, a decent sized kitchen too. Artworks decorated the walls, and there was all sorts of curios and antiquities dotted around. Overwhelmed, Sophie took it all in, her gaze transfixed on some of the jewellery on display.

‘Sorry the place is a bit of a mess, I’ve still got to tidy up for my gathering next weekend, Should I put you down as a maybe?’ Mark asked, he’d headed into the adjoining bedroom, where he heard him rifling through some things.

Sophie snapped out of it, muttered something under her breath, then looked over to Mark’s sofa. It was, rather unusually, a hot pink leather sofa. It looked entirely out of place with the rest of the room, and despite herself Sophie couldn’t help but smirk at it. She sat down on it, finding it surprisingly comfortable, until it ambushed her with the springing up footrest. She let out a sudden yelp.

‘Yes, watch out for that! It’s not my sofa, well it is but it’s a joke gift from a friend,’ she heard.

‘Who gives someone a hot pink sofa as a gift?’ she called out.

There was that chuckle again. Sophie shivered again but did allow herself to relax into the sofa more. Despite the unusual appearance and how it totally didn’t match with the room, it was so wonderfully comfortable. She’d had a long day, sure she was in the apartment of her strange neighbour, but she might as well relax for a moment, as he got her the parcel. Mark re-entered the room, he looked over Sophie in her thick coat, black jeans and work boots, looking almost as out of place as the sofa itself. He hadn’t returned with the parcel, but a kettle.

‘I’m so sorry about this! I placed it down in there, but things have a habit of getting lost in here, in the meantime would you like some tea?’ he asked.

Sophie turned red, she’d thought he was impractical from looking at him, but how did you lose someone else’s parcel within your own apartment? She shook her head, but let out a long, telling yawn.

‘It’ll help you relax Sophie, please it’s the least I could do,’ Mark said.

She looked over to him as he held up the kettle, then finally shrugged. If she was going to wait here, she might as well have a free drink out of it. Given how well decorated the place was, Mark definitely could afford to give out more cups of tea than her. Sophie said she’d be fine with a cup of tea, but she didn’t want any milk or sugar. Mark nodded, then went off to make her the beverage. Within a few moments he returned and handed her the cup. The sofa meant Sophie was practically lying down, and after a hard day of work she could barely bend herself back up towards him. Still, she managed to grab the tea, and get herself slightly more upright. Sophie took her first sip, surprised by how it already seemed to be cool enough to drink. It was fantastic! Whatever tea this was she’d have to ask Mark afterwards where he’d got it.

         Mark looked Sophie over again, as she took her first sip. Her pupils began to dilate, and he could see the faintest outlines of a smile forming on her face, something he’d never seen before. He smiled himself, then headed back off to the bedroom to find the package. As he did that, Sophie continued to drink her tea, while Mark rambled on about some topic. She wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about, all that mattered to her then was the drink, and letting herself relax. She’d had such a long day, why not take a moment to relax? Sophie let herself melt back into the sofa, enjoying the feel of the cool leather against what little skin she revealed. She’d drank her tea quickly but was even open for another cup. As Sophie leaned back on the sofa, she noticed a breeze now coming from the ceiling. A ceiling fan, that spun around and around. It felt so good as a cool breeze caressed her warm body, felt nice to just focus on the spinning and let her troubles sink away. Sophie’s eyes fluttered, and then she simply must have drifted off.

‘Sophie?’ she heard.

         She sat upright on the sofa, blinking, and realising where she was. How embarrassing, she must have nodded off! She looked up to see Mark was holding her parcel, and she turned bright red. She’d fallen asleep in her neighbour’s apartment; this wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined city life to be like. Looking up at Mark then, seeing the warm smile on his face, she began to feel quite bad. She’d not exactly been the nicest to this man, who really just wanted to help, and now she’d fell asleep in his apartment.

‘You dozed off there for a second, are you alright?’ Mark asked.

Sophie nodded, ‘Just tired, sorry about that’ she said, fairly quietly and still a little red.

‘That’s alright, you must have had a long day. Well here’s your package anyways,’ Mark handed it over to her. His hand lightly brushed hers as he did, but Sophie didn’t seem to mind at all.

As Sophie began to get up, Mark began to speak again. Now, Sophie felt more like listening to him, it was the least she could do.

‘I know you must be new to the city but please if there’s anything you need just knock on my door. If it’s help with anything, or just a cup of sugar like in the olden days,’ Mark chuckled.

Sophie couldn’t help but laugh too, she nodded but was still quick to get out of the apartment. She felt more embarrassed than weirded out by Mark now, he was clearly just a nice, if a little odd, older man. Sophie hurried off, forgetting to say goodbye, then went back into her own apartment. She opened up her delivery once inside, another thick, black coat, but didn’t feel all that attached to it. Maybe the heat of the city was starting to get to her, but it just didn’t seem much like her anymore, she’d built up this fiercely independent personality, something she was proud of, but was all this extra stuff necessary? Sophie didn’t ponder on it too much, despite her power nap she was exhausted. Soon enough, she slipped into her pyjamas, and drifted off to sleep. It would be another long shift for her tomorrow, life in the city was tough, just like her, just like how she liked it.

  Part 2

           Sophie once again returned from her shift at the warehouse, she’d forgone the heavy coat today, instead sticking with a dark green jumper and black jeans, and of course her heavy work boots. Still, despite this meaning she was cooler throughout the day, she still came home feeling exhausted, maybe even more so than the day before. There were no deliveries to be missed today, as Sophie looked over to Mark’s door, still feeling embarrassed about the day before. Part of her did want to go and apologise more, maybe even make an effort to attend that gathering he was talking about, but then that still felt a little strange. He was older than her, they were a generation apart almost, it just didn’t sit right with her. Sophie entered her apartment, a small, cramped space compared to Marks. She sighed as she saw one of her kitchen cupboard doors was hanging off at an angle. No doubt they were cheaply made, but no doubt the landlord would charge her a fortune if he discovered it. She searched through her apartment, found her DIY tools, then slapped her head and cursed. How could she have bought a DIY kit and forgot a screwdriver? It was such a simple mistake, one she chalked up to probably being tired from work when she bought it.

         Sophie considered her options, she could head down to the shops and buy one, but she wasn’t exactly flush with cash. She could leave it, but it would just irritate her so much, seeing it hanging there. Then, a third option came into her mind. Didn’t Mark say if she needed anything, to just ask? I mean it was just a screwdriver, she’d feel a little bad asking for it, but the alternative was having a cupboard door hanging off. All she’d have to do is walk next door, let him know, and he’d probably give her one. Was it really so bad to ask for just a little help? Sophie sighed; she left her apartment to head to her neighbours for the second time in two days.

           Once again Mark seemed to be right by the door, wearing a similar outfit to yesterday, except this time he held a wineglass in his hand. Sophie blushed a little, hoping she hadn’t disturbed him, but then wondered why? It wasn’t like he hadn’t said to her it was okay for her to ask for help.

‘Ah hello Sophie, here for that cup of sugar?’ he chuckled.

She laughed too, then shook her head.

‘No, I’m actually after a screwdriver, if you have one,’ she said.

‘Of course, I have one somewhere I’m sure of it, won’t you come in?’

Sophie nodded and walked once again into Mark’s apartment, things were looking a little tidier in here today, although the hot pink sofa still stood out like a sore thumb. Sophie liked something about it though, it was as if it was a statement of rebellion, something young and vibrant in the old and rather fusty apartment. The antiquities and oddities were mostly moved away somewhere, but the jewellery stayed in place. It was a hot day, so the ceiling fan once again came on full blast. Even though it was a big apartment, Sophie swore she could smell the wine Mark had open from here, a viscous, strong smell that practically got her tipsy just from smelling it. She’d never drank much, to be drunk was to let her guard down, and she definitely wouldn’t go getting drunk in her neighbours’ apartment. As Mark went off to his bedroom to search for a screwdriver, Sophie sat down upon the sofa again by instinct. The footrest still got her by surprise.

‘Say, what is it you do Mark?’ she asked, this time a bit more willing to make some small talk. She’d seen how long it had taken him to get her parcel, so she was in for a long haul anyways.

‘I’m retired, a bit young for it I know, but I made a good deal of money in my old field. I was a professor,’ he said.

Sophie’s own father worked at a petrol station, a far cry from Professor Mark, who had trouble locating objects in his own apartment. Why she’d thought about her father was unclear to Sophie, instead she continued to ask a bit about Mark.

‘What were you a professor of?’ she asked.

Sophie once again was getting comfortable on the sofa, she made a snap decision to roll up the sleeves of her jumper, just to feel the coolness against her skin. The fan was helping too, it seemed more powerful than yesterday, as it produced a constant swooshing sound, an almost rhythmic one. Just as Sophie was getting truly comfortable, Mark re-entered the room with the screwdriver.

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, holding out the screwdriver.

‘Nothing, you just took a while yesterday, I didn’t expect you to be so quick,’ she said.

         Why was she so disappointed? He’d got her the screwdriver like she’d asked, she could be out of here, she could fix her cupboards and maybe get some of her own free time in tonight, instead of collapsing into sleep again.

‘Well you’re welcome to stay and chat a little, to answer your question, I was a professor of behavioural operating, it’s a little technical and boring to explain,’ he said.

‘No, I wouldn’t want to bother you and take up your time,’ Sophie replied.

         She began to pull herself up from the sofa, when Mark popped his wine glass just under her nose. She breathed in that strong, musky smell; her eyes fluttered slightly as it was just so powerful. There was something so familiar about it, Sophie started to smile as it reminded her of something pleasant, but she wasn’t quite sure what.

‘Please Sophie, stay, you’re not bothering me at all. In fact, I quite enjoy your company, and I need someone to help me finish this wine. I’ve not even touched this glass,’ he chuckled.

Sophie giggled as he chuckled.

‘I’m not much of a drinker,’ she said, still breathing in the aroma of the wine as Mark kept it just below her mouth.

He was stood behind her, behind the sofa now, as she looked up into his face, into his eyes. Without his thick glasses on she could see they were a nice shade of brown, just like hers. Mark slowly brought the glass further up, and cupped it over Sophie’s face. She could only smell the aroma of the wine now, as her mouth opened.

‘Please Sophie, give it a try, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,’ he said.

She couldn’t help but let it down her throat, it burned only a little. It tasted even better than her tea yesterday, such a delightfully fruity taste, she wanted more of it, and didn’t even mind as Mark used his hand to guide one of her arms into holding the glass. She continued to breath it in, as she relaxed deeply into the sofa. Mark took a seat just across from her, on a black leather chair. Sophie looked across at him as she continued to drink.

‘You’re right, it’s really good,’ she said.

Mark looked at the girl as her eyes once again dilated, the flicker of a smile came to her face, and everything but the hand she held the glass in became so loose, so limp. He smiled at her, which made Sophie go slightly red. There was something strange about this, but she couldn’t quite place it, and the worry began to go away as the pair started to speak.

 ‘Tell me Sophie, do you have much in the way of family? You seem quite young to be living alone in the city,’ Mark asked.

She shook her head, and simply said that she was an only child, that she had parents but didn’t want to rely on them, not that she felt she could anyways. Mark nodded, a warm smile still on his face.

‘That’s understandable, you do seem the independent type. Myself I was too focused on my work to really have a family, but we all have our priorities, don’t we Sophie?’

She nodded, but right then her priority was simply relaxing and enjoying the wine. It was so good, the way it ran down her throat, tickling at her, she felt so fuzzy every time Mark spoke, like his words were wrapping around her, like a cosy blanket. ‘Yes, sorry, I’m a little tired so I’m not up to talk much,’ she said.

‘That’s alright Sophie, you can relax and I’m more than happy to talk at you,’ Mark said.

Then she noticed a frown on his face, as he now looked down at her boots. Not wanting to sour the mood, she asked what was wrong.

‘Sorry, I’m being a bit fussy, but is there any chance you could take your work boots off? It’s just the sofa and all…’ Mark said.

Sophie felt embarrassed again, not only was she relying on him once again, but now she was scuffing his sofa with her big clunky boots! Sophie leaned up a little quickly, only to feel dizzy.

‘Sure, woah give me a second,’ she said.

Mark chuckled, so Sophie giggled.

‘That wine’s strong stuff, I can just take them off for you Sophie,’ he said.

Before she could object, Mark was on his feet, untying her bootlaces, while she relaxed back into the sofa. She finished off her wine glass, placed it down on a side table, and lay back for a moment. There was the ceiling fan again, spinning around and around. Usually seeing something like this after a drink could make her feel nauseous, but instead it just made her feel happy. She’d been so intent on taking her own boots off, but why not let Mark do it for her? It meant she could relax more, and that was important, she’d had a long day after all. As Sophie felt the load on each of her feet lighten, Mark made an interesting remark.

‘Not what I expected to see underneath your boots Sophie,’ he said.

         Sophie leaned up, just enough to see she was wearing pastel pink socks! She must have forgotten she put them on this morning, as she was running out of her traditional black pairs.

‘Oh yeah umm I haven’t washed any of my normal pairs,’ she said, turning redder than ever.

‘It’s perfectly fine Sophie, they look nice, it’s a cute colour,’ Mark said.

Nobody had ever called Sophie cute, at least not since she was a child. It wasn’t her look, her style, being cute was opposed to being herself. However, Mark’s comment didn’t bother her too much, why was that?

‘It is?’ she asked.

‘Yes, it is Sophie, I know it’s not how you usually dress, but why not try a different look? You’re in the city now after all, you can be whoever you want to be,’

Why was she taking fashion advice from her older, male neighbour? It all seemed a little weird to her, but at the same time as if he did have a point. There was one obvious reason she couldn’t try a new look, the money side of things, but maybe some slow changes?

‘I guess I could try out a new style,’ she said, still staring up at the ceiling fan.

Mark chuckled, which caused her to giggle. She now wiggled her toes as they were free from the boots, but then felt a pleasant feeling on her soles, as if she was getting a footrub. She didn’t get up to look though, she was too busy focusing on the fan, letting Mark talk at her again. It was such a pleasant state to be in, lying back on his sofa, letting him talk and tell her all these interesting things. He was a smart man she could tell, and a gifted speaker. She could imagine being a student in his classes when he used to teach, knowing he’d have her full attention. As Sophie daydreamed, she became blissfully unaware of her mouth drifting open, drool pooling as her body and mind melted. Her eyes rolled up in her head, darkness overtook her.

 ‘Sophie?’

Sophie blinked her eyes open, she leaned up to see Mark sitting across from her, in the chair, with a look of mild concern on his face.

‘Oh god! I did it again didn’t I,’ Sophie groaned.

How had she fallen asleep in his apartment again! She’d only came over to get a screwdriver, it must have been the wine, she thought. She always was a bit of a lightweight, what with her size, and her long shift didn’t help. How embarrassing for her again though, she’d also seemed to have drooled in her sleep, as there was a small puddle of it on her jumper.

‘Only for a few moments Sophie, I must have been boring you,’ Mark said, then chuckled.

She giggled, then shook her head.

‘No, no not at all, you’re interesting to listen to, I’m just tired again, another long shift,’ she said.

It surprised her, but it was true. Mark proved interesting to listen to, she could see how he’d been able to retire early, as he was such a smart man. Yet, wasn’t it a little odd that she didn’t think that much of him only two days before? Perhaps she’d misjudged him, she knew him better now, and could see he was worth her time. Maybe she would go to that gathering he mentioned.

‘That’s perfectly alright Sophie, until we meet again. Like I said, anything you need, please come and ask, even if it’s for a cup of sugar,’ Mark said. He winked at the end, which inspired a strange, dreamy feeling in Sophie.

She blinked twice and nodded, heading out back to her own apartment, screwdriver in hand. Fixing the cupboard door was easy, but once again she felt exhausted, the day hitting her hard. As she readied herself for bed, Sophie looked over her usual pyjamas. These long sleeved and legged dark blue pyjamas, which were quite warm and stuffy. She remembered something from earlier, something about trying out a new way of dressing. It was so hot in her apartment bedroom, so hot in the city overall, and she couldn’t afford any new clothes just yet. Maybe her new style then could be more minimalist? She didn’t need to sleep in these pyjamas, instead she could simply wear her underwear and the vest top she had on under the sweater. Sophie smiled, she thought about how Mark mentioned something about a different style. He was a smart man. Where’d that come from? Why was she thinking of her older neighbour as she stripped down and lay in bed? She wouldn’t get an answer, as the moment she closed her eyes, Sophie was out like a light.