#for your challenges because they’re something your supposed to hide. like?? NO

[natugood]

It’s really weird and kind of sad realizing that you are growing differently than how someone you’ve known for a long time is growing

[simjaexy]

Wanting You

Pairing: Popular Boy! Park Sunghoon x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Sunghoon is the enigmatic and talented ice hockey player, captivating everyone with his skill on the ice and his mysterious aura off it. He's the guy who doesn't say much but leaves a lasting impression. Sunghoon's dedication to his sport and his quiet confidence make him a true heartthrob, unfortunately he just can’t get your attention.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: MINORS DNI!!, Sunghoon is toxic (so is Jake a little), Making Out, Cum Eating, Hair Pulling, Mean Dom! Sunghoon x Sub! Reader, Pain Kink, Semi Public Sex, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms

Notes: This is part 2 of the Wanting You Series.

Read Jongseong here.

Sunghoon was known for his icy demeanor and striking looks. He wasn't the type to show his emotions easily, and that made him even more intriguing. His friends often joked about his ability to make anyone fall for him without even trying.

But when one of them decided to make a challenge on who could pull you, Sunghoon didn’t even try hiding his smirk. He accepted the challenge, though he viewed it as just another game.

When Sunghoon heard about the challenge the first thing he did was ignore you. Not because he didn’t like you, but because he knew his friend, Jake was gonna have you first.

He knew Jake always loved being first in things, so it wasn’t a surprise when a few days later Jake said that Sunghoon can go for you.

“She’s pretty chill so I wouldn’t worry much.” Jake said.

Sunghoon grinned at him, “So why’d you take so long to get her?”

“Because she’s the kind that likes to play hard to get. Nothing too big though.” He replied.

Unfortunately for Sunghoon, you seem like you weren’t interested in him.

Students whispered and giggled as Sunghoon walked past them, unfazed that they’re talking about him.

It’s not the first time he’s got this attention, and it won’t be the last either. But when he walked past you, you didn’t even acknowledge him and just shut your locker and head the other way.

Sunghoon didn’t show and expression though. He just simply continued walking to his next class, he wasn’t gonna stop and beg.

If there was one thing Sunghoon hated about this class, is that there was always that one teacher that pissed him off.

He listens to his teacher talking his brains off about something he did over break, but why the hell would he care?

Sunghoon sighed and looked out the window. The view wasn’t all that either. He looked to his side and noticed a specific person walking past his classroom.

Immediately, he raised his hand, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Before the teacher could respond he quickly left the class. He was not trying to hear his teacher give him a lecture.

He scanned the hallways, but didn’t see any signs of you, that was until he heard a voice and saw you coming out the library.

You had two of the same books in your hand which left him confused, but didn’t ponder much.

Now that he thought about it, Jake’s been getting into books again. He rolled his eyes, thinking that Jake was still trying to keep you on hold while he tries to get you.

He knew Jake was a sucker for romance m, though he didn’t know he’d fall this fast. Sunghoon ignored his thoughts and went up to you shamelessly.

You bumped into him without seeing him and stared up, “O-Oh sorry.”

He looked down at you, “It’s fine. Have you seen Jake, he was with you the last time I seen him.”

He lied about the wanting to see Jake. He saw him not even that long ago but who cares. He has to get your attention somehow.

He did see you two together at one point today even though he wasn’t supposed to interrupt Sunghoons turn, but Sunghoon let it slide.

“Uh I think he went to a soccer game, they got called out early in the speaker.” You replied.

Sunghoon hummed and thanked you, walking away without a thought. You watched as he disappeared from your sight.

You and Jake haven’t been really talking as much since the incident in the library, sometimes he’ll just plain out ignore you when you tried talking to him in the halls, but texts you apologizing that he didn’t see you.

You’d sigh and would leave a message saying it’s fine. You’d still give him a book though, at least it’s one way to keep in touch.

He’d grab it in a secluded hallway and thanked you, kissing your forehead. He wouldn’t kiss you though, but you thought he just didn’t feel like it.

The next day Sunghoon got up extra early. Jake told him that you were going to the library so he decided to head there too. He already had a plan fixed.

He has to talk about something that’ll keep you interested, and he doesn’t think Jake won’t be offended if he used him as bait. The plan was quite simple.

He would talk about Jake and how he’s been ignoring you since Jake said it was for Sunghoon to get his game up.

You’d feel sad and disappointed and that’s when Sunghoon will come into view. His plan was simple and yet perfect.

As he made it to the library, he noticed that there barely anyone there. The librarians working on books while some students were reading or doing homework.

He averted his gaze to a specific hair color and walked his way towards you. You looked engrossed in a book. He approached you, his cold aura unmistakable, "Is this seat taken?" he asked, his voice smooth but distant.

You glanced up, slightly taken aback by his sudden presence, and shook your head. He sat down, barely sparing you a glance as he pulled out his own book.

The silence between you was palpable, but there was something about his aloofness that piqued your curiosity.

You wondered why he randomly wanted to sit with you. Maybe it was because you were talking to Jake?

It was silent for quite some time, the only thing heard were the sound of Sunghoon flipping pages of his book. You didn’t know he was interested in books.

“Is there something on my face?” He suddenly asked.

You felt your cheeks heat up and quickly turned back to your book, “S-Sorry.” You stuttered.

Sunghoon suddenly closed his book and stared at you, “Have you’ve been talking to Jake?”

You looked up from your book surprised. You didn’t know if he knew that Jake was ignoring you, “Not really, no. He’s been busy with practice I guess.”

Sunghoon hummed and leaned on his hand, “He doesn’t have practice on the weekends.” He spoke. Your eyes widened.

But he told you he had practice everyday? You felt your chest sting and took a deep breath, “He told me he did?”

“He doesn’t.”

The way Sunghoon cold honestly somewhat made you snap into reality. Jake lied to you. He always cancelled your plans on the weekends saying he had practice.

Sunghoon continued staring at you. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied with the way you looked.

Brows furrowed, lips parting, concentrated in thought. He definitely hit you where it hurts, “Jake has always been like that with girls. Lying to their faces. It’s in his nature.” Sunghoon chuckled.

But you just stayed silent. You slowly closed your book, “I-I think I should get going.” You muttered. Sunghoon doesn’t stop you when you rushed out the library.

Instead he yawned, closed his book, and headed out the library too. Plan a worked perfectly. Now all he has to do is put on his comforting character and care for you.

Class was just as boring as he remembered. Currently he had his head down, it was break and students were talking to each other. Sunghoon didn’t really have friends in that class.

He just talks to whoever comes up to him. Aside from girls, he ignored them or just give out short answers.

While feeling in the verge of falling asleep, he heard a group of girls speaking, “Yeah it’s tonight so I went to buy a cute dress yesterday!” A girl voice squeaked.

He then heard another girl talk, “You think Sunghoon and his friends will go?” A girl muttered, but Sunghoon heard loud and clear.

They began whispering while it suddenly clicked in Sunghoon mind. Today was the gathering of students good attendance.

Sunghoon and his friends did have good attendance, but never went to those. It was cringey and not worth their time from practice.

He then had an idea. You must be going to it, he knows you had good attendance, he won’t lie and say he doesn’t pay attention to you everyday entering your classes while he talked to his friends.

He lifted his head up and looked at the group of girls, “When does that start?” He asked them. They gasped as two of them squealed that the Park Sunghoon was talking to them.

“O-Oh uh it starts at s-six thirty!” One of them squeaked. Sunghoon got up and left the classroom as soon as the bell rang, not even thanking them.

He guessed he could skip practice if that means you’ll go.

He found out you were attending a small gathering and made sure to be there. He dressed up a bit formal and had his hair gelled. There’s no way you won’t fall for his looks.

As the night went on, you found yourself alone on the balcony, enjoying the cool breeze.

Suddenly, Sunghoon appeared beside you, his expression as unreadable as ever. "You look like you could use some company," he said, his voice low.

You were surprised by his sudden approach but nodded, feeling a strange comfort in his presence.

“It was too loud.” You said.

“Hate loud crowds?” He asked. You nodded and stared down.

“There aren’t really my thing.”

“I don’t like loud crowds either.” He admitted. You gave him a smile, but he didn’t really smile back.

As the conversation flowed, you realized that beneath his cold exterior, there was a depth to Sunghoon that was intriguing.

He spoke about his passions, his dreams, and his fears, all while maintaining that distant aura. It was as if he was letting you in, but only just enough to keep you wanting more.

You suddenly thought about Jake, the only thing you knew about him was that he’s talkative and likes to play soccer, and not to mention he’s pretty good at sex.

Your mind suddenly drift to Sunghoon, with his cold personality, you had a feeling that he was still good in bed. His strong biceps could practically choke you while he fucks you from behind.

Your eyes went wide. Why the hell were you thinking about that? You’re talking to Jake. You gulped hard and bashfully looked away.

Sunghoon suddenly noticed the shift of the air and smirked. You’re finally falling for his schemes.

“S-So Jake didn’t come?” You questioned. Sunghoon shook his head.

“None of us go to these gatherings.”

“So why’d you come?” You curiously replied. Sunghoon stared at you with an unreadable expression.

“Didn’t feel like a bad idea to see you.” He said. You felt your heart beating fast. Why were you feeling like this?

Maybe it was because Jake left you hanging these past few weeks that you forgot what it was like to have attention.

“Why’d you want to see me?” You mumbled. Sunghoon smirked and went next to your ear.

“I thought your dress would look good on you. Turns out I was right.”

You felt yourself gasp and stared up at him. He slowly cupped your face and stepped closer, “I know Jake hasn’t been giving you the attention you deserve. So use me while you can.” He whispered.

His breath hitting your lips. You didn’t know what to do. You knew that if you did something right here you’ll regret. But the way Sunghoon pulled you closer made you have other thought.

And just like that your lips connected. The kiss was slow and sensual, feeling every part of his lips. You sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck.

Sunghoon knew he shouldn’t be doing this, the challenge was just to make you like them, not giving you a satisfaction, but the way you looked so helpless to him made him want to ruin you in other ways.

He gripped your neck and entered his tongue in your mouth. You let him in so easily. He gripped your waist with his other hand.

You felt yourself getting dizzy just from kissing him. Your thoughts on Jake long forgotten with the way Sunghoon pushed you against the railing.

You suddenly remembered you were in a public area and broke the kiss, saliva connecting your lips.

“W-We shouldn’t do this. Jake-“

“I don’t care about Jake. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction you need.” He said. You felt yourself lowering your head.

Sunghoon lifted your head up with his finger under your chin, “You deserve someone who’ll treat you right. So what are you waiting for? I’m right here.”

And that was all he needed to say for you to kiss his lips again. You moaned when he put his hand under your dress and rubbed your cloth core.

He grinned, feeling your wetness damp your underwear, “Already so wet? You’re a curious one.”

You whined when he pulled away and dragged you back inside. You didn’t know where you two were going, but you were excited to say the least.

You both entered the family restroom as Sunghoon locked the door. He turned back around and kissed you again.

He picked you up and settled you on the sink. He pulled your dress over your body. He began trailing kisses down your body causing you to sigh.

He moved your underwear to the side and prodded at your hole, but stopped when he realized something, “Did Jake fuck you already?”

You stared at him dazed, but slowly nodded your head, “A while back.”

Sunghoon fucking knew it. He knew Jake fucked you the minute he saw Jake the next day. His ego was high that day. But Sunghoon knows how to ruin it.

“I’ll show you what a real fuck is.” He commented. Before you could say anything he entered not one, not two, but three fingers in your hole causing you to scream.

You felt your hole burning, but you were so wet that you couldn’t help but grind down on his fingers.

He began fingering you at an animalistic pace making your eyes roll back in pain and pleasure.

“You love that fucking pain don’t you slut?” He groaned. You frantically nodded your head, feeling your orgasm coming.

“A-Agh, I’m cumming, oh god-“ He cut you off kissing you and that’s when you felt your orgasm crashing.

Your legs shook in pleasure when he slowly grinded his fingers in you. He took them up and faced them towards you, “Suck.”

You sucked on his fingers, tasting your sweet cum on them, it made you feel wet again. He took his fingers out and harshly kissed you, biting your lip making you cry out.

He suddenly flipped you over, your pussy on full view for him, he cursed when he took out his hard dick, stroking it a few times before slowly entering.

You sighed feeling him fill you up. You began grinding back, missing what it was like to have a dick in you. Sunghoon let you grind back in him.

He knew that Jake wasn’t gonna satisfy you like this. He gripped your waist and started moving. You felt your eyes roll back, feeling him fill you up with his long dick.

He gripped your hair and pulled your head back, groaning feeling you clench on to him. You whined when he grind his dick in you slowly before going fast again.

He stared down seeing your ass jiggle when he made contact with your pussy. He felt himself getting hard even more if that was even possible.

You were a moaning mess, tears running down your eyes, face flushed in embarrassment and pleasure. Sunghoon wanted to fucking ruin you.

He felt a pang of jealousy that Jake fucked you before. If anything he should’ve been first to fuck you. But he thought it was okay, cause you’ll remember his dick whenever you fuck someone else.

You felt your orgasm coming again and lowered your head, “I-I’m gonna cum S-Sunghoon.” You whined. He smirked and kissed your back neck.

“Cum on this dick slut.” He whispered. That was all it took as you squeezed tight around him, you orgasms making squelching sounds as he continued pounding into you.

You felt overstimulated as he moaned and didn’t stop his pace, “Fuck I’m gonna cum.” Was all he said and took his dick out, stroking it on your back, spurts of cum landing on you ass and back.

As much as he wanted to cum inside, he didn’t want a risk to get you pregnant, but he won’t lie and say you guys wouldn’t have beautiful kids.

You panted hard while Sunghoon breathed deeply behind you. He grabbed paper towels and wiped your back and ass.

“You okay?” He asked. You nodded your head and smiled sweetly at him. He felt his heart pang against his chest. You looked beautiful ruined.

“I’m perfect.” You replied. You got up and made a quiet noise, feeling your legs wobble. Sunghoon chuckled.

“I’ll take you home. Think you could walk?”

You nodded your head and out your dress back on, you fixed your face a little so it didn’t look like you just got fucked from behind (which clearly you did).

You both exited the bathroom and head to Sunghoons car. Driving as the sun slowly began setting down.

You felt at calm with Sunghoon hand on your thigh, occasionally rubbing it, soothing you. You felt your eyes getting droopy and soon enough you were asleep.

Sunghoon noticed and for the first time, he smiled softly. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way towards you, unfortunately he can’t help but feel his heart swell with warmth.

He looked back to the front. He’ll just have to see what his other friends will do to make you like them. For now though, he’ll enjoy what he has.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Sunscreen & Statistics (S.R.)

Summary: Reader asks for Spencer’s help putting on sunscreen (and washing it off after).  Request: Spencer lecturing Reader on the statistics of wearing sunscreen, but his mind going blank when reader needs him to help put it on. A/N: This is my (first) entry to my Summer Sunshine Challenge! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Spencer POV, so much sexual tension, mutual pining, heavy petting, fingering, rough sex, unprotected penetrative sex, coworker relationship, so many statistics (showers, skin cancer, sunscreen, sex), schizophrenia mention, Reader wears a bikini Word Count: 5.6k

MASTERLIST

It was a beautiful day—the kind that artists had attempted to capture through many mediums. The summer sun was relentless, stretching its rays across every inch of the region. Even the shade hardly seemed spared, with bits of bright light slipping between green rustling leaves.

This seemingly idyllic set of circumstances offered the BAU a wonderful excuse to stay behind on the sunnier coast. Everyone was quick to buy new bathing suits and Rossi had already begrudgingly extended an invitation for everyone to stay at his favorite luxury hotel (on his dime, of course, or none of us would’ve made it).

The celebrations were already in full swing, and everyone was blissfully happy. It was, after all, the perfect day to hang out by the pool. So, they did. Each and every one…

Except for me. I stayed inside.

I wasn’t trying to ruin the fun. I had my reasons. Some were more reasonable than others.

Others were scary and slightly embarrassing. They wore a smile so bright it would rival the sun and managed to make me turn red even quicker than the star could. The kind of reason that turned me to nothing but a blubbering mess of a man.

I should’ve known better than to try to avoid her, though. Because that reason, that very important and tempting enchantress of a reason, always seemed to find me at the most inopportune time.

“Are you still hiding in here?”

I nearly jumped through my skin at the sound.

“No!”

I turned to find her staring back with an entertained, albeit disbelieving stare.

“Sort of. Maybe,” I felt compelled to continue.

When she still didn’t believe me—for obvious reasons—I finally conceded, “Yes.”

To my joy and eternal shame, she laughed like it had been an intentional joke.

“Well, I got banished back inside because I forgot sunscreen, so I’m trying to figure out where JJ left her bag,” she sighed.

Thankfully, that had been something I could help with. Despite everyone’s enthusiasm when they’d tossed the bags into the center of the suite lobby, I had managed to determine who owned which brightly colored pattern.

From my seat in the center, I reached over to pull JJ’s bag from the fray.

As soon as (y/n) spotted the motion, she was quick to exclaim, “My hero!”

Immediately, I felt the blood rush to my face.

I suppose there were worse places it could have gone.

“How did you forget sunscreen?” I asked.

“I hate the way it feels, so I almost never wear it unless forced,” she shrugged. Then, she turned to me, pointing the bottle like a weapon as she explained, “Plus, it always feels like they’re trying to trick me with all the numbers. I don’t know what SPF is. They could just be lying to me.”

“Well, the good news is that even a weak sunscreen is helpful,” I tried to reassure her. “Regular daily use of at least 15 SPF can reduce your risk of squamous cell carcinoma and melanoma by up to 50%.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. I can tell you more about this product specifically, if you want.”

When I held out my hand, she was quick to hand me the bottle. I was, in turn, very happy to have an excuse to look at something other than her before all the blood left my brain.

“Okay, so, this one is an interesting formula. It offers a decent coverage and—,” I started, but my voice died just as soon as I looked up.

Because there she was, pulling her top over her head to reveal the barely-there bikini beneath it.

I knew I only had a few seconds to shamelessly ogle her before she would find out, and I greedily accepted the sight of soft curves that all consisted of and led to her.

My eyes traversed her body the way I wished my hands could until I was left practically trembling.

The blood wasn’t in my face anymore. It wasn’t even anywhere near my brain. To the point I’d barely even noticed she’d already taken her pants off until her voice snapped me back to reality.

“And what?” she said.

“What?”

“… You stopped talking.”

“I did?”

She reached forward and grabbed the bottle from my hand. If she’d noticed the way I had been looking at her, she didn’t say anything about it. She just sort of… smiled.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

I might’ve been able to answer honestly if it hadn’t been for the way she dumped the contents of the bottle into her hand and began lathering it over her legs.

“A-Anyways,” I tried to continue. With a wavering voice and wandering eyes, I rambled, “to maximize protection you should really use about an ounce of sunscreen with an SPF of 30. Anything over 30 is, well, like you suggested, sort of a scam.”

All the while, there she was, smoothing over slick skin that smelled like summer.

“An ounce, huh?” she hummed as her hands traveled between pillowy thighs to coat skin the sun could rarely reach. “Feels like you could make it a drinking game with enough motivation.”

“Drinking alcohol actually dramatically increases your risk of sunburn, so you should definitely wear more sunscreen if you’re drinking,” I muttered absently while my eyes stayed firmly fixed between her thighs long after her hands had abandoned the area.

“Noted,” she said, the end of the word tinged with a little bit of amusement.

I looked up at her to try to understand what had excited her, or perhaps annoyed her.

Or at least, I tried to look at her face. My eyes made a few involuntarily stops along the way. Once they settled safely back on her smile, however, she was quick to get my blood pumping in a different way.

“So, will you help me?” she asked.

“With what?”

She scoffed, then laughed.

“… the sunscreen? Duh.”

Despite my best efforts to make any sense of the request, I was, once again, a hopeless, lovesick idiot.

“W-What?” I babbled, “You… You want me to put it on? You?”

“I can ask JJ if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” I blurted out with both hands raised in opposition or surrender.

Didn’t seem to matter which.

I tried to explain it away, but my attempts to bolster my good character seemed even less convincing than the sudden outburst.

“N-No, no it’s fine. I-It’s… why would that make me… uncomfortable? I’m fine. I can do it.”

“Wow. Convincing,” she teased.

And that is what it was. There was no anger in her tone; not even a hint of resentment. She laughed, and I did, too.

“Okay, I admit that wasn’t very convincing. But seriously, I can do it. Promise.”

She spoke through her teeth when she muttered, “Whatever you say.”

When she tossed me the bottle back, we were both surprised to find that I’d caught it.

My hands, still shaky, were quick to close the gap between our bodies. The sunscreen felt nearly frigid compared to our skin, but she didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, she rewarded the sensation with a dreamy sigh and a slight arching of her back.

That motion, however small, felt like fire to an already ruined man. I tried to stay focused on more innocent areas. I worked my hands over knotted muscles in her shoulder and tried to free her of those burdens, too. With each swipe of my thumbs, she would let out the most delicious rumble that made me want to do it again.

Each time that I pulled away to add more, I came back a few inches lower until my fingers nearly slipped beneath the top of her bikini bottoms.

At that moment, with her arched lower back pressed against my palms and my fingers brushing against the little fabric between us, she shivered. Silently, I watched as the goosebumps covered her skin like a sheet.

Reaching forward to grab hold of the couch in front of her, she arched her back once more. The movement seemed intentional, closing a couple inches of the distance between us until there was almost nothing.

With more speed than I’d intended, I stepped back and nearly fell.

“O-Okay, I-I think that’s it!” I said with a squeak.

To my dismay, she stayed exactly where she was for a long moment. In fact, she deepened the stretch and fell forward with a sigh before she whined, “Shame.”

I tried to calm my fast beating heart while simultaneously trying to run from the thoughts that continued to chase me the longer she stayed bent over. My hands were still buzzing from the contact, and I felt almost lightheaded from the strength of the unrelenting erection still struggling against compression shorts underneath my pants.

(I had been right that I would need them if she was going to be there.)

And there she was, finally standing and stretching her arms over her head. They dropped back down and I couldn’t stop myself from admiring the effect of physics on her chest.

“It felt nice to be touched like that,” she sighed.

I couldn’t respond to that without making a complete fool of myself, so I tried to distance myself from the moment, instead.

“You’re actually supposed to wait 30 minutes after application to go into the sun, but, y-you can probably just sit in the shade and wait.”

“Did you already apply yours?”

“I’m not taking off my clothes so I could do it myself,” I explained.

I should’ve known better than to doubt her ability to get whatever she wanted—which, at the moment seemed to be my catastrophic defeat.

“Well, that’s not fair,” she whined, “I want to return the favor!”

“I-I mean… I’ll probably have to reapply it to my face soon, but I doubt you want to—.”

“Awe! Fun!” she cried before I could finish the thought, “Gimme!”

“Oh… um, okay.”

I handed her the bottle and whatever I still had of my heart. With expert fingers, she spread the chilly contents over my cheeks. We were both smiling, the expressions growing wider and more genuine as she started to play with pliable skin.

I involuntarily joined in on her laughter. Her hands and eyes were so warm, I couldn’t help but melt into a puddle in her palms.

The moment ended far too quickly. I missed her immediately, but she made sure that my smile didn’t fade.

“There. You’re only sort of pasty now,” she sighed contentedly before adding, “Mostly red, actually.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” I grumbled back. The sarcastic tilt to the sound wasn’t lost on her.

I realized in that awkward, somehow lonely quiet that I loved her more than I’d thought.

I almost wanted to tell her. I’d even opened my mouth, ready to spill the contents of my soul and hope for the best.

I never got a chance, though. Because before I’d uttered a single syllable, she jumped with her own realization.

“Oh, I forgot the most important part!”

“What?”

She turned away from me and dove her attention into the pile of bags without further explanation. I watched as she dug through clothing and whatever else she’d stuffed into her tote until she stood triumphantly with a closed fist.

“What?” I asked again.

She held up a single finger in reply.

I followed her instruction, waiting patiently as I watched her uncap a small tube of chapstick and use it to thoroughly coat her lips. Once again, I was left to shamelessly stare at a beautiful woman as she dutifully cared for herself in a way I’d wished I could.

Swallowing the lump in my throat that carried heartfelt confessions, I spoke again.

“What am I waiting for, exactly?” I teased.

Her eyes narrowed with what seemed to be a playful warning.

“Sunscreen application,” she explained flatly, “Duh.”

I paused. My head cocked to the side and my face twisted as I struggled to find any explanation for why she’d needed me for this part.

“Wha—?”

Then, just when I’d started to speak, it hit me all at once.

And by that, I mean she kissed me.

With both hands cupping already-reddened cheeks, she pulled me forward until I could taste flavored lip balm and her.

Her lips opened, sliding against mine with an undeniable affection that made my whole body tense. I tried to hold her, but it all happened so quickly that by the time I raised my hands to her arms, she was almost gone.

“There!” she said happily, “Now we’re ready.”

For what? I wanted to ask.

But before I could make myself speak, she was already gone.

I spent the next several hours outside.

The rest of the team seemed both surprised and not surprised about my decision to join them. After all, everyone knew I didn’t particularly enjoy pools or any body of water, and, despite my Vegas origins, the sun and I didn’t quite get along.

But they also knew I liked her.

It had never been more obvious than it was that day, when I emerged from the safety of darkness with freshly kissed lips and an expression filled with utter confusion.

(Y/n) was quick to greet me in her usual manner. She said nothing about the kiss.

Part of me had even started to wonder if I’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe the doctors had all been wrong, and I was already waist-deep in psychosis that manifested purely through happy memories of her.

It would be an odd presentation, sure, but at the time it somehow felt more likely than her returning my affections. But as soon as I started to convince myself, she would flash me a glance that set my already overheated body on fire. Even as she peered up at me from the edge, I could still see her smile under the water.

She wore that same look in her eye she always did when we were alone. It was a slightly unnerving but mostly flattering feeling. It felt like being wanted by a beautiful woman.

I’m definitely losing it.

That was the only reasonable conclusion to reach. Because when she emerged from the pool, I could’ve sworn she paused before to make sure I was watching.

Of course, I was watching. I made sure that my flawless memory captured damn near every droplet as it caressed her curves. I stared, practically worshipped the sight of her lips parted with a relieved exhale that I could see leave her chest.

The blood was gone again. I was doomed.

“You’re still hiding, huh?”

I was too afraid to answer until she took the seat closest to me.

“No, not hiding, just… staying safe,” I explained through my typical awkward smile.

I pointed up to the umbrella above me, but she didn’t look. Her eyes stayed glued to me.

“It’s probably time for me to reapply, huh?” she laughed.

I liked the way it sounded, so, I laughed, too.

“Yeah, to be honest, you really should’ve done it a couple hours ago, but I didn’t want you to think I was… a wet blanket or a pervert.”

She snorted at the suggestion. Her eyes squinted, playful as always and carrying some meaning that evaded me.

“It’s very interesting that those were the two options that came to your mind,” she said.

I panicked.

“I don’t know, it’s weird, isn’t it? Me insisting you should let me touch you?” I rushed, “I’m not crazy, right? It’s… weird! It’s…!”

She sighed.

At first, I mistook the sound for annoyance. But when I looked into her eyes, I knew that wasn’t right.

Because she looked… like she had been caught in a dream. A melancholy fantasy of something she felt was just beyond her reach.

She was looking at me, I realized, exactly the same way I looked at her.

 “You’re not crazy, Spencer,” she said with a smile, “Just a little oblivious.”

My lips twitched as I fought a smirk that came through, anyway.

“I can accept that.”

She seemed pleased, as if I’d given the right answer.

“Well, the good news is I’m done with the sun for the day,” she announced.

Her eyes finally left me as she once again stretched her arms over her head and left me to ogle her like an idiot. Then, when I was thoroughly distracted, she glanced around like she was checking to see if anyone could hear her.

“They don’t seem to be calming down, so…” she said, much quieter now, “any statistics on what I should do with sunscreen when I’m finished with it?”

“No statistics, per se, but you definitely should wash it off. It can be pretty irritating for skin,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Not to mention the salts and chemicals from the pool.”

“I see,” she laughed.

Then, when she realized that I was, in fact, a hopeless, perverted fool with no blood in his brain, she made her intentions much clearer.

“Will you help me with that?”

Not clear enough for me, though.

“What?” I asked.

“With the sunscreen,” she answered simply.

“Uh—.”

Even that eloquent thought couldn’t make it through a parched, tightening throat. With each passing second and every syllable uttered, my voice got higher and even more unstable.

“I’m sorry, are you—what—w-what are you asking me?”

That’s when she took my hand, bursting with laughter as she dragged me from me seat with the most terrifying, alluring, and magical answer.

“Come on, pretty boy.”

I followed her without question but many concerns—the largest of which was the fear that she was actually leading me to my demise by humiliation.

Those worries grew tenfold when she yanked me over the threshold into her private room.

I stumbled forward and practically fell into her arms. But she was waiting for me, seemingly anticipating the clumsiness. Her hands were still soft, still soothing on boiling skin as she guided my lips to hers for the second time that day.

That time, I was prepared.

My hands covered her sun-kissed cheeks and pulled her even closer than she’d done to me before.

She tasted like salt and sugar from summer fresh fruit. I gave her every breath that I had, panting hopelessly against her lips each time that we broke apart.

Her hands were gentle when they found mine. I was reluctant to leave her until I realized that she was simply repositioning them to less innocent areas.

Still, I hesitated to go any further. I let my hands rest softly against her hips while I struggled to express my relief.

“Thank god,” I laughed, “I was sort of worried you were going to beat me up for staring at you all day.”

Her eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that seemed almost insatiable.

“No, I like it when you look at me like that,” she stated so simply it hurt. “In fact, I think I want to thank you.”

Before I could ask her how she intended to that, she made her intentions very clear by grabbing my dick through the fabric of my pants.

“So, tell me… any statistics on why we shouldn’t have sex in the shower?” she asked.

I don’t know how she’d expected me to think clearly. It actually seemed like she was purposefully trying to make it harder for me to form any words at all.

“It’s actually—,” I started just to stop when she started stroking the full length of me with devilish fingers.

“It’s actually really dangerous to try to have sex in the shower,” I tried again.

That time, she began applying a cascading pressure through playful fingertips. I spoke faster, trying to finish any thought before I truly lost my mind.

“There is a—fuck—a 44% chance of injury,” I forced out.

Her hand stopped. She cocked her head to the side with a brilliant smile and asked, “Is that right?”

I was almost relieved. Almost.

“Yeah, and…”

Then she started taking off my pants.

“A-and it can be quite uncomfortable for a woman without additional lubrication,” I said while shaking my head.

Even my subconscious knew I was speaking against my own self-interest, that I could’ve just accepted her question as rhetorical. I could’ve just shut up and go along with whatever she wanted because I would always be happy so long as she was happy.

She dropped down as she pulled my pants to the ground and revealed a second set of bottoms. I couldn’t be sure of it, but she seemed vindicated when she realized how hard my body was struggling against the compression shorts.

“The movies make it look so fun, don’t they?” she hummed as she stood back up. “I guess it is pretty dangerous. And inconvenient.”

“Yeah, but also, I sort of wish I hadn’t said any of that,” I responded immediately, “Let’s do it anyway.”

Thankfully, she found my eagerness charming and not pathetic (or perhaps those were the same to her). Her fingers sneaked past the band of the compression shorts, but she didn’t make the move to remove them yet.

Instead, she used her free hand to lead mine straight to the knot holding her bikini bottoms together.

My fingers twitched. She leaned closer, her cheek pressed against mine and her breath hot on my ear as she said the most beautiful words.

“We can shower after, then.”

“Thank you god,” I cried.

Practiced fingers untangled the knots within seconds, and I fought the urge to stare at her newly exposed skin by kissing her instead.

Her skin, still wet, was chilled enough from the cooler air that she barely reacted when I backed her against the ceramic countertop in the bathroom.

She leaned back, groaning with relief when I finally undid the knots of her top.

Again, I shamelessly admired the wonderful world of physics as it was displayed before me. With each breath, her chest lifted and came closer to my own.

Seemingly sharing the same thoughts, she reached forward and practically tugged my shirt off of me.

As soon as I could, I held her naked body as close to me as I could. My hands covered her lower back and drifted further down her hips, seeking every inch of cold skin that remained.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered. I couldn’t see most of her, but the memory from mere seconds ago was as vivid as it would ever be. “Words don’t exist that would ever do it justice.”

She pulled back, still toying with the tops of my shorts with that insatiable look in her eyes.

“I’d say take a picture, but I think your memory might rival a camera,” she giggled.

“I’ll never forget this,” I promised her, “I’ll never forget you.”

But there were so many other ways I’d yet to see her. So, after carefully loving each inch of her hips, I turned my attention to the burning heat between her thighs. 

At the same time my finger slid through slick folds, my lips found hers once more.

“I wanna make you feel good,” I slurred.

Her lips parted in a broken gasp as I tried to do just that. I inched eager fingers between tight muscles and didn’t even bother fighting the urge to moan into her mouth.

She swallowed that desire and returned her own with a growing enthusiasm. My fingers grew faster, sloppier in their gentle beckoning for her to fall apart.

“That’s it. Good girl,” I reassured her when her breathy moans became pitchy. “Oh, you deserve to feel so good, sweetheart.”

That spark in her eyes had turned into a wildfire further stoked by my praise. I leaned into it; I became more confident in my loving her. Her walls were tense and insistent, seeking something more than what my hand could give them.

I withdrew them despite her immediate protests. She recanted any complaint as soon as I moved drenched fingers to the small pearl at her center.

Her moans became shameless, and I accepted them as an imminent victory. She rocked her hips against my hand, riding it to find her elusive end.

All the while, her eyes were locked onto mine. She refused to look away, forced us both to acknowledge that I was the one who brought her here. To the edge of the abyss, to the ultimate euphoria.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” I said through a smirk, “Come for me.”

She followed the direction with the utmost enthusiasm. She fell forward, favoring me to the cold countertop. I caught her but continued my relentless efforts to please her.

I kept going, kept cherishing her until she whimpered from my touch. Then I held her. I pet her damp hair and laid a gentle kiss atop the crown of her head.

“Good girl,” I assured her.

But I wasn’t finished yet.

“Now turn around.”

She perked up the second she’d heard the order. Although she’d barely caught her breath, she turned on shaky legs without question.

My hands found her hips just like they had before. Except this time, there were no bikini bottoms. There was only pillowy flesh and the strong muscles of her backside pressed firmly against my dick.

Barely moving away from her, I finally freed myself from the confines of compression shorts. I groaned with relief and noticed how the sound made her back arch further.

When I lined myself up at her entrance, she rewarded the action with a dreamy sigh.

It wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to see the look on her face, to hear the desperation in her voice before I gave her what I’d fantasized of from the moment I met her.

My hand knotted in her hair. I pulled her back from her comfortable position braced against the countertop. I held her up so that I could whisper in her ear the same as she’d done to me earlier.

“This is what you wanted, right?” I asked, as if her whimpers hadn’t been answer enough.

“Yes,” she moaned, “please.”

The sound of debauchery on her tongue sent shockwaves through me. My cock twitched involuntarily, bumping against satin skin now dripping with desire.

I barely resisted the urge to slam into her with full force. Instead, I stayed there, with just the tip of me inside of her as I groaned.

“Oh, I’d give you the whole world if you asked me like that.”

“This’ll do for now,” she giggled.

Her hips began to sway as she rocked on her toes. She chased even just a half inch more of me and rewarded me with beautiful sounds when I finally started to sink into her.

“That’s it…” I sighed.

Her confidence was quickly shaken, though, as my pursuit continued. Not even half of my dick was inside her when I felt her start to tremble.

“You can take it,” I assured her.

She responded by tightening her muscles even further, resisting the gentle stretch of her body as it accommodated my own.

“That’s my girl,” I groaned. The blinding heat of her demanded my full attention to the point that I was barely coherent as I slurred, “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.”

But all it took was one word to unravel my best efforts.

“Spencer,” she whimpered.

Any hesitance I had vanished without a trace. I thrust my hips forward to the hilt with so much force that she scrambled to stay on her feet. Manicured nails struggled to find a grip the ceramic before my next motion.

I took my time pulling back, and I watched her struggle with the fullness that was our bodies come together. I reveled in the sight of her heaving chest and clouded eyes.

That time, I didn’t fight the urge to slam into her. I even pulled her back as I did it, bringing our bodies together over and over again with a blissful type of violence.

With each thrust, I watched her reaction in the mirror. I made sure that my mind captured each second of her pleasure. Each time her jaw dropped open with whines and praise in the shape of my name.

“Please, Spencer,” she keened with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter.

I hadn’t been sure what she was asking for, so I continued to love her the same as I always had.

But she only became more frustrated, sobbing with pleasure the next time my hips crashed into hers.

“Harder,” she cried out.

And I tried. I tried to follow her instruction, to grant her the release that could only be found in the fullest expression of years of repressed passion.

The problem wasn’t my unwillingness to give my everything to her. Rather, it was the siren’s call of resistant, relentlessly desperate muscles.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I ground through clenched jaw. 

Then, with a small and wavering voice, she insisted, “I can take it.”

Every atom of my being burned with a suffocating desire. It felt nearly feral; fully free to show her just how badly my body ached to be with her.

She began slamming back against me with a similar fervor and I almost made myself stop.

“Fuck, I’m so close, but I don’t want it to end,” I begged her.

But that beautiful, evasive, brilliant star of a woman just giggled. I could practically feel myself leaving bruises in the shape of my fingertips and she couldn’t have been happier.

Through the mirror, she looked at me and reminded me of the full, unrelenting power of the sun.

“Don’t worry,” she purred, “we can do it again later.”

That was all it took. With just a look, she practically brought me to my knees.

“Fuck!” I choked as I slammed into her with my full force. We both nearly collapsed against the counter, but I managed to pull her hips down harder against me just as I found my release.

The blissful heat of her grew to new heights as I filled her. Each wave of pleasure caused her to shiver with sheets of goosebumps.

I watched through half-lidded, lust-clouded vision as she accepted every inch and every drop of my desire with a euphoric smile.

“Sorry,” I said while trying to catch my breath. Even when I managed to capture some breath, it escaped me with a laugh as I explained, “I… I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“Don’t apologize,” she slurred.

I might’ve thought she was just being merciful if she hadn’t immediately followed, “That was fun.”

It was so obviously sincere, but I was so ridiculously stupid that I had to be sure, anyway.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The sound was even more beautiful when I could feel the vibrations from within. I groaned from the thought of how it might feel for her lips to be wrapped around my cock. It twitched inside her, and she responded with a small whimper.

My hips bucked one more time, forcing me to the hilt before I withdrew in one quick motion.

I stood there for a moment, holding her hips steady as I watched the evidence of what we’d just done drip down her thighs.

My stomach was filled with butterflies doing flips and there was no accounting for the blood that still hadn’t made its way back to my brain.

(Y/n) was patient as ever with a pitiful man.

“Come on, pretty boy,” she chuckled as she took my hand, “help me get clean.”

Despite my best efforts, there were significantly less attempts to get clean in the shower than I’d expected. It was only thanks to her self-preservation that we didn’t end up having sex in the shower, although we came pretty close.

I could never tire of kissing her, but I realized I could love her just as much with lather as I could with my lips. My worship shifted as I dutifully cared for her the way I’d always wished I could.

When it was over, I didn’t give up. I followed her into her bed and she made no attempt to stop me.

In fact, she moved closer to me until my arm could reach around her waist and her head rested on my chest.

“Any other statistics you want to share?” she mumbled, now sleepy from the sun and… other activities.

“Always,” I answered. “Like, did you know, I have now joined the 54% of people who have slept with a coworker?”

“Fascinating. Was it worth it?” she chuckled, having already known my answer.

“Yes,” I told her, anyway. But the way I always did when it came to sharing statistics, I couldn’t stop myself. “Although, there is a smaller subset of that group that’s even more interesting.”

She gasped, quickly pressing her fingers to my lips to stop me from ruining her moment.

“Let me guess—at least half of them fucked in the office,” she said.

And in that quiet, private moment, the only thing more beautiful than her hopeful smile was the fact she’d gotten it right.

“You are, without a doubt, the most attractive woman I’ve ever met in my life,” I confessed.

She gave her wholehearted admission that she felt the same in the best way she could.

With a cheeky smile and the utmost sincerity, she asked, “What are the odds of that?”

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Looking for another mutual pining summer-themed fic? Check out my 11.2k oneshot Lost Time, where Reader and Spencer spend their mandatory leave taking the Spring Break Spencer never got to have. 

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Thanks for reading!

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.3K] 18+

THE TIMELINE

“All I want is nothing more, to hear you knocking at my door. ‘Cause if I could see your face once more, I could die as a happy man I'm sure. When you said your last goodbye, I died a little bit inside. I lay in tears in bed all night, alone without you by my side. But if you loved me, why did you leave me?”

- All I Want by Kodaline

III. LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK: 1922

Opening the side door to the manor was easy when everyone else was occupied in the foyer.

The whole house was still alive despite the early morning hour, the air still smelling of the fireworks that lingered, gunpowder and spilled champagne. There was broken glass in the kitchen, from cocktail saucers or the smashed chandelier in the hallway, Steve wasn’t sure. But it crunched under his leather shoes as he snuck into the dark scullery, empty of the help and the silver platters of food they’d spent the day making.

He could see the silhouette through the frosted glass, impatiently waiting as he fumbled with the brass lock, the vibrations of the trombones and sax from the floor above making the handle buzz in his fist.

Steve barely got a chance to look at you before you had flung yourself at him, arms around his neck and chests colliding. He laughed, a small catch in his throat leaving him breathless for a second, your enthusiasm contagious. You still smelled like work, like cigar smoke and other peoples perfume, expensive cologne and top shelf sherry. It clung to your beaded dress, to your skin and Steve liked these nights, he liked the challenge of making you his again, even when you really weren’t supposed to be.

“They’re still going?” You asked, your words muffled against his chest. You’d get lipstick on his white shirt but neither of you cared. Steve had learnt long ago how to hide it from the maids.

He hummed in confirmation, any words he wanted to say stolen by your lips, your hands climbing up past his neck and into his hair. You tugged at it, ruining the style, hating when he slicked it back for the sake of the parties you were never allowed to attend.

It was a ferocious kiss, the kind that smudged your lipstick onto his mouth, the kind that told him you wanted to claim what you could of him in the short time you were able. Steve groaned, responding in kind, his arms winding around your waist to haul you even closer to him, his lips parting for your tongue.

It never grew old, it never waned - this feeling. Every kiss like the first, every time like nothing he’d ever felt before, never like anyone else. Your touch sent something through his bones, a deep kind of love that felt older and stronger and more powerful than the earth itself. He saw you one day in the city, under the bright lights that lit up Times Square and something told him that you were made for him.

Not a voice, just a feeling, one that his friends scoffed at because you weren’t from any kind of money that his family would accept and your dress didn’t come from Macy’s. But you’d turned and caught his eye, lips painted the prettiest red, eyes all bright like you felt the same when you looked at him. Days had turned to weeks and first dates had turned into nights in his locked bedroom and he still remembered the first time you pressed your ruby lips to the side of his throat and told him you were sure the gods themselves created him for you.

You kissed him now like you were remembering those words, your small hands diving into the already open collar of his white shirt, his black tie slipping from his neckline and you kissed that same spot, two moles that you claimed were somehow yours. They seemed to burn when you touched them, every pass of your lips and tongue making him feel weaker and weaker. And when you bit down a little, teeth grazing, Steve didn’t even notice the rain that had started to fall outside.

He felt feverish with you, greedy and desperate and never able to get enough. The brass band that his mother had hired for the evening started up another song, the China plates in the pantry cabinets rattling from the dancing feet above. He was on borrowed time, he knew that. So he let his tongue lick over your own once, twice, three times more before he pulled away, just enough to get his words out. You were as breathless as he was, too pretty in the dim light with your perfectly done make up, the pearls around your neck that no one knew came from him. Your dress made you glitter and from the faded lipstick around your mouth, Steve knew the majority was stamped on his own lips, his neck, his jaw.

The idea of it made him hold you tighter.

Thunder rumbled, a storm moving in over the lake outside the manor, the small yacht that was docked by the boathouse dipping with the current.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, kissing at the corner of your mouth between words. “Before they need to come for more champagne.”

So you let him pull you out of the kitchen, despite how well you knew the house you were never supposed to be invited into. Steve took your hand and led you like a secret, peering around corners before running past open doors, each room bigger than the last. The manor was all cherry oak floorboards and velvet drapes. There were chaise lounges in every bay window, baby grand pianos under crystal chandeliers and Steve’s father made sure the golden bar carts were always stocked and kept in every room.

The party was still thrumming in the largest lounge, where the hired band stood on the curved stairs and people danced on the tables. The glass doors were opened to the pool, a bright blue rectangle in the otherwise dark night and flecks of gold confetti lay atop the water, never sinking, looking like real life magic.

People spilled from everywhere, women shoeless and men missing their dinner jackets, hand in hand with girls that weren’t their wives and some of the richest of them showed their greed with a scantily clad dancer on each arm.

A door opened to the right, a server who was working well past his paid hours, still in his suit and carrying a large tray of champagne saucers, his expression bored. Steve grabbed you before the man could spot you both, tugging you behind a marble bust of a Grecian goddess, a piece of art that should’ve been in a museum.

The vacant eyes and kind smile of Aphrodite stared back at you both, seemingly amused at your lover's embrace, the one you had to hide.

“We’re not going to make it upstairs,” you whispered. It was too easy for Steve to let your touch linger on his waist, fingers tracing his belt, greedy and searching beneath his crumpled shirt for the feel of his warm skin. He needed you yesterday. He needed you always. “They’ll see us before we reach your room.”

Steve winced, knowing you were right. He could hear his mother from the lounge, singing too loudly, calling for another glass, her laughter making his jaw tense. “Library,” he said, nodding towards the door across the hall. “C’mon.”

You both made a run for it when the hallway seemed clear, the party goers too drunk to make out your faces, to recognise the girl that wasn’t supposed to be here, who certainly wasn’t supposed to be hand in hand with the man that wasn’t meant to be hers.

Steve closed the door with a soft click, turning the brass key in the lock just to make sure. The music was duller from behind the thick oak, the shelves and forest green curtains that draped along the walls. The library smelled like rich wood and old cigar smoke, older books and leather. It was stuffed with wingback armchairs, low lights from behind emerald glass lamp shades and dark, dark wood. A large fireplace took centre stage in the middle of the room, family photos and golden candlesticks along the mantle, the clock huge gilded mirror above it showing you and Steve standing together.

Outside the stained glass window, lightning flashed in the distance, the lake turning white, just for a second.

You didn’t have time to worry about the storm, nor think too hard about its sudden appearance. They’d always scared you, the too loud sounds, the crashes that seemed to vibrate in your bones, the lightning that always appeared way too close. Steve moved to stand behind you, his hand coming to smooth the collar of your dress away from your neck so he could dip his head down to kiss your skin.

His lips were a warm trail over your throat, his nose pressed underneath your jaw and you felt his smile when you tipped your head for him, granting him access. His hands, always so big and wide, spanned the sides of your waist, the beads and crystals that hung from your dress singing a soft song at his touch.

“Missed you,” he breathed, running the tip of his nose underneath your ear. He sucked at your throat, biting softly and you could only watch in awe as you stood in front of the mirror. “I missed you so much, honey.”

You knew why you hadn’t gotten to see him in so long. Eight whole days of being apart, seeing him in the city when he took his car to work, always flanked by business partners or his father. Worse still, you saw him one Saturday morning with his mother, another woman on his arm, a stiff smile on his lips as they entered a tea house. You knew the woman’s name, you just didn’t like to say it. His future wife, although Steve liked to remind you that they weren’t yet even engaged. But his mother was sure of it, the agreement made like a business deal because her father was head of the bank and Steve’s mother liked money.

A loveless marriage, set up for wealth, for survival, for good genes and even better business opportunities. But you saw the way the other woman looked at Steve, blown out curls and peach coloured lips always smiling up at him, ready to give him children and more.

A housewife. Ready made and picture perfect. The very thing that you were not.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, unable to help it the way your voice cracked because long gone was the idea that you could pretend this wasn’t anything more than a fling.

You ached without the man. The longer you were apart the harder it became, a pain growing between your chest like an open wound that was pulled too tight. And now, as his hands trailed your hips and his lips found your jaw, you could feel it knitting itself closed, a pretty, red string tying the cut closed.

You’d seen the other woman, you knew what was meant to happen. You knew you’d lose him, eventually. That he’d no longer be yours. He’d have a ring on his finger and children with someone else and live in a house even bigger than this one and you’d never, ever be snuck in through a back door again.

It didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem right. There was nothing in the world that you’d ever felt that was yours. No real money, different jobs for different months, an apartment above a bookstore in Brooklyn that you had to share with three other girls and even the dress you wore was borrowed.

But Steve? Steve Harrington?

It felt like someone created him just for you. Carved from marble, drawn on a canvas and brought to life, a man beyond perfect. Because he had his flaws - just like so many others that you’d dated - but you accepted his with more love than you’d ever felt before. The world seemed to still when you were with him, the entire planet slowing on its axis just so you could savour his touch a little longer.

You lay in his bed, in his arms, wrapped in his expensive cologne and cotton sheets and you knew.

You knew.

You knew that there was no way there was anyone else in this world that you were supposed to be with. His hand fit in yours too well, his lips slotting between your own like they were made from the same thing.

From a time before, when someone or something decided to create the Earth and built you both from the same bone.

Steve spoke into the crook of your neck, his finger spanning wide as his hands travelled over the front of you, feeling every curve, the softness of your stomach, the beads of your pretty dress, the dip of your waist. “You know, sometimes I think it would hurt less to drown in the lake than go without you,” he whispered, eyes closed as if at confession, murmuring his sins and secrets into your skin.

He kissed your throat again, revelling in the way your head fell back to top against his shoulder. Your eyes shut, your lips parted, your body trusting him to hold you up. “That’s awfully melodramatic,” you said airily.

Steve hummed, the ghost of his smile on your jaw. “Isn’t it? But it’s true. I’ve missed you more than I can understand.” He nudged you forward then, took the zipper at your shoulder blades between his fingers and tugged. “I needed you in my bed, in my sheets. They don’t smell like you anymore.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give into the questions that were bitter tasting and stuck in your throat: “has she been in them? Do they smell of her? Does she know about me?”

Because Steve pulled fully at your zipper and you shrugged your shoulders, letting the dress fall to the wooden floorboards, you turned in his arms and saw his eyes. Full of love, sadness, complete adoration and something else that you’d never seen in another man’s before. You were almost naked before him, blush pink undergarments made of silk and lace taught across your skin, silken thigh highs held up by suspenders, all costing an entire paycheck.

Steve wasn’t even looking at them, not yet. His hands went to your face, fingers cupping your jaw so gently that you even thought to yourself, that you might just break. It felt like it. His thumbs smoothed away the worry etched on your skin, frown lines disappearing under his touch and when he breathed out, you breathed in.

Sometimes you wondered if you shared the same heart.

“I love you,” he told you, his forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, a tear slipping down one cheek and Steve kissed it away. “I love you, too.”

“Desperately,” Steve reminded you, bringing his mouth to yours. His kiss was feverish, pulling away too quickly before descending on you again, lips parted, tongue swiping across your own. “Insanely,” he groaned.

Your back hit a bookshelf as you tugged his shirt out of his trousers, the linen crumpling in your hands, a button hitting the floor when you became too impatient. Your fingertips traced the red lipstick marks on his neck, the ones that had smudged onto his clavicle and it was everything you needed to see and more.

A brand, hardly permanent, but yours nonetheless. If not just for tonight.

“I need you,” you told him, your skin on fire as his hand found your thigh. He pushed you into the spines of the books, cold leather on your skin as he hitched your leg to his hip and rolled his own against you. “Steve.”

“I know,” he murmured and his voice was hoarse, weak sounding. “I know, honey,” Steve assured you.

His belt rattled as it fell apart in your hands, the buckle cool to the touch and before you could push your hand into his underwear, Steve spun you both. You found yourself against one of the armchairs, tweed and plush, Steve kissing you from shoulder to shoulder as he stood behind you and coaxed your hands onto the back of it.

“Hold on,” he told you and you nodded, eyes half opened from the anticipation. You heard his zip, the slick sound of him stroking himself and you keened, impatient. Steve tutted and just as your eyes slipped shut, his fingers were under your chin, his bare chest curving along your back. “Eyes open, sweetheart. Look up. Watch yourself.”

Staring straight ahead, you saw how he’d positioned you both. In front of the fireplace, where the huge mirror hung above. You could see yourself, a scandalous sight, half naked and dripping in expensive lace, one strap of your brassiere falling from a shoulder. Smudged lipstick, darkened eyes and the most handsome man in Long Island draped over your frame.

Steve was pressed against your ass, his cock waiting hot and hard against your lower back as he moulded himself to your body. He was kissing your shoulder, mouth open and his jaw and neck decorated in your lipstick. His hair was already a mess, his white shirt hanging open and his hands wandering up your bare stomach to cup your breasts, finding your nipples through the silk almost too easily.

His eyes, half lidded and heavy with lust, found yours in the reflection of the mirror.

It was sinful.

“Watch what I do to you,” he said.

So you did.

You let the man push a knee between yours, spreading your legs for him so he could work his fingers into your underwear. You shivered as he talked you through it, telling you how wet you were, how good he knew you tasted. How he could spend days and nights and entire weeks between your thighs, how we wished he could have you on his tongue. Two fingers, achingly and annoyingly gentle, rubbed circles to your clit as he spoke, his eyes on your own the entire time and you felt too hot under his stare, his smile that grew when you gasped and whined.

He reared back when he pushed a finger into you, his other hand braced against the small of your back and he urged you to please him in a voice that sounded like sex itself. Steve was choked, his words tight in his throat and they came out in a rasp, pleading as he fucked two thick fingers in and out of your cunt.

“Let me see you,” he begged, his eyes taking down your frame and he groaned, almost too loud, when you dragged the cups of your bra down. Your tits were pushed against the back of the chair, moving with each motion his fingers made inside of you, the slow rock that had begun as Steve rolled his cock against your ass.

“Beautiful,” he told you, and he sounded like he was kneeling at an altar, talking to a god. “You’re so beautiful. You’re mine—”

“Inside me,” you interrupted. You were close to tears, your eyes glassy, everything too much. You felt as if you’d die if you didn’t have him closer. “Steve, I need you— I need you inside me.”

Outside, rain slammed against the large window, the lake nothing but a grey-blue blue behind the streaked glass. The wind howled and if you’d cared to listen, you would’ve heard the faint shrieks and laughs of the party-goers as they fought against the wind, trying to close the patio doors. Thunder cracked above the house, as if disagreeing, as if fighting back.

You didn’t hear any of it over the sound of Steve moaning in your ear as he slipped his cock against your folds, the head nudging once, twice at your clit before he pushed his hips back and slid into you. He fell forward, feeling like a man who’d been broken down and fixed again, his head on your shoulder as he wound his arms around your waist. You were held, truly held against him, feeling full and loved and adored as he whispered every sweet word he knew into your skin.

The two of you stayed like that for minutes, maybe a few longer than you realised, before it became too much. You whined, a needy sound that made Steve’s cock twitch inside of you and then you were being hauled up with him. The two of you standing behind the chair, your back to his chest and as the thunder grew louder and the windows rattled, you both gave in.

Your hands found home in Steve’s hair, reaching up and back to ground him to you, one of his hands moving your knee up to rest on the chair, opening you for him. Your pretty pink underwear was stretched out, allowing room for his cock to slip into you further. It was a dirty grind, you barely pushing your hips back as Steve snapped his into your own, his hand on your neck as he kept you facing forward, your eyes locked on each other.

His kisses became more lips than teeth, biting at your jaw, your earlobe, his fingers only leaving your throat to play with your bouncing tits, pinching at your nipples until you clenched around him. It was raw, dirty, watching each other in the mirror like that, seeing how wet you were with your legs spread open, Steve’s cock shining from you in the low light as it disappeared inside of you over and over and over again.

“Could stay like this,” Steve gasped, fucking you faster now. The sight of your body slack against his had him reeling, your perfume on his skin, your lipstick on his throat. “Could stay like this forever, could hold you forever, want you forever—”

His words were cut short as you came suddenly, clenching around him with a cry, your eyes shut tight in bliss and your head thrown back on his shoulder. You tugged at his hair, pulling him down, silently begging for a kiss that he gave you, a slow, deep push of his mouth to your own and he came with a wrecked noise when you breathed his name against his parted lips.

Steve had barely softened inside of you when he spoke. “Run away with me.”

You weren’t sure you heard him above the harsh breaths leaving both your lips, chest heaving and body’s lax against each other. His lips traced the line of your jaw, his mouth finding the corner of your own, he kissed you, once, twice, three times, his arms pulling you into his embrace and you could smell his cologne, the remnants of cigar smoke, sex and you.

“Run away with me,” he whispered again. “Let’s just go, we can— we can leave. Tonight.”

“Steve—” your voice was already pained and you slipped from his arms, fixing the lace until your skin was covered, watching as Steve tucked himself back into his dress pants. He left his shirt open as you searched the floor for your dress, his lips twisted with the rejection he knew that would come. “You know we can’t—”

“I want to spend forever with you,” he said and you knew he meant it.

Maybe the sky did too, because the rain fell heavier and lightning flashed across the lake, turning the world ultraviolet, just for a second.

“We can’t,” you said sadly, your voice a whisper. The words cracked in your mouth. “You’re not mine to keep.”

Steve watched you drag your dress up your legs, the unshed tears glittering in the corners of your eyes. His breath left him in a heavy gasp, like someone had punched him in the chest.

“But I am,” he told you, his chest heaving, burning. He blinked, eyes stinging, his vision blurring. The sky above the house cracked. “I am yours.”

It hurt to say it but you shook your head and spoke anyway, your eyes fixed on the way your lips had left tattoos on Steve’s skin. You were all over him still, even separated by five feet. And still— “you’re Nancy’s.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You’re Nancy Wheeler’s and she is yours and that’s— that’s how it’s meant to be.”

Steve shook his head, moving forward with his shirt still hanging open, his hair curling across his forehead and his hands caught your own. “No. No, no, no—” he look pained, fingers reaching up to brush across your damp cheek and you should’ve pulled away. But you couldn’t. “No. That’s not— it’s not like that. You know this.”

Steve bent, lips finding the corner of your mouth as you moved out of guilt, his touch chasing you. He made a noise of protest, ducking his head closer until he could steal a kiss and you bent to his will, lips yielding under his own he tasted like you, like sex and like home, like something you felt you’d know your entire life and maybe the one before too.

“Run away with me,” he murmured into the kiss, forehead touching yours. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that he was crying, his voice wet, cracking like the clouds outside and when lightning struck the dock on the bay, he pulled you closer. “We’ll find somewhere else for us. Another town, another country. Another home, another life.”

You kissed him then, stole the words from his lips and swallowed them, kept them locked somewhere close to your heart and you knew you had to hold onto them. For as long as you could. Forever, if you had to.

“Maybe,” you started, voice hitching, “—maybe we weren’t supposed to have this life.”

Steve groaned, a soft sound of agony, of protest. The storm was passing, the party louder than before. He hated how this felt like a goodbye.

“Maybe, we just need to promise that we’ll find each other in the next one.”

[darksigns-exe]

dad omens - noah sebastian

word count: 767

warnings: unexpected pregnancy, a tiny sliver of angst

Jolly Ruffilo Folio

It wasn’t planned. The news hit him like a brick, and he’s out of it for a good day before he re-assembles his head and calls.

There was no fight, just a I need to think that you had expected from him. You had briefly talked about your thoughts about children and family when you had started going out, but had agreed that it would be something to revisit in a few years — not a year.

You hadn’t even made up your own mind about it yet. But regardless of what you’d do, you knew that you’d have to tell him.

When he calls, he sounds so awfully meek, asks if he can come over so that you can talk properly. Says that he’d understand if you don’t want to see him right now, when the opposite is true.

He shows up at your door twenty minutes later, eyes all red as if he’s cried a little too.

The conversation you have is very honest and open. He doesn’t hide that it scares him like hell, that he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. But the bottom line is that he’s with you no matter what you decide. And if that means being a dad, he’ll grow into that. The boy doesn’t back down from a challenge.

Noah has a few expected moments of panic. He wants to do you and this child justice, and sometimes he just can’t stop the panic from settling in.

He’s getting band things in order so that he’s as free as he can be, and of course your friends are immensely supportive in all of that. Calendars are freed up, things are restructured to give Noah more free time. The guys are around to help with whatever they can. Noah tries to be there for as many appointments as he can, helps with everything he can, even though there’s always that little bit of fear in the back of his mind. And sometimes it does get the best of him.

That all changes as soon as he’s handed your baby boy for the first time. That’s his child, you made that little person together. He’s up changing nappies, making deals with your son as if he can understand a word of what he’s saying.

He takes great pride in the bedtime story being his duty. More of than not, you find him fast asleep with your son at his side.

As he grows up, it becomes very clear that he’s the spitting image of his father, and you’re left with not one but two menaces who live for benevolent chaos.

They’re a real dynamic duo, always on the go when Noah’s at home.

He’s showing that kid off to everyone, but draws a very clear line when it comes to showing his face in public. Until he can say yes or no to being on camera, that child is not seen on social media. That doesn’t stop him from taking just so many pictures.

You have physical albums full of your kid growing up, and Noah always takes a picture with him when he leaves for tour.

He tries to call every day when he’s away, tries to make as much time not just for your kid, but also for you. Loves when you visit and takes great delight in chasing your son through the venue.

Maybe he’s not the dad who picks your kid up from soccer practice (mostly because the try-outs for that ended with your son saying that he doesn’t think that the others are in it to win it. Count on your child to be ultra competitive at the age of six) but he’s at every parent teacher conference, and he’s supportive of most new hobbies your son gets into. He draws the line at the fifth sport in one year and sits your kid down for a talk about it instead of getting upset. Turns out sports maybe aren’t his thing and he’d rather do something creative, but somehow got it in his head that sports is what he’s supposed to be doing.

A week later, Folio’s teaching him the basics of playing the drums.

Noah doesn’t ask questions when your son needs a late pickup from somewhere, doesn’t press for details but makes it clear that he can tell you both everything. And that policy of honesty pays off when he tells you about his first kiss and how he thinks that he has a real crush on that boy.

Noah’s by far not perfect, but he’s trying his hardest and that’s good enough.

[gavisuntiedboot]

Pablo Gavi - NSFW Alphabet

Hey y'all - so I was supposed to do day 10 of the prompt challenge today, but the prompt is "car rides". Gavi doesn't drive and I don't have a car, so I'm not feeling any inspiration whatsoever. That being said, I saw someone on here say they were gonna do an NSFW alphabet for Gavi, which I love. I wanted to wait until they posted it, but I want to see if I can come up wit my own ideas (make sure I'm not copying unintentionally). So here we go.

SMUT BEYOND THE FOLD!!! Please don't read if you're not comfortable. MDNI!!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I wish I could say Gavi was sweet and tender after sex, but he's just not. Pablo is young and super high energy, meaning that your sessions, whether one round or multiple, would be really intense. Very physical - very sweaty. One he was finished, he would collapse on top of you, breathing heavy, unable to hold up his weight anymore. He would roll off of you and just lay there, trying to catch his breath and fighting the urge to just fall asleep. Whenever you got done cleaning yourself up, he would pull you into him, hiding you close against his still racing heart, telling you how amazing you were and how much he loved you. He would pepper kisses on your forehead, eyes gradually closing as he fell asleep, sweaty skin still pressed against yours.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of themselves and their partner)

Gavi's favorite part of himself was his thighs. More than any other part of his body, they showed off how hard he had worked to get where he was, and how much effort he put into his career. He especially loved them because they drove you crazy. He loved lounging around the house in boxer shorts and a sweatshirt, seeing the way you stared at his exposed thigh muscle. The first time you had gone down on him, you bit him on the thigh, unable to control yourself (this is actually something I think about all the time). He knew his thighs could make you melt instantly, and he reveled in that power. The first time you came to him, shy and blushing, asking to ride his thigh, you looked so cute he couldn't even tease you. He just sat you on his thigh and tensed, allowing you to rock back and forth, getting drunk on the whimpers you let out.

On you, he was obsessed with your neck. He was always finding times in the day to leave gentle kisses on your neck, making you blush and giggle in the process. He loved tucking his head into your neck, leaving dark purple marks that were almost impossible to cover. He loved when he placed his hand around your neck, slightly stopping the blood flow, and watching your glassy eyes hood in arousal while he gave you everything you wanted. His favorite thing was watching the "p" necklace he gave you dangle off your neck, sitting prettily between your collar bones (often near a love bite), reminding everyone that no one could love you like he could.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The first time you had gone down on Gavi, you swallowed his entire load, and then went up to kiss him. He stopped you with one hand. You were shocked and rather offended. For weeks after that, you refused to give him head. He eventually got over his fragility of tasting his own cum, and then the begging started. He would please with you every night for head, assuring you that you could spit in his mouth after swallowing and he would thank you. While you didn't go that far, you finally tried giving him head again. When he finished, you held it in your mouth, coming up to show him. You stuck your tongue and allowed some to drip on your bare chest before swallowing. He almost came a second time.

Pablo loves you, but he is also 18, so one hard line for him is cumming inside of you. He is scared about it, and refuses to do it for the first several months of your relationship. He learned to finish other places. He found that his favorite was across your stomach. He loved watching you lay there, coated in sweat and cum trying to recover from the evening's activities. Something about it just scratched the possessive part of his brain in the right way.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Two words: mommy. kink. In every other aspect of his life, he hated being treated like a baby. But sometimes when he was getting sexy with you, all he wanted to was to be told that he was a good boy (or even better - a bad boy) and have you pamper him. He loved being told what to do, asking, "like this, mami? Am i doing good for you?" Sometimes he would purposefully disobey so that you would be extra rough with him, throwing him roughly on the bed and riding him with reckless abandon, disciplining your baby boy. He would die if anyone ever found out, but with you, he felt comfortable enough to let his submissive side out, giving up full control.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Everyone on this website likes to portray Gavi as someone who has never felt the touch of a woman. There is no way that is true. Have you seen this boy??? There are clothes disintegrating just at the thought. Also, as some has said on here before, Spanish men are whores!! Sex, especially casual sex, is part of the culture, and so I def think Gavi has some experience (2-4 girls). However, I don't think he has much experience having deep/ meaningful sex (ya know the kind with feelings attached). He knows where everything is and what to do, but he needs some coaching in order for things to be as pleasurable and romantic as possible. He may be frustrated at first by all your adjustments, but he's eager to excel, and follows your que whenever given.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Gavi is not the tallest. Everyone has come to terms with this. So he prefers something where he can still feel bigger and stronger than you. Doggy is an obvious favorite: he gets to go hard and smack your ass, and there is a perfect opportunity to grip your neck. He also loves spooning you, feeling your skin against his, and allowing him to get so deep within you. He can practically feel every moan and shiver run through your body. He loved both because they allowed him the freedom to roam every inch of your body, and go as rough as he wanted with you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Gavi isn't a serious person, and this carries over for sex as well. Whenever Pablo wanted to get it on, you could usually tell from his demeanor. He would get really touchy with you, snuggling up to you and trying to pull the collar of your shirt down. He would be making suggestive comments at you, wiggling his eyebrows at you and making cheeky grabs. In bed, he was always focused, going hard and fast. But he loved talking to you, and things always stayed light hearted. He would laugh breathlessly when trying to change positions. He tickled you and made jokes. He just loved being around you, and never took anything too seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Like most footballers, Gavi is rather well groomed. From the short pull shots we've gotten, he's not a forest-keeper. He has a little bit of hair, starting at his navel and creating a happy trail to where you really wanted to be. He let his hair grow out a bit, making him feel more manly, but it was nothing too severe. A little bit of hair so things weren't bald. He definitely doesn't seem like the person to have the patience to always be clean shaven.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Gavi treated sex really casually. He liked sleeping. He liked eating. He liked having sex. And that's how he treated it - a fun activity he got to do when you were together. He liked that there was not a lot of pressure to be overly romantic all the time. Sometimes, when you two would plan it out, he would go all out with the romance: Candles, rose petals, new lingerie he picked out just for you. He would take his time admiring every inch of you, stripping you down, and telling him how much he loved you. But he was busy - he could never be like that all that time. It just made it more special when he was.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don't know how many of you have ever met an 18 year old boy, but these mfers are hornyyyyyy. They can't help it. Not only was his biology working against him, but Pablo had you as a smoking hot girlfriend. Every night he wasn't going to spend with you he was jacking off. In the early morning when he was hard and you were still asleep? Jacking off. Sometimes he was still hard after multiple rounds, and with some assistance from you, finished himself off. You were happy to help him whenever he needed, but honestly he was embarrassed to admit how many times a day he got horny, and so kept most of his jacking off private. You didn't mind - you didn't want your poor baby to be in pain. You just told him to come to you if he ever needed any material, because if he was going to get off to any naked body, it better be yours.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Building onto the mommy kink from earlier (see D), Gavi was an absolute sucker for praise. He didn't even know it consciously. He loved being told when he was doing well in all aspects of his life. This was even more true when it came to getting intimate with you. It started tame enough, with you straddling Pablo on the couch, and him sucking on your neck. He started grabbing at your ass, kneading the flesh between his fingers. "Ah, Pablo, please don't stop, that feels so good." His eyes widened and he felt his bulge get tighter in his pants. You kept messing around, and he whispered into your ear, "please tell me I'm doing good." You smirked (somewhat evilly) and it was praise from there on out. You would always tell him how good he was, how great he felt, and how there was no one in the world that could do what he did. "You're such a good boy for me Pablo. You look so good, doing so well. Just like that amor." He was absolute putty in your hands, and when he was away from you, you sent him the praise in text messages, fearing he would go through withdrawal.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

For some reason, Gavi's favorite place to get busy was the couch. It was perfect. On his days off, he didn't have to move at all. There were snack on the table, the remote was in reach, and he could just hit whenever he felt like it. There were so many surfaces to rest you against and so much space for whatever activities you had in mind. He also really liked being in bed with you. He was not a fan of having sex in public. Everywhere he went people recognized him, and the last thing he needed was to be exposed for having sex against a tree in the park. He was also very possessive by nature, and so the thought of everyone else seeing you really turned him off.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

All you had to do was touch Gavi and he was ready to go. It could be simple touches, like wrapping your hands around his biceps whenever you walked through a crowd, or when you came and sat on his lap on a lazy weekend. As soon as he felt your warm body and the softness of your skin, he wanted to get more. When you really wanted to expedite the process of getting Pablo in the mood, you would treat him like a boy. Not in a mean way, but in a way that got him a little bit angry - having something to prove. "I'm so tired. I'd ask you to life me, but I don't think you can Pablito." "Aw Pablo, you're so cute when you pout. Want a kiss to feel better?" "You wouldn't know, you're just a kid." That last one is asking for trouble, so you used it rarely. But when you did, you were in for a rough night. "A kid, huh? I'll show you that I'm a man baby."

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Breeding kink. The idea of him getting you pregnant was not one that he found sexy in the slightest. He was barely an adult himself, and so the idea of becoming a father was one that sent nausea rippling through him. His limit was you calling him "papi" - that he could tolerate. But the idea of him putting a baby in you was not one that turned him on. For the first 6 months you were together he refused to nut in you, afraid of what could happen despite you being on birth control. He was still nervous about it, asking for you to tell him when your period started after every time he couldn't pull out fast enough. No breeding for Pablo.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Gavi was a competitive boy. He wanted to be the best at everything. Coupled with his love of being praised, this made him prefer giving oral, rarely ever asking for it back. When you first started going out, he was overconfident and underdelivered, leading to you giving a lot of suggestions. He was visibly frustrated. "Would you rather me give you advice of fake an orgasm?" He was a diligent student after that. He loved having your thighs around his ears, your hands pressing him against you, grinding into him as he moved his tongue how he knew you liked it. He was practicing weekly, and you were in heaven every time Pablo ate you out. He was amazing at eating you.

When it came to receiving, Pablo was a beast. He lost control whenever you were on top of him. You and Pablo experimented a lot, leading to you figuring out what he liked and what he loved. Pablo loved grabbing your hair, forcing you further down on his cock. After a few throw-up near misses, you started restraining his hands while giving him head, telling him if he touched you, you would stop. Now all he could do was helplessly bush his hips up, begging you in the most whiny voice to give him more.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Gavi is fast and rough with everything in his life, and you were no exception. He was an aggressive lover, loving to manhandle you. He loved picking you up, making you feel small and delicate. He loved pulling your hair back, exposing the skin of your neck for him to nibble at. His pace was brutal, almost bruising, and he loved giving you smacks on your ass to keep you from going fully fog-brained from how well he was dicking you down. After a stressful game, sex was soft and cuddly. Lots of kissing and skin on skin, the pace a lot slower. It was at those times when you got to flip him over and ride him, as he was happy to let you put in all the work.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Because of his hormonal nature, Pablo loved quickies. He loved them. In the morning against the counter in the bathroom. In the car when you picked him up from practice. Right before a night out (or in the bathroom at the restaurant). He loved the relief he got from being inside you. Would he prefer an hour to caress you and touch every inch of you? Sure. But if there was a chance for him to fuck you, he was taking it (and he could finish in like 100 seconds flat if he tried).

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He was all for taking risks as long as it wasn't something that was going to get him exposed in the media. You wanted to blindfold him? Go for it. You wanted to use toys in the bedroom? Sure, use his card. But you want to get frisky on a public beach? That was where he drew the line. Any place that didn't have a closed door, he was not fucking in it. He was also not into experimenting with receiving pain. His job needed him to be in peak physical condition, and so he was nervous when it came to anything that could compromise that condition.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Footballer (high endurance) + midfielder (higher endurance) + teenage hormones = this man is never going for just one round if y'all have time. If he can, he's going for at least 2-3. Y'all see how quick he gets up from injuries on the field? That's how fast he was recovering. Even if he wasn't chasing his own orgasm, he wanted to give you multiple. He loved the rush that came with seeing you limp on the bed, whimpering out from overstimulation is he breathed in your direction. Only he could do that to you. Some days when he was really tired, he let you lead him through one round and then was ready for bed. You would always tease him on those nights. "Aw Pablito, tapping out after only one round?" "Just wait till I get a good night's sleep, Princesa. You'll be eating those words. Or moaning them."

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Pablo was traditional. Penis and tongue and hands. He never thought about buying you toys for yourself or for you as a couple. But whenever you suggested something, he told you to get it. Nothing had been disappointing so far. He had some personal favorites. The rose toy? He was pulling that out when he was ready to suck your soul out of your body and keep you satisfied for a week. You had bought some sexy dice, and he loved the surprise that came with them. His favorite by far was the satin ribbon that you had bought last Valentine's day. He loved the look of the red against your skin when he tied your hands behind your back.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He was not one that naturally liked to tease. But you - oh you were such a brat. You loved to mess with Gavi, pushing all of his buttons. This had created a monster. Pablo now was a mastermind at teasing you, and he did it in basically every interaction. From playful words ("Stop undressing me with your eyes Princesa, I know I'm hot in my jersey") to playful touches on your waist and thighs, he loved getting you riled up and leaving you high and dry. He would often send you pictures from the locker room in shorts only, asking you silly questions like "Which of my 6 abs is the hottest?" He loved it so much, because you were always pliable and wiling when he saw you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Pablo is a soft and low moaner. His moans are close to your easy, breathy and coming deep from his soul. He would whine whenever he was getting close, the stimulation making him impatient. When you two were home alone, he let himself go. He knew that you loved hearing him, and so he was more free with his moans. You loved when he started cursing. "Fuck princesa. You're so fucking hot." When he came, he would let out loud and higher pitched moans, so passionate it almost sounded like he was in pain. The longer he was with you, the more confident he got in letting you hear how you made him feel.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

"I want to wear his initial on a chain round my neck."

For your anniversary, Pablo bought you a dainty chain with a beautiful old English "P" on it. He bought you a matching anklet with a number "6". You had almost cried when you received them, loving that Pablo wanted to be close to you, wanted to publicly claim you as his girl. One night, he had come home from a match with one goal and one assist. He was ready for you to pamper him, to ride him into the sunset. You bounced on top of him, boobs jiggling in his face. Your necklace was dangling over him, slapping your chest as you moved. You stopped momentarily, grabbing the chain and placing it between your teeth, then continuing to ride him with reckless abandon. He couldn't tell you why, but seeing you clutch his letter between your lips started a fire in him. He kissed you feverishly, pulling you off of him and switching your positions, now reinvigorated to fuck you senseless. He brought your legs up by his head and kissed your ankle with the number "6" on it softly before slamming into you. Since then, you had to be careful wearing things that were his. His jersey. His hoodies. His barca shirts and sweats. His merch from the Spain national team. Even your necklace stayed tucked in your collar. All of them were dangerous, because the carnalistic desire for you to be his and his alone meant that wearing anything that belonged to Gavi could get you railed senseless (naturally that made you wear them more).

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I want to lie and say I haven't been looking, but I have. I'm so sorry. Average penis length in Spain is 5.4 inches, and I would say that is what Pablo is packing. Dick size might be the most average thing about him. However, as we all know, it's not the size of the wave but the *motion of the ocean*. Gavi would know how to use every inch. But yeah. Stop using the number 7 when you talk about my boy Gavi. Those football shorts are tight y'all. If he was a horse we would know.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. I am tired of beating around the bush. My man wants to fuck. You have a nice ass and soft tiddies and pretty lips and even prettier eyes. He just wants to bend you over every surface that he can and fuck. When he's gone, he's always asking for pics and videos of you. He thinks about you when he touches himself. The blood can either be in his dick or his brain, and it needs to be in his brain for him to succeed at football. He wants you and he wants you all the damn time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You have about 3 minutes from when sex ends to Pablo being knocked out cold. He may be rough and passionate, but at the end of the day, he's a baby boy and he is sleepy. He wants to stay awake and cuddle and be that cute boyfriend, but he can't. He's tired from being on the move constantly. And so he always leaves a hand outstretched for you to lay against, even when he's asleep.

*Bonus*

The funniest thing that gets Gavi hard: you biting him. You loved looking at Pablo's arms. He had the most gorgeous, tones, and bite-able arms imaginable (see below photo for reference). Whenever you would be chilling with him, you would lay on top of him and bite him on the bicep. The first couple of times, he yelped in pain, leading to you kissing it better, and things getting heated. You inadvertently Pavlov dogged him. Now every time he felt your teeth sinking into your bicep, he remembered getting frisky on the couch, and boom he was hard. His teammates always asked why he had "zombie bites", but he just waived them off, slipping on his long sleeves and thinking about you.

^^ Tell me you don't want to sink your teeth into that

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey y'all !!! Hope y'all enjoyed. I love when other writers do these, so I thought I would give it a shot. Please leave any comments or feel free to talk to me in my asks - I love hearing from y'all! Working on the next part of the series. Let's see how long it will be.

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Can you make a fic / short headcanon of how the COD men reacts to reader riding those bull mechanical? Their usual bar/pub has installed a new attraction which is that bull mechanical. Either they dared reader or reader wanted to try to ride, depends on the character. You know how those bulls move makes the rider look like they’re grinding?? Yeah I wanna know how the guys reacts to that 👀

ᴄᴏᴡɢɪʀʟ

Task Force 141 + fem! reader

Oh I just know that Kyle and Soap would catch a little crush. And they probably wouldn’t even try to hide it😅 Price is the obviously the overprotective dad and tells them to shush while Simon is acting like it’s not funny or cool at all… but we all know this man is feeling something.. At least a little bit.

This was actually supposed to be a x gn! reader but the title destroys it and I couldn’t find a better one. I‘M SORRY😭

I LOVE THIS IDEA. I just know I‘m gonna have so much fun writing this! Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy<33🩷💝💘💖

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was a night out after a complicated mission. Price suggested to go to that local bar together and everyone agreed. Well, expect Simon Ghost but you forced him to come with you.

As soon as you entered the bar, you saw a Mechanical bull in the corner of the bar

"If you manage to stay longer than 15 seconds on that bull, all your drinks are on me then" soap dares you with a challenging grin.

"Bet." you both shake hands and make your way to the machine.

You make yourself comfortable on it and it slowly starts.

Let’s say the boys were not expecting that. You were griding on that bull and you definitely looked good. You were laughing causing everyone to laugh too. Simon let out a chuckle but only loud enough for only to him to hear it.

After 15 seconds of desperate to stay on that bull for those free drinks, you manage to stop and walk back to the group.

"Damn, Y/N! Didn’t know you had this in you" kyle remarks causing you to laugh. "What can I say? I‘m a super talented person" you reply and turn to soap. "So, Johnny. Free drinks, aye?"

Soap laughs and buys you drinks. "You were WILD. How the fuck can you even move like that?" Johnny is fascinated and Kyle is invested in how you did that. Both if them clearly caught a little crush on you and they didn’t even try to hide it.

As both of them were bombing you with questions, Ghost sat there, not saying anything and just swallowing down his drink like it’s water. But deep down, he was also fascinated from earlier.

"Okay now you two. Stop with the questions" John, being the protective dad of the group, says as soon as he realized that they won’t stop questioning you and just search for a conversation with you.

Kyle was tipsy but you and Johnny were definitely drunk since you both started a new challenge without letting papa John know. You both ended up being super drunk and started to laugh about everything.

But nevertheless, you won the challenge but the price was you not being able to walk properly.

Simon picked you up in bridal style and said he will drop you off at your house, while John took Kyle and Johnny home.

Simon lived 15 minutes away from you while the others had a longer distance.

You kept talking about random stuff and Simon just listend to you.

As he tucked you in your bed, he made sure to leave a glass of water and pain killers on your night stand because as soon as you wake up, your head is definitely gonna kill you. He also left a little note with a skull on it and left your home, after making sure you were okay.

[heliads]

i've got my money on things going badly

Lance Stroll should be delighted to watch his sister get married, but the only heart he's thinking about is his own. The one Fernando Alonso broke.

masterlist

To Lance, weddings are a kind of performance art. He’s gotten somewhat good at them ever since he was younger, when the Strolls were invited to everything. His father would get caught up in knots of expensive men wearing expensive suits, lost in business talks for hours, but Lance could slip away the second someone blinked, go find his sister disguised in a coat closet somewhere and talk about Pokémon or cable TV or something little kids like best. 

Now his sister is the one getting married, and, enfolded into someone else’s party of groomsmen, Lance has absolutely no chance of hiding, excessively large coat closets of the elite be damned. He likes Scotty, really he does, even went to the trouble of presenting him to Chloe as a potential husband in the first place, but ceremonies are always long and Lance, as per usual, is tired of it.

He should be good. He should like this. Weddings are wonderful ceremonies. You can appreciate them for the expensive decorations and myriad artistic decisions that go into them, if not the fact that they’re basically just one extended celebration dedicated to the love of your close friends and family. 

Lance is here for his sister and her future happiness with her recently declared husband. This should be an excellent day, and it has been, along with the rest of the wedding festivities that have been going on for ages, but now that the sun has set and he’s still here, starch-stiff in his dress suit, wishing he could go but knowing he can’t.

It’s not even the wedding’s fault, really, it’s just that Lance can’t stand spending so long thinking about the bliss of someone else’s love when he’s just lost one of his own. His sister is twirling in a white dress, a woman who hasn’t stopped smiling in hours, and Lance is standing in the shadows of this rosy glory with just one name on his mind.

Fernando Alonso.

It’s foolish, what this has done to him. Lance waved goodbye to Seb last year and told himself that he could look forward to another good relationship with another world championship teammate. Fernando would be challenging but rewarding as another Aston Martin driver, or so the motorsport gossip pages had told him.

What no one counted on was just how Fernando would make Lance feel. Not even Lance can do a good job of that, not really. There are no words in English or Spanish or even half-and-half lighthearted Spanglish that can sum up how Lance’s ribs ache like they’ve been bruised from sentences alone. 

He had not meant to love Fernando; hell, he wasn’t even sure he did until the abrupt ending, but now Lance is choking on the words he never got to say and wondering how he’s meant to pick up the pieces of a heart that was only ever Fernando’s to break. Lance was supposed to stay professional, and he didn’t, and now he’s the one suffering for it. So it goes.

It didn’t take much, actually. Four months to fall. One month to break. Now he’s standing alone in the corner of his sister’s wedding, hoping for an escape that doesn’t seem willing to come his way. He’d been stupid, thought he could take too much, but is that really his fault for trying? All his life, he’s been told that he could be anything, do anything, have anything, and now he’s found that limit and it hurts like hell.

It’s not like anyone told him that the meter on Stroll luck and expectation would fall short when it came to one Spanish two time world championship winner. Well, that’s not true. Esteban had tried. Lance had not listened. He cannot even say for sure that he should have, because Lance had been very happy up until the point when he wasn’t.

It almost makes sense that the whole affair was conducted over such a short period of time. Lance is impatient, he likes doing things fast. It’s why he was able to become a Formula One driver. It’s why he set his sights on the man most likely to break his heart and cut the brakes before either of them could back out of it.

And it was just. Fuck. Hands on shoulders on the backs of necks on waists. How Fernando kept whispering in his ear, so close he could feel the other man’s breath hot on his neck, even though/just because it made Lance h— they were on camera the whole time. It didn’t matter. They wanted what they wanted and they got it, too. 

Or, Lance had thought they had got what they wanted, and then he had dared to ask for a label for the unspoken thing he was sure both of them felt, and everything was lost for good. It was the end of the Miami race weekend, and Fernando was drunk on the glory of another podium, happy enough that Lance felt certain that he could have the conversation he wanted without it going sour.

They had been hanging around one of their driver’s rooms– which one, Lance can never tell, they kept swapping door to door until even the labeled placards felt like a joke of hospitality’s courtesy. Sprawled out on a couch, so close that Lance couldn’t stop staring at how their legs kept touching whenever he breathed too hard, he’d felt absolutely crazy with the knowledge that this was his.

Too much of a good thing can make you foolish, convince you that things will be that good forever. Lance had laughed to himself, then turned to Fernando with a grin. “We’ll still be like this next season, right?”

Fernando had given him this look as if he were being intentionally difficult. “Yes, Lance. My contract will not expire for another season. I will be on the grid.”

Lance had shaken his head. “No, duh, I mean like, hanging out like we are now. You know, like us.” 

Lance doubts he could have packed more meaning into that one syllable if he tried. He’s heard Fernando refer to the unbreakable us before too many times to count, like when they’re coming back from a bar late and Fernando, eyes dark and heavy, promised him they’d have fun like that again, just us. Or, scoffing at the other driver lineups– they’re not us, you know. They don’t get along as well. One hand on Lance’s shoulder, fingers digging into muscle, the others could never get along as well.

Fernando had cocked his head to the side, curious. “What do you mean? We’re teammates.”

Lance had rolled his eyes. “Yeah, obviously, but like, there’s more. You know that.”

The space between them went silent. He should have taken that as his first warning sign if nothing else. Fernando had cleared his throat carefully and said, “What else would there be?”

Lance can still imagine the cold feeling that had descended upon him, spreading from the back of his throat like ink. What else would there be? It was impossible that he could have misread every single signal, every touch, every unspoken word. Unless, of course, the hidden meaning he dedicated so much time to channeling had never been there at all.

Lance had waved his hand vaguely. “But we were– you know, we did. Things.”

Fernando’s expression was impossible to read. “Did we?”

It was condescending and pitying and Lance hated it, all of it. He felt like a boy again, small enough to watch his voice disappear into the stillness of an uncaring room. He’d shot up from the couch, pushing out the door and away before anything else could happen. If anything had happened at all, or if it would, that is. Apparently, Lance has made a habit of picturing things that didn’t fucking exist.

Now he’s left spiraling like he survived a bad breakup, but you can’t have a breakup if there was never so much as a spark in the first place. It’s impossible that Fernando could have missed it all. Impossible, that Lance could have simply invented it. He knows what he felt, he knows what Fernando did, but none of it was worthy of a single word of acknowledgement from the other half of two seemingly perfect parts.

He wants to scream and throw up and put his phone down for longer than ten minutes at a time. There are many, many things that Lance had wanted to tell Fernando, and it’s only now starting to occur to him that he’ll never get the chance. I wanted to transform. For you. I wanted to be good. You made me want to be better. 

It’s foolish for him to be thinking of things like this. Lance is a young man. He’s got time for his heart to grow up and even out. Maybe in a decade or less, he’ll meet some perfectly nice young woman, someone his father would approve of, someone with country club connections that won’t rival his own (who can) but could at least keep up with the game. They’d have a manicured front lawn and two docile children, including a son to keep up the Stroll legacy. It would be normal, it would not break his heart like this. It would be very dependable.

Lance doesn’t want dependable, though, he knows it as he thinks it. He wants wild, unpredictable, insane things like falling in love with your teammate and letting him convince you that he’d settle down for you. Lance wants to be the reason someone so used to choosing themselves chooses you instead. He wants Fernando, and he wants no one else.

This is a difficult thing to think about at a wedding. Across the crowded event hall, he can see his sister, happy and secure in the knowledge that her husband is hers, legally and emotionally. There are scores of couples smiling up at each other, content that their love is theirs and no one else’s. 

Lance stands alone, tapping his foot to the beat so he doesn’t look like a complete loser. Every time someone looks over at him, he wants to shout that he’s fine, actually, this is fine, he doesn’t need someone the way that everyone else seems to, but they glance away again before he can properly vocalize this.

The DJ spins another song, the beat drops and the dance floor shakes appropriately from a hundred stomping feet, and just when Lance is certain that he wants to give up and really tries in earnest to look for somewhere to go, the crowd parts and Lance sees him.

Fernando. Here. Impossible. Yet that’s still a glint of hickory eyes he’d know anywhere, even distorted by swimming shades of party lights. Lance feels physically immobile as the man who cannot possibly be his teammate skirts couples and friend groups, and then they’re standing in front of each other and even though this cannot be, it is, and this is the first time Lance has seen him since the argument.

Lance stares at Fernando, jaw dropped comically. He has the harebrained thought that he’s glad the only camera nearby is the one in the hands of Chloe’s Vogue-ordered photographer; if this was the paddock, he’d probably end up as yet another stupid reaction image, giffed into oblivion until not even Lance can recognize his face when he sees it again.

If this was the paddock, seeing Fernando wouldn’t be such a surprise. If this was the paddock, Lance would not feel the absurd urge to run, because Fernando would already be gone, separated by an impenetrable wall of PR officers and personal trainers and anyone else he could shove in between the two of them.

Instead, they’re in one of the rare quiet patches in the wedding reception hall, and Lance is watching Fernando watch him, and slowly, deliberately, Lance forces his mouth to shut enough to ask, “How did you get in here?”

Fernando chuckles, teeth flashing in the uneven lighting of the dark hall. Lance has taken to ranking his teammate’s grins on a sliding scale from closed lips to a shark’s predatory display. This one is somewhere in the middle, hovering between quiet and pleased. Maybe even real. 

“I bribed Daniel to get me past the door,” he says.

Lance casts an outraged look across the dancefloor until he catches the Australian attempting to foxtrot with Scotty. They should both be at least passable at it, but both men keep trying to lead, then follow, then lead again, endless cycles of not-quite-right. 

Daniel somehow feels Lance looking– twitchy, isn’t he, has been all day– catches sight of Fernando standing in front of him, and grins apologetically. Bastard. If Lance gets him for grid Secret Santa, if Daniel manages to make it back onto the grid before December, he’ll have to actually try this time. Lance might owe him big for this.

The DJ starts a new number, cueing flashing lights that cascade from the blinding storm on the dance floor to faint rays out here where the two of them linger in the shadows, occasional flashlight beams sent out to catch them.

Lance swallows hard, watches the LEDs dye Fernando’s hair with undertones of Renault yellow, Ferrari red, Aston Martin green. If he were in the mood to be honest, Lance would admit that he’s been looking at Fernando for a while, actually. Not just since Fernando joined his team, before that, too. Long before they were teammates, when Lance first started racing in Formula One and he was eighteen and Fernando was thirty-five, a fact that makes him shiver down to his toes every time he thinks of it, which is– more often than it should be, for certain.

Now that the issue has been solved of how Fernando managed to get past the security guards Chloe swore were unnecessary and Lawrence swore he wouldn’t hire, plus the overeager wedding planners and racing fans stuck outside the gates with iPhone cameras, Lance pivots to a new question, one far more important.

“Why are you here?” Lance asks cautiously. 

He knows what he wants to hear, of course, but he can’t let himself get his hopes up just for them to be dashed yet again. This is not his wedding, of course. Fernando could be here to corner some Aston Martin engineers or strategists if they won’t return his midnight calls. He could even be here for Danny, which would explain why the Australian went to the trouble of letting him in, and he’s just stopping by Lance because he got caught while trying to get drinks. 

That thought makes Lance’s stomach twist in angry knots, and he’s only calmed from saying or doing something rash by Fernando’s following words, quiet in the dark but full of a lasting power.

“For you, Lance,” he says, “I came for you.”

God. Lance has spent the whole day witnessing lavish displays of affection, but for some reason it is seven simple words that makes him come undone. He stands there, stock still, and Fernando asks hesitantly, “Is that okay?”

It reminds Lance of how it had been before everything went south, when they were both dancing around a truth both ugly and glorious, that teammates do not stare like they did, that coworkers should not use getting drunk at an Aston Martin post-race celebration party as an excuse to keep their hands on each other, that Fernando didn’t keep interrupting Lance’s interviews to place his hands on Lance’s shoulders and whisper in his ear that he was Fernando’s hero just to get Lance to react like he always did. Not something he was supposed to do on camera, but neither of them could stop.

It is like the very beginning. Fernando, infiltrating Lance’s garage to lean down over the edge of the halo of Lance’s test drive and grip his gloved hands. How’s the car? Fernando, stopping by Lance’s driver’s room to hug him around the shoulders, cold and damp from the champagne that was still soaked through his race suit. I saw you out there. It was good, no? We are good? Fernando, with his hand on Lance’s leg when they’re supposed to be paying attention in a dry and stilted meeting with no one’s eyes on them for once. Can I? Is it alright? 

Lance never said no. Even when his breath caught in his throat. Even when he knew he was just sinking further into a pit he would never be able to escape. The falling was the best part, anyway.

“Fine,” he says at last, “Dance with me, then. If you want to talk, we dance. I’m sick of being a wallflower anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow impetuously, daring Fernando to make the next move. If Fernando’s actually serious about being here for Lance, he won’t mind this. He won’t mind the chance that someone could see them together and start to speculate. If Lance is anything other than a backroom missed connection, they should be able to dance without worrying.

Fernando nods once, accepting his challenge. He places one hand on Lance’s waist, the other on his waiting hand. His grip is strong, but not agonizing. Just a reminder that Lance will not be able to leave easily, not unless Fernando is satisfied that the situation has been handled as he planned.

Here, locked in the vise of another man’s arms, Lance thinks about how deeply he’s let himself get enthralled in Fernando’s way of doing things. He likes pretending that he’s the one in control, that Fernando is here to win him over, but the second Fernando’s hands are on him, Lance cedes that last bit of power over to him. Fernando does it easily, like a habit. It probably is.

Esteban warned him about this, after all, how easy it is to get sucked in. Lance, however, does not mind Fernando’s trap in the slightest. The rabbit must learn to love the snare. The bird likes its cage when the gilded bars keep it safe. 

“I was thinking,” Fernando begins.

“Always a good start,” Lance quips.

The hand on Lance’s waist tightens momentarily, a warning. Lance kind of wants to mouth off some more to see what the resulting action would be.

“I was thinking,” Fernando repeats, “that I may have gotten something wrong. I did not want to rush you, Lance. We have a lot of time. Being hasty can cost you.”

Unwillingly, Lance’s mind flashes to driver’s meetings, planning sessions with his engineer. Being a driver is knowing the difference between when to push and when to plan. Fernando  may have spent a lot of time guarding his pace, but Lance gets the feeling he’s finally ready to go for the trophy, the fastest lap. To sprint and never look back.

“I don’t want you as just a teammate,” Fernando continues. “I had not realized you thought we were past that. It would have sped things along, I think, if I had.”

“I thought we had plenty of time,” Lance comments.

“We do,” Fernando says smoothly. “But that does not mean I want to push this off any more if I don’t have to.”

“This?” Lance asks, feeling like he’s parodying that fateful conversation from so long ago, “And what’s this?”

Fernando meets his gaze coolly, calmly, and then he smiles and changes everything. Night brown eyes go caramel. “We have something better than anyone else, Lance. I do not want to lose it.”

There’s a sharp, triumphant streak in those words. Fernando Alonso has always been on a different level from everyone else. Hearing that he considers Lance on that distinct pedestal as well– it makes Lance lean into his touch a little more, and the last of his guard drops away.

“Why’d you tell me differently earlier, then?” He can’t help but ask. “You could have said you wanted me then.”

Fernando sighs, looks away. “I didn’t know I wanted it then. I didn’t count on how it would feel to lose you. I know now. I don’t want to feel it again.”

Across the room, they’re starting to cheer and shout from the center of the dance floor. It takes Lance a few moments to realize that the applause isn’t for the two of them but for the newlyweds, Chloe and Scotty, who are leading the group in an exuberant rendition of I Wanna Dance with Somebody. Lance thinks that it wouldn’t be entirely unfounded for the cheering to be for him, though. He feels like celebrating now.

And, when he looks back, Fernando’s lips are on his. Lance stumbles a little, and Fernando’s hand slides up his spine to catch him before he loses balance. It’s easy. It’s victorious. Lance never wants to let him go.

Fernando’s breath is hot against his throat, sending Lance into a feverish spiral. “I’ll see you in Monaco,” he whispers, and then he’s pulling away.

Lance watches him leave, but for once, it’s not a sad feeling. Instead, the emotion currently crashing through Lance’s bones is more one of anticipation. This is not the end, just the beginning. Fernando turns once, smiling at him before disappearing in a crush of people. Lance’s chest feels cold where Fernando’s hands had once been, but his heart’s racing enough to make up for the lost heat.

A voice by his shoulder; his sister, who has somehow fought her way through the crowd of well-wishers to find him. “Was that your teammate?” She asks, frowning.

Lance gazes softly at the place that had once been his. “Yeah, it was.”

Chloe tilts her head to the side with a frown, considering this. “Is something going on there?”

“Yes,” Lance answers her. Chloe looks like she wants far more of a response than just that, but Lance just laughs and helps her back to the dance floor. He will have plenty more days to explain it to her. After all, Fernando was right. They do have plenty of time.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[cellarspider]

7/30 germs.

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬

We return to a movie that disrespects the archaeological importance of roads, Prometheus.

I am still not over that. I will never be over that.

This time, content warnings for continuing frat boy archaeology, cringeful application of racist terms to lily-white androids, me screeching about site contamination some more, and Apollo’s dodgeball striking this movie with a glancing blow about masking.

So, back in the theater in 2012, I had already lost sympathy for the cast. They were being set up as stock horror movie characters, they were doing their jobs in a way with a certain flair for the incompetent.

And one of them, I suspect, the movie intends to make into a “flawed but you feel for him” kind of guy. Or, I hope they intended to make him “the guy in the slasher movie who you hate and want to see die”. That’s Holloway, one of the two archaeologists. He’s robot racist.

Like, seriously robot racist. The whole crew is, David literally gets referred to as “boy” here, which isn’t so much a dogwhistle as a tornado siren. No wonder David is quietly starting to show his disdain for the human crew.

“They're making you guys pretty close [to human now], huh?”

“Not too close, I hope.”

One of the few themes the movie handles halfway competently is the parallel between the humans stumbling all over themselves as they rush to go meet their makers, while David is already experiencing the disappointment of actually meeting his, and finding out they’re a bunch of clueless assholes. Are we supposed to believe the same of the Engineers? I don’t know. They definitely think of humans as lesser, though. More to come on that later.

Because right now, an expedition is barrelling toward the alien structure–again, driving all over the FCKING ALIEN ROAD–and they’re doing it with only six hours of daylight left, because Holloway literally says “It's Christmas [...] and I want to open my presents.”

I cannot communicate how heinous this character felt. The actor did a perfectly fine job playing him, but if Charlie Holloway was real, his name would be said with the same venom as that of the man pictured below: Heinrich Schliemann, the man who found the real, actual city of Troy, and immediately dynamited a trench through the royal palace, destroying who knows how many artifacts from the period the Iliad was based off of. Yes, I picked out the most assholish-looking photo of him I could find on purpose.

Also, Holloway’s an anti-masker, apparently.

I’m going to step back for just one second and list the one practical, movie budget reason why characters might take their helmets off. The costume designers did an admirable job coming up with something that fits the general requirement of a helmet in major studio releases, prior to The Mandalorian: make the actor’s faces completely visible, because without actors with a strong sense of physical presence and voice acting, you’ll lose connection with the audience.

They did a great job with that. Unfortunately, shiny helmets are a bastard to digitally edit film crew out of. 

It’s not impossible to place lights and crew so that the audience won’t notice them. Alien certainly pulled it off. Clear plastic elements in helmets also mean other logistical challenges, though: fogging being the main one. This, and cooking your actors in a fishbowl under studio lights.

Both problems can be simultaneously combated by installing A/C fans within the helmets, but because these helmets are entirely clear, you’re limited to hiding them down near the neck, and anybody who’s done similar for a cosplay or suit will know that it’s potentially noisy and not always effective. You can actually see condensate on the helmets in the movie, though whether that’s from the actor’s breath or a deliberate choice, I don’t know.

All this adds up to increased time resetting actors (i.e. cleaning sweat off of them without disrupting their makeup), more exhaustion from said actors, and the worry that the highest-paid, plot-critical actors may decide they don’t want to do a sequel if the shooting experience is too physically unhealthy.

And then there’s also more time spent carefully arranging crew and lights to hide their reflections, or more time making some poor VFX artist erase a transparent, curved reflection from frame and replace it with something else, or make the actors more comfortable by adding the glass in later with CGI, at the potential loss of some realism. The average modern movie studio would choose one of these VFX-driven options and demand it done in a week, which is why VFX artists need to unionize.

So. I understand at least a few logistical reasons why you don’t tend to make actors wear helmets for too many shooting days. But it has to be balanced with the story. It has to feel believable. It has to fit the story. It has to not make your characters look like mud-witted morons.

As soon as they find liquid water and the oh-so-deadly CO2 levels start to drop, Holloway takes his helmet off.

“Don't be an idiot.”

“Don't be a skeptic.”

Flames on the side of my goddamn face.

Now, this is the moment a lot of people lost sympathy for the human characters, even back in 2012. It was a dumbass idea even then, in the pre-’rona years. Sadly, Millburn the biologist isn’t written smart enough to punch Holloway in the nuts over even thinking of doing this, because we have two problems with what Holloway’s doing here: Biology, and biology.

First, biology.

(https://www.turbosquid.com/3d-models/13-viruses-virus-3d-model/1071200)

Obviously, they don’t know if anything’s in the air. He could find out that humans are deathly allergic to alien dust mites. He could have just caught himself a case of space covid, which he and the lemmings that follow him can then transmit to the entire crew if he’s not kept in quarantine. They can sterilize the sealed suits, but they can’t sterilize the inside of his lungs. Yet.

Second, biology. 

Specifically, Earth biology. Do you know how carefully modern space agencies sterilize anything that’s headed for Mars, or anywhere else that might have a biosphere of its own? A lot! They sterilize everything a lot! Because microbes are hardy little bastards. We’ve never found extraterrestrial life, only precursor molecules that show the capacity for life to develop in other places. How are you going to verify you’ve found alien life, or even those precursors, if you can’t prove that your samples are uncontaminated? What happens if microbes from Earth manage to survive the trip and establish a foothold somewhere? What if they destroy native life?

This movie’s characters treat this with only a fraction of the gravitas that the cinematography does, which is part of why this remains so jarring throughout. The practical sets, the art direction, and the camerawork are all excellent. The editing continues to do its best, though it almost feels like things were cut very tight through this to speed things along and to give more time, unfortunately, to what the characters are doing. 

their crimes against my sanity are not done yet

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As a side note, rounding up some discussion from a previous entry: The most excellent artist @noordzee pointed out that the clashing artistic style of the moon and stars slapped onto the carving of Kʼinich Janaab Pakal I. In the previous post, I focused on the link between that carving and its use in ancient aliens conspiracy theories. But let's dig a bit into actual Maya iconography around celestial bodies instead.

Now, I am not an expert on Classical Maya stuff. Not in the slightest. And there is a lot of information on their art that is linguistically inaccessible to me, as a non-Spanish speaker. But out of the Maya art and writing that survived the book-burning conquistadors, we have some iconography for the moon and stars, and they don’t look like what’s in the movie.

I wasn’t able to find any specific pieces of art that contained stars, but I did find the glyph for star, ek’. 

I was only able to find depictions of a crescent moon in the context of the moon goddess, where she tends to be sitting on the crescent like a chair, or one part of it is shown behind her, almost like a tail (though I can’t be certain whether that’s due to chipped paint).

The moon by itself was somewhat harder to find. I couldn’t find any Maya depictions of it with my limited poking around of the spanish internet, but I did find a (much later) Mixtec depiction of the moon, complete with a lunar rabbit! Much like East Asian cultures, the darker markings on the moon are culturally interpreted as a rabbit shape.

Thanks again to nordzee for pointing out the dissonant art style, because the real mesoamerican art on this subject is phenomenal.

Next time, the movie will hurt me more, so if anybody else has fun facts to share or details to point out. PLEASE. Ease my pain.

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Alt text citations:

None this time. Many ramblings, though.

[constellationcrowned]

THE CROWN OF LEAVES starter sentences Featuring prompts from chapters 1 and 2 (all routes), change pronouns and etc as necessary.

"I don’t often ask you to do something for me but today I’ll make an exception…"

"According to yours and _____’s words, constellations/_______ are important, probably even the main part of me."

"Next time you’ve a mind to lie to me, come up with a better story, you dolt."

"You can trust in my senses, they’re a touch sharper than yours."

"I don’t want to be entertained. I just want to find a silent corner in this house."

"You’re not supposed to be constantly on guard with the ones you love. Being able to trust is a very valuable quality."

"If something unexplainable happens, the spirits are to blame. And if blaming the spirits is not enough, you can also break loose on some clueless fool."

"Let’s smooth out our unfortunate acquaintance with the rules of decencies and introduce ourselves to each other."

"Do you think I wouldn't come to my ______'s rescue? I’d be the first to run if I only knew where to."

"That’s enough, _____. It’s obvious that you spoiled him/her as a child. S/he’s stupid and lazy because you didn’t teach him/her the value of hard work."

"Okay, that’s enough. I don't believe in destiny or predetermination. I change my life myself!"

"_____ never do anything for others, only for themselves."

"You won't deny yourself the pleasure of challenging and refuting me, will you?"

"Don't forget, you still need to protect me!"

"I’m talkin’ about your brains, alright? As if somebody’s gone and pried open your skull and given it a good bit mix-up with a spoon."

"I’m serious. For him/her, there is no friend more important and closer than you."

"It looks a bit… Well I don’t want to be rude… but… boring."

"I just want to understand why you are making this such a big and terrible secret."

"If you absolutely have to write down your name, write it all wrong. In that case, an evil spirit won’t be able to possess you."

"Nobody will forgive you if you screw up."

"Why so grumpy? I just wanted to see my friend."

"I’m only asking you to stay in touch, that’s all. And should you run into trouble — well, I'll always come to the rescue, if I can."

"I asked you for at least a day---a single day!---not to touch those blasted constellations/_____."

"As your faithful friend, I prefer to ignore your failures."

"Won’t you tell me what’s wrong with the little one? S/he’s extremely silent."

"If one learned how to hide all of them did. The dead helped the living to avoid their mistakes."

"As far as I know, amnesia's not contagious."

"Some challenges need to be addressed head-on. I have an axe, for example…"

"Some _____ are eternally exiled for violating the rules. What if _____ is one of them?"

"Not everyone knows what they want from life. And not everyone has as much energy as you do to look for the best place for themselves."

"Honestly, I've had enough of aggressive communication for today."

"Can I see them? The _____, I mean."

"I'm not eager to end up like my ______! And neither do I want to be a substitute----no matter for who or what!"

"That's right. If you've chosen your way, then follow it."

"You're going to die until none of those who are willing to save you are left---and they're already few."

"_____, bark."

"Mark my words, I’ll ensure your punishment is long and exciting."

"Even such a touching confession won’t make me become your partner/_____."

"There’s no time to be tired, I need to pack my things."

"Now I know exactly what kind of monster under the bed I was afraid of as a child. It was you!"

"I don't know about _____, but ______ definitely loved you very much."

"In what way can one become a murderer? In the most direct one."

"And here I thought you were just foolin’ with me, but you really, truly don’t understand a bloody thing."

"I have no choice and you know that! I don't want to run into _____ again!"

"A part of me is in _____. Moreover, it saved his/her life."

"This is my real home! All jesting aside, if you lived here for awhile, you’d realize it’s not nearly as bad as it seems."

"A long tail is useful for plowing the ground, but that’s it."

"I knew there was something dangerous about you, something otherworldly. I should have followed my hunch."

"So you don’t remember _____, do you?"

"If s/he acts like this towards friends, then how does s/he act towards enemies? I don’t even want to know."

"You mentioned something about your destiny---we're going to test it now."

"That’s just how our culture has turned out. It’s full of mysticism, even if you don’t like it."

"I… I remembered I had another wound, aside from the one _____ gave me."

"Remember this once and for all: you don’t play these stupid games with me."

"Glad you care about me and my health! How sweet of you!"

"I’m not staying with him/her. Leave it to him/her to kill me in the middle of nowhere."

"Sometimes, as it happens, I see a human and my stomach growls."

"I'm not insulting anyone---I'm telling the truth in the most straightforward way."

"I’d like you to understand this: I don’t hate you."

"Who is “everybody”? Does anyone else other than you want to see me?"

"I shan’t be messing about with your head anymore. Seems to me it’s suffered quite enough."

"You’re a friend of our birthday boy/girl, aren’t you?"

"If you want to get rid of insomnia, I advise you to stop drinking coffee first."

"If the ______ doesn't get banished, people will start dying."

"Grow up and stop believing in fairy tales."

"I work with what I see. You looked like you were about to throw up."

"______ would happily go to any lengths to save you."

"I remember everything very clearly! Why won't you believe me? Why would I lie?"

"Did s/he really get so mad at me for not coming to his/her party?"

"Just admit it. Admit that you’re bursting with envy."

"It’s okay, you can keep it. It suits you---with all the stars and everything."

"How do I know it's not poisoned?"

"Two of my friends are dead! Why?! Who allowed them to die?"

"Your mind isn’t all that good and well, and you know why? You broke my restriction."

"Now I can’t even take it away…...only kill it."

"You really hear them? And just what are they going on about?"

"It's difficult to trust someone who's been constantly stalling from the very beginning instead of speaking frankly, isn't it?"

"You think I enjoy yattering about myself? Not even close."

"Good, be afraid. A horrendous monster with giant sharp teeth dwells in that house/_____---it will gobble you up and not even choke."

"It occurred to me that I could ask about your childhood and get to know you better."

"Keep in mind though, I can replace mercy with rage at any time."

"There’s no such thing as “______”. It sounds like some beaten fantasy book trope."

"Maybe s/he's gone totally nuts and started suspecting everyone around of some evil deed."

"Such a delicate ringing… a pleasant sound….it must be that one day it will grow louder."

"And what’d it get you? Nothing. Not a bloody, damned thing."

"You know what happens to mortals if they don’t leave _____ when....when they should?"

"Was it too hard to smile, huh?"

"I haven’t done anything wrong! I have nothing to do with it!"

"Your head has finally got rid of _____ and made a space for me. I’m glad it did. Now I’m going to be your best friend/____."

"I used to be very friendly---perhaps much friendlier than I am now."

"I’m not exactly what you’d call the finest at maths, but that’s already two conditions, and not just one."

"You managed to defend yourself. On your own."

"If you're the savior of the _____, then why did _____ kill you?"

"That title isn’t ringing any bells? Oh, okay, I knew I should have chosen something else."

"Just tell me this: do you hear the stars?"

"I know better. I’ve been around him/her longer than you."

"There’s no wound….but s/he stabbed at me right here."

"Obsession is passion! And what’s so bad about passion?"

"I think you give too much importance to fairy tales. Although, this isn’t surprising of you."

"Let me tell you who you reminded me of, to make this awkward situation even more awkward."

"They dragged you away, and I was afraid you were done for. Are you okay?"

"I’ve lived my entire life by the ______’s side, I know all about them!"

"Both were so determined, so desperate. A perfect example of self-sacrifice."

"Trust is the very thing I don’t demand. I just suggest helping each other. Wouldn't it be the best decision to stick together?"

"____’s right smart at telling stories. I’m even a touch envious, really---s/he’s always got the best of ideas, meanwhile my brain is all full of spiders and dirt."

"What’s the point of saving the ______ if there will be no one left to dwell in it?"

"I… hate him/her....but….what would I hate him/her for?"

"Carry your ladies/______ in your arms, and they won’t run away from you."

"I'd hate to find your bare corpse somewhere under a birch."

"Well, why so silent? We haven’t seen each other in ages! You could have said “hello”, at least."

"If you forgot about _____, just let it stay like that. And this is my best advice."

"Did I get into a scrap and make a scene?"

"You’re as good as a tool for them, and they’ll indulge you for as long as you are useful to them."

"_____.....Why on earth am I thinking of her/him? I don’t know….but s/he’s driving me wild right now."

"They judge me… hate me…"

"You're a despicable son of a bitch used to being fussed over by everyone."

"This world---whatever world it is---is empty, and there’s nobody in it except me."

"This creature has a soft spot for eyes/____, because it has none of its own."

"Oh, my little friend. You will always be safe."

"S/he is generally incapable of holding long meaningful conversations."

"Am I the only one lucky enough to see you both from a slightly different perspective?"

"This is my secret, and you are the only one privy to it. Well, happy now?"

"I only hope that you’ll always tell me about your adventures."

"It is difficult to get along with someone who is light-minded about deadly danger."

"Part of it is true. You may decide yourself which part exactly."

"You are our bright star, and you need to take to the skies."

"Oh, _____, where did your blind trust in _____ go? Weren’t you the one insisting just half an hour ago that s/he only wants the best for me? Naive."

"Do you think I can just go back to my regular routine without thinking about any of this?"

"Yes, I condone his/her shortcomings. There is not much good in me myself to force _____ to change for me. I love him/her the way s/he is."

"S/he was my companion, s/he means a lot to me! There were supposed to be the two of us….but you let ______ die!"

"I’m your partner, me! I’m the one you must trust!"

"How about a good ol’ goodbye hug?"

"What am I going to do without them? Who's going to help me? I can't deal with it on my own. I need them by my side!"

"The order is disturbed. If _____ is gone, what's the point of _____? If ______ is gone, what's the point of me?"

"Who brought me back to life if it wasn't _____? And what for if nothing will ever be the same again?"

[neptunes-sol-angel]

𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .#onecardthreeways 𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .

This is my submission for the challenge that I've been postponing for the longest. If you'd like to participate, then here are the instructions.

@gryphis-eyes did an amazing post for this challenge by using only one card, so that inspired me to do the same. This was great exercise for my intuition, and I'd love it if more people took a shot at this.

The card that I pulled, is the Three of Pentacles.

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Pile One

I'm seeing "Dragonballs" and coins being flipped into a fountain, both of these things relate to a wish being granted. Some of you are wishing for you and another person to make amends, I'm strongly getting that this is about a classmate or co-worker, because professionalism involved. Someone is being stubborn, which the other person doesn't really care about, because their focus is making sure that a goal in an assignment or project is being met but pettiness is holding back the cooperation that both of you guys need in order to make progress.

If this is really important to you, then I'm getting that a peaceful resolution will happen for you, but not with the person that you expected to finish this matter with. You could be assigned to someone else or you will have an opportunity to find a replacement. I feel like this is a lesson for you guys to realize that you don't have to sacrifice your comfort or safety to get the things that matter to you. You could have the habit of constantly putting others above you, but there's only so much that you can tolerate, furthermore, you betray yourself by being the only person to make adjustments in a partnership, the 'co' in compromise is supposed to mean for the both of you to take action in. Even if this particular scenario isn't your situation. I feel like your message in general is that if one way doesn't work, then it doesn't mean that you've failed or that you're the problem, that one way just gets you closer to the other possible ways that will work.

Pile Two

"Skeletons in closet" Quality > Quantity. It isn't wise to tell everyone your business, but it's also best to be wise about that one person that you choose to tell your business to, because the one wrong person could be the type to tell everyone about yourself so that you won't even have to. I feel like someone's going to expose themselves, but it isn't you. There's something that you told someone, that they misinterpreted but got extremely excited to tell others about because they think that it's "tea". But the real tea is that you have nothing to hide, you'd just rather not share, but now you know who's your friend and who's not really your friend. I know the card is the three of pentacles, but I keep getting threes. Three as in the three of swords which could explain the betrayal, but also threes as in multiple people being involved in something that they shouldn't. Even if you are the type that knows how to share stuff without telling anything about you, that's significant, pay attention to your circle, because I keep seeing this person stacking up "receipts" to use against you, or to make you appear scandalous even though they have not a clue what they're talking about. There are sick people in the world and you cannot control what others say about you, but for your safety and peace, cut them out of your life.

Pile Three

I'm getting multiple messages and they all somewhat deal with recovery. I see someone looking through some kind of storage, whether it's an actual unit, or a small fireproof box filled with items that remind them of you. You could get an apology soon. I'm getting that this could be from a family member, but it could be someone from an old romantic connection.

For one of the other interpretations, I feel that maybe this is a message for some of you to be careful with your belongings, to keep track of something small but of big importance to you, or to try not to take on so many things at once because you could either forget an appointment or miss out on an event related to someone that you care about. This could also mean that you actually are already taking on too many things at once and to stop because you're heavily overwhelming yourself to the point where it  could affect your health, or too much of time for yourself is being taken away to external situations.

The last interpretation, is that if you lost something awhile ago, then don't worry, you will get it back or finally will find out where you lost it.

Pile Four

You could be worried about a task because it appears to be difficult, but I think it's hard for you to try something without getting the proper directions on how to do it. I'm getting that you should seek instructions from outside resources, like online forums, or video tutorials, and other places for different methods. Once you get a different perspective on it that makes sense to you, you will find the task to actually be easier than you thought.

The general message is to not discourage yourself while learning something or downplay your intelligence because of what looks to be intimidating or because you haven't grasped it immediately. The very thing that you're worried about is going to make you very happy because of how you overcome your doubt over your own abilities, and the reward that comes from finding individuals who you can learn from and a deeper connection with your own distinct way of gaining knowledge and experience in different subjects, and could also be your favorite thing to practice and teach to others who share the same fears that you had.

This could also look like beating procrastination or finding a way to be more organized so that you can be consistent with breaking or gaining a healthy habit.

[distant-velleity]

Magnetism

Summary: The moment everyone's been waiting for, a non-memey first kiss for Chrysos and Santiago. Word count: 800+ A/N: I stayed up a little too late writing this last night because it was only supposed to be a 30-minute drabble before bed... then I had the idea to add imagery and metaphors and similes and some tension and--you get it. Anyway, enjoy! <3

-

When they finally escape the hustle and bustle of the post-victory party, the waxing moon is hanging high in the sky. The air has settled to be deliciously cool for a near-summer evening, soothing the heat they still radiate after emerging from the crowded cafeteria. 

“Well,” says Santiago, gently nudging Chrysos’ shoulder with his as they walk, “here’s to the merman right next to me, who contributed to Night Raven’s first Spelldrive win against Royal Sword in a century.” 

He raises his distinctly non-alcoholic plastic cup of fruit punch, its translucent red contents lightly sloshing about in an imitation of wine. The sight causes Chrysos to snort.

“I didn’t do that much,” he argues, objectively. “Draconia got the final hit in, in the end.”

“Yeah, but who had the sense to use the flashy spells I taught him? Who took the initiative when the Ignihyde and Heartslabyul reps started arguing? Who helped Jamil give Malleus the perfect opening for a coup de grâce?” Santiago barely has to reach over to tap Chrysos on the chest. “I say it’s the guy right in front of me.”

“That’s… You’re…”

Chrysos doesn’t fancy himself a poet, but something about the way Santiago smiles fondly at him could be considered poetry—something about the ambient green lighting, the glow reflected in those golden eyes creasing with affection, the shockingly pure stutter it inflicts upon Chrysos’ heart. Something about the way he drops genuine praise shamelessly when he’s on the high of victory-inspired euphoria. Something about their proximity, the way that they’re drawn together like two magnets of different poles.

“I’m what?” asks Santiago teasingly.

“You’re…” Chryso grumbles a little under his breath. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Nuh-uh. Not for you. This is the truth right here, buddy.”

Chrysos, growing a bit red in the face, is glad that Santiago looks away to chug the last of his punch and toss the cup into a bin after saying that. 

It’s just the heat and humidity of having been stuck with so many people in one place, he wants to think, but even he knows better by now.

Meanwhile, they approach the wishing well in the courtyard, where emerald firelight gives way to the pearlescent illumination of the moon and the stars. 

“Hearing praise coming from your mouth somehow feels unusual,” Chrysos remarks, to hide how good all this praise makes him feel. To hide how he feels about it coming from this very sweet, very pretty beastman.

Santiago slows to a stop before the well.

“Then…” He opens his mouth to say something—before, apparently, quickly thinking better of it. “...Ahh, nevermind. That’s cheesy, even by my standards.”

“What?” Chrysos furrows his brows, coming to stand so close to the other that their arms—his crossed and Santiago’s prone at his sides—brush and press against each other. “So now you’re going to shut up? Just because it’s unusual doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear more.”

It’s Santiago’s turn to have his cheeks darken, one lanky hand coming up to hide his mouth. “But it’s sort of…” 

He hesitates for a few moments, maddening in how they feel like they last an eternity, then shakes his head with newfound determination. 

“You know what? It’s now or never.”

Chrysos holds his breath as Santiago leans in a little closer and caresses his cheek with a feather-light touch that gradually becomes more grounded, more confident. 

The beastman’s eyes, normally bright with a challenging sort of spirit, are semi-lidded but still possess the fierce earnestness of the sun. Their inherent brilliance puts to shame the moonlight veil draping over their surroundings; and while he searches for the courage to speak up, those eyes express the beginnings of what he wants to say. 

A gentle breeze blows past them amid the silence, carrying with it the entwined scent of the rainforest and the sea. 

“If you can’t believe in my praise,” Santiago murmurs at last, “then how about this?”

When their lips meet, gravitating towards each other in a slow start but quickly seizing the moment and pulling together, it’s not at all the messy thing Chrysos had been expecting. Instead, it’s drawn together by a sentimental magnetism that draws power from their polarizing differences. Rough but careful; desperate but precise; passionate but planned. It feels like someone has stolen the air from his lungs in the best possible way, replacing his senses with the endless freedom of flowers, fruit, and the open sky. 

It’s undeniably Santiago, and Chrysos—unafraid to use that forbidden four-letter word—loves it.

…Eventually, the sensation of their breaths thinning from metaphorical altitude leaves them with no choice but to pull away from the kiss. 

“I hope I did that right,” Santiago whispers, a little sheepish yet giddy with basking in the afterglow of it all.

“There’s no such thing as ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ when kissing,” Chrysos replies breathlessly, “only good and better. When it comes to you, at least.”

It’s hard to miss the way Santiago puffs up with pride, eyes glimmering.

Chrysos’s smile, one he hadn’t realized was tugging at his lips, grows. “Now hurry up and do it again. Even better this time.”

“On it, boss,” answers Santiago with an affectionate lilt to his voice, leaning in for another kiss.

[casliveblog]

Custom Toonami Block Week 178 Rundown

The Witch from Mercury: So the shadowy organization trying to oust Suletta as an illegal Gundam user is kind of having a problem seeing as the government seems to solely define Gundams based on their ability to set their pilot’s soul on fire and kill them and since Suletta’s not dying they’ve got no proof, seems like a roundabout way of doing things honestly. Enter Elan Ceres, local emotionless boy with a tragic backstory. Turns out they suspect Suletta may be enhanced to resist the inherent Gundam soul-burning capabilities rather than… idk, just making something that doesn’t do that. Since Elan is one such enhanced person secretly using a Gundam, he’s the perfect person to tell if Suletta’s doing the same. His plan is kind of ridiculous because he’s just like ‘hey wanna go out? And bring your Gundam’ in the most monotone way possible and it’s kind of hilarious but because Suletta has the social intelligence of a five year old it works. Either way, Elan does get to try out Aerial and finds it doesn’t have the same pressure as a normal Gundam so Suletta wouldn’t need to be enhanced to survive piloting it which makes him REALLY pissed off since he’s basically still dying when he uses Gundams but is physically enhanced to not die so easily. It’s like your car being really fast but the seat’s made of sandpaper and broken glass but finding out the sandpaper and broken glass seat was just an optional feature and this new girl has a satin and goose down seat. Either way Guel gets pissy because Suletta’s exceeded her three fiancé limit in five episodes and challenges Elan to a duel where the stakes are part of the cast never interacting with the main character again or Suletta fighting the guy the whole arc is building towards her fighting, like they’re not even trying to hide how obvious the outcome is, they even make Discount Jimmy Olson bet against Elan again just to seal the deal that Elan’s gonna win. Though even so it’s kind of a humiliating defeat since Guel steals his brother’s mech when he’s not even supposed to be fighting anymore and gets it absolutely destroyed by Elan’s Resident Evil laser grid of stungun lasers, so yeah that’ll be fun to see Suletta fight.

Inuyasha The Final Act: We kinda jump right in on this one, like idk if this is how it was in the manga but it feels like there’s an episode missing here because we jump straight into the climax of a different filler episode, not that I’m complaining about skipping the preamble. Inuyasha’s useless because of the New Moon and so Miroku and Sango have to fight the bone demon and its daughter trying to heal it because apparently every single plot point in Yashahime was reused from the original. Anyway throwing both characters into a filler battle at the height of their self-destructiveness for each other was a terrible idea and Miroku’s more poisoned than ever and Sango ends up destroying Hiraikotsu to save him. It’s funny because Inuyasha’s broken his weapon like three times by now so he’s just like ‘there’s gotta be some plot device we can use to fix it’ and he’s immediately proven right when they go to the Master of Potions who as far as characters of the day from Final Act go is pretty fun, if only because he’s a perv and gets Inuyasha drunk as fuck. He has two tests for Sango and Miroku because we’re getting our lategame upgrades out in packs of two. Sango has to confront the spirits of the demons that made up Hiraikotsu who surprisingly feel kinda betrayed despite being made into a weapon by the woman that presumably killed them they thought she was cool and don’t like getting rubbed poison all over. They give her the ultimatum that next time shit’s getting real she has to ditch Miroku and not destroy them and she’s just like “I’m sorry about that but it will definitely happen again, our relationship is basically a series of standing in front of buses for each other”. Meanwhile Miroku basically gets the diet version of the Yusuke screaming in a cave arc from YYH and gets a poison that will allow him to suck up all the poison he wants, like he’ll still die if he gets too much but it won’t hurt so he’ll die but faster. Inuyasha finds out and chews him out for it which is nice to see, like I think Inuyasha’s relationships with both Miroku and Sango are kind of underplayed in the series since about halfway through they start doing filler episodes strictly across shipping lines but it was saving Miroku that let Inuyasha first unlock the Wind Scar and it’s nice to see he’s still equally not up for Miroku pulling martyr shit as he was back then, it’s just funny they have to try and hide Miroku slowly dying five feet away from Kagome, like these guys do not trust her to not freak out at all. Both Miroku and Sango confront their respective tests by saying they don’t intend to die for the other but want to get stronger to live with them and in a funny little twist they kind of accidentally solve each other’s tests instead of their own. Sango’s demons don’t know shit about love so her speech does nothing but they sense Miroku’s equally fighting for his life and they get that so they let her go, while Miroku can sense Sango’s impassioned speech and pulls through. So yeah, Sango’s got a bigger better Hiraikotsu for like two months before she hangs it up/gives it to Hisui to get an infinitely cooler model, and Miroku now has the power to die faster, upgrades successful.

Castlevania: It’s a big ol’ wrap-up episode for the Season Finale, Trevor gives over the Belmont Estate to Alucard, basically walking us through the symbolism of it but it’s still a very nice gesture given Trevor’s kind of gone back and forth about whether the place actually means anything to him and Alucard’s basically living on top of his own family’s cemetery now which probably isn’t as creepy as living in the same room where he killed his own father but oh well. Isaac is off in the desert which is probably the worst place Dracula could’ve thrown him but whatever he kills a bunch of racists and makes them zombies so he can basically start over and make his own genocidal zombie army. Carmilla’s abducted Hector to do similar and it’s like… bro, have a little backbone, call her bluff, what’s she gonna do, kill you? I feel like I’ll like Carmilla more as a main villain than a side one because she’s not fucking shit up and ruining the main evil faction’s integrity to let the heroes win anymore she’s just being a colossal bitch but I can’t help but shake the feeling that we’re back where we started with two villains exactly the same as Dracula just without the moral complexity and ambiguity which was what made Dracula fun in the first place, idk time will tell I guess. Also always feel like Carmilla has her carrot and stick backwards like she seems to be trying to seduce people when they’re not into it and then beating the shit out of them when persuasion and gaslighting would be more effective but far be it from me to be an armchair Vampire Countess. But yeah the twin Forgemasters take off to remake their own armies, one the master of their own fate and one a slave (and thank god they dodged making this racist as fuck). Trevor and Sypha have a long talk where Sypha basically has to hammer into his head that she’s basically proposing to him and he still friendzones her but generally agrees to go off with her so they can do the cleanup sidequests now that the main quest is done which is nice, like a lot of this finale is very grim and bleak and upsetting but the scenes with those two are very beautiful and warm. Meanwhile Alucard comes to the crushing reality that his two best friends have just ditched him and he’s killed anyone else that have ever meant anything to him and he’s got a big empty castle to let that sink in within.

Jujutsu Kaisen: It’s getting to the end of the arc and Kenjaku has appeared (also there’s a scene of naked Meimei telling her brokers Japan’s gone to shit that’s animated with so much love and horniness but it’s not really relevant) Anyway Kenjaku genjutsu’s Yuji for a bit and it’s kinda fun seeing someone with the ‘copy low-level techniques’ powerset actually be threatening because that’s usually such a lame power. Meanwhile the Kyoto guys finally show up and Miwa even does her whole Dark Gon Nen vow to make her attack super effective and it does JACK SHIT so I hope she got a refund on that like if the guy immediately Aizen’s your career-ending final slash it shouldn’t count. Like I know Mechamaru told Miwa to find a way to be happy and that’s not necessarily in fighting but I’m kinda sick of all the girls getting the ‘I never really wanted to fight’ and then conveniently getting written out of fights like bitch NOBODY wants to fight and by no means is fighting the only show of character strength but this is a shonen show and your plot relevance does hinge on your ability to fight. Also Mahito just gets sacrificed so Kenjaku can use Geto’s attack from the movie which is basically just a big getsugha tensho but Kenjaku realized he can make it a Mahito-flavored getsuga tensho by injecting Mahito into it but I think it also throws away the spirit like I don’t think Geto’s technique lets you reuse your stock. Also a neat little nugget where they say Geto was basically fighting Yuta at half power during the movie or else he would’ve kicked his ass, always sucks to have someone fucking die when they’re at half power but it makes it more understandable at least. Anyway Choso shows up, says Yuji’s his brother and refuses to elaborate but good news is he’s on the good guys’ side now, it’s nice to gain an ally after losing like five throughout the course of this arc. It basically really is that scene from the end of the Soul Society arc with everyone ganging up on Aizen though luckily Kenjaku doesn’t solo oneshot everyone and he does have help from random ice lady who’s Sukuna’s retainer I think. Either way ice lady’s pissed and is about to kill everyone but Yuji when Yuki shows up and is ready to bring this bloodbath to a close with the Shanks energy she exudes.

Delicious in Dungeon: This one’s kind of a light episode, Laios hops around magical paintings like it’s Super Mario 64 only to find the food inside doesn’t come outside and doesn’t fill you once you leave. It is kinda funny to basically watch him skirt through all the important moments in this prince’s life and I thought this’d lead to more worldbuilding because god knows this series could do with some worldbuilding but it seems to just be a gag for now, if this ends up being important later that’ll be nice though. The next bit is a little more interesting with another Chilchuck outing, this time with a Mimic which are apparently just kinda Hermit Crabs in this world. There’s a fun little puzzle and Chilchuck’s grumpy personality biting him in the ass again and he actually gets a little fucked up for a bit which is a first, like I think this is the first time I’ve seen blood on one of the main characters and we’re like half a dozen episodes in. But yeah, turns out Chilchuck’s old but not as old as me so it doesn’t really matter and the oddest part of this is that Laios is the leader but is the youngest and stupidest of the group like why is he in charge is it just a rule that the human’s always the leader of the party?

Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End: Nothing too special happens this episode but it’s still probably one of my favorites of the two vignette episodes. First we learn Himmel is kind of a pseudo-King Arthur figure and there’s a legendary magic sword because there’s always a legendary magic sword but when it came down to it Himmel couldn’t pull it but still beat the Demon King with sheer pluck and shonen determination but people couldn’t reconcile his failure to pull the sword of prophecy so they lied and said he did it anyway and it’s kind of a neat little piece about heroism and myth and how every person you look up to has probably farted in public at one point. The next bit is about Stark’s birthday and we get the ICONIC clothes-melting potion scene and I deliberately avoided watching the whole thing in the dub so I could see it here and it was worth it, absolutely fantastic. And it’s kind of nice, Fern going through town seeing how Stark just naturally helps people wherever he goes and she’s kind of trying to reconcile the idea that all men are pervs with him not doing anything particularly pervy except like one or two small things which was alluded to last vignette where she refused to let him carry Frieren despite him literally just wanting to help. I get the feeling Fern’s only close ties being a sinful yet overprotective religious father figure and an antisocial female elf has not given her the best outlook on men so she’s got some adjusting to do. Still she powers through and confronts how he feels about himself with the reality of his actions she’s seen in him and it’s a nice scene so Fern’s now officially become a level 4 friend and unlocked Stark’s tragic backstory. Basically his clan is known for being great warriors and his brother Itachi… I mean Stoltz is better than him at everything and his family relentlessly shits on him for being shit at fighting despite him being like five but Stoltz really did love him and cared for him despite his parents’ neglect, even telling him to run when the village was destroyed, the decision he’s internalized for the whole rest of his life despite again BEING FUCKING FIVE so yeah it really is kind of Sasuke’s backstory but Stark chose to help people and internalize his grief instead of making it everyone else’s problem. Also Frieren makes Hamburg Steaks which just raises many questions about the world of Frieren like specifically hamburg steaks are only called that in Japan and are called such because of the reference to Hamburg, Germany, lots of things in Frieren have German-ish names so it’s not inconceivable for there to also be a Hamburg in the world but for it to ALSO be the place hamburgers are named after and then they also use the Japanese entomology for the hamburg steak just makes my brain go back and forth on how that works in a fantasy setting, like it’s like having French Fries in a world without France and it bugs me more than it probably should. Still it’s a very sweet episode and the fact that Frieren of all people remembers Stark’s birthday and ensures Fern treats him as well as she treated her on her birthday is just kinda cool and the extra backstory is good for Stark’s character.

Vinland Saga: Thorfinn’s in the middle of taking his one hundred punches but Snake distracts him during his punch-taking stance and he gets fucked up. Thorfinn ends up telling everyone they ain’t done shit but try and kill each other so he’s gonna double down and really try to talk things out. He ends up taking all one hundred and earning the respect of everyone in the crowd in a daring remake of Rocky 4 and his response of ‘yeah can’t exactly come out swinging for a peace negotiation’ is really funny, glad Thorfinn hasn’t lost all his sarcastic edge just cause he’s a pacifist now. He even gets the whole “I have no enemies” speech which is as impactful as it needs to be for this point in the story and he finally gets his audience with Canute. We find out that Canute is actually the one that enslaved Thorfinn which seems like an odd choice for that point in his character before he’d gone fully crazy. Like I was under the impression that Thorfinn just kinda BSOD’d so hard he wandered into someplace that was being pillaged and ended up enslaved but learning Canute did it because he attacked him is kinda weird like you’d think with all the shit going on that day he’d have wanted to keep Thorfinn close so he could cool off like maybe imprison him or something but not enslave him and throw him out somewhere else considering what a valuable asset he was during the war. Still, Thorfinn’s grown a lot and apologizes for cutting Canute and is thankful that he wasn’t just executed on the spot. And it’s just funny because Thorfinn brings Einar to the meeting and Einar is not afraid to mouth of to Canute when he disrespects farming or farmers and I just imagine Canute being like ‘who the fuck is this? Why’s your new boytoy so mouthy Thorfinn?” like it’s like how Darth Vader knows everybody on Cloud City in Empire Strikes back except Han Solo and it’s wild that he just comes there and starts shit. Anyway Canute has gone full anime villain and thinks he’s in a JRPG because he’s going to use the power of friendship to kill god… idk what exactly that plan entails because you’d think stopping war and slavery would start by… not doing war and slavery but Canute has some plan in his troubled head about salvation for the worst of humanity through the unification of all people so yeah idk how he plants to ‘kill god’ or what that’ll even accomplish but the bottom line is ‘murder and enslave all I can rn so we can end murder and slavery’ he’s more on the Lelouch side of megalomania than the Light Yagami side because he knows this is a terrible plan and doesn’t expect to get off scot free but he’s definitely lost it. Thorfinn respects the idea but still disagrees with the method so Canute’s like ‘oh cool, respect, now tell me which one of us remembered to bring a legion of elite Vikings to the peace talks, oh right it was me, so you have no leverage’.

[redwayfarers]

a particularly nasty weed also known as a wayfarer

Fandom: Wayfarer IF Ship: Implied Cassander/Senna Characters: Cassander Inteus (OC) Rating: Gen Words: 1380 Read on ao3

The baths, even before I stepped foot in them, radiate warmth. It’s like a cocoon of a mother’s hug - not that I would know what that feels like - except with sweaty bodies who are usually not related to you whatsoever but you all groan happily together once the hot water hits your sore muscles. In my experience, people usually gawk for a grand total of a few seconds before everyone turns to mind their own business again. Until our toes touch and their magic is stopped for a moment. That’s when they gawk again, and I have to wave my Wayfarer pendant and they calm down again. 

Some sneak looks, though. I can’t really fathom why - I look the way I look, I have to bend a little to go through most doors, but they’ve surely seen a tall person before. They have seen freckles before, and the hair. It’s not so common, but it’s not.. It’s not the weirdest shit ever either? It’s just hair. Hair that desperately needs a wash, but that’s another matter entirely. At least they don’t look at me and think of Theokleia. 

And of course, I have to bend to get in. The guy who I paid at the entrance chuckles about it as he lifts a brow. Left brow. I raise my right brow in an open challenge and he just laughs and sure, his laughter’s a little raspy, but it’s nice to hear. It dies down as I enter the dressing space, shake off the foul smelling cloth off my body and walk down to the pools. 

Okay, okay. Fucking with the entrance guy should not affect me as much as it does. I like making people laugh, as a general rule of thumb. When I discovered I could do it, it made me think that finally, there’s something in this fucking world I’m good at by virtue of being myself. It’s always given me a sense of satisfaction. Maybe if I’m funny enough, I even manage to catch a handsome man looking my way, only to wave my hand and say I’m taken because I am! Because when the world grows tired of me, there’s a blacksmith in the Spire who waits for me! 

I have no idea whatsoever what I’m going to do when Senna gets tired of me, but I’ll cross that bridge when it happens. For now, I’m just enjoying what I have. That's all I can do. That’s all I’ve always done. Asking for too much can only make what little I do have go away faster than it needs to. 

And right now, I have warm water I myself paid for, orange hair oils in my pack and the satisfaction of a job well done. The pools are offensively pleasant when I submerge myself in them and I don’t hide a groan. It draws attention, as most sounds of a most carnal nature do, and a part of me hopes that people move on as quickly as they catch it. 

“The waters are that good, I take it?” a voice startles me and I close my gaping mouth to look at the source of it. 

“Travelling is hard on the body and not to mention the nose,” I say, straightening my back. The interlocutor is a brown-skinned human with a straight nose and a beauty mark underneath his right eye. He seems to like the way blonde looks on him, even though his dark roots disagree with that. He doesn’t acknowledge that struggle whatsoever as he looks me over. 

“It is. My friends and I always stop at places like this. For the sake of our noses, as you say.” He leans back and stretches at the edge of the water. There are two twin, thin scars beneath his chest that disappear as quickly as they show. “What’s your name?” 

“Cassander.” I make the initial syllable pop. I’m Vestran, so is my name. He’s still looking at me, trying to catch my gaze. I suppress the urge to look away. 

“A fellow Vestran, then!” He leans over conspiratorially. “I’m Elias,” he says in Vestran. “The others are probably thinking we’re plotting something right now, Cassander, maybe striking a deal they’re not privy to-” 

“Don’t care for plotting!” The voice that comes out of my throat is so fucking far from the way it’s supposed to sound, the bastard. “I’m not a merchant, I’m not a noble, not anymore, so I’m just not plotting shit!” 

Elias moves away and shakes his head. I dig my nails into my thighs beneath the water, willing my cheeks to cool off. I’m a taken man, for fuck’s sake! “Most of the travelers these days are merchants, so I assumed. But you say you’re not a noble anymore?” 

“Nope,” I talked myself into this mess, I’ll talk myself out of it. “Only Inteus alive to not have fancy titles and shit. Instead, I’m a Wayfarer.” 

Elias’ eyes widen. The look in them - deep, genuine, surprised, confused - makes me want to shiver in the hot water and not in a good way. Have I suddenly lost all value as a person? Wouldn’t be the first fucking time. Am I suddenly a strange beast you only see once a century or something, so you gawk? 

Fuck, is everyone else gawking too? I’m suddenly all too aware that there’s other people around, that I’m in a public bathhouse, and I dig my overgrown nails into the bare skin of my upper arm. My reflection in the water, if I can catch anything through the bubbles, doesn’t offer an answer. My body feels too long, too thin, too stretched out– 

“I’ve never met a Wayfarer before,” Elias then says. “My grandfather may have, but he’s old and we think he made them up.” 

“Them?” The speed my head comes back to its proper place makes me dizzy. I don’t trust the casual tone of my own voice.

“A purple-skinned melusine woman with green hair and her blonde elf companion. You don’t see a lot of melusine around, true, but a Wayfarer melusine..” 

I frown. “I know them. The elf is a good friend of mine and the melusine his friend from the apprenticeship days. Your grandfather did not make them up.” 

“Really?” Elias grins. “I have to tell Father next time I see him! The mythical Wayfarers are real people after all!” He tilts his head. “Now I have a Wayfarer sighting of my own - a Vestran one no less. Not to mention exceedingly handsome.” 

I squirm and hug my knees. Let the word spread that Theokleia has a Wayfarer son. But I’m not… I am a Wayfarer, but also Cassander. Am I exceedingly handsome because of me for whatever reason or because I’m a Wayfarer?

“I have a boyfriend in the Spire,” I say, yet it doesn’t feel like it did in my head. Why would anything? Satisfaction isn’t for the likes of me, a Wayfarer. “I am headed there to see my boyfriend.” 

“Oh.” Elias’ smile drops. He moves away. I run my fingers over the rough and uneven skin of my knees. “You should’ve said something earlier.”

“Well I am saying now,” I snap, trying to work with the storm of emotions in my chest. “Do I need to tell you a sappy story about the earring he made me, about the latest bite he left? Do you teeth need to fall out from how fucking sweet our love is?”

“No,” Elias squints. “I think I understand perfectly well, Inteus.” He then gets up, wraps a towel around his waist and walks away. I don’t look after him, trying my hardest not to tear up, and angrily reach for my satchel to wash my hair. It’s summer, it can dry pretty fast, and it’s bothersome enough to not feel like the absolute shit of a person, if I’m more than a fucking Wayfarer. More than a magianis. 

I’m never gonna see this guy again. And Vestra will know that the sick boy from the Inteus mansion is now alive and well, a fully grown family shame who even bears resemblance to the ground he sprouted on, a particularly nasty weed.

It’s not like life’s generous enough to give me anything more anyway. 

[agirlattea]

Sincerely, a Rainbow of stories for you: 

Please Tell me the story of the rainbow: Part 1

(Location: ???)

???:  Even if the sky above me isn’t one that has fully cleared of rain, I can still see the rainbow, painted in gentle colors.

The sound of the wind flowing. The faint ringing of a bell. I engrave the images into my mind and draw the impressions they leave behind. 

A story that began with a bundle of tattered parchment.

…Hey, Roxy. You were the only one who ever stuck by my side. 

I don’t want to lose anything else. That rainbow color, the sound of the bell… because this place is my own special world. 

Please, please don’t disappear. Because you’re the only one…

(Location: Magic Manor’s Foyer, Central Kingdom, Daytime) 

It was a sunny afternoon, and we were all gathered in the Magic Manor’s foyer. 

Snow and White: Sage

Akira: Snow, White. Is there something you’ve gathered us all here for?

Snow: Yes, but before we explain, let us do a roll call. 

White: First the Central Wizards!

Cain: Alright. Arthur is away on official business, but everyone else is here.

Riquet: I went to see him with Cain, and Oz came with us too.

Oz: ……..

Snow: I see. Next, the eastern Wizards.

Faust: We’re all here. Did something happen? Why have we all gathered?

Heathcliff: Maybe it’s a group mission… 

Nero: I hope it isn’t anything annoying. 

Shino: Is it a big task? If so, leave the combat to me. 

White: Hohoho, rest assured that there is nothing to worry about. 

Snow: Next up are the Western Wizards… but I don’t see enough people.

Shylock: Everyone was here but a moment ago. 

Chloe: Wait, Rustica? Rustica is gone! He was right next to me just now though… 

Murr: Maybe he left on a whim, or maybe he’s playing hide and seek. I love hide and seek! 

Rutile: No matter the job, we will do our best! Right, Mitile?

Mitile: Yes! It’s so exciting for everyone to finally get to work together! 

Snow: It seems the Southern Wizards are already motivated. 

White: How reliable.

Figaro: Yes, and as their teacher I suppose I also have to meet those high standards.

Lennox: I will help as well. If we encounter a difficult task, please leave it to me. 

…By the way, does anyone else smell something burning? 

Mithra, Owen, and Bradley: ……..

Akira: Umm… the three of you… your clothes are singed… are you all okay? 

White: It looks like you got in some good shots, Oz. You must have had a hard time.

Oz: There were no difficulties. 

Bradley: Huh…

Mithra: Hmph…

Owen: Is that so… 

Akira: (Somehow, the air seems to have gotten heavier. I’m getting a little anxious…)

White: They’re all hot-blooded guys, after all. 

Snow: Well then, let’s announce today’s challenge!

The drifting bloodlust in the room, stemming from the Northern Wizards who seem to have just lost a fight against Oz, seemed to focus on the twins. 

Snow and White: Today we are cleaning the Magic Manor! 

Heathcliff: Housecleaning…? 

Chloe: …Together?

Snow: Yes. 

White: That’s right. 

Snow and White: <Noscomnia> ! 

The twins cast their spell, and suddenly cleaning tools appeared in everyone’s hands, accompanied by cute popping sounds. 

Mops, brushes, and brooms. Before I knew it, I was holding a dishcloth. 

Owen: What? We gathered here for something like this? 

Mithra: Did you not just say that this was an important mission? 

Oz: I heard him say that as well. 

Bradley: Generally speaking, it doesn’t make sense to dedicate a day to cleaning. If you’re a wizard, it’s only natural to keep your surroundings neat. 

It’s careless to even leave a single hair around, since you don’t know what it could be used for. 

In any case, there should be nothing to clean. 

Snow: Well, you are right. However, that's besides the point! What’s important is that we join forces and work together towards a common goal! 

White: The two of us have determined that what the Sage’s Wizards lack is harmony. 

Snow: Cooperation. 

White: Since we’re living together, once in a while we have to cherish our interactions. 

Rutile: That’s right! If we all work together, not only will we finish our tasks faster, but we’ll be able to clean every nook and cranny that we wouldn't be able to reach on our own. 

Shino: I’m disappointed it's not a battle, but I’m good at cleaning. Leave the garden to me. 

Nero: Then I’ll take care of the kitchen. I’ve been waiting for a chance to reorganize the pantry anyways. 

Murr: I want to be in the kitchen too! 

Nero: Huh? 

Shylock: Oh? That’s an unusual request. Are you expecting spills?

Murr: There’s that too, but mostly I want to try the recipe for a new potion that I found the other day. 

Blackened, mushy, magma-like bubbly stuff made with blackened newt and mandragora! 

Shylock: That… sounds like a troublesome dish. 

Please obey Nero and behave. Don’t make too much of a mess. 

Nero: What….

Owen: I don’t really care what you do, but don’t touch the pot used for making sweets. I don’t like it when smells are transferred between dishes.

Cain: Nice try, but that pot still might not be safe… 

Mitile: Nii-Sama, why don’t the two of us clean the library? 

Rutile: Right, everyone has brought in more books lately, haven’t they. 

Riquet: I’ll help too, as I often use the library. 

Familiar places should be kept clean, and lately I’ve felt like the shelf in the back has been getting messy. 

Mithra: It’s best not to get too close to that place. I put a magic book that I couldn’t keep in my room there. 

It bites when it’s in a bad mood. It may suddenly run out and attack you. 

Riquet: What?! 

Mitile: Please don’t leave dangerous things in a space everyone uses. 

Rutile: But I am a little interested in Mr. Mithra’s book. 

Snow: Everyone is motivated.

White: Sage, we’d like you to give the starting signal. 

Akira: The starting signal? 

Snow: Something like “Let’s go! We can do it, everyone!” 

White: A chant can boost morale! Or at least, that’s what the previous Sage said. 

Snow: He also said that if you can get people to laugh at your speech, then you can be considered a fully-fledged leader.

Akira: Wait..!

Pushed forward by the twins, I stepped in front of everyone. 

Akira: Umm, it may be difficult, but in order to deepen our friendships, we should work to clean the manor together. To that end, I ask that you try to avoid using magic as much as possible… 

Mithra: &lt;Arthim> 

Mithra languidly spun around. Following the sound of him chanting his spell, we heard a small explosion somewhere else in the manor. 

Akira: Umm, did you… 

Mithra: Yes. I’m done cleaning up. 

I’ve eliminated all the nuisances, so please be grateful. 

Mithra grumbled as he sat on the stairs, crossing his legs lazily. 

Bradley: Over in 5 seconds. 

Figaro: It’s over, is it? 

Owen: You should’ve done this from the beginning. 

Shylock: I would have prefered it to be a little less fleeting… 

Oz: Sigh

Light footsteps echoed in the midst of the awkward silence. Despite the tension, the air in the hall was soft and bright. 

Rustica: By the way, did everyone receive a party invitation? 

Chloe: Rustica! Where were you?

Rustica: I was strolling through the courtyard. The marigolds in the garden were very beautiful. 

As I watched them sway in the wind, music filled my head and I couldn’t look away. Chloe, next time I’ll bring you with me. 

Chloe: Jeez, I was worried because you suddenly disappeared. You always do things at your own pace! 

Cain: …By the way does anyone smell smoke?

Nero: Yeah, like the smell is drifting in from outside… 

Rustica: Now that you mention it, there were some ribbons of flame here and there in the courtyard. 

I erased some of them so they wouldn’t spread to the flowerbeds, is that a game someone is playing? 

Chloe: Ribbons of flame…? 

Akira: You mean  the garden was on fire?!

Rustica: Yes. Watching the crackling sparks was interesting, but it might be a little dangerous. 

Akira: Umm, Mithra’s magic just now… 

Mithra: I just turned everything that got in my way to ash, right? 

Snow and White: That way of cleaning is way too extreme! 

Mithra: Thank you. 

Bradley: No, you’re not being praised. 

Figaro: In other words, is it okay to say that our mission has changed from general cleaning to extinguishing fires? 

Cain: A fire in the manor is a big deal! We need to hurry up and put it out! 

Riquet: O-okay! The garden isn’t the only place that’s on fire, is it? 

Heathcliff: Let’s split up! Does anyone have a bucket…

Mitile: I do! 

Chloe: Me too! 

Shino: Use the water from the fountain. There’s always water flowing there. 

Lennox: Master Sage, please stay here. We will extinguish the fire immediately. 

Akira: Thank you but… 

Cain: What’s wrong? 

Akira: I think right now it’d be okay to use magic…

The wizards who were running around stopped moving. 

Rutile: …Yes, you’re right about that. 

Nero: Sorry… I guess the timing confused me. 

Faust: Me too. 

Snow: I was overwhelmed by the vigor of the young people. 

White: I as well. 

Behind the younger wizards who looked at each other and smiled sheepishly, I saw Oz holding up his staff. 

Oz: <Vox Nox>

In the blink of an eye, dark clouds covered the sky and large drops of rain soaked the Magic Manor. 

Back to Event Masterlist

[curse-bearing-hips]

Brokenness is a form of art

Chapter Four

I wanna love you, but I don’t know how

Summary:   Like countless others, Delphine suffered at the hands of Hybern during the attack on Velaris. Two years later, she continues to rebuild her life and fight her demons. Reluctantly befriending the High Lady may just help her connect with her unknown, winged savior.

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Word count: 4.1k

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“So let me get this straight: the High Lord and his brothers were in this shop and you left me in the stockroom the whole time?”

Delphine spent the better part of the morning recounting second-by-second what happened during the High Lord’s visit to the shop to a shocked and angry Yara. She understood her friend’s frustration - she’d feel the same if she was stocking tea and the most beautiful males in history walked into her shop without her knowing. 

Delphine sighed, rubbing her eyes as she faced Yara’s accusatory stance.

“What was I supposed to do? Yell for you to come out and meet them? That wouldn't have been weird at all.”

Yara floundered at the logic, huffing as she twisted a coil of hair around her finger.

“You could have said something like ‘Oh, Lord Rhysand! Thank you for your patronage to my humble cafe!’ really loud so I could hear it in the back. I’d have been out of that storeroom immediately!” Yara argued as Delphine choked out a laugh, wiping down a table as the post-lunch rush waned. 

“Because I definitely talk like that.”

“Sometimes you bats have manners.”

“Not a bat.” Delphine pointed at her friend, rolling her eyes, to which Yara mimicked the action, “Besides, whatever insane sexual fantasy you have in your head is absolutely impossible.” Yara had a wild imagination that Delphine knew was full of salacious scenarios, exacerbated by the smutty novels she read (and forced into Delphine’s hands so they could discuss). She cringed at the thought of the High Lady hearing all of Yara’s explicit daydreams. Delphine was sure they involved a foursome.   

“Improbable.” Yara corrected, but her teasing smirk told Delphine that they both knew it was an impossibility. Delphine huffed a laugh, refilling the pastries in the glass case at the counter.

“Nyx was with them. And they’re mated.”

“Not the Shadowsinger.” Yara prodded in an annoying sing-song voice. Delphine thanked the Gods she was leaning so far into the display to hide the redness of her cheeks at the mention of the handsome male.

“He could be. He seems very private.”

“You’re no fun!” Yara whined, pointing an accusing finger at her friend, “Whatever. Next time someone famous comes in, I’m not telling you.” 

The two worked in companionable silence for a while, trading gossip and cleaning up the morning’s dishes. 

“When’s Varro coming back?” Yara asked casually, returning books to their shelves. Delphine stretched her spine, feeling the delicious cracking of her joints after cleaning up a spill beneath a table and snorted a laugh. 

“Whenever he’s done sleeping with the entire Summer Court, I suppose.” She said, shaking her head causing a few strands of hair to brush her cheek. Yara rolled her eyes, picking at some chipped paint on the shelf. 

“Sounds about right.”

“He travels there often enough, I should think he’s almost completed that challenge.” Delphine continued her duties, humming to herself. 

“What about your male?” Delphine asked suddenly, remembering why it’d been so hard to schedule time with Yara outside of work recently. Yara blinked and cleared her throat, her cheeks darkening at the question.

“What about him?” She hedged. Delphine rolled her eyes.

“Am I ever going to meet him?” Yara bit her lip and Delphine began to get suspicious. 

“Of course. Just not now. We’re…taking it slow.”

“‘Taking it slow’ means you can’t introduce me to him?”

“Del.” Yara whined, dragging out the nickname and dramatically trudging over to her friend. Delphine crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing Yara with obvious doubt. 

“It’s not you. I’m just…not ready to be public.” Delphine rolled her eyes, but acquiesced, holding her hands up in surrender. Delphine narrowed her eyes, feeling her friend wasn’t telling the whole truth, but let it slide.

“Fine. But I promise to be on my best behavior if you ever allow me to meet him.” Yara grinned, wrapping her arms tightly around Delphine in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Thanks, Del. I knew you’d understand!”

Yara let go, stepped away and gave Delphine a salacious grin.

“Now tell me, which of those three males was the hottest?”

Delphine’s cheeks heated at the question, but bit her lip with a sly smile.

“The Shadowsinger. Absolutely.”

______________________________________________________

“Damn it.” 

Delphine hadn’t expected a light shower of rain to become an absolute downpour. Springtime was quickly creeping up in Velaris. It was usually a beautiful affair - daffodils and tulips blooming in window planters as the tree-lined streets began blossoming with sweet fragrance. But flowers needed rain. The ankle-deep puddle that accumulated outside of the tea shop’s front door was a testament to the changing seasons. And a great annoyance she didn’t need at the end of her long day. The water was freezing cold as it seeped into her boots and soaked her socks. The walk home would be uncomfortable, at best. 

She tried to avoid submerging her other foot in the puddle, but that became a precarious dance as she fished the key from the pocket of her cloak. A cloak that was quickly becoming sodden the longer she fumbled for the blasted key. Rain drops slid down her face, blurring her vision as Delphine squinted in the twilight. She really needed to invest in a better awning for this place. 

Her triumphant shout as she seized the key was cut off by an undignified shriek of alarm as a membranous form shadowed over her head. The key fell from Delphine’s slick grasp with a pathetic plonk into the murky puddle below. 

Delphine hastily looked up to find a familiar Illyrian male towering over her, holding up a wing to keep her and himself shielded from the onslaught of rain. She could barely see his face in the shadow of his wing, but she knew the dark eyes that glittered in the faint faelights that illuminated the street. She hesitated a pace back, hitting the solid wood of the door and she nervously clenched her hands. Hazel eyes swept over the movement and he took a slight step away from her, still protecting them from the rain while respecting her space.

“Apologies, my lady.” Azriel’s voice was smooth like ice and just as chilled, like a frozen winter’s night. Delphine shivered at the sound and the huge wing above them twitched, “I saw you struggling and thought to assist.” 

“I - thank you.” Was her lame reply. Could you sound any more idiotic? Azriel shifted uncomfortably at her limited words, lips pursing. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His contrite tone sent a bolt of guilt straight to her stomach and she frantically sought to correct his misconception, stepping closer to him.

“You just startled me.” Delphine shook her head quickly, sending several droplets of rain flying into his face. He scrunched his nose at the cold water and she stifled a laugh into an unladylike snort. Azriel caught her smothered laughter and returned a tentative smile, shifting more into the faelight. 

Delphine’s heart stopped at the sight - his smile was truly something to behold, a gift given by the Mother herself. How many people earned such a rare thing from him? His smile was the highest compliment, she thought. For such a stoic, aloof male, his smile changed everything. The harsh planes of his tanned, sculptor’s-carved cheekbones softened, a dimple hollowing out on his right side. His lips - Gods, those lips - curved in a fluid motion, revealing straight, white teeth. But his eyes were the most striking part; deep hazel, flecks of amber glittering in the faelights, mirth unabashedly shining through. For a moment, Delphine felt unworthy of this gift, unworthy of this magnificent male’s attention. 

Azriel’s smile fell at her prolonged silence, but his gaze remained on her face. He shifted closer, infinitesimally, and slowly bent down. Without breaking eye contact, she heard his hands slosh through the dirty puddle at her feet for her forgotten key. Bent down, he was now at eye level with Delphine and her heart hammered at his close proximity, her cheeks flushing as fire burned through her veins. The heavenly scent of night-chilled mist, a hint of cedar, and the spiciness of whiskey caressed her senses. Another smile curled at the corner of his mouth and she had the absurd curiosity about what it might be like to kiss it. 

Wordlessly, Azriel straightened, pulling one of her clenched hands with his own and opening her palm. He dropped the wet key in her hand, closing the fist for her and gave a huff that might have been a chuckle at her stunned silence. Her hand burned from the contact. 

“For you, my lady.” He said, the deep, rich tone of his voice warming her beneath her ribs. She was going to die. 

“Delphine,” She blurted out, unable to remember appropriate social cues by this point. His head tilted, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he quirked a brow, indicating that he remembered her name from yesterday’s encounter. He was clearly enjoying her embarrassment - how many other females did he reduce to one-word sentences? “Please call me Delphine, my lord.” She clarified, swallowing roughly and trying to blink away her haze. She stuck her other hand out to him, offering the most awkwardly-timed handshake in history.

He looked at her outstretched hand for a second and Delphine caught a brief nervous tightening of his lips. With a quiet sigh, he took her hand in a hasty shake and she looked down in confusion. The hand that gently grasped her own felt different, rough and ridged somehow. She couldn’t really see it in the darkness, but Delphine gripped harder, staring at his face. 

“Azriel.” He offered, retracting his hand and shoving both in his pockets. 

“I know.” She said quickly, pushing a rogue curl behind her ear nervously, “You’re pretty famous.” Delphine added, as though he didn’t already know. Azriel nodded, his eyes darting over her face in contemplation. Had she said something wrong?

“You should probably lock the door now.” He suggested, inclining his head to the shop door. 

“Oh! Right!” Her cheeks burned hotter, embarrassed again at being caught up in his presence. She hastily locked up and turned to him, expecting him to bid her farewell and disappear into the night. 

“May I walk you home?” 

Delphine’s stomach fluttered at Azriel’s request and she waited a beat to agree so she didn’t seem so desperate to spend more time with him. As if I could make a greater fool of myself. 

“Sure. I live a few streets over.” She dove her hands into her cloak, fingers beginning to stiffen from the spring chill, “But you don’t have to, if it’s out of your way.” She added, feeling guilty for interrupting his night. He cocked his head, giving her a thoughtful look. 

“I want to.” Azriel assured firmly and Delphine ducked her head as he continued to survey her. They began a leisurely stroll, avoiding puddles as they remained sheltered with his wing overhead. 

“Do you like running the tea shop?” Azriel asked and Delphine thought she caught a hint of discomfort from him. She knew the gossip about the Shadowsinger - he was quiet at best, anti-social at worst. She wasn’t sure if Azriel trying to make small talk with her was a good thing or if she just made him so uncomfortable he had to break the silence. The thought made her stomach squirm.

“Yes. Well, most days,” She replied, shrugging, “My customers are very kind, especially after-” Delphine’s sentence stopped short, her heart pounding at the thought of her old shop, now a condemned building on the other side of the Rainbow. She’d purposely found a new building away from the old one, her heart aching every time she had to pass by the ruined specter, waiting to be demolished and with it many good and bad memories. 

“I like the bookshelves.” Azriel said smoothly, bringing Delphine’s attention back to the present.

Delphine stopped in the middle of the empty street and Azriel mimicked her action, effortlessly changing wings to cover them. They stood, barely a foot apart from each other as she stared up at the Spymaster’s face, illuminated by the faelights like a deity chiseled from marble. 

How had he known? Had he sensed her bolt of panic, the fear that lived just beneath her sternum that waited for the right trigger to set it free? The scar on her side burned as a phantom blade teased the blemished skin beneath her dress. His eyes darted across her face as he held her gaze - did he know she was moments from the edge?

“You need more mystery novels.” 

Delphine barked a laugh, half amused and half pained. She hadn’t expected him to say that. 

“You only looked once.” She defended, narrowing her eyes. The Illyrian shrugged, the picture of innocence. A god of Death wearing a halo that made her bones melt just a little. 

“I was very thorough.”

“I bet you were.” She grumbled, though her slight smile gave away the facade. She began walking again and he stayed by her side, protecting her from the weather as they fell into silence. 

It was a surprisingly comfortable silence. As she calmed down, Delphine enjoyed listening to the rain pattering against the cobblestones. She felt Azriel trying to match his strides with hers - she was easily a head shorter than him and it must have been an effort to slow down to his pace. Varro always complained that she walked slow, but it was hard to keep up with long Illyrian legs. Azriel’s hands remained in his pockets, but she surreptitiously inched closer to him as they walked to feel the warmth radiating from him. 

“Are you cold?” He asked suddenly, halting as they turned onto her street. His unexpected stop surprised Delphine and she ungracefully stepped into another puddle. She cringed at the sudden shock, an unseemly squawk escaping her throat at the cold. Azriel unsuccessfully tamped down a smile. 

“I am now.” She groused petulantly, stepping back and shaking her foot in a feeble attempt to wring it out. He barked out a laugh and her head whipped up in his direction at the sound. Such a luxuriating, warm sound. Azriel didn’t seem like the type who laughed like that often and Delphine felt privileged to have witnessed it, her toes curling at the thought, icy cold water instantly forgotten.

The sensation of a warm cloak weighed on her shoulders and Delphine squinted in the dark to make out the fabric. She hadn’t noticed him with a cloak - he’d definitely not been wearing one when he’d found her at the door of the shop and she hadn’t noticed him carrying one. 

“My shadows.” He explained, half-smile still on his face but his eyes seemed tight, “I - you don’t have to-” Azriel sighed, eyes rolling up to the dark sky as he formed the thought before speaking, “I can remove them if they make you uncomfortable.” 

Delphine beamed. The shadows were odd - a strange combination of heavy like wool, but light as a gentle breeze. They were somehow both warm and chilled, though she felt the comfort deep in her bones. The shadows smelled like their master and Delphine took a deep breath, grinning as a wisp of one tickled her cheek.

She thought she saw Azriel’s eyes narrow at the playful shadow, but said nothing. 

“They’re fine.” She promised, praying that her blushing cheeks were lost in the darkness. 

“I’m over there.” Delphine whispered, nodding her head to the end of the street where her modest townhouse stood, a single faelight illuminating the front window. Azriel nodded, jaw clenched, but Delphine thought she felt his stride slow. 

Upon her doorstep, Azriel tucked his wing back as he stooped beneath the awning. The sight of him nearly ducking his head at her front door would have been comical if Delphine hadn’t been so unwilling to end the shared moment of tranquility. The shadows reluctantly retreated from her shoulders, tucking back with their master. Though the one rebellious wisp caressed her cheek, eliciting a small giggle from the female. At Azriel’s huff, the shadow snapped back to him and Delphine thought she saw it behind his ear, thoroughly scolded. 

“Thank you, Azriel.” She said quietly, looking up at the towering male. His hazel eyes scanned over her face, as though he were trying to work out a puzzle. 

“You’re welcome, Delphine.” He said, voice low. A frisson of excitement zipped down her spine at the sound of her name on his tongue. 

Delphine turned to unlock the door and the absurd thought to invite him in clanged around her brain. Would that be too much? What was she expecting? Nothing, if she were honest, but the thought of ending their time together made her oddly melancholy. 

As the lock clicked and Delphine worked up the courage to ask, the sudden whoosh of wind blew her messy braid and she turned to find the front porch empty. 

The Shadowsinger had disappeared into the night. 

______________________________________________________

Mondays and Tuesdays were Delphine’s only days off. At first, it had only been Mondays since it was the slowest day of the week, but then Yara had made her close on Tuesdays saying everyone needs a weekend off. Even though Delphine argued that they often closed early on Sundays, Yara demanded two full days of so-called respite. Despite that, Delphine often spent one of those days cleaning or stocking to prepare for the next open. If Yara knew that, she’d lose her mind. Which she had.

That was how Delphine found herself at the bookshop on an early Monday afternoon, the week after Azriel had walked her home (not that she was still thinking about it). However, visiting the bookshop on the Rainbow was both for pleasure and business. 

Delphine’s newest endeavor was gardening to grow tea-friendly plants. She’d often thought about trying it, but knew she didn’t have the space for a big enough plot to supply the shop. An “experimental hobby” she’d told Yara, who’d just rolled her eyes and reminded her that they didn’t pay their suppliers for nothing. 

And so, Delphine found herself in the nature section of the bookshop, bottom lip in her teeth as she scanned the spines, seeking any title that may be relevant to her new fixation. Delphine finally found promise in Edible Herbs for the Eager when a slender hand reached out for the volume just as she did. 

“I’m so-”

“My apol- shit.” Delphine pulled her hand back as though burned, face to face with the High Lady’s sister, Elain. 

Delphine had often heard whispers that Elain was the most beautiful of the famed Archeron sisters. She’d thought it treason, when one of those sisters included the High Lady of the Night Court herself. But, Delphine could see the appeal now that she was within a foot of the lady. Elain was beauty personified, the kind of beauty that poets pledged their devotion to, that artists made their muses. Delphine wouldn’t say she was more beautiful than the other two - just, softer. She reminded Delphine of a mother’s hug, the smell of freshly baked cookies, the sun shining in the summertime. Elain’s brown eyes said friend and for a moment Delphine had the absurd urge to beg her to like her. 

“My lady!” Delphine’s train of thought ended abruptly as she remembered who she stood before.  She dropped into a hasty curtsey, taking the moment to scold herself for looking and sounding like a fool. When Delphine slowly returned to full height, she found Elain pink-cheeked and looking a little bit embarrassed.

“Oh, please - you don’t have to do that!” Elain stumbled, eyes wide as she pushed a strand of hair behind a pointed ear, “I’m not - please don’t worry about that.” 

For a moment, the two females stared at each other, equally mortified by the situation. Delphine felt the bizarre urge to laugh. There was no way that Elain Archeron was as embarrassed as she was at that moment. 

“I - do you garden?” Elain quickly filled the awkward silence and Delphine let out a soft, defeated huff of a laugh, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“I’m….trying to?” Delphine offered, unsure why she phrased it like a question, “I’ve never done it before and I think I’d like to try.”

Elain smiled softly at Delphine, nodding. She was wearing a yellow sundress made of eyelet lace that Delphine was deeply jealous of - she’d never been able to wear yellow, but Elain looked like the sun personified. 

“But the book is yours, if you want it!” Delphine rapidly recalled that they’d both been interested in the same tome. Elain quickly shook her head, pearl drop earrings the color of champagne swinging with the movement. She raised her hands in acquiescence, smiling shyly. 

“No, I insist!” Elain urged, holding the book out to Delphine, “I’m better with flowers anyway.” 

“If you’re sure,” Delphine said, eyes narrowed playfully at the female reluctantly taking the book. Elain beamed, a smile that nearly broke Delphine’s heart, “You’re more than welcome to borrow it when I’m done.”

Elain laughed, cheeks dimpling. She held her hand out to Delphine and Delphine couldn’t picture those delicate hands covered in dirt and mud. 

“Deal.”

“I’m Delphine. I run the-”

“Tea girl!”

A familiar friendly voice boomed in the quaint tranquility of the bookshop. Delphine flinched from the sudden volume, but Elain beamed as her sister’s mate, General Cassian, swooped upon the females. Close behind him was a faux-irritated Nesta, grumbling about his loudness.

“It’s not a library, Nes.” He scolded good-naturedly, pulling his mate to his side with a wide smile, ignoring her as she tried to escape his grasp.

“It’s a book shop. People are trying to read, you brute.” Delphine almost looked away from the couple as Cassian gave Nesta the most lovesick look she’d only ever read about in risque romance novels. Absurdly, she wondered if Azriel was capable of such an expression. 

“Ladies, this is our heroine and savior, Delphine the Tea Alchemist!” Cassian introduced her as though she were the leading hero of an adventure-filled epic. His attention made her cheeks heat, redness splotching the pale skin. Nesta raised an eyebrow at her and Delphine almost shrank from the female’s shrewd gaze. After a moment, Nesta nodded to herself and stuck her hand out.

“You’re a lifesaver, tea girl.” She commended and Delphine silently preened at the eldest Archeron’s praise. It had seemed like such a normal thing to sell Cassian the herbs to help Nesta during her cycle - she’d done it a hundred times to others. She worried for a moment that they were all just poking fun at her expense. 

“It was nothing,” Delphine said quickly, fingernails nervously drumming on the cover of the gardening book in her hands, “My mother taught me.” 

“Not nothing, Delphi. You saved the whole court.” Cassian grinned, pointing at her with a wink. The nickname nearly made her stumble backward. What the hell was happening?

“Is that a gardening book?” Delphine tensed at Nesta’s blunt inquiry, clutching the tome to her chest. 

“Some people read for personal growth, Nesta.” Elain shot playfully at her sister, who rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, Nesta’s books have plenty of growth in them.” Cassian waggled his eyebrows salaciously at Delphine while his mate’s face reddened. Elain barked a laugh covering her mouth with her hand as she hid an amused snort. Delphine grinned, enjoying the feeling of inclusion, belonging with these fae. The High Lord’s family had always felt like the unattainable - bastions of perfection - and here they were, joking about smutty novels with Delphine, the tea girl.

“No judgment here,” Delphine laughed, hands up in surrender, “I love a good romance as much as the next lady.” Nesta nodded again, blush clearing as she looked pointedly at her sister and mate.

“Finally, someone with good taste. You’re coming with me.” Nesta announced, grabbing Delphine by the forearm and turning towards the romance section. Cassian bellowed with laughter as his mate all but dragged Delphine to the other side of the store.

“Wait!” Delphine said between giggles, “I have to pick out a couple of mystery novels.”

Nesta stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Delphine, brows furrowed. Momentarily, Delphine thought she’d offended the female by her diversion. After another minute of silent scrutiny, a mischievous smile curled at the corner of Nesta’s mouth, as though she knew a secret Delphine wasn’t privy to.

“Mystery novels?” Nesta repeated and Delphine’s stomach sank, feeling like an outsider to an inside joke. She nodded, desperately wanting to know what the other female was thinking, “I can help with that.” Nesta said slowly, a cat-like grin twisting her lips. Delphine searched Nesta’s face for just a second, feeling like maybe they were having a different conversation now.

“You can?” Delphine asked quietly. Nesta squeezed the forearm she was still holding, an oddly comforting gesture compared to the devilish grin on her face.

“Without a shadow of a doubt.”

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