#green guest room accent

[thirty9steps]

Guest Bedroom Inspiration for a mid-sized transitional guest marble floor bedroom remodel with gray walls and no fireplace

[whentherewerebicycles]

okay I spent the whole morning working on the dayroom and I think it’s slowly coming along. my mom hung the dry erase board during her visit and I am sooo pleased with it (I love a massive dry erase board!!). I put together that lightweight little bookshelf/console thing and ordered some cute little fabric storage baskets for the bottom shelf so I can hide some of the office supply clutter. I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do with those two little strips of wall by my desk but I’m leaning towards doing a little fandom corner. in my austin apartment I had these picture ledges where I put fandom-related photos/art/cards from friends and it always made me so happy to look at. plus you could swap stuff out and move it around really easily when you needed a change. I was thinking I might recreate that on a smaller scale on one of the walls (maybe the one next to the desk?) and then do a mini gallery wall on the wall right over the desk, which could be a mix of My Hockey Guy photos and family/friend photos. I ordered some possible shelves to try so we’ll see! and then I have this wonderful banner bec snagged for me at a game, which I just steamed the wrinkles out of and am trying to decide where I want to put it.

I just have one big update planned after that, which is that I ordered a giant mirror on mega sale to hang over the couch. it should arrive next friday hurrah! and I think/hope it will go a long way towards brightening and opening up that space. I really love my place but its one flaw is the deep 1970s-style overhangs over the windows that block most of the limited natural light we get in the winter 😩 combine that with the ‘70s-style lack of good overhead lighting and it can make that room feel pretty dark, especially on overcast days like today. anyway I’m excited! that poor room has suffered from me mentally associating it with a job I h*te so it’s spent a lot of time being a cluttered and unkempt dumping ground even though it’s one of the nicer rooms in the house. I’m trying to make it look more appealing + spend more time in there when I’m not working so that I don’t lose a whole room to my work dread lol.

[pucksandpower]

Pequeña

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Fernando Alonso x Webber!Reader

Summary: a brutal breakup leads you right into the arms of one of your father's oldest friends (or in which being sooooo normal about Fernando Alonso runs in the Webber family)

Warnings: 18+ content, age gap, taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable state, breeding, and pregnancy

You sit hunched on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest as tears stream down your face. Your mobile vibrates again and you swipe away another message from your now ex-boyfriend without reading it. How could he do this to you? You thought what you had was real.

Your thoughts drift to home, to your family thousands of miles away in Australia. You long for your dad’s comforting embrace and your mum’s reassuring words. But they’re so far away. You feel painfully alone in this strange English city where you’ve come to attend university.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re dialing a familiar number. It rings three times before a warm voice picks up. “Hola pequeña! What’s wrong?”

“N-Nando ...” You sniffle, trying and failing to keep your voice from cracking. “He … he cheated on me.”

There’s a pause before Fernando responds, his Spanish lilt taking on a protective edge. “That little hijo de puta. I’ll kill him myself.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No, don’t do that. I … I just miss home. Miss my family.”

“Say no more, pequeña. You’re coming to stay with me for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you all alone like this.”

You hesitate, wiping at your tears. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose ...”

“Impose?” Fernando laughs. “My favorite girl? Never. I’m sending a car to get you right now.”

“No, no, I can drive myself-”

“You’ll do no such thing in this state,” he chides. “Driver’s on his way. Go pack a bag.”

You open your mouth to protest again but think better of it. Fernando can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Nando. Really.”

“De nada, pequeña. I’ve got the guest room all ready for you. We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

His soothing Spanish accent is already making you feel infinitely better. You know Fernando has been close with your family for years, has watched you grow up into the young woman you are today. He’s always treated you like his own daughter.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it. Spending time with Fernando is guaranteed to lift your spirits. “Your place in Silverstone, right?”

“That’s the one. Get packing and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you very soon.”

You hang up and immediately start throwing clothes and essentials into an overnight bag with a renewed sense of hope. Fernando always knows just what to do to make you feel better.

Two hours later, you’re being ushered into the backseat of a sleek black sedan by a courteous driver in a pressed suit. He takes your bag and stows it in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel.

“Miss Webber? I’ll be taking you to Mr. Alonso’s residence now.”

You nod, suddenly exhausted from all the crying. The driver seems to sense your melancholy because he doesn’t try to make small talk.

The English countryside whips by in a blur of green fields and quaint villages. Before you know it, the sedan is pulling up to an impressive brick estate surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens.

The driver lets you out and leads you up to the front door, which swings open before you can knock. Fernando stands there in a soft white sweater and dark-washed jeans, arms open wide.

“Pequeña!” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he pulls you into a fierce hug. “Welcome, welcome.”

You breathe in his comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus as he rubs soothing circles on your back. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs.

He ushers you inside and you can’t help but gape at the tasteful, modern interior decor. It’s bright and airy, with huge windows offering views of the impeccable gardens beyond.

“This place is incredible, Nando,” you say, trailing behind him as he leads you through the spacious living room towards what appears to be the kitchen.

“You like?” He grins over his shoulder. “I had it remodeled not too long ago. Here, have a seat.” He pulls out a barstool at the huge kitchen island.

You take a seat, settling your elbows on the cool granite surface as Fernando busies himself at the stove. “So,” he says without turning around. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Don’t leave out a single detalle.”

You sigh, resting your chin in your hands as Fernando starts pulling ingredients from the fridge. “Well, it started a few weeks ago. ..”

You recount all the little things that, in hindsight, were red flags: the constant emailing and texting, the unusually long nights “studying” at the library, the bizarre excuses. Fernando listens intently, occasionally tossing in a sympathetic “maldito idiota” or an indignant shake of his head.

Finally, you get to the part where you finally confronted your now ex about his shady behavior … only to have him confess that he’d been cheating on you for months with some underclassman sociology major.

By the time you’ve finished, your voice is thick from holding back a fresh wave of tears. Fernando sets down the knife he was using to chop vegetables and comes around the island to pull you into another hug.

“Oh, pequeña,” he murmurs into your hair. “Lo siento mucho. You didn’t deserve any of that, you hear me?”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Fernando rubs your back again before pulling away, hands on your shoulders so he can look you square in the eyes.

“Listen. That boy?” A feisty glint enters his warm hazel eyes. “He’s a fool, a complete and total imbecile for hurting someone as incredible as you. You’re so brave, so strong, so full of life ...” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And any man should consider himself the luckiest in the world to have you in his life, you understand?”

You manage a watery smile and nod again. Leave it to Fernando to know exactly what to say to begin mending your broken heart.

“Good.” He straightens up, clapping his hands together decisively. “Now dry those tears, pequeña. I’m making my famous seafood paella for dinner tonight and I’ll need my best assistant chef!”

You let out a surprised laugh, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Nonsense!” Fernando waves a dismissive hand as he returns to the cutting board. “Everyone can learn with a little guidance from Chef Nano, no?”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur of cheerful chopping, stirring, and laughing as Fernando walks you through the steps, nudging you gently whenever you veer off course. It’s impossible to stay weighed down by your sadness when he’s cracking jokes in that irreverent way of his and peppering you with silly kitchen nicknames.

By the time you’ve portioned out the fragrant saffron rice studded with shrimp, mussels, and clams into bowls, you’re doubled over in a fit of giggles from Fernando’s dramatic retelling of his past Formula 1 antics.

“... And then this crazy Australian madman comes barreling into the pit and just starts laying into me!” He throws his hands up, eyes dancing with mirth. “If Charlie hadn’t stepped in, I think your old man really might’ve killed me that day!”

You shake your head, still laughing as you take your first bite of the paella. It’s absolute perfection, the flavors melding together in an incredible symphony on your tongue. “My dad really went after you?”

“Oh yeah,” Fernando chuckles, digging into his own bowl. “We were like two crazed animals back then whenever we were on the track together. Couldn’t stand each other.”

There’s a lull as you both focus on eating for a few minutes. When you’re pleasantly full and satiated, you sit back with a contented sigh.

“Nando, that was hands down the best paella I’ve ever had.”

“You flatter me too much.” He waves a hand, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Just wait until tomorrow, when Chef Nano teaches you how to make the perfect tortilla Española, eh?”

The idea of getting to spend more time with Nando and being cooked for brings a genuine, untroubled smile to your face for the first time in days. This is just what you needed to start healing from your recent heartbreak.

***

As you help Fernando clear the dishes, a comfortable silence settles between you. He pours you both generous glasses of his favorite Spanish rioja and you retire to the plush living room sofas.

Fernando settles into the overstuffed armchair across from you, stretching out his lean legs as he takes a sip of wine. “So, pequeña ...” He fixes you with that warm, piercing gaze. “What is it you really want? In a man, I mean.”

You pause, considering his question as you swirl the ruby liquid in your glass. “I … I’m not sure I know anymore, to be honest. I thought I had it all figured out with ...” You trail off, unable to even say your ex’s name without a pang of hurt lancing through you.

Fernando reaches over to pat your knee comfortingly. “Hey, no more tears, okay? That pendejo is in the past. I’m asking what your ideal partner would be like going forward. What do you want, need, deserve from a man?”

You take a fortifying sip of the bold, peppery wine before responding. “I think … more than anything, I just want to feel cherished. Valued. Like I’m the most important person in his world.”

Fernando’s expression softens. “Oh, pequeña. You have such a big, beautiful heart. Of course that’s what you want — to be adored and treated like the incredible woman you are.”

You duck your head, warmth blooming in your cheeks at his praise. “I don’t know, Nando. Maybe I’m just being naive or asking for too much ...”

“Claro que no!” He leans forward, pinning you with an intense look. “You’re allowed to want those things, pequeña. You’re allowed to be selfish when it comes to your heart and what you need to be truly, deeply happy.”

His words resonate somewhere deep within you and you find yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right. I am allowed to want someone who makes me their whole world and never takes me for granted, aren’t I?”

“Exactamente.” Fernando reaches over to grasp your hands, his calloused fingers engulfing yours. “And let me tell you — any man who doesn’t give you that is un verdadero idiota. You deserve to be cherished, worshipped, put up on a pedestal every single day.”

His dark eyes burn with conviction, lips pressed into a serious line. You find yourself unable to look away, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his words and manner.

“You deserve everything, pequeña,” he continues in a low, gravelly tone. “A man who makes you his whole priority, who loves you with every fiber of his being. Someone who will lay the world at your feet.”

Fernando reaches up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheekbone reverently. The calloused pad of it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Someone who looks at you and can scarcely breathe for how lucky, how blessed they are to have you in their life ...”

His face is so close to yours now, his warm breath caressing your lips. You’re completely transfixed, body thrumming with barely restrained tension and … anticipation?

Fernando’s next words are barely more than a hoarse rumble. “I will cherish you, pequeña. Always. Allow me to show you how a real man adores the woman he loves.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent and tasting of wine and desire. You gasp into the kiss, frozen for a split second before melting against him, kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands slide up to tangle in the soft strands at the nape of his neck as he angles his head, deepening the heated exchange.

Fernando groans low in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. His large, nimble hands come up to frame your face, holding you in place as he takes his time thoroughly exploring your mouth, nibbling at your lips, stroking his talented tongue against yours in a way that has you whimpering into him.

He pulls away slightly and you chase his lips with a soft keen of protest. Fernando chuckles darkly, nosing along your jaw.

“Patience, pequeña,” he rumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “As sweet as that gorgeous mouth is, there are so many other parts of you I’ve been longing to taste ...”

A full-body shudder wracks you at his words, at the sheer need and promise lacing his tone. Part of you is stunned by how quickly the atmosphere between you has shifted, how easily you fell into his passionate embrace.

But a much larger part — the part that has admired and idolized this man since you were knee-high — is utterly intoxicated. Delirious with the knowledge that the love you’ve secretly harbored for Fernando for years is, impossibly, reciprocated.

His mouth is trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of your throat and you tilt your head back with a wanton moan, reveling in the rasp of his day-old stubble against your sensitized skin.

“N-Nando ...” You try to put a protesting note in your voice, but it comes out a pleading whine instead. “Are you sure about this? I’m … I’m just a kid to you.”

He rears back to pin you with a look so full of naked want it makes you squirm. “You stopped being a kid a long time ago, pequeña,” he growls. “I’ve been watching you grow into this gorgeous, fiery woman and it’s taken everything in me not to take you into my arms like this until now.”

His hands roam down to palm your waist, fingers flexing possessively against the dip of your sides. You’re breathless, dizzy, wondering if you’ve stumbled into some incredible, wildly realistic dream.

Because surely this — with your longtime crush, the older man you’ve harbored forbidden fantasies about pulling you flush against his strong frame and lavishing kisses up the side of your neck — cannot be real. Can it?

“It’s real, pequeña. So, so real,” Fernando croons, as if reading your mind. He frames your face again, searing you with another passionate kiss that steals your breath and chases away any remaining doubts. “Feel how real it is,” he murmurs, guiding your hands down to the firm evidence of his arousal straining against the soft denim.

You whimper into his mouth, tentatively palming the thick bulge. Fernando hisses in a sharp breath through his teeth and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to yours. His eyes are tightly shut, long lashes fanning across sunkissed skin.

“F-fuck, pequeña,” he chokes out in a ragged voice. “Been dreaming of those little hands on me for years.”

Something inside you shifts at his confession, like a dam of long repressed want and need cracking open. You suddenly feel bolder, empowered by the effect you’re having on this man — this god among men who you’ve put on a pedestal for so long.

Maintaining heated eye contact, you slowly drag your hand up the length of his erection in one firm stroke that has Fernando’s hips jerking up as he curses vehemently in Spanish.

“Like this?” You rasp, a blatant challenge in your tone as you repeat the motion.

Fernando’s eyes flash hungrily and then he’s surging forward again, capturing your lips in another punishing kiss that leaves you lightheaded and alight with lust.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growls when he releases your mouth with a final nip at your lower lip. “Now it’s my turn to cherish you ...”

With that, he loops an arm behind your knees and rises in one smooth, powerful motion, hoisting you up into a secure bridal carry. You yelp in surprise, hands flying up to cling to his broad shoulders.

“Nando! What are you, mmph-”

Your protest is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours in another heated kiss. Fernando maneuvers you easily as he starts carrying you towards the staircase, hiking your dainty linen dress up around your thighs.

“I’m making good on my promise, pequeña,” he murmurs hotly against your swollen lips. “Bedroom. Now. Going to lay you out and cherish every sweet inch of that gorgeous body, just like you deserve.”

Unbidden, a soft whine slips from your throat at his heated words. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there as a fresh wave of arousal floods through you, hot and insistent.

Fernando chuckles darkly, adjusting his grip on you as he starts up the stairs. “That’s it, let me hear how much you want this too.”

You open your mouth to respond but only a needy whine escapes as Fernando hitches you higher in his arms, the movement causing delicious friction against your core.

“I want, ngh-” Your words dissolve into another needy noise as Fernando nips at the juncture of your neck and shoulder in reprimand.

“Use your words, pequeña,” he rumbles against your tingling skin. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before he’s kicking open a door and striding into what must be the bedroom, depositing you gently onto the plush center of an enormous bed. Fernando looms over you, chest heaving as he rakes his heated gaze over your prone form in a way that makes you shudder.

“Nando, I … I want you,” you finally manage, fighting past your shyness to meet his burning stare. “Want you to cherish me, cherish every part of me, like you promised.”

Fernando’s eyes darken further at your words and he slowly, purposefully begins lifting his sweater, never looking away from you.

“Good girl,” he praises in that deep, gruff tone that has your thighs pressing together instinctively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He shrugs off the soft knit, revealing a toned, hair-dusted chest and abdominal muscles carved from years of intense athletic training. You can’t help but drink in the display of his powerful body as he reaches for the buckle of his belt.

Fernando doesn’t miss your frank appraisal, a cocky smirk tugging at his full lips. “Like what you see, pequeña?”

You bite your lip and give a small, shameless nod. His grin widens and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, Fernando’s belt is undone and sliding free of its loops. You watch, rapt, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.

“Then no more teasing,” he promises in a low, heated rasp. “Tonight you’ll have as much of me as you can handle.”

With that, Fernando pushes his trousers and underwear down over his hips in one go, springing free in all his thick, flushed glory. Your eyes widen and you suck in a sharp breath at the sheer size of him, mouth going dry with naked want.

Fernando steps forward until he’s standing at the edge of the mattress, gloriously nude and incredibly aroused. He crouches down, bringing himself eye-level with your flushed face as he reaches out to gently take your hands in his calloused grip.

“Are you sure, pequeña?” He searches your gaze intently. “Because once I claim you, mark you as mine in every way … there’s no going back. I won’t ever let you go.”

His raw confession hangs in the heated air between you. You meet Fernando’s fiery gaze without faltering, threading your fingers through his in silent acceptance. His eyes blaze and then he’s surging up over you, capturing your mouth in another searing, all-consuming kiss as he slowly, reverently hikes your dress up and divests you of your last remaining garments.

You wind your arms around his thick neck, holding him close as Fernando settles between your splayed thighs with a low, guttural groan. He rears back just enough to pin you with another scorching look, stealing your breath.

“You’re mine now, pequeña,” he vows roughly, guiding his thick length to your slick entrance. “And I’m going to spend all night cherishing this sweet body, just like you deserve ...”

Fernando braces himself above you with one powerful forearm, using his free hand to grip your thigh and hitch your leg higher around his lean hips. You keen softly as the new angle allows him to sink even deeper, filling you up so deliciously.

He drops his forehead to yours, dark eyes locked on your parted lips as he starts rocking into you with slow, measured strokes. Each deliberate grind of his pelvis against yours has you whimpering, nails raking down the flexing planes of his back.

“That’s it, pequeña,” Fernando croons, punctuating his words with a sharp roll of his hips that has you crying out. “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You try to muffle your sounds against his broad shoulder, but Fernando isn’t having it. He slides the hand not braced on the mattress up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head so your mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.

“No, no … I want to hear every gorgeous, needy little noise,” he rumbles, lips brushing yours with each scorching word. “Want to hear you begging for more of my cock, stretching you so perfectly ...”

A desperate whine slips free at his filthy words, your walls fluttering around his rigid length in defiant response. Fernando rewards you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his talented tongue teasing against yours as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

You moan brokenly into his mouth, legs locking around his narrow waist as Fernando sets a rhythm of steady, pounding strokes. Each slick glide has you building higher and higher, pleasure bordering on overwhelming. It’s so much after so much time without, yet somehow not enough.

You tear your lips from his with a ragged gasp, throwing your head back against the pillows. “M-More, Nando! Please … ah!”

Fernando grunts in approval at your needy plea, hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper. “As you wish, pequeña ...”

He sits up further on his knees, using the new leverage to drive into you with increased force and intensity. The lewd noises of your joining fill the air — skin slapping against skin, your cries of pleasure mingling with Fernando’s low groans of exertion.

Part of you feels like you should be embarrassed by the wanton sounds spilling from your lips. But a much bigger part is just reveling in the indescribable feeling of being taken apart so thoroughly by this incredible man’s skilled body.

Fernando hooks an arm under one of your knees, nearly bending you in half as he leans down to mouth hot, openmouthed kisses from your collarbone up the slender column of your throat. You keen wildly, fingers spasming against the rippling muscles of his back.

“Do you want it harder, pequeña?” He growls the filthy words against the racing pulse point under your jaw. “Want Papi to fuck you just like the needy little girl you are?”

A choked whimper is all you can manage in response, rendered incoherent by his merciless onslaught against that sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside you.

Fernando’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk against the side of your neck and then he’s driving into you with renewed vigor, hips pistoning in short, brutally powerful snaps that quickly have you keening. Your nails leave stinging welts in their wake as they drag down Fernando’s glistening shoulders and back, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he grits out through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by a nasty grind of his hips that has you crying out. “Such a good girl for Papi, con esas caderas tan estrechas ...”

His dirty Spanish murmurs nearly do you in, shooting white-hot sparks of pleasure-pain arcing across your nerve endings. You swear your vision nearly whites out entirely when his calloused fingers find your swollen bud, stroking firmly in tight, rapid circles that have you keening.

That familiar, coiling tension is rapidly becoming too much to bear. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching, building and building with each punishing thrust into your greedy little hole and stroke against that hypersensitive bundle of nerves.

“Nando, Nando,” you pant, clutching desperately at his flexing biceps as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “I’m gonna, ah, fuck, I can’t-”

Fernando’s response is a series of harsh Spanish curses that would make a sailor blush. His mouth crashes against yours in a searing, messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he fucks you right through your release.

Wave after relentless wave of excruciating ecstasy crashes over you. You tremble and wail into Fernando’s mouth, pulled taut as a bowstring as he milks every last exquisite pulse from you with those sharp, unforgiving snaps of his hips.

Just when you think the pleasure searing along every nerve ending will break you into pieces, Fernando’s rhythm falters. He rears back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl that sends a fresh shock of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Going to fill you up now, pequeña,” he grits out in a gravelly tone laced with strain. “Make you nice and, ah mierda, messy with Papi’s cum ...”

The sheer filth of his words, combined with his furious tempo draws animalistic whimpers from deep in your chest. You lock your ankles at the small of his back, taking him deeper as he starts to lose control.

“Please, Nando!” You beg shamelessly, reaching up to dig your fingers into the straining chords of muscle in his back and shoulders. “Please cum inside me, wanna be yours, wanna-”

Fernando cuts off your fervent cries with a harsh growl and then he’s slamming home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills molten heat deep in your convulsing channel with a stream of strained Spanish curses.

You shudder and cry out at the incredible sensation of being filled so completely, holding him flush to you while he pulses and throbs. Fernando captures your lips in another searing kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with the shallow rolls of his hips as he spends himself.

Just when you think the incredible intensity of his release will never end, the shrill trill of a ringtone shatters the sweaty, panting silence of the bedroom.

Fernando goes rigid above you, finally breaking the fevered kiss with a curse that shoots straight to your over-sensitized core.

“Fucking hell, now?”

His tone is one of pure annoyance as his darkly tousled head whips towards the nightstand where his mobile is ringing incessantly. One large hand flexes against the sheets beside your head, ready to simply ignore the call.

Until, that is, he sees the caller ID and his entire demeanor shifts from one of irritation to something more sheepish. He immediately sits up on his haunches, the movement tugging at your overstuffed, abused entrance in the most delicious way and drawing a helpless whimper from you.

Fernando fixes you with a heated look, plush lower lip caught between his teeth as he drinks in your disheveled, satisfied state sprawled wantonly across his rumpled sheets. Only then does he make a sudden, aborted movement to grab the still-ringing phone, gaze flickering down to where you’re obscenely joined.

“Don’t you dare pull out,” you pant in warning, clenching down hard around him as he shifts to reach for the mobile. Fernando groans explosively at the vice-like grip, arm falling back to brace himself against the mattress.

“Insatiable,” he accuses with a dark chuckle. He somehow manages to snag the still-trilling phone without dislodging himself and you shamelessly squeeze down even tighter in petty retaliation. Fernando tosses you a smoldering glare that makes heat lick along your nerve endings before he finally answers.

“Hola?” His deep voice is rougher than usual, gravelly from the thoroughly ravished state you’ve put him in.

“Fernando! Mate, it’s me.” Your father’s crisp Aussie tone immediately filters through the speaker and you inadvertently clench down again in panic.

Fernando’s lips peel back in a mild wince before smoothing back into that trademark smug grin of his. He drops his free hand to splay possessively over your lower abdomen, thumb rubbing idle circles into the soft, oversensitized skin there as he regards you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Mark!” He greets your father with forced nonchalance, even as the pads of his calloused fingers dip dangerously close to where you’re still intimately joined. “What can I do for you?”

There’s a pregnant pause during which you can practically picture the slight frown creasing your dad’s brow at Fernando’s strange tone. “Er, sorry to bother you, Nando. I was just ringing to see if my daughter made it to you alright?”

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as Fernando’s lips quirk up in a devilish smirk. Instead of answering right away, he drags the tip of one finger agonizingly slowly through your damp curls in a wordless warning.

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, you obediently stop clenching your internal muscles, allowing Fernando to sink that few extra incredible inches back inside you with a roll of his hips. His eyes burn with smug satisfaction when you keen softly at the feeling of being so deliciously full.

“She arrived safe and sound,” Fernando finally replies, voice gone low and rough in a way that has your thighs trying to clench instinctively. He holds you open by digging the heel of his palm against your mound, lips twitching when you whimper. “I’m taking very … very good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

Another pause from your father’s end, this one even longer. You can picture the perplexed furrow in his brow deepening as he tries to figure out the strange undercurrent in Fernando’s tone.

“Right … well, good then. I just wanted to check in and make sure she got there okay after that whole mess with her asshole of an ex.”

You shudder at the memory, hips shifting restlessly against Fernando’s calloused palm in a plea for friction, pressure, anything. He simply watches you squirm with darkly glittering eyes, lazily rubbing his thumb in soothing little circles just below your navel.

“Trust me,” Fernando finally rumbles, voice gone low and graveled in a way that sends a shiver of desire arcing down your spine. “Your little girl is being very well looked after, in every way.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the blatant innuendo lacing his words. Fernando’s smirk widens, like he enjoys seeing you so flustered, before he continues in a tone of exaggerated innocence. “She’s been … quite the handful, really, but I don’t mind.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shoot him a betrayed look, clenching reflexively around the thick length still sheathed snugly inside you. Fernando arches one artfully sculpted brow as if in challenge, using his free hand to firmly grip one of your thighs and wrench your legs obscenely further apart in clear retaliation.

You muffle a whimper into the sheets as the new position allows him to grind deeper, that delicious friction quickly unraveling your will to stay quiet. You can already feel the coil of need building rapidly once more with each shallow roll of Fernando’s hips.

“What was that?” Your dad’s mildly bewildered voice suddenly crackles over the line, jarring you back to the reality of the situation.

Cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and mortification, you blindly grasp for one of the pillows to muffle the series of pitiful noises now spilling past your lips as Fernando ups the intensity of his thrusts.

He leans in closer until the two of you are practically nose-to-nose, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip when you instinctively tighten around him like a velvet vise. Fernando’s eyes roll back briefly before fixing back on you, dark and fathomless as the depths of the Mediterranean.

“Nothing to worry about over here,” he pants through gritted teeth, one hand leaving its bruising grip on your thigh to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a searing, filthy kiss designed to swallow any incriminating sounds. “Like I said. Just … taking very good care of your little girl.”

There’s one final confused little hum from your father before the line clicks off with a hollow beep. Fernando instantly drops the phone and slants his mouth hungrily over yours once more, all thoughts of the call instantly forgotten as he resumes fucking up into you with renewed vigor.

“My little girl, aren’t you pequeña?” He grates against your lips, punctuating each word with a scorching grind of his hips that has sparks bursting behind your eyelids. “Going to be a good girl and cum all over Papi’s cock again, sí?”

You can only nod wildly in agreement, nails raking down his broad back as that incredible tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Fernando swallows your cries with his wicked, talented mouth, until finally you go rigid in his arms, back arched as your release rockets through you like a shockwave.

This time Fernando doesn’t even attempt to stifle your hoarse, animalistic keening, merely rearing back to watch in fascination as your complexion colors and your eyes roll back. He growls your name like a prayer, hips snapping erratically as he uses your convulsive flutters to chase his own high. Fernando’s chiseled features contort in pleasure, teeth sinking into his own lip hard enough to draw blood when you bear down with the vise-like strength of your release.

“F-Fuck … gonna … gonna fill you up again,” he grits out, thick cock jerking deep inside your molten depths. “Make you … gonna ah … make you mine forever this time, pequeña ...”

The gravelly promise in his tone somehow penetrates the sweaty, lust-hazed cocoon surrounding you. Your eyes fly open just in time to witness Fernando’s own clenched shut, jaw dropped in a growl as he buries himself to the hilt with one final, bruising grind of his pelvis.

You cry out at the incredible sensation of his release flooding your already stuffed channel with scorching ropes of thick seed. Fernando lets out a shuddering moan of pure gratification, hips working in short, shallow thrusts to pump every last pulse of his sticky essence into your greedy little womb.

When the last tremor of his climax has wrung through him, he drops bonelessly on top of you in a sweaty, panting tangle of sated limbs. You whimper quietly at the delicious feeling of his weight pinning you to the mattress, his softening length still lodged snugly inside as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

Fernando nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing lazy, opened-mouthed kisses to your slick, overheated skin. His talented fingers trace abstract patterns up and down your sides, touch reverent as his gravelly voice rumbles against you.

“Going to get you nice and full, pequeña. Fill you up again and again until my baby takes ...”

A violent shudder wracks through you at the filthy promise in his words. Fernando chuckles darkly, gathering you closer against his sweat-slicked chest as his hand drifts down to cup your lower abdomen with tender possessiveness.

“That’s it, let it sink in,” he croons, fingertips rubbing in gentle circles. “My seed taking root deep inside this sweet little womb, putting a baby in your belly ...”

He punctuates the words with a firm press of his palm that has you gasping, walls fluttering greedily around the thick shaft still impaling you. Fernando makes a noise of deep approval low in his throat.

“Going to keep you just like this,” he vows in a tone that brooks no argument, hot and heavy against the sensitive shell of your ear. “Barefoot and pregnant in my bed, that gorgeous body swollen and glowing with my hijo ...”

You whimper at the image his words conjure up — your belly rounded and stretched taut with Fernando’s child, heavy breasts leaking as you cradle his son or daughter. Fernando husks out a laugh at your reaction, nosing along the line of your jaw until you meet his heated gaze.

“You like that idea, don’t you pequeña?” His eyes glitter with a mixture of desire and predatory satisfaction. “Being tied to me forever, in the most permanent way possible?”

You can only nod dumbly, suddenly rendered mute by the depths of your own yearning. Of course you want that — to carry this incredible man’s legacy inside you for all the world to see. To belong to him, completely.

Fernando rumbles his approval against your swollen lips, cupping the back of your head to angle your mouth for a tender, lingering kiss. When he finally breaks away, you try to chase his mouth with a breathless whimper of protest.

“Shh, patience, pequeña,” he murmurs indulgently, thumb stroking over your slick lower lip. His eyes are dancing with dark promise. “You’ll have plenty of time to take your fill of me in the coming months while I breed you over ...”

He kisses the words into the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the rapid flutter of your pulse point.

“... and over ...” Fernando rolls you onto your back in one smoothly powerful motion, settling his weight over you as he lips trail a blazing path down your abdomen.

“... and over again.” His tongue dips briefly into your navel before he nuzzles lower, nose nudging through your damp curls until his warm breath ghosts over your overstimulated sex. You suck in a ragged gasp, thighs trembling with anticipation as Fernando glances up at you from under those ridiculously long lashes.

“Until it finally takes,” he finishes with a wicked grin before ducking down to swipe one firm lick through your folds. You nearly black out from the electric shock of pleasure-pain, broken cries echoing through the bedroom as Fernando sets to work thoroughly mapping every intimate inch of you with that devilishly skilled mouth and tongue.

True to his filthy promise, Fernando keeps you until the first rosy hints of dawn are just beginning to lighten the horizon outside, thoroughly ravishing your helpless body over and over again until you’re boneless and incoherent with satiation.

It’s only when the first few birds have begun to chirp their morning songs that he finally relents, blanketing you with his solid weight one last time. Fernando’s lips are kiss-swollen as they trail up the line of your throat to find yours in one more long, thorough kiss that leaves you totally plundered.

“Sleep now, pequeña,” he rumbles against your parted mouth, gathering you close as his hand drifts down to splay possessively over the slight tautness of your lower abdomen. “Let my release take nice and deep inside you ...”

You slip into unconsciousness to the sensation of Fernando’s calloused fingertips rubbing soothing circles over your skin and the imprinted promise of his low, sleep-roughened vows.

“I’m going to put a baby in you, pequeña. Going to breed you so full of my children until you’re round and glowing with them … that’s a promise.”

***

Six Months Later

Fernando can’t keep the swell of pride and possessiveness from blooming in his chest as he guides you through the paddock with a supportive hand on the small of your back. His dark gaze keeps flickering down to admire the swell of your belly peeking out beneath the flowing summer dress you’ve chosen for today.

He feels like a conquering king surveying his latest prize as you waddle adorably at his side, the golden sunlight caressing your features and lending a rosy flush to your glowing complexion. Fernando has never seen a more beautiful, ethereal sight than you in this moment — rounded with his child, your body transformed by the life blossoming within.

His hand subconsciously moves to cup the subtle curve of your belly as you pause to allow a team member to pass. Fernando feels a fresh surge of scorching desire and smug satisfaction race through his veins when you instinctively cover his hand with yours, cradling his palm against the taut swell.

“Easy there, pequeña,” he rumbles with a wolfish grin, leaning in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. “We’re in public, remember? Wouldn’t want to give these pendejos an eyeful of how insaciable my little girl has become since getting knocked up ...”

A delightful shiver visibly ripples through you at his words, those gorgeous eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments before fixed back on him blown wide and dark with rekindled want. Fernando lets out a low chuckle of approval, arm winding around your waist to pull you flush against his side.

Just then, a familiar figure comes striding around the corner, brows low and thunderous as they zero in on the embrace Fernando has you locked in. Mark Webber falters mid-step as he takes in the rather obvious changes to your body, chin dropping in a comical picture of dumbstruck shock.

Fernando can’t resist angling the two of you forward just enough to emphasize the prominent curve of your belly straining against the flowy fabric of your summer dress. He watches your father’s expression morph from surprise, to confusion, then slowly … realization as the pieces begin to click into place.

Within seconds, Mark’s eyes have narrowed to slits of rage, mouth curling back in a snarl of anger as he picks up his pace and stalks towards the pair of you. Fernando’s own smug expression slips, features settling into a hard mask as he angles his body slightly in front of yours on instinct.

“You motherfucking piece of shit-” Your father snarls, face taking on an alarming reddish hue as he rears back and swings at Fernando.

Fernando manages to sidestep the worst of the blow at the last second, feeling only a glancing impact against his left cheekbone before Mark closes in again with balled fists raised. Behind him, you let out a strangled cry of dismay, reaching out helplessly to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Dad, no! Fernando, please-”

But Fernando is already sinking into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and weight evenly distributed. He blocks another wild swing from Mark with ease, allowing the Australian’s momentum to carry him past so Fernando can land a swift, open-handed punch against the side of his head.

The sharp retaliatory crack has Mark stumbling sideways, snarling like an enraged animal. For one brief, wildly intense moment, the two former rivals simply square off — sizing one another up like they’ve done a hundred times before on various circuits when they were both still competing.

From anyone else, Fernando might have been able to laugh off this overreaction, shrug it aside as the misguided anger of a hotblooded father learning his young daughter is now expecting. But this is Mark Webber — a man who has proven himself as fiery and formidable an opponent as they come.

Fernando won’t admit it aloud, but a tiny thrill of excitement races through him at the prospect of a proper throwdown with his old nemesis turned friend. He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder, assessing if he needs to move you further away before the situation escalates.

You surprise him by shaking your head adamantly, those beautiful eyes blazing with protective fury of your own as you plant yourself squarely in between the two men.

“Fernando, don’t hurt him,” you plead, gaze flickering between him and the bristling Aussie now clambering back to his feet. “He’s just-”

“Being a bloody psychopathic bastard,” Mark spits, wiping a hand across his rapidly swelling lip. His hateful glare lands accusingly on the prominent swell of your middle. “Fucking hell , Nando. She’s just a kid-”

Fernando feels his own temper ratcheting up several notches at the venom and dismissal lacing the other man’s tone. He takes an aggressive step forward, forcing you back behind the shield of his powerful frame.

“Don’t talk about her like she isn’t here to defend herself,” Fernando growls, unconcerned that they’re rapidly drawing an audience from the swarm of crew personnel surrounding them.

He arches a challenging brow at your father’s scathing glower. “What’s wrong? Upset that while you were off galivanting around the globe, I was putting a baby in your daughter’s belly?”

Mark lets out an outraged roar, lurching forward to throw another wild haymaker that Fernando easily ducks under. You cry out in distress, hands coming up to grip at Fernando’s biceps from behind as you try to bodily pull him away from the furious Australian’s reach.

“Both of you, stop!” Your shrill voice cuts through the tense alleyway, causing both men to pause for a split-second and glance towards you. “Nando, don’t provoke him! And you-” You aim an accusatory finger at your seething father. “Lay one more hand on Fernando and I swear to god-”

Whatever heated threat you were preparing goes unvoiced as a sudden aura of pain visibly ripples across your features, brow furrowing and lips parting on a pained gasp. Your hands instinctively fly down to cradle your belly, entire body locking up with tension.

Fernando’s heart leaps into his throat as he recognizes the clear signs of distress from months spent doting upon your every subtle twinge and discomfort. Immediately, his previous temper fades into a dull, distant roar easily overshadowed by the all-consuming need to ensure your well-being.

“Pequeña?” He’s at your side in an instant, gripping your upper arms to steady you as a light sheen of perspiration blooms on your brow. “Breathe through it, mi amor … just breathe, okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” you manage in a tight voice. “Just a twinge. The excitement is probably too mu-ahh!”

You gasp again, nails digging punishingly into Fernando’s forearms as your knees threaten to buckle. All hints of masculine posturing flee his mind as Fernando smoothly sweeps you up into a secure bridal carry, heedless of the soft whimpers of discomfort now trickling past your parted lips.

He locks eyes with a stunned Mark over your bent crown, gaze impassive and steady. “You heard her. The excitement is too much. We’re leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, Fernando swivels on his heel and marches back the way you’d originally come with you cradled protectively against his chest. He keeps his strides measured and unhurried, but still manages to put a fair amount of distance between the pair of you and your father’s petulant anger in a matter of moments.

Once you’ve rounded a quiet corner alcove, Fernando gently lowers you to a relatively secluded stack of equipment crates, bracing your lower back and guiding you into a seated position.

“Wait here,” he murmurs against your hairline, dropping a fleeting kiss to the rapidly dampening strands stuck to your brow. Fernando’s fingers ghost down to cradle your belly once more, silently assessing for any areas of increased tension. “I’ll be back in just a moment with some water and a physio, alright?”

You nod weakly, squirming to rest back against the cool metal behind you as another pained grimace flits across your features. Fernando feels his heart clench at the wretched, lost expression clouding your eyes.

Cupping your cheek, he tilts your chin up until you meet his heated gaze. “Don’t look so afraid, pequeña. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Fernando leans in until his nose brushes against yours, allowing the familiar closeness and the scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne to soothe you. “Our little one is just reminding us who’s boss, that’s all. But Papi’s here … I’ll take care of both of you, sí?”

You manage a weak smile at that, some of the tension bleeding from your delicate features as you nod against his palm. Fernando presses one more lingering kiss to your brow before reluctantly pulling away.

“I’ll be right back, mi vida. Just breathe deeply for me in the meantime.”

With one final reassuring caress to your belly, Fernando turns on his heel and strides back out into the bustling paddock area. His jaw is set in a tense line, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he mentally catalogs which team staff he needs to track down.

Rounding a corner, Fernando very nearly barrels straight into the rigid form of your father standing there with arms crossed, clearly waiting to waylay him. The Aussie’s expression is thunderous, eyes blazing with hurt and undisguised fury.

“So that’s it then?” Mark bites out in a tone of barely restrained aggression. “You’ve gone and knocked up my little girl. My own daughter, Nando ...”

Fernando holds up a dismissive hand, in no mood to allow your father’s misplaced anger to provoke another confrontation — not when you’re so clearly in distress. “Don’t start with me again.” His tone is low, brooking no argument. “Your daughter is safe and being well looked after, that’s all that matters right now.”

With that, he moves to sidestep around Mark, only to find his path blocked by the other man’s broad chest as he steps directly into Fernando’s space. The former World Champion narrows his eyes warningly, feeling his temper ratcheting back up in the face of such insolence.

“Look, you arrogant Spanish prick,” Mark growls, lips peeling back in a menacing sneer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

Fernando abruptly cuts him off with a harsh bark of humorless laughter, dark eyes glittering dangerously. “A game?” He shakes his head slowly, expression one of vaguely disbelieving contempt. “You really think that’s all this is to me? Getting one up on you by deflowering your little girl and leaving her pregnant, alone, and disgraced?”

The other man flinches almost imperceptibly at the crass words, clearly thrown by Fernando’s frank disdain. The Spaniard presses on relentlessly. “Any man who would treat a situation like this so flippantly doesn’t deserve to consider themselves a real man at all — let alone a father.”

Mark’s face has turned an alarming shade of puce, whether from shame or sheer unchecked rage Fernando neither knows nor cares. He simply crowds further into the Australian’s space, heedless of how their chests nearly brush with each harsh exhalation.

“Make no mistake, I love that woman and the child she carries more than life itself,” Fernando states with conviction, cadence low and gravelly. “If you’re asking whether I intend to be there for them both as a partner, as a father … my answer is simple.”

He pauses just long enough to allow the weight of his next words to truly sink in.

“For as long as your daughter and my children will have me, you couldn’t pry me away from their sides with a fucking crowbar.”

Fernando holds your father’s seething gaze for one final beat, satisfaction lancing through him at seeing the other man seemingly robbed of his righteous anger. With a curt nod, he finally moves to brush past the speechless Australian without another word —intent on fetching the physio like he had originally set out to do.

Because in the end, Mark Webber’s approval means less than nothing to Fernando. All that matters is rushing back to your side and ensuring your safety and comfort. You and the new life blossoming within you are his entire world now.

As if to reaffirm the point, you suddenly appear around the corner, one hand braced protectively under the swell of your abdomen.

“Nando,” you breathe in a tremulous voice, blindly reaching for him. “The little one misses you ...”

Fernando instantly abandons all thoughts of confronting Mark, or retrieving a physio, or anything else as he rushes to gather you up in his arms once more. He cradles you tenderly to his chest as your fingers twist almost convulsively in the fabric of his Hugo Boss shirt, dark eyes wide and pleading.

Fernando glances down at you cradled protectively in his arms, heart clenching at the distressed furrow of your brow and shallow, panting breaths.

Readjusting his grip, he dips his head to murmur a string of soothing Spanish endearments against your sweat-dampened hairline as he carries you through the winding labyrinth of the paddock. His strides are measured but purposeful, not rushing — he needs to get you somewhere quiet and comfortable to recover from the ordeal.

Finally, Fernando spots a secluded alcove tucked away behind a cluster of tires. He quickly guides you over and gently lowers you onto an emptied workbench, cocooning you against his broad chest.

“There, there, pequeña,” he croons, lips brushing your brow. “Just breathe nice and deep for Papi, just like we practiced ...”

You nod weakly, fingers reflexively flexing against the solid planes of Fernando’s abdomen as you struggle to pull in deep gulps of air. He deftly tugs the neckline of your summer dress aside to expose more of your flushed skin, using the hem to dab away the perspiration beading on your chest and throat.

“That’s it, mi vida,” he praises in that dark, soothing timbre. “Just like that, easy does it ...”

Slowly, the tension bleeds from your features as the worst of the discomfort subsides. Fernando doesn’t dare loosen his supportive embrace, nor does he tear his increasingly heated gaze away from your parted lips as each measured exhale puffs across his skin.

“Better now?” He murmurs, thumb tracing the delicate arch of your cheekbone reverently. A rosy blush stains your complexion when you nod meekly, lashes fanning across those glorious cheekbones.

“Good girl,” Fernando rumbles, helpless not to drink in the gorgeous picture you make — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lingering stardust. He grips your jaw in a firm caress, tilting your chin up until your gazes lock.

“Because I must admit,” he husks softly, gaze darkening to molten whiskey. “Seeing you like this, with my child safe inside you … has me feeling quite possessive, pequeña.”

You shudder visibly at his words, tongue darting out to wet those plump lips in a blatant show of want. Fernando doesn’t miss the subtle gesture, allowing his gaze to dip briefly to track the slick path your tongue carves before fixing back on your rapidly dilating pupils.

“Would you like that, hmm?” He lowers his voice to a sensual rumble, skimming his thumb across your lower lip in a wordless command for access. “Having Papi show you just how adored, how cherished you and our little one inside you truly are?”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat as you readily accept the gentle press of Fernando’s calloused digit between your parted lips. Your eyes flutter shut on a trembling exhale as he slowly begins to glide the thick pad of his thumb across that heavenly softness, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with his nail.

“That’s it, pequeña,” he growls, a tad hoarse as desire visibly burns behind those long lashes. “Suckle for me, let me take care of you both nice and proper ...”

Fernando rocks forward ever so slightly, allowing the swollen curve of your belly to brush against his solid abs with each tiny shuddering breath you drag in through your nose. He keeps up the lazy, hypnotic strokes of his thumb until you’re completely transfixed — hips shifting restlessly against his thighs and soft, muffled mewls escaping past the seal of your swollen lips.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough to rasp straight through you and ignite every raw nerve ending. “So sweet and responsive for Papi … going to reward that gorgeous little mouth in just a moment, I promise.”

You whine wantonly around his thumb in response, eyes fluttering back open to reveal pupils blown wide with naked yearning. Fernando chuckles indulgently, thumb tracing the delicate bow of your lower lip one final time before retreating fully.

“So eager,” he tuts without any real admonishment. Leaning in close, he angles his head to brush kiss-swollen lips against the outer shell of your ear. “Don’t fret, pequeña. I’ll take such good care of both of you right here, right now ...”

Fernando drops a lingering series of kisses along the line of your jaw, letting his lush mouth trail lower and lower with each heated murmur.

“Will remind you exactly who you belong to … who made you … who put this child in your belly ...”

His final words are an exhale ghosting out across your thundering pulse. Fernando immediately latches on with his teeth, nipping and sucking a series of stinging, possessive marks into your sensitized flesh that has you arching against him with a strangled cry of pure bliss.

Out here, cloaked in the shadow of the paddock where anyone could stumble across the two of you — your father included — and discover just how thoroughly Fernando has claimed you. The taboo thrill of it all is utterly intoxicating.

As your trembling fingers find purchase in his clothes, dragging him nearer with insistence, Fernando feels that familiar molten lick of possessive pride unfurl deep in his core. You are his now, fully and completely — mind, body, and soon … family.

Just the way it was always meant to be.

[reecewykes]

Chicago Guest Bedroom

[bbokicidal]

Marriage? Marriage. | Maknae Line! SKZ [OT8]

Genre : Fluff Warnings : None Pairing : Maknae Line SKZ x Fem!Reader

Notes : Ever wondered what your wedding would be like with SKZ? How they would propose? What their tux/outfit would look like? Your ring? The venue? Well I've got it all right here! (Completely w/ photo references!)

Other Notes : This is just how i picture things going down/looking. If you disagree or have other opinions, that's totally fine! But please don't go in the comments complaining it isn't how you pictured it. If you don't like it, scroll past. Thank you!

Jisung

The Proposal : Jisung is the one to make a big spectacle of it, creating an entire song to ask you to marry him in front of the guys. He does it at the venue for their concert during soundcheck so it's a little more personal, wanting you to be there for what he's calling 'practice' so you can hear and critique his new song. Or that's what he says - it's really just a massive proposal. He even gets Chan and Minho to run down the stage throwing flower petals in the air while he sings.

The Venue : Nothing too fancy. He wants it to be personal between just your families (and the guys, of course.) So he chooses a smaller venue with plenty of floral decorations to satisfy the both of you. He lets you pick out the colors however, agreeing that a nice muted purple would be a good mix between casual and elegant.

First Look : Oh, he bawls. He's on his knees the moment he turns around, tears streaking down round cheeks and hands covering his mouth in admiration. You have to cup his face and pull him up - but the photographer gets a perfect picture of you two kissing while Jisung bawls his eyeballs out at how beautiful you look.

His Best Man : Minho. (We all saw that coming.)

Felix

The Proposal : Felix takes you to his childhood home to do it. It's bigger than expected (because he came from a pretty well off family,) and still as wonderful as he remembers growing up. His family tags along to witness it all, but they aren't even aware of the proposal and his sisters are screaming before you are when they see him get down on one knee. Very romantic, very wholesome - biggest ring you've ever seen.

The Venue : Massive venue, very fairytale-esque. He wants it to be grand, as perfect as you are. He falls in love with the ballroom feel of the venue and his mind is made up the moment he steps inside to check it out for the first time. "It's perfect," He'll nod, later admiring how it looks with all of the decorations the two of you had picked out. The theme comes out to a soft pale blue and white.

First Look : He doesn't want to do a first look, but he lets the guys go and see you. His heart slams in his chest the moment Chris comes back with rosy cheeks, exclaiming how beautiful you looked and how Felix had gotten oh-so lucky to be with you. Of course, he tears up a bit and maybe bawls a little when he sees you walking down the aisle.

His Best Man : Jisung.

Seungmin

The Proposal : He's the one to do it on stage. Unexpected, right? He wants to make it memorable for everyone - especially you. He'll ask you to come out, take your hand the moment you enter the stage and then walk with you to the middle to give the most heartwarming and sincere speak you've heard since their Maniac tour. "I said once that I didn't believe in the word 'forever,' but... in this moment, I want to believe I'll be with you for eternity."

The Venue : Also something bigger. Plenty of room to hold many guests but not as grand of a venue as Felix's pick. It's outdoors, for one, the theme of the wedding a warm green with pale pinks and roses speckled in for accent. He lets you do most of the decorating because he trusts you with it, but he will give you his input if you ask for it. However, his favorite thing about the venue has to be the archway he'll marry you under.

First Look : Oh he's getting a first look. He's a bit impatient the day of and asks to see you as soon as possible, only to be met with your arms wrapping around him from behind. He'll sink into your embrace before turning to look at you, backing away only so he can take in the full view. He'll even ask you to do a little spin, holding your hand with care and smiling at how beautiful you are.

His Best Man : Jeongin.

Jeongin

The Proposal : It just sort of... falls out of his mouth. You're having dinner with the group out at a nicer restaurant and he's sitting at your side, seeming a bit distracted and distant. Lost in thought, he snaps back into his own mind before murmuring a soft, "Do you want to get married?" as he looks over. It catches you by surprise, especially when he pulls a velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring. He couldn't find the perfect way to do it, and he grew impatient with himself - so he just asked.

The Venue : He lets you pick it out, with you settling on a smaller church that gave the most basic, traditional wedding possible - which is how he preferred it, if he were honest. He liked how it felt normal, like he was just another person existing in the universe. Nothing too special, nothing too grand. Just... normal and perfect for you two.

First Look : His first look is during pictures, and as he sees you coming up to him he's all full of giggles and bouncy excitement. He turns away to whisper to Seungmin how he's not sure how he bagged such a baddie, before turning back to gather himself and hold your hands while telling you how beautiful you are. Absolute menace even during his own wedding but he's doing his best.

His Best Man : Technically? Seungmin. But he gives each member of the group a special Boutonniere because in his mind, they're all the best. He wants all of his hyungs involved in his wedding.

[okasuka]

Damian wayne x reader - breakfast!

A Night in Wayne Manor

The drive back to Wayne Manor was quiet but charged with unspoken tension. Y/N could feel Damian’s hand brushing hers on the center console, his occasional glances in her direction enough to make her cheeks warm. By the time they arrived, her pulse was racing, and she wondered if he felt the same.

As the two of them entered the grand manor, the imposing silence of the house seemed to amplify the sound of their footsteps on the marble floor. The rest of the family appeared to be elsewhere, leaving them blissfully alone.

“Want to come up?” Damian asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “To your room?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Unless you’d rather chat with Alfred about proper table settings.”

She smirked, following him up the sweeping staircase. “I’ll take my chances with you.”

Damian led her to his room—a surprisingly minimalist space, considering the grandeur of the rest of the manor. The walls were painted a deep green, accented with black furniture and shelves filled with books, weapons, and the occasional keepsake. A large window overlooked the estate grounds, and a simple bed with crisp black sheets dominated the room.

Y/N took a moment to take it all in before turning to Damian, who had already removed his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He looked at her expectantly, his gaze softening.

“You can sit, you know,” he said, gesturing to the bed.

She nodded, perching on the edge of the mattress. “So… nice place. Very… you.”

Damian smirked, sitting beside her. “Thanks. I try.”

The room fell quiet again, the weight of the moment settling over them. Y/N fiddled with the hem of her shirt, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Y/N,” Damian said, his voice softer now.

She looked up, meeting his gaze. He leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull back if she wanted to. But she didn’t. Instead, she closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened.

Damian shifted closer, one hand finding her waist while the other cradled the back of her head. Y/N’s hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. The kiss grew more urgent, their breaths mingling as the world outside the room faded away.

He pulled her onto his lap, his arms wrapping around her as their kisses became more fervent. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, and she couldn’t help but smile against his lips as he let out a quiet, involuntary sigh.

“Damian,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?” he replied, his lips moving to her jaw, trailing soft, deliberate kisses down to her neck.

“This is… new,” she managed, her mind spinning.

“Is this okay?” he asked, pulling back slightly to look at her.

Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed. “Yeah. It’s just… you’re full of surprises, Wayne.”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You have no idea.”

The two of them continued for what felt like hours, their movements a careful balance of exploration and restraint. Damian’s hands never strayed too far, and Y/N felt safe in the cocoon of his warmth. Eventually, though, they pulled apart, both of them breathless and smiling.

“We should probably stop,” Damian said, though his tone was reluctant.

Y/N nodded, leaning her forehead against his. “Yeah. Before Dick shows up again.”

Damian groaned. “Don’t even joke about that.”

She laughed, sliding off his lap and settling back onto the bed beside him. They stayed like that for a while, their hands entwined as they talked quietly about everything and nothing, the tension between them replaced by a comfortable intimacy.

The Morning After

The smell of coffee and fresh pastries drifted through the air as Y/N made her way down to the manor’s dining room the next morning. She’d woken up in the guest room Damian had insisted she use, her heart still fluttering from the previous night.

As she entered the room, she was greeted by the sight of the entire Bat-family seated around the table. Alfred was setting down a tray of food, while Bruce sipped his coffee, reading the morning paper. Dick and Jason were bickering over a stack of pancakes, their voices carrying across the room.

Damian was already seated, his usual stoic expression softening as he glanced up and saw her.

“Morning,” Y/N said, sliding into the seat beside him.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N,” Alfred said warmly. “I trust you slept well?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replied, smiling at the older man.

Jason leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, look who’s finally joined us. Have a good night, Y/N?”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat as she caught the knowing look in Jason’s eyes. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

Dick chimed in, his grin matching Jason’s. “And how’s our little Damian this morning? Feeling… relaxed?”

Damian shot them both a warning glare. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Dick asked innocently. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Sure you are,” Damian muttered, stabbing a piece of fruit with unnecessary force.

Bruce lowered his newspaper, glancing between his sons with a raised eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“No,” Damian said quickly.

“Yes,” Jason and Dick said in unison, their grins widening.

“Boys,” Alfred interrupted, his tone firm but amused. “Perhaps we should let Master Damian and Miss Y/N enjoy their breakfast in peace.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jason quipped, grabbing another pancake.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, despite her embarrassment. “I see teasing runs in the family.”

“You have no idea,” Damian muttered, earning a round of laughter from the table.

The rest of the meal passed with a mix of playful banter and light conversation. Y/N found herself feeling surprisingly at ease, even as Dick and Jason continued to throw the occasional teasing comment her way.

As they finished eating, Dick leaned across the table, a sly smile on his face. “So, Y/N, any plans for today? Or are you and Damian going to… hang out?”

Damian groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Grayson—”

“What?” Dick said, feigning innocence. “I’m just asking.”

Jason chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not gonna let him live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Dick said, grinning.

Bruce sighed, setting down his coffee. “And this is why I don’t invite people over for breakfast.”

Y/N laughed, her heart light as she glanced at Damian. Despite the teasing, she couldn’t help but feel grateful for the chaotic warmth of the Wayne family—and for the boy beside her, who made it all worthwhile.

A Morning Full of Blushes

After breakfast, the Wayne family dispersed—Jason disappearing to the garage, Dick heading to the training room, and Bruce retreating to his study. Damian and Y/N lingered in the dining room, savoring the rare moment of quiet.

Y/N glanced at Damian, her cheeks still warm from the teasing she’d endured. “Is it always like this here?”

Damian sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Unfortunately, yes. Grayson and Todd have made it their life’s mission to annoy me.”

“Seems like they enjoy it,” she teased, her lips twitching into a smile.

“They do,” Damian said, his tone deadpan. “It’s infuriating.”

Y/N laughed, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “I think it’s kind of sweet. In their own weird way, they’re just looking out for you.”

Damian glanced down at her hand, the corners of his mouth softening. “They have a strange way of showing it.”

The moment stretched between them, warm and quiet. Y/N realized her hand was still on his arm and quickly pulled it back, her cheeks heating.

“I—uh, sorry,” she stammered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t be,” Damian said, his voice quieter now. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently taking her hand.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she looked up at him. “Damian?”

“I meant what I said last night,” he said, his green eyes steady on hers. “Being with you… it’s new for me. But it feels right.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words, her fingers curling around his. “It feels right for me too.”

They sat like that for a while, their hands intertwined, before Damian finally stood. “Come on,” he said, tugging her to her feet. “I want to show you something.”

The Manor Grounds

Damian led her outside to the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor. The morning sun cast a golden glow over the manicured gardens and rolling hills, the air crisp and fresh.

“This place is beautiful,” Y/N said, her gaze sweeping over the landscape.

“It’s peaceful,” Damian said, his voice quieter now. “I come out here when I need to think.”

They walked side by side along a gravel path, the silence between them comfortable. Damian’s hand brushed against hers as they walked, and after a moment of hesitation, he laced his fingers with hers.

Y/N glanced up at him, her cheeks warm. “You’re full of surprises today.”

Damian smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You bring it out of me.”

They reached a small gazebo nestled among the trees, and Damian led her inside. He leaned against one of the wooden pillars, watching as Y/N explored the space.

“This is amazing,” she said, running her fingers along the intricate carvings on the railing.

“It’s one of the few places in the manor that feels… personal,” Damian admitted.

Y/N turned to face him, her expression softening. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He shrugged, but there was a hint of color in his cheeks. “I wanted you to see it.”

She stepped closer, her heart pounding as she looked up at him. “Damian… thank you. For everything.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You don’t have to thank me.”

Y/N smiled, and before she could overthink it, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Damian stiffened for a moment, clearly caught off guard, but then his arms came around her, holding her close.

The warmth of his embrace was steadying, and Y/N felt herself relax against him. “You’re not as scary as you pretend to be,” she teased, her voice muffled against his chest.

“And you’re braver than you let on,” he replied, his voice soft.

They stayed like that for a while, neither of them wanting to pull away. When they finally did, Damian’s cheeks were faintly pink, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“What?” he asked, his tone defensive.

“Nothing,” she said, biting back a laugh. “You’re just cute when you’re flustered.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re impossible.”

Back Inside the Manor

Later that day, the two of them found themselves in the manor’s massive library. Y/N was browsing the shelves, marveling at the sheer number of books, while Damian sat in one of the armchairs, watching her with an amused expression.

“You’re staring,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Am I not allowed to admire my girlfriend?” he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.

The word made Y/N pause, her cheeks warming. She turned to face him, clutching the book in her hands. “Girlfriend, huh?”

Damian arched an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” she said quickly, her heart racing. “I just… wasn’t expecting you to say it.”

He stood, walking over to her with an easy confidence that made her stomach flip. “I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he said, his voice low.

Y/N swallowed hard, her gaze flicking to his lips. “Damian…”

Before she could finish, he leaned down and kissed her, his hands resting gently on her waist. It was a soft, lingering kiss, and when he pulled back, Y/N felt like the ground had shifted beneath her.

“You’re full of surprises today,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“Get used to it,” he replied, smirking.

Evening Teasing

As the day wound down, Y/N and Damian found themselves back in the dining room for dinner. The rest of the Bat-family joined them, and the teasing picked up right where it had left off that morning.

“So,” Jason said, leaning back in his chair. “How was your little tour of the grounds, Y/N?”

“Beautiful,” Y/N said, smiling despite the heat rising in her cheeks.

“I bet,” Dick said, winking at Damian. “Did you show her the gazebo?”

Damian shot him a glare. “Stay out of it, Grayson.”

“Oh, come on,” Dick said, laughing. “It’s cute!”

Bruce cleared his throat, glancing at Damian. “As long as you’re being respectful—”

“Of course I am,” Damian said quickly, his ears turning red.

“Relax, kid,” Jason said, smirking. “We’re just messing with you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dick said. “I’m genuinely interested in the romance blossoming before our very eyes.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, despite her embarrassment. She glanced at Damian, who looked like he was about to throttle both of his brothers.

“Don’t worry,” she said, placing a hand on his arm.

A Sparring Session in the Training Room

After dinner, Damian suggested they head to the training room—a vast space equipped with every piece of workout and combat gear imaginable.

Y/N followed him, her curiosity piqued. “Do you really train here every day?”

“Most days,” Damian said, holding the door open for her. “If you’re going to be around the Wayne family, you should probably know how to throw a punch.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You do remember I punched out that girl on my first day at Gotham Academy, right?”

He smirked. “True. But I doubt she knew how to counter it. I won’t go easy on you.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” she teased, stepping into the room.

Damian’s eyes gleamed. “Absolutely.”

Y/N glanced around, taking in the padded mats, punching bags, and an assortment of weapons lining the walls. She stretched her arms and adjusted her stance. “All right, Wayne. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Damian pulled off his hoodie, revealing his toned arms and the black training gear underneath. Y/N’s cheeks warmed, but she quickly shook it off, focusing on the task at hand.

He stepped onto the mat, motioning for her to join him. “We’ll start with basic strikes. Come at me.”

Y/N squared her shoulders, throwing a quick jab toward his midsection. Damian dodged easily, his movements fluid and precise.

“Too slow,” he said, smirking.

She huffed, trying again. This time, she added a feint before aiming for his shoulder, but Damian blocked her effortlessly.

“Better,” he admitted, his tone begrudging.

Y/N grinned, a spark of determination lighting in her eyes. “You’re not as untouchable as you think.”

They continued sparring, the room filling with the sound of their movements and the occasional sharp exhale. Y/N managed to land a few hits, but Damian was clearly holding back, his grin growing wider every time he countered one of her moves.

Finally, she saw her opening. Damian shifted his weight slightly to the left, leaving his side exposed. Y/N lunged forward, catching him off guard as she grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back.

“Got you!” she exclaimed triumphantly, her face inches from his.

Damian’s eyes widened, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Not bad,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Y/N suddenly realized how close they were, her breath hitching as their eyes met. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

But then Damian smirked, his confidence returning. “You let your guard down.”

Before Y/N could react, Damian shifted his weight, trying to reverse their positions. However, his foot slipped on the mat, and they both went tumbling to the ground.

Y/N landed flat on her back, and Damian fell on top of her, his hands braced on either side of her head. Her glasses flew off, sliding across the mat.

“Ow,” she muttered, her cheeks flaming as she realized the position they were in.

Damian’s face was just inches from hers, his green eyes wide and his breath warm against her skin. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, her heart pounding.

Neither of them moved. The world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them, their faces so close that Y/N could count the faint freckles dusting Damian’s cheeks.

“Damian,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“Yeah?” he replied, his gaze flicking to her lips.

“I think you’re blushing.”

He let out a quiet laugh, his own cheeks tinged pink. “So are you.”

Y/N bit her lip, her eyes searching his. “Are you going to kiss me or just keep staring?”

Damian’s breath caught, but then he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It was tentative at first, but as Y/N’s hands slid up to his shoulders, it deepened.

The kiss was warm and electrifying, sending shivers down Y/N’s spine. She could feel Damian’s heart racing in sync with her own as they lost themselves in the moment.

Finally, they pulled apart, both of them breathless and blushing furiously.

“Well,” Damian said, his voice slightly hoarse. “That wasn’t part of the training session.”

Y/N laughed, her cheeks still warm. “I think I preferred it to getting thrown on the mat.”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re not bad, though. For a rookie.”

“Rookie?” she exclaimed, swatting his arm playfully. “I had you pinned!”

“Briefly,” he countered, his tone teasing.

Y/N rolled her eyes, sitting up and looking around. “Great. Now I can’t see anything.”

Damian followed her gaze, spotting her glasses on the other side of the mat. He retrieved them and handed them back to her, his expression soft.

“Thanks,” she said, sliding them on.

He nodded, his fingers brushing hers as he let go. “Anytime.”

Cooling Down

After the sparring session, the two of them sat on the edge of the mat, sipping water and catching their breath.

“So,” Y/N said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Was that kiss… a one-time thing, or…?”

Damian looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he smirked. “Do you want it to be?”

Her cheeks turned red. “No. I mean, if you don’t—”

“I don’t,” he said quickly, his voice firm.

Y/N smiled, a warm feeling blooming in her chest. “Good.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the tension between them replaced by a quiet sense of understanding.

“You know,” Damian said, breaking the silence. “You’re the first person who’s ever managed to pin me.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, his tone serious. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

She laughed, leaning her shoulder against his. “Too late.”

The Next Morning

The following morning, Y/N woke up feeling sore but happy. She replayed the events of the previous night in her mind, a smile tugging at her lips as she remembered the kiss.

After getting dressed, she made her way down to the dining room, where the rest of the family was already gathered.

“Morning, Y/N!” Dick called, grinning at her as she entered. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing at Damian, who was already seated.

Jason smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Did you and Damian have another training session last night?”

Y/N’s cheeks turned red as she quickly took a seat. “Maybe.”

Dick’s grin widened. “You know, you’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. Should we be worried?”

“Worried about what?” Damian asked, his tone clipped.

“Worried that you’re finally going soft,” Jason teased.

Damian glared at him. “I’ll show you soft, Todd.”

“Relax, Damian,” Y/N said, placing a hand on his arm. “They’re just teasing.”

Bruce cleared his throat, glancing between his sons. “As long as you’re both focused on your responsibilities, I don’t see an issue.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Y/N said, smiling.

Dick leaned closer, his grin mischievous. “So, Y/N, how was the gazebo?”

Y/N choked on her coffee, while Damian shot him a murderous glare.

Jason laughed, slapping the table. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Despite the teasing, Y/N felt a warmth in her chest as she glanced at Damian. He met her gaze, his expression softening.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like she belonged.

[lesbiankimdahyun]

G!p Karina hosting a Halloween costume party and choosing you as the winner for best dressed/costume. The prize being that you get to sleep with her.

thank you i loved writing this i hope u enjoy! A03 link is here

FIRST PRIZE: A Halloween Special

4.4K words

[GP!Karina x F!Reader] 

CW: GP, alcohol, brief weed mention 

Guest appearances: MAMAMOO’s Moonbyul and Solar

Your job had been cool about you working fully remotely during the height of the pandemic, but now after two years, they finally asked you to relocate. Your boss was able to compensate you for the move to D.C., which helped, but coming from San Francisco, the East coast culture shock was brutal. Starting over in a new city was intimidating, but at least you had your work bestie Karina to hang out with now that the two of you lived in the same city. 

Having only seen and interacted with her through Zoom on your laptop about (mostly) work-related things, you were a little nervous that the friendship would fade or ruin your working relationship, but over the summer, you found it had the opposite effect. The more you saw of Karina’s authentic offline self, the more comfortable you felt with her, and being able to make Karina laugh felt like winning the lottery. You were absolutely harboring a crush on her, but you kept hoping maybe it would go away in time, too afraid to let her know about your feelings.

But months later when she invited you to a huge Halloween bash she was hosting, you knew your crush on her wasn’t going away any time soon. Her massive apartment, which she shared with her roommate, a girl named Winter you’d met a couple times, was decorated from the floor to the ceiling for the occasion. Perfectly placed cobwebs, a plethora of real, carved jack-o-lanterns lined the mantle of the living room’s fireplace, and the staircase that led up to their bedrooms had tiny, fake candles on each step, adding a warm glow. Karina had used plenty of LED lights too, leaving sections of the apartment cast in eerie purple and red light. Despite the free flowing alcohol, available weed and other Halloween goodies supplied for the party, it was Karina herself that had your rapt attention. 

“You made it!” she said when you arrived, pulling you in for a hug. Her costume was decadent and extravagant, but not so over the top that it limited her range of motion. She’d chosen to go as Glinda the Good Witch. “I like Elphaba better,” she admitted, “but I didn’t want to commit to green skin.” Instead, she’d committed to a Swarovski-jeweled crown, a short, perfectly pink ruffle dress, complete with embroidery work near the bust and tiered tulle to add volume to the skirt. She had a silver, jewel-covered scepter that matched her crown, and wore extra blush to accent all of the pink details. On anyone else, it would’ve looked very cute, but Karina’s lethal beauty and aloof personality made the overall look devastatingly stunning instead.

When she pulled away from you, she eyed you and your costume with interest. “Talk about treasure,” she said. “Should I call you Jack or Jackie Sparrow?” 

You felt yourself blush a bit. “Whatever you like,” you said. Karina smirked in response, taking another moment to look at the pieces you’d put together for your Pirates of the Caribbean-inspired outfit. You’d gone to great lengths to gender-bend your take on Jack Sparrow just the way you wanted, and based on Karina’s reaction, it seemed to be paying off. For your look, you’d combined a brown, satin corset top with bronze buckles, a black chiffon tiered waterfall maxi skirt, a black frill tie blouse with flared sleeves, a black lace necklace, brown knee length boots that matched your corset, a few long pearl necklaces to go with the lace necklace, gold hoop earrings, gold rings, and a brown faux leather pirate hat with a single feather on one side. 

Karina suddenly reached forward, brushing her hand along your thigh. “What’s this?” she asked curiously. “A black lace garter? Wow, Y/N, you really pull out all the stops, don’t you?” You let out a shy laugh in response. Karina took your hand then. “Come on,” she said, leading you through the crowd. She pulled you into the kitchen, where Winter was busy grabbing more alcohol. 

“Win-ter,” Karina sing-songed, “Look who's going to enter my costume contest!” Her roommate turned around and the two of you took a moment to take in each other’s costumes. 

“No way,” you said, admiring her black, white and pink futuristic superhero look. “Uravity? From My Hero Academia?” Winter beamed. “ Finally , I’m recognized,” she said, coming over to give you a light hug, careful to avoid bonking you with her headpiece as she hugged you. “Everyone keeps thinking I’m some sort of Barbie Buzz Lightyear,” she said with a quick pout and eye roll. “But wow, look at you!” She took your hand, and you spun for her to show off all sides of your costume. She and Karina exchanged a brief look, and then Winter nodded. “So you're in the contest, huh? I bet you'll win” she said. 

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” you said, “But I don’t know even know if I actually want t--” 

Karina cut you off. “Trust me,” she said, placing a hand on your shoulder. Her glittery, pink nails stood out against the brown and black colors of your costume. “You want to be in this. My Halloween costume contests always come with prizes, even if you don't win! ”  

“Really?” you asked. “Well what does the winner get then?” 

Karina grinned. “Y/N, I can’t just tell you what the winner gets,” she said. “Where’s the fun in that? Why not play to win and find out for yourself,” she said. The way she said it was sassy, almost flirtatious. Wait. There's no way Karina would be flirting with me, you thought. 

 “Hmm…” you said, pretending to mull it over while moving toward the kitchen sink, where the drink supplies were. You grabbed a black plastic cup and looked around for ice, but Karina came over beside you, interrupting your search. “Let me,” she said, gently plucking your cup out of your hands while Winter handed her a bottle of deep purple Empress gin. The gin’s purple color turned pinkish when she added a splash of lime and tonic water to the gin, but it remained largely purple even after ice was added too, letting you know the drink had way more alcohol than mixer in it. You went to take a sip, but Karina stopped you. “Wait,” she said, reaching for a small, plastic packet and ripping it open. 

“What's that?” you asked, tipping your cup away. 

“Relax,” Karina said, showing you a bit of the light, powdery substance in her palm. She dipped a finger in it and put it up to her lips, licking the substance off. “Edible glitter,” she explained. “See?” She dipped her finger back into the glitter and then held it up near your mouth. 

“Try it,” she said, and you found yourself obeying and opening your mouth for her, tongue slightly out. Karina lightly pressed the pad of her finger to your tongue, and a wave of heat rolled over you. If the edible glitter had any taste at all, it was completely overpowered by the salty taste of Karina’s fingertip. Karina’s eyes flicked from your tongue, then up at you. Your cheeks burned at the intimacy.  

“So… you'll be in the costume contest, then?” she asked, taking a small step back. You held out your cup for Karina to add some edible glitter to your drink, which she did. 

“Oh alright,” you said. “Why not?” 

The rest of the party was a blur. Karina insisted on making all of your drinks, leaving you beyond buzzed but feeling extremely sociable. You chatted with a girl dressed as a ‘hot version of Moo Deng’, danced and shouted ‘Yes, chef!’ with a few folks dressed as the cast of The Bear, and drunkenly gushed over a stunning sapphic couple dressed as Statue of Liberty Chappell Roan and Pink Pony Club Chappell Roan. On occasion throughout the night, Karina would steal you away to dance to Rob Zombie or Kim Petras. A few times while you danced, you'd find her suddenly behind you, hand lightly brushing over your waist. Your brain was operating at a hundred miles a minute, but you put it out of your mind so you could focus on meeting a few of Karina and Winter’s other mutual friends: a girl named NingNing who rocked a modern Cruella DeVil costume, and another girl named Giselle who was dressed as a high glam-drag version of HIM from the Powerpuff Girls– sans facial hair. 

Just after midnight, Karina gathered everyone for the costume contest in the spacious living room. You joined the other contestants in the center of the room: Statue of Liberty Chappell, hot Moo Deng, and Giselle. 

“Before we start,” Karina said, “I should let all of the contestants know that second and third place prizes will be given out here at the party, but first place will need to stick around afterward to claim the grand prize, okay?” The four of you nodded while the rest of the party attendees applauded lightly in anticipation. Fourth place wound up going to ‘hot Moo Deng,’ and Giselle took third. 

Karina presented Giselle with a plastic, orange pumpkin bucket intended for trick-or-treating. There was a couple handfuls of candy inside, but in addition to pumpkin-shaped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and candy corn, Karina and Winter had filled the buckets with mini bottles of alcohol, edibles, and liquid hydration packets. Then, Karina gave Giselle a celebratory strawberry lemon drop shot, which was, of course, perfectly pink to match her Glinda costume. Everyone clinked their plastic cups together, ready to take a sip of their drinks while Giselle had her shot. Her large claw attachments, though, made her unable to take the tiny shot glass out of Karina’s hand. For a supposedly good witch, Karina seemed extra amused by Giselle's struggle. With her other free hand, Karina held Giselle’s face, her thumb on one of Giselle’s cheeks, the rest of her fingers on the other. 

“Aw, does our big bad villain need some help?” she asked mockingly. Giselle feigned annoyance and nodded. Karina whispered something in Giselle’s ear then, and then Giselle rolled her eyes for real before opening her mouth. Everyone cheered as Karina knocked the shot back into Giselle’s mouth. Karina laughed, making a show out of having Giselle open her mouth again to prove she’d swallowed it all. 

Your hands started to sweat a bit while you and Statue of Liberty Chappell Roan waited to find out who the winner would be. You honestly had no idea which way the costume contest would go. You knew your costume was pretty good overall, but Statue of Liberty Chappell, whose real name was Moonbyul, had really gone all out, even painting herself the same color as the actual Statue of Liberty. To hype up the crowd, Karina took the partygoers’ temperature by standing behind Moonbyul, holding a hand over the girl’s head. 

“Who’s feeling sexy Statue of Liberty Chappell Roan?” she asked, and the crowd responded by applauding as Moonbyul posed, holding up her torch triumphantly. When the clapping died down, she moved behind you, and you knew her hand was hovering somewhere above your pirate hat. “What about our sexy Jackie Sparrow?” she asked, and the crowd erupted in louder applause, including a few wolf whistles from somewhere in the back. 

Karina grinned at the partygoers. “I thought so too,” she said matter-of-factly. “It looks like we have a consensus, then. Second place goes to Statue of Liberty Chappell Roan!” There was more applause, and Pink Pony Club Chappell, whose real name was Solar, shrieked in excitement for her girlfriend. Winter presented Moonbyul with her own plastic pumpkin bucket full of the same goodies Giselle had received. Another strawberry lemon drop shot was brought out for Moonbyul. But instead of letting Moonbyul take the shot herself, Karina held onto it. 

“Since it’s my party, I want to do things my way, tonight” Karina said. “So open up, Chappell,” she said, grinning mischievously. “Forgive me, Solar,” she said, turning back toward Pink Pony Club Chappell Roan for a moment before coaxing Moonbyul’s mouth open so she could pour the shot down Moonbyul’s throat. “Now for those of you who have been to my parties before, you know the second place winner usually also comes with a kiss from me, but girl…” Karina said, “Keep those green Statue of Liberty lips away from me! She’s alllll yours, Solar,” Karina said with a laugh. 

A kiss? ! What kind of costume contest between friends was this? Before you could ruminate on it, Karina was beside you, taking your hand and holding it up proudly. “And now give it up for this year’s costume contest winner!” The crowd roared with drunken cheers. You felt Karina’s hand near your thigh again. “Don’t you all just love this garter? I think it’s my favorite part,” she said, her fingers trailing over the black lace detail. Another strawberry lemon drop shot was handed to Karina, and she turned to face you. 

“You know the drill by now, don’t you?” she asked playfully. “Open up, Y/N.” The tart tang of lemon, alcohol, and a bit of sweetness from the strawberry burned while it made its way down your throat. She then leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear while she whispered to you. “You’ll get your prize later, okay?” 

The party reverted back to the way it was, but not for long. By the time 1:30 AM rolled around, the party was winding down as some partygoers headed out to make appearances at other parties, while others trickled out to hit the clubs before they closed. You collapsed on the couch, making conversation with the last few party stragglers while they gathered their shoes and costume parts, getting ready to leave. 

“Are you gonna be okay t’get home?” You looked up to see Giselle standing above you, swaying lightly, clearly a bit drunk. You sat up and nodded, scooching over so she could sit down and focus the remainder of her energy on ordering an Uber home. 

“This was sooo fun,” she said, her words blurring together a bit. She pulled off her costume’s red claw attachments so she could use her hands normally again. Then she turned to you. “Hey, we should go– er, hang out sometime,” she said. You almost missed what she said entirely, distracted by the sleek, black thigh high boots she was wearing and the way her red fishnets popped beneath them. And wait-- is that part latex? How on earth were all of Karina’s close friends this hot, too? 

“Hm?” you said, needing a moment to register what she’d just said. “Oh! I’d like that,” you said, smiling. Forgetting about the rideshare app open on her phone, she handed the small rectangle to you. “Put your number in!” she said, bouncing a bit. Her shoulder brushed against yours, sending a tiny, electric jolt through your right arm. You started to feel warm as Giselle rested her chin on your shoulder to watch as you swiped away from the pending rideshare pickup and tapped the phone icon to add your number. 

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, sitting back a bit when you were done. You returned her phone to her and nodded. “Karina’s into you,” she blurted. You threw Giselle a quizzical look while your heartbeat raced. “Wh-what?” you asked. “Where’d you get that idea from?” 

 Giselle just giggled to herself, rummaging through her bag to make sure all of her belongings were still present, then looped her arm through the handle of her Halloween bucket prize. “She does this every year,” she replied. “You’ll see. That glittery scepter of hers isn’t the only disco stick she likes to use.” She stood up, her driver just a minute or two away now. Giselle flipped her long, black hair back and gave you one last look over her shoulder. “She’d fucking kill me if she knew I said this…” she gave you one last onceover. “If you aren’t satisfied with your prize… let me know.” 

“Huh?” you said, but Giselle didn’t explain. She was already heading toward the front door, where Karina was hugging NingNing and Winter goodbye. Wait , you thought. Didn’t Winter live here? Why was she leaving? You looked around for any other remaining partygoers, but realized you were about to be alone. 

 “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Karina said apologetically, coming over to you after everyone was officially gone. You stood and walked with her into the kitchen. “Did you have fun?” she asked. She poured you a glass of water as you nodded. “Your friends are really nice,” you said, taking the cup from her. “Especially Giselle.” Karina’s eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn’t read, but then she recovered and smiled. “Don’t I know it,” she said. “They’re the best.” 

With the music at a much softer level and the purple and red LED lights off, the main floor of the apartment was dim and cozy, with the only remaining sources of light coming from the moonlight streaming in through the bay windows, the jack-o-lanterns on the fireplace mantle and the tiny, battery-powered fake flicker candles that stood on the edge of the steps leading upstairs. Your heart was pounding nervously in your chest now, unsure of what to expect. It was the first time you’d ever been alone with Karina in her apartment– normally Winter was there. 

“Hey, where’d Winter go?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual. Karina shrugged a bit, walking back into the living room. “Oh,” she said, glancing back to make sure you followed her out. “She and NingNing decided to hit the club for a bit. I’m sure she’ll be back in a while,” she said. Anxiety quelled in your stomach. Something told you Winter would not be coming back anytime soon. 

Karina instructed you to sit back down on the couch. “Are you ready for your prize?” she asked, grinning, and you nodded a little. “You’re not going to like, have a man in a bloody clown costume jump out at me or anything are you?” you asked. Karina laughed. “Y/N! You're so funny right now. Are you nervous ?” she asked teasingly. 

“N-no, no,” you said. Of course Karina wouldn’t scare you, you thought. She was more into treats than tricks. Right? Before you could think it through, you found yourself adding, “If it’s anything like Moonbyul’s, I’m sure I’ll like it.” 

“Oh?” Karina asked, taking off her crown and shaking out her hair. “Why’s that?” 

You bit your tongue lightly as you watched her fingers run through her perfectly sleek, shiny hair. You absolutely could not say anything about her prizes coming with the promise of a kiss. Fuck . “Uh…” you lost your train of thought. “The…” 

Karina smirked a little, watching your wheels spin as you tried to come up with a response. “I see,” she said, cutting you off. “Y/N,” she continued, and you looked up at her. “Close your eyes and wait for your prize, okay?” You nodded, glancing down before closing your eyes. For a moment, everything was silent and still, and then you felt added weight on the couch. You caught a whiff of Karina’s perfume, letting you know she was beside you now. And then you felt something– no, not something, some one brush against your lips. Karina was kissing you . 

Desire spread through your body instantly. Your first instinct was to lean into it, but your head spun, and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or Karina’s dizzying presence. You leaned back for a moment and your eyes fluttered open. Karina’s face was just inches away from yours. 

“Is this okay?” she asked you softly, and you nodded. She leaned in and both of your eyes closed again while she kissed you. Her lips were warm and her tongue tasted sweet as it brushed against yours. Before you knew it, she was stripping you of your pirate hat, tossing it aside as she helped you lay down on the couch. Karina hovered above you, pressing herself gently against your corseted abdomen. Your breath hitched a little, making your chest heave as Karina’s hands wandered over your body lightly. Her hair tickled the sides of your face, waterfalling back over her shoulders while the two of you continued to make out. All of your senses were overwhelmed by her– her scent, her taste, and oh god , her touch. 

But just a few minutes later, she stopped and sat up. “Are you alright?” you asked, slightly breathless. She nodded and stood, then helped you up. “How would you feel about getting out of these costumes?” she asked, her head cocked to one side. 

Before you knew it, Karina was leading you upstairs. You barely had time to recognize that you were in Karina's room. She turned on a bit of soft light placed strategically underneath her bed so it wouldn’t blind either of you. “Do you want the rest of your prize?” she asked you. You nodded. Karina looked you up and down. “Then turn around,” she said. You did so, confused for a moment, but then you felt a tug on your corset. Karina was undoing your costume. She made quick work of the corset and your blouse, leaving you naked from the waist up. You felt her fingertips trail over your shoulders and down your arms, but just as soon as she was touching you, she stopped. You heard the sound of a zipper from behind you, and started to turn around. 

“Ah, ah,” Karina said. “Not yet,” she said. You heard the sound of her dress fall to the floor and your heart skipped a beat in anticipation. Karina’s hands returned to your body as she gently slid down your maxi skirt and helped you out of your boots. Her fingers wandered back toward your neck to remove your pearl necklaces, but she left the black, lace collar. “Leave it,” she said when you brought a hand up to touch it. “I like it.” One of her hands gripped your waist while the other toyed with the black garter around your thigh. “Leave this, too…for now,” she murmured. Once the two of you were fully out of your costumes she pressed herself against you from behind. Her hands wandered over the front of your body and then suddenly, you felt it. You let out a small gasp. Karina was hard. 

Giselle’s disco stick comment echoed in your ear for a moment. “Y/N?” Karina’s lips were near your ear, her voice soft. “Are you okay?”  

You nodded wordlessly, resisting the urge to grind against her. Your mouth watered a little. “C-can I turn around yet?” you asked. Karina answered by physically turning your body to face her. You leaned in to kiss her immediately while also using one hand to reach forward, gingerly taking her cock in your hand. Karina moaned lightly as she kissed you, her hips jutting forward to meet your touch. The second Karina’s lips separated from yours, you dropped to your knees, curious to see what kind of other pretty sounds you could elicit from her. Karina let out a small huff of amusement, watching fixedly as you took her in your mouth. 

“Eager, huh?” Karina murmured. Her teasing was short lived though as you bobbed your head on her length. You grew wet quickly, shifting your position a bit to try and relieve the ache between your thighs. Karina ran her hands through your hair, gathering it at the back of your head in a makeshift ponytail to keep it out of your face while you blew her. You quickly realized, though, her true intent was to be able to guide your mouth on her cock, testing to see how much you could handle. When she’d had enough, she pulled you up, only to push you back onto her bed a moment later. 

You were immediately hit by a wave of her scent, and then she was on top of you. She backed up a little and then leaned down, using her teeth to slide your garter down your thigh. Soon, it joined the rest of your costume on the floor while moved up and closer to you, kissing her way from your waist to your neck. You shivered a bit at her light touch, your hands weaving through her hair as she went. She used her knees to spread your legs, then pinned one of your wrists down to the bed. 

You wanted to hold Karina’s gaze when she finally slid into you, but after the first couple inches, your eyes rolled back and closed. Full . You were absolutely full of Karina. It took her a minute or so to bottom out in you. By the time she did, both of you were breathing heavily. You let out a tiny whimper the moment she started to move, and she consoled you with a few kisses while she slowly, slowly picked up speed. 

You felt magnetized to Karina as her body pressed tightly against yours while she fucked into you. Your wetness soon made it easy for her to pump her slick cock into you, and Karina took advantage of that. Her hips slammed into you as she went even faster, burying her head in your neck while your free hand wandered and explored over her body. 

You were lost in each other's rhythms and hungry, fervent sounds until suddenly, Karina slowed down significantly. “Shit,” she breathed, “Oh, fuck…” she pulled out quickly. She came on your near-ruined cunt, rope after rope of cum covering you. Watching her cum nearly sent you over the edge, but you knew you’d need more. 

The two of you said nothing for a few moments as you caught your breath, trying to wrap your head around the night. 

“Karina?” you said. 

“Y/N?” she replied in the same tone as you. 

“I’m…” you hesitated for a moment, but your aching cunt forced you to continue. “I’m on birth control– I mean, just so you know,” you said, your voice tapering off slightly. 

Karina’s eyebrows flew up, but then she grinned. She gently flipped you onto your stomach, rearranging you so your ass was up toward her waist. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “This time,” she said, lining herself up with your slick entrance, “I want you to touch yourself while I fuck you, okay?”

[fxrmuladaydreams]

the sensible decision (sv5) (dr3)

pornstar!seb x camgirl/pornstar!reader , pornstar!daniel x camgirl/pornstar!reader

summary: although your heart is split between decisions, your mind finds the sensible one easily

notes: i promised you guys seb was going to have to grovel and grovel he will

prev part next part

You don’t know why you expected to wake up with a clear answer, with an obvious sign that told you who you should choose. You don’t want to look at your phone, afraid of a text from either of them asking about the other.

You do manage to avoid your phone for the most part of the morning. You make your breakfast, shower, get ready for the day, but the nagging in the back of your head is incessant. You groan when you finally do grab your phone and look at your messages.

From Seb

Last night was fun schatz. If you still want to do a livestream together I’d like that

You sigh and text him back.

To Seb

I don’t know if I’ll have the time, I’ve been spending so much time with Daniel lately

Yes, it’s a low blow, but you know it’s what he deserves. You leave your chat with Sebastian and open your chat with Daniel.

From Daniel

How is it possible that you made me miss you after only being gone for a few hours? And that livestream was pure torture sweetheart

You smile at his message, practically giggling.

To Daniel

Well I think the torture is just what you needed after what you did to me in our video

You see him typing, then his message pops up.

From Daniel

I’m pretty sure you asked for it sweetheart

You can practically hear his voice. His Australian accent with a teasing tone, it sends a thrill through you.

To Daniel

Wanna hang out today? I don’t have any plans, and if it’ll make you less lonely I’m willing to sacrifice my time for you 😉

His response is almost immediate.

From Daniel

Sure sweetheart. Come over to mine whenever. And bring a swimsuit

You find a cute bikini that you think Daniel will like and pack a bag for your day. You pack basic pool items, sunscreen, a book, a towel.

You drive over to Daniel’s house once you’re finished getting ready. He greets you at the door in a dark blue sweatshirt and green swim trunks. He gives you a toothy grin as he pulls you inside.

“Hungry?” He asks.

“No, I’m alright, thank you though.” You tell him, but your stomach grumbles in protest.

“I’ll make us some lunch.” He says.

You follow him to his kitchen and take a seat on a stool he’s got at his bar top. You watch as he gathers a few things, from his cupboards and fridge. He asks what kind of sandwich you’d like then gets to work putting it together for you. He passes you a glass of water with your food once he’s finished.

He slides onto the stool next to yours with a sandwich of his own.

You glance around his kitchen. It’s a good size, the bar top you’re sitting at is fairly large with a few seats down to the end. You know his living room is quite big as well.

“So what do you do with all this space? What do I have to do to get on the guest list for all the ragers I’m sure you throw here?” You nudge him with your elbow.

He laughs and shakes his head. “Trust me, there are no ragers.” He takes a sip from his glass. “I want to be able to have people over. I like the idea of being able to hang out, spend time with the people I care about.”

“That’s really nice. I’m sure they appreciate it.” You smile and nod.

He looks down at his lap as if he’s hiding from you. “Well I haven’t really found them yet, so…”

“What do you mean?”

“With our line of work it’s hard to figure out who actually cares about you, and who just wants something from you, you know?” He looks over at you.

You know that feeling all too well. “I do.”

He hums and takes a bite of his sandwich.

You lean closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder. “Well, then I’m happy to be the first one here.”

He smiles softly as his cheeks flush a soft pink.

Once you finish your lunch, Daniel guides you outside to his pool deck. You toss your bag on one of the lounge chairs and pull the dress you’re wearing over your head to reveal your swimsuit.

Daniel can’t take his eyes off of you. Sure he’d seen you in much more compromising positions, but this, with the lack of a camera, felt intimate.

“See something you like Ricciardo?” You ask him, winking.

Oh, two can play at that game. He thinks as he tugs his sweatshirt off, tossing it onto another lounge chair.

You can’t help but stare at his bare torso. The tanned skin becomes taut when he stretches his arms. His swim trunks riding up to reveal a gorgeous tattoo that had been peeking out on his thigh. You notice he’s got tattoos scattered everywhere. Some on his arms, his legs, even his hands.

You have to hold yourself back from stepping forward to run your fingers along the designs.

“See something you like sweetheart?” He smirks.

You scoff and dig around in your bag for your sunscreen. Pulling it out you turn back to Daniel. “Help me put this on?”

He takes the bottle from you and empties pours some into his hand. He massages it into the skin on your back and shoulders. You can feel just how big Daniel is as he stands behind you, practically looming over you. His hands cover a good portion of your back, and his thick fingers fiddle with the flimsy strings holding your bikini together. You remember just what those fingers can do as you let your eyes flutter shut.

He steps away from you once he’s finished, taking his warmth with him.

You finish applying the sunscreen on yourself and lay out on your lounge chair. You pull your book out of your bag and open it with the full intent to read, but you can’t stop yourself from watching Daniel in the pool.

The muscles in his back flex as he does laps around the pool, his arms look deliciously strong. He keeps swimming around and around for a while, before he groans and swims over to the edge of the pool.

“You know, I thought you’d actually end up in the pool with me.” He says.

You sigh. “I’ll sit on the edge, is that enough for you?” You ask giving him a teasing smile.

He lets you get comfortable on the lip of the pool as he stands next to you, looking up at you. The sun sits perfectly behind you, creating a glowing effect, giving you a halo.

“Happy now?” You ask.

He grins as he wraps his arms around your legs and pulls you down into the water. You both end up submerged, you cling to him as you struggle to regain your sense of balance. You gasp when you come up from the water, giving him a smack on the chest.

“What the hell Daniel?” You shout.

He’s laughing too hard to give you an actual response. You can’t tell if he’s got tears running down his face or if it’s just the water dripping from his hair.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” He manages to get out in between laughs.

“It’s not funny! I could’ve drowned and died!” You try to pull away from him, crossing your arms over your chest.

He quickly reaches out for you and grabs onto your thighs, easily pulling you up and wrapping them around his waist. Your arms wrap around his neck so you don’t fall backwards.

He bats his eyelashes at you and softly says “I promise I won’t let you drown and die sweetheart.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “Fine, you’re forgiven.”

When your eyes meet his you realize just how close you are. You can see all the little details of his face. The slight bump of his nose, the freckles that decorate his cheeks, the specs of gold in his eyes.

He seems to be doing the same to you, trying to commit your features to memory, then his eyes stop at your lips. He looks like he’s having an internal debate with himself.

“Can I- can I kiss you?” He asks, his eyes trailing back up your face to your eyes.

You don’t answer him, instead you lift a hand to the back of his head and press your lips against his.

[rosevette]

·.༄࿔ TAKE ME TO PARIS pt. 1 my mlist

𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒌 & 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

💋ྀིྀི résumé : meeting the man of your dreams at an art auction in Paris isn’t too good to be true, right ? Well, your bodyguard thinks just the opposite.

1.0k words + tags : dumb, ‘naive’ !reader, manipulation, fantasizing, smut, age gap, pet names, fingering, slight non-con, evil intent ⭑

୭ৎ … this is lowk based on one of my bots with marquis here … this is my first little blurb, I don’t really write but this idea is too good to not share w yall. if u see any spelling or grammar mistakes , ignore !! part two here - sincerely, rose

IN THE HEART OF PARIS, amidst the elegant splendor of an art auction, you found yourself captivated by the beauty of the pieces on display. Adorned in a gown of midnight blue silk, you moved gracefully through the room, your eyes alight with fascination as you admired each exquisite masterpiece.

As you lingered before a stunning portrait, a voice broke through the murmurs of the crowd.

"A breathtaking piece, is it not?" Turning, you found yourself face to face with a tall, green eyed brooding man. Dressed in a tailored suit of charcoal grey, he exuded an air of effortless charm as he regarded you with a knowing smile.

"Yes, it truly is," you replied, unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing emerald eyes. Engaging in polite small talk, you found yourself drawn into conversation with the stranger, his wit and sophistication captivating your attention.

“Marquis De Gramont. And you?” He spoke with a thick French accent, his thin lips forming a smile as he extended out his arm, opening his hand for you to shake. Flattered by him already, you shake his hand, your other one clutching onto your purse as you introduced yourself.

How charming, he was, you thought to yourself. He was not only handsome, but was a gentleman as well. You could tell by the way he just suited himself, and that sparkle in his eyes you glanced at whenever you two conversed.

One thing you didn’t know was that in fact, this man was the complete opposite of charming and well, a gentleman. Yes, he held himself with impeccable style and his composure was kept controlled, but the thoughts that came across his mind were just pure sin. He thought of how pretty you would look with your dress rolled up to your stomach as he pounded into you in the back of his limousine, maybe even perhaps hidden in an empty aisle of this very art auction.

The way his hands are would just fit around that small neck, the pearls that would fall on the ground as he pulled it off of you, and finally, your watery puppy eyed face he’d enjoy seeing begging and pleading for him to stop , or maybe even for more.

As the auction commenced, you both found yourselves bidding on a magnificent painting—a Madonna and Child by Duccio. With each raise of the paddle, the tension between you grew, the excitement of the bidding war fueling your competitive spirit.

In the end, it was you who emerged victorious, the winning bid earning you the coveted artwork. As you basked in the glow of your triumph, the Marquis offered you a gracious smile, masking the flicker of his ulterior motives in his eyes.

Later that evening, as the auction drew to a close and guests began to depart, the Marquis De Gramont approached you once more, his charming smile never faltering.

"Ah, ma chérie, it seems fate has brought us together once again," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk as he took your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. A blush crept onto your cheeks at his bold gesture, and you chuckled softly in response.

"Perhaps our paths will cross again during your time in Paris," you replied, returning his flirtatious banter with a playful glint in your eye.

As you turned to leave, blowing a teasing kiss in his direction, you couldn't shake the feeling of his lingering gaze on your back. Climbing into the waiting limousine, you settled into the plush seat beside your ever-watchful bodyguard, John Wick. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he glanced at you.

"Was that the Marquis?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

You rolled your eyes, dismissing his worry with a wave of your hand.

"And what about him, John?" you retorted, feigning nonchalance as you closed the door behind you.

"You shouldn't be so friendly with strangers," John admonished, his concern palpable as he turned his attention back to the road.

Returning to the luxurious confines of the Ritz Paris, you found yourself lost in thought, the memory of your encounter with the Marquis lingering in your mind. Despite John's warnings, you couldn't shake the feeling that the Marquis's intentions were harmless. Little did you know, danger lurked just beyond the facade of charm and sophistication.

The next morning, as sunlight streamed through the silk curtains of your suite, you awoke to find John reading quietly on the sofa.

"I ordered some room service," he informed you, his gaze never leaving the pages of his book. You greeted him with a playful smirk, teasing him for his lack of a proper morning greeting.

While indulging in breakfast, your attention was drawn to a shiny box nestled among the pastries on the cart. With curiosity piqued, you opened it to find a stunning Van Cleef necklace in your favorite shade of sapphire blue. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the accompanying note, the words "for mon chérie" sending a chill down your spine.

Assuming it was a thoughtful gesture from John, you were taken aback when you realized the true sender. The Marquis's charm had ensnared you once again, his gift a reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. With a sense of foreboding settling over you, you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises the Marquis had in store.

End of part 1. Part 2.

© rosevette 2024 . do not copy !

[itsallyscorner]

Coffee Talk | H.S

pairing: boyfriend!Harry x fem!reader

warnings: it’s supposed to be like a podcast episode so it’s a little long and has a lot of dialogue—just did some experimenting, lmk what you guys think :)

overview: Harry is a guest on your podcast.

a/n: Clearly, I’ve been listening/watching a lot of podcasts. I just like hearing people talk. Reader’s co-host, Mable, is inspired by Selena Gomez <3

Coffee Talk Ep. 96: (Y/n)‘s Boyfriend, Hobama, and Marriage

“Hello friends and welcome back to another episode of Coffee Talk! I’m your host, (Y/n), and I hope you are all doing well!” You waved at the camera doing your usual intro.

You did a drumroll with your hands on the table and continued, “Now, we have an exciting episode for you guys today. You have been asking—basically begging—for us to get this person on the pod and it’s finally happening today! So grab a blanket, get some snacks, and get comfortable, because this is gonna be a fun one!”

The video cuts to your co-host, Mable, who is sitting across from you on a loveseat.

“I feel like we should build the tension before we tell them who it is.” Mabel chimes in, stirring her Starbucks cup (whose label has been covered since you guys aren’t sponsored by Starbies).

“That was a really good segue for Roll Call, Mae.” You pointed out, calling her by her nickname.

“I gotchu, babe.” Mable assured you, throwing a wink in your direction. You laughed and adjusted your legs up on the couch you were on, “Right, so obviously, we have Mable across from me. How are ya, Mae? What’s the coffee order today?”

Mable smiled at you and crossed her legs, “Well since you asked so kindly. I’m doing very great this morning (y/n/n) and I have a caramel macchiato today.”

The video then cuts to Ryland who had a “bitch please” look on his face, “Mable’s only happy because she got laid last night.”

“RYLAND!” Mable screamed in shock, the video cutting to her reaction. The room erupted with laughter as she flipped him off and let empty threats stumble out of her lips at Ryland.

“YOU LITERALLY TEXTED IT IN THE GROUP CHAT!” Ryland stressed, leaning over the table to get closer to Mable. The video moved to you taking a long sip of your coffee while a familiar tattooed arm rested behind you on the couch.

“Clearly, the energy is through the roof today in the pod—we’ll probably get to Mable’s sex life in a bit.” You paused, smirking at your friend, “But back to roll call, we’ve got Ryland on cameras and sound. Ryland, how are you pookie?”

Ryland posed at the camera in front of him and waved wildly at it, “I’m doing swell stinkabutt.”

“What’s your coffee order today—actually Ryland doesn’t have coffee today, he has juice.” You explained to your listeners. Ryland held up his green juice, “Yeah, I’m on a juice cleanse everyone. Me and Sean are going to Aruba in a few weeks and I refuse to work out, so I’m drinking juice instead.”

“You look great Ry.” A voice off camera chimed in. The voice had a distinct accent that could only belong to a specific someone. Ryland smiled at the person, “Thanks Ha—wait I was just about to spoil who it was.” He immediately clasped his hand over his mouth with wide eyes.

“Y’know what, we’ve made you guys wait long enough.” You sighed before continuing, “Our guest is very special to me. He’s a recent Grammy winner, one of the biggest artists in the world, and he happens to be my boyfriend; please welcome to the pod mister Harry Styles!” You cheered, causing everyone in the room to clap. The video finally cut to Harry who was sat next you on a blush pink couch nursing a pastel yellow mug.

Harry adorable scrunched his nose and waved at you all bashfully, “Oh, stop it.”

“How does it feel to be on the pod, Harry?” You asked, turning your body towards him. Harry nodded and looked around the room, “I’m happy to be here, love, thanks f’having me. Also, I like what you’ve guys done to our shed, s’very comfy.”

“I totally forgot we were in your shed.” Ryland chuckled.

“Oh yeah, to everyone listening or watching, we’ve been filming this podcast in Harry and (Y/n)’s backyard.” Mable explained to the audience with a chuckle.

“It’s not a problem honestly, I’m glad you guys are getting some use out of it.” Harry assured you all as he glanced at the decorations around the room. There was an old school looking blush couch in the center of the room, which was across from a burnt mustard colored love seat. While the walls were painted a darker shade of matcha green with fairy lights strung along it.

Harry was seen glancing at the rug as he toed at it with his socked foot. “Where’d y’get the rug?” He asked you.

You peeked at said rug, “Your mom picked it out when she was helping me furniture shop here.” Harry’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape as he leaned back into the cushion, one of his legs crossed beneath him and the other hung off the couch.

“So Harold, what’s the coffee order today?” You motioned to his coffee. He proudly held the yellow mug up and smiled at the camera, “I’ve got my usual black coffee, courtesy of my lovely girlfriend.”

The camera panned to you hiding behind your Starbucks cup trying to hide your heated cheeks.

“And what do you have today, love?” Harry returned the question, naturally fitting into the conversation. You looked at the label on your cup, “I have my usual coffee order—H actually went out on a coffee run for me and Mable, so thank you bubs.” You answered, the corners of your mouth quirked up.

“They make me sick.” Ryland fake gagged.

“Aren’t you also in a relationship?” Mable narrowed her eyes at him. Ryland rolled his eyes at her, “Yeah, but they make me sick in a good way, like the wholesomeness is just too much.”

“What the fuck..”

Harry grinned at Ryland, “Y’gonna be fuckin’ puking by the time we’re done then.”

The camera cut to Mable smirking at you, “I find it so weird how you’re being so quiet.”

“Me?” You pointed at yourself amusingly. Harry glanced at you and visibly scooted closer to you. The sound of equipment being moved can be heard over the audio since Harry attempted to discreetly move his mic stand next to yours.

“Yes ma’am.” Mable nodded. You placed your cup on the round coffee table beside you.

“I don’t know why, but it just settled in that this is us, kind of like hard launching our relationship to the public.” You softly answered, hands fiddling with your (Harry’s) loose knitted sweater.

“But everyone knows you guys are together.” Ryland stated, confusion etched on his features. Harry rose his hand to answer. You giggled at him and nudged his arm, “You don’t need to raise your hand to speak, hun.”

“Sorry.” He shook his head.

“Don’t be.” You chuckled, allowing Harry to continue. “Everyone knows, but we haven’t been very public, y’know? We like keeping things between us. Like, this is the most public we’ve ever been.” He gestures to you guys sitting beside each other.

You chimed in jokingly, “Yeah, this is our first time sitting next to each other—like ever.”

Harry nodded along, “I’m shitting m’pants right now.” He stated, causing a few chuckles in the room.

“How much persuasion did it take for (Y/n) to get you on the pod?” Mable asked Harry, sipping her coffee. Harry’s brows furrowed as he stared at the ceiling.

“Not much. She asked and I was like—yeah, I’m down.” He answered, shrugging his shoulders for emphasis. You chuckled at him and added, “He’s forgetting the part when he admitted that he’s been waiting for me to ask him to guest star.”

“Have you really been waiting?” Ryland questioned your boyfriend. Harry’s brows raised as he exclaimed, “Yes! I bloody have! You guys literally had my sister on here before me!”

You all laughed at his slight frustration, “I swear it wasn’t on purpose!” The camera cuts to you and Harry, your hand squeezing his knee.

“Wait so did you guys meet through Harry’s sister?” Mable asked you both, she then was quick to add, “If you guys don’t mind me asking!”

You waved her off to assure her it was fine.

“We met through his stylist Harry Lambert.” You began before pointing to the camera, “Shout out to Lamby by the way!” Harry followed suit and instead waved at the camera with a lopsided grin.

“Anyway, Lamby and I know each other through work. We’re under the same company and we do similar things, etc. One day he invited me to come out to one of H’s shows, I didn’t have anything better to do, so I decided to go.”

“We met before the show though, remember?” Harry gently interjected, using his arm behind you to tap your shoulder. You nodded, “Yeah we did, I was fortunate enough to meet him before he went out on stage and we got on really well—“

You looked at Harry, “We probably spent about five minutes talking, right?”

“Yeh, it was pretty quick. I don’t know if you felt it at first, but like—Y’know that feeling when you kinda just know a person is gonna have some kind of impact on y’life?” Harry wondered aloud, hands waving around to try and get his point across. Mable and Ryland nodded, making sounds of agreement.

“It was like that and I thought about it the entire time I was on stage. After that everything seemed to fall into place and the rest was history.” Harry finished, smacking his hand on his leg. Ryland was the first to speak, “So after the concert did you try to always come up with an excuse to go to his shows or did you try to persuade Harry Lambert to invite (Y/n) more often?” Ryland pointed between the couple in front of him.

You and Harry stared at each other, his brow raised at you while your eyes squinted at his. Harry stuck his pointer finger out, “Well I got her number after, so I didn’t have to make any excuses for her to be at my shows. I’d invite her, she’d come and watch, then we would hang out after. Sometimes when we were in the same place, we would meet up too.”

“I’m assuming this went on for months?” Mable looked between you and Harry.

“Yeah, but the thing is, he was touring and I was working. So we had to be in different places all the time.” You clarified. Harry picked off where you left, “We managed to make it work though, I don’t think either of us were going to give up that easily.”

The video caught you and Harry gazing into each other’s eyes momentarily.

“Absolutely.” You agreed, scrunching your nose at him, similar to what he did earlier. Mable pouted at the two of you, “You guys are so cute.”

Harry quietly thanked her as he situated himself on the couch again. While Mable and Ryland gushed about how much you guys were “goals”, the famous singer got even more comfortable on the couch. He placed his mug down and leaned his body against your side, he softly took your arm and held it against his chest so you were holding him. He leaned the mic lower so it was closer to him and was mindful of where his feet was to avoid bumping his mug on the floor.

“I’m just curious, but what are like the weirdest rumors have you guys heard about yourselves?” Ryland asked, moving the conversation along.

“I don’t have any.” Mable shrugged.

“Maybe that guy last night can share some, should we call him?” You sang, jokingly pulling out your phone. Mable groaned and slapped her forehead with her palm, “I hate the both of you.”

“I’ve heard stuff about us, but I really think this rumor would be more fun to talk about.” You pondered. Harry shifted his head on your chest to look up at you, “Wha’ rumor?”

The corner of your lip turned into a smirk as you simply said, “Hobama.”

Harry suddenly threw his head back and bursted out laughing.

“Like President Obama?” Ryland screamed in shock, his brows raised to his forehead.

“I honestly don’t know how it started. It randomly popped up on the tabloids and followed me around for years—till this day, might I add!” Harry tried to clarify.

“I feel like it got even worse when Graham asked you about it.” You chuckled, fingers mindlessly playing with Harry’s brunette curls.

“What did Graham ask?” Mable leaned towards the couple.

“He asked if it was true that I had a sexual relationship or affair with Obama—I knew they were gonna ask me about it prior to the show being filmed. But at the time I was like fuck it and just went along w’it.” Harry started, “I didn’t know that it would become an actual thing.” He deadpanned, sending a look at the camera.

“Have there been any Hobama signs at any of your recent shows?” Ryland squinted his eyes at Harry.

“Not a one.” Harry paused, “But after this episode airs, I wouldn’t be surprised if I see a couple in the crowds.”

Mable crossed her arms, “Your shows are very interesting—in a good way—of course.”

“Thank you.” Harry grinned, “Yeh, we’ve got a lot of things going on. Every night it’s like a giant sleep over with a bunch of friends. We sing songs, we dance—“

“Trauma dumping!” Ryland interjected excitedly. Harry gestured to the man opposite him, “Right, we do therapy sessions.”

“Don’t forget the gender reveals, proposals, and helping them come out.” You continued to list, Harry nodding his head at every thing you said.

“Harry’s like a Swiss Army knife, he just does everything.” Mable joked. Ryland sighed and rested his chin in his palm, “You’re so talented.”

“You’re better at controlling cameras and all the sound equipment than me.” Harry acknowledged, raising a brow at him. Ryland snapped his finger at the Brit, “You’re so right, thank you, Harry.”

Harry placed his hand on his heart, “I gotcha man.” You then raised your hand, catching Harry’s attention, “Yes, m’love?”

“Can I just say how proud I am of you and like how insanely successful the tour has been?” You sat up, making Harry sit up as well. He remained close to you, wrapping his arm back around your shoulder. Though your statement made him pout at you, “Y’make my heart feel fuzzy.”

Mable and Ryland audibly awed at the both of you.

“No! Like seriously, it makes me so proud to see how much of a safe space your concert is to all you fans and anyone who steps foot into those shows.” You placed your hand on his tattooed arm and gave it a small squeeze. “I don’t think you realize how much of an impact you make on people’s lives, like we all appreciate you so much and I just wanted to remind you of that.” You shrugged, shrinking into your own shoulders.

“C’mere.” Harry said dragging out his words as he pulled you into a hug, this time he held you and your head was tucked into the crook of his neck. Instead of letting you go, Harry helped you get comfortable in his arms.

“While we’re at it, I just wanted to say how much fun I’m having right now. Thank you guys for having me” Harry gestured to Mable and Ryland across from him then turned to you, “And thank you to you for allowing me to be in your workspace and sharing it with me. You’ve always supported me throughout everything and now I finally get to support you and your craft, so thank you for trusting me to be here.”

Now it was your turn to pout, though there was a twinkle in you eye, “Thank you, H.” You hummed as Harry pecked your temple.

“I’m rooting so hard for you guys, you have no idea.” Mable said from her seat, the camera cut to Ryland who agreed.

“Yeh, I guess we like each other a lot.” Harry joked. You smiled softly at him.

“I don’t wanna intrude but is there a possible wedding in the future?” Ryland asked. It was silent between you and Harry, the both of you staring at each other before answering.

“I think so, I have some pretty high hopes.” You answered. Harry made a sound of agreement, “I think when everything calms down we’ll figure it out, but without a doubt it’s definitely in the cards.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and added, “Let me release the fourth album and then I’ll put a ring on it.”

The camera cut to you blushing with wide eyes, clearly taken off guard by your boyfriend’s comment. Mable and Ryland were quick to react, sending you teasing looks and screaming “oooo”.

The corner of Harry’s mouth lifted into a smirk, turning his head to look at you he asked, “How’s that sound?”

You scrunched your nose (adorably, Harry might add) and pretended to put some thought into it.

“Sounds like a plan, but on one condition.”

Harry’s brows raised as he waited for you to continue.

“You have to release Medicine.” You said, Harry caught on to your banter and feigned an annoyed sigh, “Babe, we’ve talked about this.”

“Fine, then can we get a puppy?”

“Of course we can, darling, we’ll have one by tomorrow morning.” Harry jested, sounding incredibly posh.

You turned to the camera apologetically and spoke directly to your boyfriend’s fans, “Sorry guys, I tried.”

Though in reality, you knew that Harry would release Medicine in a heartbeat if you asked him to.

[wing-ed-thing]

Life of the Party (Niji Vinsmoke x Reader)

Synopsis: An infamous flirt who throws the best parties in town, your charm utterly captivated your favorite guest, Niji Vinsmoke. But at your latest rager, Niji finds that your attention and favoritism aren't exclusive to him.

Word Count: 5k

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Modern AU, Petnames (baby, sweetheart, hotstuff, babe), Reader Flirts with Everyone, Slight!Zoro x Reader, Pretentious Rich (Adult) Kids, Everyone is Shallow and Selfish and Kinda Sucks, Name Calling, Language, Verbal Fights, Alcohol, Suggestive Language

Notes: Maybe I went a little beyond the prompt, but Niji and this MC were such a blast to write I love this setting

The Vinsmoke boys were hardly strangers to a good rager, and when it came to ones that Ichiji would readily, intentionally drag himself out to, your parties were almost always guaranteed his presence. He’d even go as far as to put it in his calendar, for fuck’s sake, and it wasn’t just for the free booze. 

As you perked up from the other side of the pool, Ichiji was reminded why he had gone through the trouble of dragging his brothers out in the first place. You made a show of standing up on a sturdy, expensive-looking pool chair as you waved, and to a lack of surprise, you were wearing something that left little to the imagination. 

The booze was bottomless, the guest list was always impressive, and all the decor was as high-end as money could buy. Extra, as Yonji had once described it, or perhaps he was describing you. It all accented the modern pool in the center of your yard that easily cost tens of thousands of dollars in and of itself, yet all of it paled compared to the actual reason Ichiji always showed up.

By the time you dismounted and began to run toward them— with little regard for how the colorful drink in your hand was spilling over the edges— Niji had stopped mid-sentence to take his sunglasses off to reveal shining, blue, captivated eyes. 

You were the one person who could make Niji shut the fuck up.

“Ichiji, baby.” He leaned to accept the two kisses you placed on his cheeks. He wouldn’t do the same for anyone else, and both of you knew it. You spared a glance just behind the eldest Vinsmoke son before returning your self-satisfied gaze to Ichiji. “Need a babysitter that bad?”

Ichiji let out a reluctant sigh. You could always clock him faster than he expected. He should have known as much; it happened every single time. 

“Please just take him.” 

“There’s already a drink for you at the bar.” With a wink, you swatted him away with the back of your hand, and it didn’t take much more convincing for Ichiji to wander off. 

Niji had been particularly insufferable for the past week, which was saying something considering that regularly insufferable seemed to be Niji’s default state. 

When you turned your attention to Yonji, you noticed that he had already taken his shirt off, grabbing it from the back collar to heave over his head and throw somewhere onto the lawn. He donned lime green swim trunks, and his brown sandals were also lost somewhere in the grass. You’d surely find them tomorrow morning and add them to the growing stock of clothes Yonji had already left at your place. He certainly passed out in the guest room enough times.

Yonji barely greeted you with a simple “Hey hot stuff,” leaning down to just brush his lips across your cheek as he bounded toward the pool. You caught something about an inflatable crocodile before you heard a loud splash behind you. 

Niji was left grinning from ear to ear as you sauntered toward him, grabbing him by the loose tie he wore and pulling it tight around his throat. You tugged him toward you to plant a kiss on the corner of his lips.

”Hi, Niji.” 

Niji was your favorite, and that was something he reveled in every blessed day he had on earth. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” 

You pulled back, still keeping a grip on Niji’s tie. Your bottom thumb swiped along the opposite corner of his mouth to clear away a bit of drool. You had him wrapped all the way around your finger, and if his reactions were any more cartoonishly apparent, you might have seen tiny little hearts in his pretty blue eyes. 

His finger hooked around the band of your swimsuit.

“I like this.” 

“I thought you might. It’s new; I got it this weekend—”

Niji’s touch recoiled as you led him to the other side of the pool where you had been before, pulling him by his tie. The thin, patterned tie that complimented his casual, sleeveless, black button-down draped nicely over the back of your shoulder, and you continued to play with it as you sat and leaned your side against his chest.

You sat on the cushion of the deep poolside lounge between Niji’s spread thighs with one arm draped over his shoulder. Your legs curled over his left leg. The hand over his shoulder played with his undercut, causing a shiver to go down his back. 

“There was this new cafe that opened in Cocoyashi that I was dying to go to, and so, of course, I had to call up Nami because she’s from there, you know. Did you know that Nami grew up in Cocoyashi?” you babbled. Niji nodded along, a scotch neat somehow having found itself in his hand.

“That’s crazy,” Niji hummed, taking a sip. 

“And so she’s showing me all these boutiques. Oh! The cafe had this blueberry danish that made me think of you. You have to go and try it…” 

You usually rambled on like this, draping yourself over Niji’s arm or placing yourself in his lap to tell him all about the frivolous little treats you had bought yourself since the last time you’d seen each other. You dropped names in every other sentence, many of which Niji didn’t know nor care. 

If he was being frank, when it came to your babbling, Niji couldn’t’ve given less of a shit, and if you were anyone else, he would’ve already pushed you off his lap. But you kept a few fingers running through his hair and a drink in his hand, and so, the more Niji drank, the less he cared how chatty you were.

“Niji, have you been working out?” You splayed a hand over his chest, tossing his tie over his shoulder. You knew when you were losing him as well as you knew how to rein him back.

Niji grinned widely, slouching a bit more into the couch with one arm slung over the back cushions and the other around your waist. 

“Yeah,” he bragged, a light red tinge on his cheeks. “I’ve been on a cut.”

Niji had the textbook definition of a swimmer’s body. Tall, with a lean, muscular build and broad shoulders, his figure was toned and objectively attractive. A cut, he said with his second glass in his hand. You must’ve been exceptional.

“Wow, really?” you asked, letting your eyes wander as Niji began some tangent about red meat or protein something. 

Suddenly, you shot up, nearly causing Niji to jump with you as you let out a boisterous scream before shooting off toward the other end of the lawn. New guests typically parked out front in your massive, circular driveway and let themselves in the main entrance and out the back door to the pool area. You bounded toward the door, just about throwing yourself at the man who had just arrived before he could even step fully onto the lawn.

Yonji resurfaced from under the water, raising his arms to hold the ledge near where Niji had been left. Niji sat at the edge of the couch cushion, elbows over his knees as his leg bounced.

“The hell is that all about?” Yonji asked, not about to see from the pool. 

Niji grumbled, pursing his lips inward as he glanced toward you and then back to Yonji with a rude, pointing gesture of his thumb.

“Did you know Roronoa was gonna be here?” 

Yonji turned, keeping a hand on the ledge of the pool.

“Oh, shit.” 

Niji huffed again. Yonji’s reaction hadn’t exactly been helpful. Niji looked away for a second, and by the time he looked back, the group at the entrance of the yard had multiplied. Niji stood up, storming over to the other side the moment he laid eyes on a familiar cut of blond hair. 

“A 2015 Château Margaux, an elegant wine for an elegant host.” 

“Aw, Sanji, you shouldn’t have! You’re so sweet.”

Sanji was more than eager to receive the two kisses you offered his cheeks. 

Niji passed the one guy who competed in the professional shooting competitions, who was making his way to the pool before nearly colliding with the bigger guy who always hosted barbecues at the beach that Niji never went to. Jesus, the entire crew was here.

Niji glared holes in the back of Sanji’s head, grabbing him by the back collar of his Hawaiian shirt before yanking him back. He disappeared from the group quietly enough, with everyone’s attention captivated by you while you were captivated by everyone else. The life of a host never had its breaks, Niji supposed.

“The hell you think you’re doing here?” It wasn’t the smartest question, but it was the one that left Niji’s lips.

Sanji ripped himself away from his brother’s grasp to face him defensively. Sanji had gone to live with their mother almost ten years ago, and despite Sora’s attempts to build close bonds amongst her children, Sanji hardly spoke to any of his brothers after he turned sixteen. Niji suspected he kept in contact with Reiju, but she’d never tell him and Niji certainly didn’t care. Now, in adulthood, while the Vinsmoke siblings would see each other on occasion, it was almost never purposeful. 

“We were invited, dumbass.”

You knew everyone; by extension, everyone was invited to your extravagant parties. Sanji had been to them before, as had other friends you and Sanji shared mutually. They, however, were an uncoordinated bunch and rarely showed up together. Zoro was a rare sighting in and of himself. 

“God damn, Zoro, where’d you get these?”

You stood in front of him, weight shifted to your hip. You held the bottle of wine from Sanji cradled in your left elbow while your right hand wrapped around Zoro’s exposed bicep. He wore a sleeveless workout hoodie and dark green basketball shorts. Your hand barely wrapped around half his muscle. 

“I dunno. They’re the same size as last time.”

“No way. They’re definitely bigger. Are you gonna get in the pool?”

“Ha! Not with that bar over there, are you kiddin’ me?”

Niji came up behind you, snaking an arm gingerly around your lower back as he leaned in, trying to catch your attention from your peripheral. He made eye contact with Zoro, who immediately frowned at his presence.

The begrudgingly mutual tolerance Zoro appeared to have with Sanji didn’t appear to extend to any of the other Vinsmoke brothers. Yonji occasionally worked out with him, but they were hardly close enough to hang out outside the gym. Zoro glanced Niji up and down before crossing his arms. 

Niji’s reputation proceeded him. 

“Vinsmoke.”

“Roronoa.”

“Niji, come check out Zoro’s arms. Aren’t they crazy?” You were oblivious to the silent round of ocular fisticuffs that occurred out of your range of sight. Zoro stared Niji straight on, an acutely smug smirk twitching the corner of his mouth. “You must have a killer routine.”

“Kenpō,” Zoro said, popping the “p” sound. 

Niji tore his eyes away from Zoro and tugged at the band of your swimsuit.

“C’mon, baby, weren’t we talkin’ about something?” he tried to laugh, trying to fight off the way he was burning up inside. Niji’s barely restrained temper usually got him kicked out of events like these, but he wasn’t about to break one of the only rules you had.

One, don’t break shit. Two, don’t steal shit. Three, no fights.

“Not really.” You shrugged off his touch, much to Niji’s dismay. 

He immediately scowled. You didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to. Zoro, on the other hand…

“Hey, man, you got a problem or something?”  

Zoro’s arm extended in front of you, making you step back as he pivoted to stand partially between you and Niji. Niji was forced to step back, and for once, he took a second to think carefully as a deep scowl contorted his lips. Well, he thought as carefully as Niji could think. 

The usual slouch of his back disappeared as he rose to his full height, squaring his shoulders back. He had a few inches on Zoro in height, even as Zoro stood with his chest puffed out and his arms crossed over his chest. They squared each other up, moving in close before you injected yourself between them. You planted a firm palm in the middle of Zoro’s chest and then Niji’s, having to put a bit of effort into pushing them apart. 

“Alright, boys, tone it down with the testosterone. If you’re gonna fight, you’re not doing it here.” You frowned, trying to shoo both of them in different directions. “Grab a drink or something.”

They held heated glares even despite your protests. 

“I’m not the one who has the problem here.”

“You white-knighting, Roronoa?”

“God, just kiss already or shut the fuck up!” You snipped at the two of them, turning to scold one away before turning around to dismiss the other. You snapped your fingers before grabbing the bottle of wine you had shoved into Sanji’s arms. “C’mon,” you said to him with a huff. “I wanna open this.”

Sanji gladly followed you inside. Zoro rolled his eyes and made for the bar, and Niji, not one to give up so easily, chased after you, calling your name. 

You barely reached the doorway to your house when you stopped, letting your shoulders fall with a dramatic sigh. Sanji was a few steps ahead of you. His mouth opened as Niji continued to pester you, stepping forward to get involved. But you stopped him, once again passing the bottle of wine off to Sanji as you started to get annoyed.

“Sanji, love, be a dear and open this please. I’ll be right over.” You accented your words with a pointed glance Niji’s way. 

Sanji was reluctant to back off, glancing between you and his brother before slowly entering the kitchen. The modern, open kitchen was just inside the back door. Nami and Robin were already seated at the island, chatting amongst themselves as they snacked on the ridiculously large charcuterie spread. 

You pulled Niji aside. 

“What?” you snipped. Niji shifted his weight to his back leg and shoved a hand casually into the pocket of his shorts with a wide grin. He trailed the back of his knuckles along your cheek. 

“You know I love it when you get all fiery, baby, but c’mon now—” He glanced toward where Sanji was pouring wine. — “The hell are you hanging out with my loser brother for when we were having such a great time?”

You rolled your eyes. Niji scowled as you pushed his hand away.

“Because you’re being annoying, Niji,” you pouted, crossing your arms over your chest with an upturned nose. Niji visibly darkened, shoving his other hand into his empty pocket as he hunched over you. “Maybe don’t act like a freak when I’m just trying to say hi to my friends.” 

“Oh, is that what you’re calling feeling up Roronoa?” His voice dropped in tone, but didn’t lose the arrogant attitude. Niji cocked his head to the side, his face growing closer to yours. You blinked in astonishment, lip curling as you recoiled. 

“The fuck?” you spat. “Have you seen the way I talk to you and your brothers? With literally everyone here? Or is it because it’s Zoro?” Niji’s expression visibly twitched at the mention of Zoro’s name. His back straightened the slightest bit before he leaned back toward you, arms crossed tightly over his arms. 

“It’s different.” 

“Literally, how?” You glanced around the corridor you stood in. You weren’t very secluded, but no one appeared to have followed the two of you to check out the commotion. You’d prefer to keep it that way. “Because you don’t have to like everyone I’m friends with. I haven’t seen him in a long time, Niji, so why don’t you shut the fuck up.“

“Hey, watch it,” Niji gritted. He grew closer, and you glanced him up and down with disgust. 

“Or what? Are you gonna fuck me up, Niji?” You pushed him back. Niji’s arms unfurled as he almost slammed his back into an adjacent wall. “Are you gonna beat me unconscious because I’ve pissed you off?” 

You were getting in his face, and Niji pulled back, pivoting around on his heel with a series of head shakes as he ran a hand over his face. He pointed a finger at you.

“That’s a low fucking blow; that happened when I was a kid, and I never would have told you that if I knew you were going to lord it over my fucking head—”

— “Seventeen is barely a kid!” —

“You’re the one who fucked off to feel up another guy’s tits.” Niji pointed aggressively in the direction of the backward. “So check your bitchy fuckin’ attitude ‘cause I’ve done jack shit.”

“Yonji’s tits are in my hands like every time he’s here, and you’ve never said shit about that, now have you, Niji?” You were screaming at this point, and you wouldn’t have been surprised if you turned a few heads of guests who were enjoying your indoor amenities. You were heated, bursting at the seams with little regard for how ridiculously your fight was devolving.

Niji rolled his pretty blue eyes. They were still pretty, no matter how pissed off you were at him. Maybe you found them pretty because he was your favorite, or perhaps he was your favorite because you found them so pretty. 

“That’s because Yonji’s Yonji.”

“He’s got his own fucking drawer here, and you’re getting pressed over nothing! You can’t come here, acting like my boyfriend and starting shit when you don’t do relationships.” You weren’t expecting your words to ring out over the room like they did.

Suddenly, the energy in the atmosphere took a deep plummet, leaving you and Niji face to face. Both your eyes were wide as they stared into each other. You watched as his electric blue irises darted around your face, all the annoyance and rage he wore on his face melting into something resembling shock.

“Neither do you, so what’s your problem?” he asked lowly. 

Another beat of silence overtook the space around you as you stepped back. You averted your gaze to somewhere else in the room. Niji continued to study you. You could feel his gaze.

“You know better than to pick fights here, Niji.” You shook your head, running a hand over your hair. But what seemed to mimic resignation didn’t last long as you whipped toward him to raise your voice again. “Now you’ve got me pissed when I thought tonight was going to be fun!”

“I wasn’t the one picking a fight, so you can take that to your boy toy,” Niji’s tone was simmering, deep, and level. His hands were shoved back into his pockets, and his shoulders appeared somewhat relaxed as he assumed his usual posture. A deep scowl was still present on his lips.

You huffed, backing off yourself.

“I’m done talking to you, Niji. Get out.” You turned on your heel and stormed back out into the backyard.

It was the worst fight you had ever gotten into. Hell, it might’ve been the only fight you and Niji had ever gotten into. After all, there had never been much to fight about before. The both of you tended to keep things light. He got to ramble about his petty and frivolous things, and you got to babble about yours. You hadn’t needed to go much deeper. 

You were sexy and had more charisma in your pinky than anyone else Niji knew. You kept a drink in his hand. You knew the right spots on his undercut that he liked scratched, and it was something about getting attention from you that had him over the moon. 

“How’s it feel being the favorite?” Yonji once asked him.

On the other hand, Niji wasn’t entirely sure why you had picked him out of everyone you knew, and you certainly knew everyone. You spent so much time and money throwing these parties— which you held regularly— yet you always carved out time to pay him some special attention. You always greeted him, gave him all the amenities he could ask for, and sat with him for the better part of the night just talking. 

Niji knew of his more infamous reputation. He was nowhere as well-liked as you, and when it came to getting into trouble, Niji had paid his way out of sticky situations more times than he’d counted. He was satisfied with any excuse to throw a punch because when it came to people who mattered, who should he give a shit about anyone but his two brothers and his sister?

And then you came along. You came along with your talk— Niji made it abundantly clear the first night you met that the last thing he was interested in was talk (not when you looked like that, HELLO)— and now, for the first time, Niji worried. 

“If you’re gonna be angsty and shit, can you do it somewhere else?” 

Niji didn’t realize how far he had sunk into his couch cushion until Ichiji spoke. The ice in Niji’s glass had already melted. 

Ichiji turned to him, one leg crossed over the other and a whisky in his hand. A neutral frown plastered across Ichiji’s lips. 

“Weren’t you leaving?” he asked. 

The couch Niji had found Ichiji sitting on was tucked away on the other side of the yard. A dormant firepit sat in the middle of the semi-circle seating, and the grill wasn’t too far away as a team of professional chefs made food. Seeing this seating area from the pool was difficult, but Niji could see you talking to Zoro again from where he sat. 

Ichiji shifted, leaning a bit to the side as he regarded Niji. 

“Why don’t you just apologize?"

“Because I didn’t do shit,” Niji snapped. But at the view of the dismayed and stern expression on Ichiji’s face, Nijij immediately simmered. “We got into a fight…” 

Ichiji sighed, leaning back against the couch cushion behind him. Despite an equally close relationship with Yonji, at the end of the day, Niji was Ichiji’s ride-or-die. Ichiji wouldn’t hesitate for a second to kill for his brother if it ever came to it, and if there were ever a day Niji showed up at his door with a trash bag and a shovel, Ichiji wouldn’t waste a second grabbing something to dig with from the garage. 

However, this didn’t make Niji any less annoying. If there was anything Ichiji found more irritating than Niji yapping dreamily about you, it was undoubtedly him silently pining over you. Niji looked like a kicked puppy, for fuck’s sake. It was unbecoming.

“I’m sure it’ll all blow over by tomorrow morning,” Ichiji said, returning to his whisky. “Go home, shower, order some flowers to be delivered, and make a reservation somewhere nice for tomorrow night. You’ll be fine.”

Niji immediately stood, and it was with a suddenness that communicated to Ichiji that Niji hadn’t absorbed a single thing he’d said. Ichiji’s back straightened as he sat at the edge of the couch cushion. 

“Hey, what are you—”

Niji was already making his way over to you. You stood at the side of the pool, standing in a circle with Sanji, Zoro, and some other vaguely familiar faces that generally hung out with that crew. Zoro stood at your side, and Sanji at your other. The pool was directly behind you.

Niji stormed across the yard with purpose and confidence, and the group hardly had time to react to his presence as he cut right through the circle to get to you. It all happened so quickly that the words, “What the fuck, Niji?” didn’t even make it out of your mouth before Niji took your drink from your hand and shoved it at Zoro before hoisting you up to throw you into the pool. 

Splash!

The shocked expressions didn’t melt into action fast enough as Niji turned, throwing up both middle fingers before smirking widely.

“Get fucked, Roronoa!” Niji proclaimed before falling backward into the pool where you were just beginning to resurface and gather yourself. The splash he made sent a wave over your head, further drenching your face and hair. 

“Niji, you asshole!”

Even fully clothed, Niji made swimming the deep end of the pool look easy, quickly gathering you in his arms before paddling to the opposite side of the pool. The pool was as large as it was expensive, but Niji made short work of the distance, placing you on the ledge of seating that ran across the perimeter. The water lapped at the middle of your ribcage. Niji remained suspended in the deep end, folding his arms over your lap as he gazed up at you. 

You raised your hand to slap him, but Niji caught your wrist, pinning it down to your lap as he crossed his arms again. 

“Niji!”

“Tell me about shopping with Nami in Cocoyashi,” he hummed, a smug little smile on his lips. You hit the water with your other hand, splashing Niji across the face as he laughed. The stern frown on your lips didn’t falter.

“I thought I told you to get out.” Niji gathered both your hands in his, crossing them over each other to pin them down by his wrists on your lap. 

“Well, I decided on more important things,” he said, cocking his head. You rolled your eyes, trying to move your hands. His grip on you was too firm but not enough to hurt. You continued to glare down at him.

“Oh yeah, like pissing me off—”

“I’ve decided that you’re no longer single.”

A solid pang reverberated in your chest. Your lips parted, agape in shock as Niji continued to smirk up at you. He released one of your hands, resting his cheek on his palm. The fingers of his opposite hand were still intertwined with yours. 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you spat, narrowing your eyes. The feeling of his thumb swiping over the back of your hand wasn’t lost on you as a warm heat rose under your skin. “Something tells me that that’s something I need to consulted about, genius.” 

“Hear me out,” Niji didn’t give you time to respond. You crossed your arms over your chest. “We see each other every weekend, drink, and chit chat… But what if I want to see you more than just every weekend?”

Niji stared up at you with a self-satisfied grin as you waited for him to elaborate.

“That’s it?” you asked. Niji nodded with a victorious hum. “That’s the speech you’re giving to win me over?”

“If you need it in more elementary terms, I like you, and you like me, so let’s do something about it.” He rotated his wrist to intertwine his fingers in yours fully. He continued to snicker, something about his own audacity amusing. You stared him straight on.

“You just wanna smash.”

“Oh, absolutely.” You noted his three-point glance as he looked you over before his gaze drifted to your fingers. He moved your hand as he talked, bringing it behind his head to his undercut. “But I’m not opposed to spoiling you a few times a week either just to call dibs. Buy all the blueberry pastries you want. Little numbers like this’ll be on me, and there’s more where that came from—” He tugged at your swimsuit. — “And I don’t know jack shit about wine, but I can probably pick out a nice one… or pay someone to do it for me.”

Niji was already beginning to run your nails through his hair before you pulled your hand away.

“I’ve got my own money.” 

“I know you do, but I also know you’d do something nice with your hair if I gave you a couple hundred for it.” Niji’s grin only grew wider. “Or get yourself dinner somewhere expensive, designer clothes, whatever the fuck you wanna do.”

“And I’m not going to stop hanging out with Zoro either or Sanji just because… I don’t even know what’s going on there.” You scrunched your brow.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Like I said, I’m perfectly fine calling dibs… at least for now.”

Niji left the spot between your knees to swim to the ledge beside you. He pulled himself up to sit, leaving the water in his wake feeling cold. You turned to him, water still dripping down strands of your hair.

“You can’t just throw me in a pool and expect to buy me, Niji. I’m still pissed at you.”

“Yeah, but now you have an excuse to change into whatever evening outfit you had planned.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but for what felt like the umpteenth time that night, you found your voice stalled in your throat as Niji laughed. You did have a nice outfit planned. You always did. You pouted as Niji rose from the pool, dribbling water from his soaked clothes. He offered you a hand, which you reluctantly took. 

“You’re gonna have to work hard as hell to make it up to me. I haven’t agreed to any relationship nonsense!”

Niji heaved you up with more force than necessary, catching you as you stumbled over the ledge and onto dry land. Your momentum worked against you, and in what seemed like an instant, Niji planted a kiss right on your lips. He held you for a moment, just long enough for the shock to sink in, before he pulled away with a grin.

Your mind went blank; the apparent look on your face made Niji laugh again.

“C’mon, baby, let’s get changed.” Niji’s arm snaked around you as he guided you back to the house. “Call it a trial run.”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[keyaho]

.summary: terry and blaire are in shambles while aaron and brennan make things more official. .word count: 6k+ .co-writter: @zillasvilla

Blaire stood in front of her vanity toying with the zipper on her dress. The white dress was covered in red and blue flowers. She accented it with red jewelry and heels. Even Noah’s outfit for Sunday service matched. A red button up polo shirt and tan slacks. She had blown her hair out, the kinky texture creating volume. One side was pinned back in a twist. 

As she was getting dressed, Noah’s father, Terry, was getting him ready. He had brought over his clippers and it was his first big boy haircut. For the past seven years she kept Noah’s hair braided and she’d miss the way he fell asleep in her lap while she did his hair. He was already asking to spend more and more time with his Dad. 

Another frustrated grunt fell from her glossed lips as she tried pulling up the zipper, but once again, it caught on the inner fabric. She rolled her eyes and held the dress as she walked down the hall towards Noah’s room. Blaire could hear them talking and she called out to them as she came into their line of sight. 

Terry wasn’t dressed. His slacks were on and so were his shoes, but he was shirtless, holding their son’s head still as he lined up the back. Blaire looked at the sink. Her son’s curls in a dark brown pile. She turned around, the tears forming in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to cry over his first hair cut, but seeing his hair gone sent her over the edge. 

Noah looked at his Dad after seeing his Mom walk back to her room. He knew she was going to cry over his hair. 

“Mommy cries a lot,’ Noah says. 

Terry stopped cutting and straightened up. “What do you mean?” 

”She cries a lot?” Noah wasn’t sure what else to say. “Sometimes I can hear her in her room.” He shrugged.  

Terry finished up Noah’s haircut and sent him to the kitchen for breakfast. Terry walked down the hall towards the main bedroom, where he used to lay his head. The door was cracked and he looked in to see Blaire trying to tug the zipper on her dress. Every now and then she’d sniffle; a sign she had been crying. He pushed open the door and slowly walked in. It was still decorated the same, earth tones. There was more green though he noticed. The wall behind her bed was painted in a rich emerald. The four poster bed was draped in green and brown sheets. There was a thick white comforter on top and tucked in between the pillows was a Lambchop puppet she had since she was a kid. It never left their bedroom. Her. Her bedroom. 

“You’re going to rip it,’ Terry whispers, coming up behind her to still her hands. She avoided his gaze as he looked at her in the mirror. “Blaire,’

"Not, now, Terry.” 

He placed one hand on her hip while the other zipped the dress easily. She moved to step away but he stopped her. His hands pulling her hips backwards. 

“Just listen to me, please,’ he asked. When she didn’t move he came to stand in front of her, his hands still holding her. 

There were moments when she trusted him enough to touch her, because he was quick to drop those hands where they shouldn’t be. However, when he wanted to be serious they stayed on her hips. He needed physical contact.  

“I miss my wife.” 

This had been the longest they went without being under the same roof. Yeah he was kicked to the couch a few times, or the guest room, but when she asked him to leave the house he knew he had fucked up royally. It’s been almost a year of him renting an apartment because she didn’t want him in the house. Not while he was still entertaining Summer from Rebel Ridge. And it was never like that. Blaire knew about his issue down there and what happened to Summer. She was a recovering drug user and he felt like he had to keep an eye on her. So much that it came between him and Blaire. 

“You haven’t divorced me and I think that’s because you miss me too.” 

Terry read her face and could see the truth in her eyes. He hadn’t been the only one to notice how they started to gravitate towards each other again. It wasn’t awkward at family dinners or when they had to sit beside each other. In fact, he had been able to rest his hand on her thigh. He remembered her curling her hand around his while she ate. Those moments of tenderness he missed. 

She hadn’t worn her wedding ring in months. Her hand felt light and odd without it. He still wore his. It hurt him a little to know he had upset her to that point, but she never explained how she was feeling so he was in the dark on what he himself had done. He apologized over and over to her, but he didn’t know what was holding her away from him. 

“Noah,’ she begins, shifting the focus to their son as she always did. 

“I’m talking about you. Noah is good. You’re not.” 

Blaire scoffs. “What are you talking about?” 

Terry got closer and her hands fell on his thick biceps. She could still feel the heat from his body and the bare skin was smooth to the touch, like it always was. He smelled good. He always smelled good. Blaire found herself relaxing in his arms, his scent, and the feel of his thick body against hers. He smelled like oak and pine, the outdoors, and something smokey. It was like smelling the earth after it rained. Terry knew just what to do to get her guard down. She let him do it every time. His hands rubbed her sides, pulling her back from the brink of crying again. She was such a crybaby. 

“There’s my girl,’ he coos. “Tell me why you’ve been crying.” 

“You need….,’ she stuttered, ‘you need to put on a shirt.” 

He let her go with a smile, but grabbed her hand as he was walking away. She followed him to the guest room and he made her sit on the bed while he finished getting ready. They could hear the tv going and knew Noah was waiting for them. As he did every Sunday. 

Terry was up to one night a weekend and he always picked Sunday night to stay over. It allowed him to see Noah off to school at the start of the week and he felt Sunday’s gave him more time with Blaire. 

“Why are you sitting there like that,’ he asked, frowning as she picked at the hem of her dress. 

She looked up and shrugged. “Because whenever you sat me on the bed you were scolding me for something. Acting like my damn daddy,’ she mumbled. 

Terry had been over protective since the day they met. He walked on the side of street when they were out, he opened her doors, held her hand when she wore heels because he knew she got tired, his jacket was hers while he was drenched in the rain, the list went on and on. Terry was what social media called a ‘traditional man’ or ‘masculine’ by their gendered stereotypes. Full on Daddy kink with him and he took it seriously. Despite all that, and despite her own independence, she liked that he made her feel helpless, she just hated when that turned into hopelessness. 

Blaire could go get all the jars in the kitchen and he’d stand there and open them for her, but she couldn’t tell him how much he had actually hurt her seven years ago. 

“Don’t leave out how much of a brat you can be.” He tsks. 

Blaire watched him pull a blue shirt from the closet, the material was stretchy but if it was the shirt she bought him, then it wasn’t going to stretch much. That shirt was sized perfectly. He slipped his arms into it with his back to her. She watched him tuck the shirt in and add a belt. 

Terry was rough around the edges. Always had been. He played football in high school, went to the Marines right after, she knows he does a few classes at the YMCA for boxing and still keeps up with his jiu jitsu training. When he wasn’t at those places he was hauling concrete slabs and shit with her father. He was blue collar through and through and at one point him coming home was the highlight of her day. She didn’t mind working and coming home to cook for him. He made her feel safe enough to do it. He never took advantage of it and when he would come home to her having forgot or was behind he’d step in and do it. 

Terry was damn near perfect. Except he was so damn helping. His morality being his vice. He would stretch himself thin trying to help and it would push her away. 

“I can’t begin to fix what I broke if you won’t tell me, dushi.”

“We don’t have time before Church to talk about this.” Blaire stood up and headed for the door. 

Terry would normally let her go, to not stir up another fight, but he was tired of her running. In a few strides he was in front of her, closing the door. 

“You can’t keep running from this Blaire.” 

“I’m not running.” 

Terry rolled his eyes. “We’re going to have this talk tonight. Or,’ he sighed. 

Blaire leaned back from him, crossing her arms at this point. “Or what?” 

“I’m done. No matter how much I miss you, if we can’t clear this up, I’m done.”  

The light from beneath their door shined through the cracks and her soft humming filled his ears. Aaron groans while stretching out his legs and swinging them over the bed. The morning sun was starting to peek through the windows as he squinted. He could feel when she wasn’t in bed, her side having been cold for a while. He reached for his glasses, the thin frames sitting on his nose as he stood up and stretched.

He sifted through large brown moving boxes–some of them labeled as clothes or shoes. They had yet to finish unpacking, living out of boxes in the shared bedroom. He and Brennan had been together for three years before finally moving in together. He finds what he needs in one of the smaller boxes, while picking his phone up. He checked his messages while peeking through the small crack of the bathroom. Her rich complexion shines in the mirror. Brennan’s hands were working the small black flat iron over a small section of hair.

Aaron: Come do Bre’s hair in two hours Nique: It's 4 in the morning. You're not about to sweat out her hair. Aaron: I will pay you. Nique: Text me a time.

Aaron shakes his head while putting his glasses back on the dresser. Her soft humming gets louder as he walks in the bathroom. Her eyes found him through the mirror.

“Gud mɔnin, ɔni”. 

Aaron’s morning voice was something Brennan had to get used to. It was deeper, raspier, and certain words just came out in that thick Krio accent that he husked in ear on the nights she used to stay in his town home.. Aaron’s lips leaned over to kiss her cheek. Brennan relaxes against him as his arms circled around her waist. This was their first Sunday morning together. They were used to parting ways the night before or she was already at her mom’s place. Aaron had become a nice change to her morning routine, usually sitting up with her, a book in hand while she did her morning routine–stealing quick kisses here and there. 

“What I say about talkin’ to me like that.”

Aaron only speaks in Krio when he wants to fluster her. She had learned what a few words meant.

“Oni.” Honey.

Brennan’s fingertips stroke lightly on his arms, the pads of them rubbing along the visible veins. The time on her phone reads four-thirty. Service started at 11, and she knew her momma was gonna have some words if they didn’t make it on time. She bites her lip. “Service starts at eleven, baby.”

Aaron turns his head into her neck, pressing soft gentle kisses along the length of it. “Mhm. then why are you up so early?” Her hair was already down, Nique had come over the day before and blown and pressed her hair–and here she was going over it when she didn't have to. He preferred it in its natural state, loving the way her curls bounced and framed around her face.

“You know how my hair is.” Her eyes closed at the feeling while he opened his eyes to watch her in the mirror. The curves of her body, and the swell of her breast covered in a thin silk material that stopped mid thigh. Her breast jiggled beneath the dress, he could see the outline everytime she moved. “Can’t be late for Church either.”

“We're making a baby.” Just as quick as he turned her around, he had her sitting on the sink, pushing his way between her thighs and making the nightdress bunch at the waist. His green eyes scanned over her features with a bit of his lip.

“Aaron.” She feels his fingers sneak up the material, his hands warm against her skin. She leans forward to wrap her arms around his neck.

7:30

Aaron sat up against the headboard with different hair products scattered around him as he adjusted Brennan's head in his lap. Their early morning session led to her hair getting wet in the shower. He had already texted a friend to come fix it, but decided to speed up the process by helping her blow dry and braid it. Brennan comfortably fell asleep during the process as his thick greased fingers parted and braided the last side of her head. 

He would've been done sooner but he found himself watching her sleep;  the rise and fall of her back, the way her nose and eyebrows scrunch together when she was dreaming about something. How she let out soft whines when he moved to grab some more grease into his fingers. 

Her hair soft between his fingers was braided down to the crown of her head He secured the last braid to the others with a clear rubber band.

“Didn’t I just do your hair?” Dominique asks. She had come over to fix her hair-having seen the braid down Aaron did, she sped through securing the wig for her. She spoke through the comb between her teeth. Her right hand held onto bonding spray–the left covered her eyes as she shook the can and sprayed wig glue across the wig cap. 

“A-a-ron thought it be a good idea to fuck in the shower.” Aaron in the guest room taking a shower. They had set up in the dining room–the only room set up with higher chairs. They only had an hour before they had to leave and now she was rushing to finish. 

“And you let him?” While she let Brennan’s hair air dry a little, she put up the stuff she brought, leaving out what she would need to style her hair. 

Brennan bites her lip, watching her face through the decorative mirror that she finally unpacked and made her Dad put up for her.. 

“Well this is our first morning in our first house.” Brennan was sentimental–everything always had a meaning for her and Aaron being the sappy man he was fed into that shit. The two were joined at the hip.. Dominique didn’t understand why they were hiding it. 

“Girl.” Dominique shakes her head–she has a blow dryer in hand on high heat to speed the drying process.

“What?” She bites back a smile. 

“You and him might as well be married.” She finishes, sectioning off the hair to curl the ends. “That man ain’t letting you go any time soon.” Dominique was the only one outside of her family that knew the two of them were really together–catching them both at the gas station down the street from Melanin Preparatory Academy.

Brennan stood between him and the car while he pumped gas in her car. His free hand rested on her hip as they talked–Brennan hid a smile behind the drink she was holding, whatever he was saying to her had her flustered. She had never seen Brennan so soft. 

“Kinda don’t want him to.” Brennan bites her lip.

Aaron had walked into the room fully dressed. He was simple when it came to fashion–especially when it came to church. The brown turtleneck shirt fitting loose around his frame-larger sizes gave his arms room to flex. A pair of black dark washed jeans that stacked a little at the ankles. She caught a whiff of the cologne he was wearing. Clive Christian. The wood spiced  scent made her wonder who else he was trying to smell good for. He glances at her frowning face with a chuckle.

He sets down their coffee to walk over to where she was sitting.

Dominique, having already finished the last curl, turned away to pack up her stuff. 

Aaron leans over Brennan to keep her seated in the chair. She had to tilt her head up to look at him. The smell of him was stronger than the moment before and she knew for sure it was about to linger on her. 

Their lips smack against each others in a quick, but lingering kiss.

“Fiks ya fes.” He whispers against her mouth before pulling back. 

Brennan’s mind was jumbled as he walked away. He grabbed the black mug and the caramel scent hit her nose as he sat  it on the table. Coffee–made exactly how she likes. He held his own while moving to sit in the den, the large tv playing several highlight reels and a few stack of papers and a stapler.

“Nigga-”

“You got until I'm done or we're gonna be late.” 

“I'm almost done.” Dominique curled the last few pieces of hair. Brennan was lucky she had bought a new wig. She didn’t like the length of it but knew Brennan would. “Are you dressed already?”

“Yeah, just gotta put my shoes on.”  

Brennan had already put on a black silk button up, and her own black jeans. The only thing she could get to with Aaron's clothes in the way. The closet was too small and she was really close to calling her dad to build her a new one. Brennan can feel the mist of hair spray being put on her hair, letting her know she was done. Aaron was half-way through with his task when she looked over at him. 

“You're stapling papers?”

“First day of school tomorrow and picture day.” He answers like she doesn't already know. He was the reason they were probably gonna be late. “Where's your shoes?” He looks back at her down to her pretty brown feet, toenails in a sharp white color- a small gold anklet peeking from the leg of her pants. The same one that dangled over his shoulder while he thrust–he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. If it was him they would stay home, but her mama would beat his ass if she knew he was the reason they were late. 

“I'm going to get them.” She pulls Dominique in a quick hug and thanking.

Aaron shook his head, turning around to pack up the last stack of stapled papers. He could hear hear race up the stairs and Dominique packing the last of her stuff and jiggling her keys. 

“Alright, I want my money Aaron!” Dominique rushes to the door, pointing in his direction.

She expected he would Zelle it to her until his voice echoes to her.  He had looked up just as Brennan comes around to stand in front of him. She wore a pair of black wedges that he was sure she was going to pull off in the truck.

“It’s by the front door Dominique."

She spots the bills peeking out from under the key bowl. It looked like a good four hundred.

 “Oooh! And you tipped! I see you big spender.” She grabs the money, pocketing it into her purse. “Bye girl, I’ll see you tonight.”

Once the door closed he pulled Brennan into his chest as he stood up. “You look real good.” He kisses her cheek and moves around her to grab his keys. “Let’s go before your mama beat my ass.” 

Sunday Service had been particularly short compared to the long services they were used to growing up– but they weren’t complaining. The sun beamed down on them as they exited the church. Aaron and Terry had gone to grab the car, Noah going along with them so the AC could be running before they got in. Brennan and Blaire waited for their mom to finish talking to a few friends back inside. They probably wanted her to cook for the next church potluck. 

“Thank you, again Angela.” 

“Alright, see you,” She waves at one of the other church members while coming down the steps to stand in front of her daughters with a shake of her head, she follows Brennan’s gaze to Aaron who was tossing Noah, their nephew in the air and catching him. She places a hand on her hip as Blaire completely ignores Terry looking at her.

“That was Ms. Gladys.” 

“Mhm.” Brennan hums, eyes never leaving him even as he gets in the truck.

“She said she dreamt about fishes last night. Brennan, are you pregnant?” 

“Why are we talking about this on the lord’s steps?” She looks confused trying to figure out what she’s talking about. Blaire laughs from behind her. “And why are you asking me? Blaire could be pregnant.”

“Don’t put that on me.” Blaire stops laughing and points her finger at her sister. “He’s already been bothering me to talk all week.”

”When are you going to tell him?” Brennan asks, not caught up on the latest Blaire & Terry episode. “It’s been seven years, Blaire, the man has practically groveled at your feet.” 

She knew her sister was right, but, if anything, she was scared. Not of Terry, but actually losing him. His ultimatum from this morning was heavy on her. The sudden fear of not having him at all? 

“He’s not going to wait long, Blaire,’ their mother added. 

“I know!” She hissed. Brennan and Angela looked at Blaire with wide eyes. “He told me that this morning. Either we figure it out or he’s done trying.” 

The last thing she wanted to do was tell her mother and sister what Terry had said, but pretty much everyone was on his side and they didn’t fully understand how she felt. 

“Wait,’ Angela softens her tone at Blaire’s somber expression. 

“He said what?” Brennan chimed in. “Oh he’s serious this time.” 

They quickly changed the subject when Aaron and Terry came back. Noah was already in his seat. 

“Y'all ready,’ Terry asked, his eyes on Blaire and she rubbed her arm. 

“Hell yes,’ Brennan shouts, then covers her mouth when Angela smacked her arm. “Ow, my bad!” 

Terry held out his hand as Blaire reached for the rail. She took his hand and let him guide her towards his truck. Confused, she looked over her shoulder. 

“Where are we going?” 

Terry stopped at the truck and leaned her against it. “I need to know now.” He says. 

“What? You said we would talk tonight,’ Blaire replied. 

“I don’t want to wait. I don’t want you to have time to give me some politically correct answer. I want to know now.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Do you want to stay married?” 

“Yes!” 

Blaire looked up at him. The word falling from her mouth with little hesitation made Terry feel slightly better about where this was going. 

“Do you want me back in the house?” 

She nodded. “All the time.” 

Terry was confused then. She wanted everything he wanted but she was pushing him away. 

“Then why are you so upset with me?” 

“Can we talk about this with a bit more privacy?”  

Everyone was waiting by the other car, staring in their direction. When she looked over his shoulder and waved, they all jumped- pretending they weren’t watching. 

“I don’t want to be church gossip.” 

“Come on so we can eat!” Brennan groans from the backseat of her mom’s car. “Noah, tell your parents to hurry up.” She glances at her nephew.

Noah looked to his aunt with a ‘do you think I’m dumb’ expression. 

“We’ll just see them at the house.” Angela waves them off. “And why ain’t you with Aaron, Bre?” She looks at her youngest daughter in the backseat. "Why are ya'll always I my car?"

“He said he had to talk to Daddy about something.” she shrugs, pulling off her heels. “Men things.”

“What he got to talk to him for.” Angela shakes her head. “Markus better not be at my house, Brennan.”

Marcus parked the truck in front of Angela’s house. He cuts the engine while looking over at the passenger side. Aaron had been quiet the whole ride. His leg bounced nonstop and he could see the nervous posture he had.

“You gon speak or what?”

Aaron didn’t get nervous often. He usually keeping his composure in any setting, however talking to Brennan’s dad about something so important. He just couldn’t shake the anxiety he was feeling right now. His hands were clammy as he wiped them on his jeans.

“It’s about Brennan.”

“Yeah? Something wrong?”

“No. No.” He sighs finally making eye contact with Marcus whose face was etched with concern. “She perfect… I just wanted to ask you something.”

“You want my blessing.” Marcus asks him, seeing where he was going with the conversation.

Marcus had half expected for them two to elope or have a Vegas-style wedding. His youngest daughter was his wild child. He’s learned over the years that she was mini-Angela. He thought she would be the one to end up with Terry, the both of them were hot heads-however Brennan wanted Aaron. “Thought you two would elope.”

Aaron lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. He doesn’t look him right in the eye. Marcus takes that silence for an answer to a question he didn’t even have to ask. “When.”

“June 17th.”

Marcus thinks of the date, turning in his seat to look at Aaron, an oh wow expression on his face. “And on her Birthday too.” He has to open the car door and get out, confusing Aaron and making him get out to. He stuffed in his hands in his pockets. Marcus walk around the front, stopping in front of Aaron in disbelief.

“So why are you asking me for my blessing. You did it behind my back already.”

“I wanna do it right this time.” Aaron could see another car pull into the driveway.

The doors open, Angela, Brennan and Noah. The three of them heading into the house.

“Right my ass.” Marcus grumbles. “What are you gonna tell me next, that she is pregnant?” Aaron makes a face and turns around, he jogs up the brick steps just as Marcus yells out. “Yo, Aaron! She better not be!”

Angela and Brennan had set the table, Noah in the other room, watching cartoons. The food was catered from Cajun Station, the scent of fish that lingered from being warmed in the oven masked by a lit candle. Brennan had snuck pieces of of shrimp to snack on, sneaking a few pieces to Noah.

“You’ve been gaining weight Bre.” Angela says from the kitchen. “You sure you ain't pregnant.” She brings the conversation from earlier backup. She noticed a certain glow to her and it wasn’t because her and Aaron finally moved in together.

“No mama.” She groans wondering where her sister is. She moves to look out the window. Aaron and her dad were still talking. She watched as Terry’s truck pull in.

Blaire slid out the front seat having stopped by the house to change. She switched to a white sundress and sandals. She had a bag in her hand and Terry’s half smile could be seen from the front porch.

”Stop looking at me like that,’ Blaire says.

“It feels good,’ he replies, while shutting her door.

“What feels good?”

“To know my wife missed me.”

He leaned in as if he was going to kiss her but instead pulled the bag from her hands to carry. The front door opened and the screen smacked against the wall as Noah ran towards his parents. Their private moment was interrupted, but Blaire knew it was going to be a long night.

“Let’s get inside, Terry,’ she pushed at his arm, guiding the son back towards the door. He followed behind them. She sent Noah back to the table and grabbed Terry’s hand before pulling him to the kitchen.

Terry had sent Blaire upstairs once they got home. It was the night before picture day and with it being the first day of school Noah had been anxious. So much that he had been telling Blaire he didn’t want to go. Knowing Blaire, she’d keep him home until he was ready, opting to homeschool instead of helping him to grow up. 

Helping Noah, Terry sits on the floor by his son's bed, mostly to get his backpack and clothes ready for the next day. He did his full nighttime routine while they waited for dinner to be delivered. Neither parent wanted to cook and with their talk looming over their heads, their minds were occupied. 

Giving Noah a snack he had him sit in the den. TV time was rare in the house, but Terry managed to get Blaire to compromise on a few shows on the weekends. Finding Blaire in the same place he did this morning, Terry closed the bedroom door behind him as he walked in. 

“Alright,’ he says, ‘let’s talk.” 

She sat up on the bed, tucking her legs under. 

“I miss you being in the house and the routine we had, just all of what we had.” 

“So why am I in an apartment?” He folded his arms across his chest. “If you want me here.” 

Her bottom lip started to poke out and her eyes welled up. Shit. Terry thought. He forgot she was a bit of a crybaby. 

“What did I do, Blaire?” 

Seven years of pent up frustration had finally blown over. The resentment she held onto had no base to hold onto once she spoke. 

“It felt like you put Summer before me and Noah.” 

Terry’s shoulders rolled back as her words blew him. “You weren’t answering your phone.” She went on, telling him the same story, this time he had perspective. Hers. “Brennan called, my mom called, my dad, your brother!” The tears poured down her face as she hissed the words at him, trying to keep her voice low. “You just barely made it to see him be born.” 

“I apologized for that, over and over, Blaire. I’ve begged you to forgive me for that.” 

“I have!” 

“Then..” 

“You shouldn’t have been late.” Blaire threw up her hands. “You should have dropped whatever you were doing and came to me. Your wife.” 

“She-’

"Oh fuck her!” She snaps. “Labor was hell for me. I had to lie there knowing where you were! And you to have the audacity to give me an ultimatum.” 

There was no arguing her on this. She was right. He cut it close to Noah’s birth and he knew she had been upset with him over it, but to cling to it for seven years? He understood the bitterness now. He never apologized for putting her second, because that's exactly what he had done. 

“You missed that. It wasn’t your hand I was holding. It wasn’t you telling me to push. You just barely made it! Then you came in smiling like you had been there! I wanted to sock that fucking grin off your face.” She punches her hand for emphasis and Terry looks down. 

“Now,’ she says, plopping down on the bed, ‘how can you fix that? How can you fix my trust in you?” 

Speechless, Terry rubbed a hand down the back of his head. 

“I’ve never felt so vulnerable,’ she explains, ‘and alone, my husband somewhere-’

Terry slipped into the bed with her, carefully reaching out to pull her into his arms. She fought him at first and he held his hands up. She didn’t get off the bed so he tried again and successfully pulled her into his chest. She looked up at him, eyes drenched in her tears. She couldn’t even keep up with wiping them away as they fell. 

He’d known Blaire all his life. Having grown up a few houses away from her she was one of the few neighborhood families that welcomed the Richmond family when they moved in. Blaire had always been a cryer. Her emotions so big she couldn’t help but cry. Instead, this time she was crying because of him. That he didn’t like. Holding her, he rubbed his hands up and down her back. He brought his hand around, using his thumb to wipe at the tears on her face. Blaire sucked in a deep breath, trying not to cry again. 

“Are you mad at me?” She asked. 

“What,’ he whispered, ‘no!” His head shook. “I just didn’t know how much I hurt you. Now I do.” 

She noticed he didn’t have on a shirt and she pushed at his chest. “Why don’t you ever have on a shirt?” 

“I’m hot natured, you know that.” Terry cupped her face, his fingers stroking the hair on the back of her neck. “Are you going to let me earn your trust back?” 

“Yeah I can t-’

"Don't try anything." His thumbs pressed to her lips. “Just be my wife again. Let me fix it.” 

The tv was on pause as Aaron kept her in a heated kiss. The two of them had returned home after a day with their family, Publix, and a quick run to Men’s Warehouse for Aaron. School started back tomorrow and it was picture day–he wanted to get a shirt that matched her outfit for their pictures. 

“We’re supposed to be watching the movie.” She reaches over him to sneak some popcorn and move her legs across his lap.

His arms come down from the back of the couch. His hands warm against her thigh while rubbing her smooth skin. After getting takeout, and coming home to finish unpacking, she found some of his old high-school shirts. Her name was etched into one of the sleeves in black sharpie and it became the shirt she decided she wanted to sleep in. His lips press against hers, using the hand on her thigh to pull her closer. She’s almost in his lap when she giggles.

“You’ve seen this one a thousand times.” He mumbles, rubbing his hand up to grab her ass, massaging the flesh between his fingers. 

“So, it’s my favorite movie.” she pushes him back to get up. She slides her feet into the stitch slippers he randomly got her.

Aaron’s face drops in a ‘where you going look', the dark lighting making his hazel-coloured eyes look sharper.  “I’m going to the bathroom.” She points to the tv. “Restart it.”

“We ain’t gon’ watch it.” He lets her go to grab the remote.

“You probably won’t but I am.”

Aaron shakes his head and restarts the movie but pauses it on the opening scene of SharkTale. Once he hears the bathroom door close, he rushes to a small room just off the den. 

Brennan took her time in the bathroom, relieving herself while reaching into the sink cabinet to pull out a small black gift bag. She set it on the sink vanity, finishing up to stand and wash her hands. Aaron was still sitting in his spot, arms resting in the back of the couch, phone tucked in his left hand to scroll through messages. Her eyes trail up his fingers–they look naked.

“You gon’ come sit down or keep starin'.” 

“I got something for you.” She moves around the couch, forgetting that she was staring. How could she not when he looked the way he does? He gives her his attention–phone dropping somewhere on the couch. 

“What is it.” 

Aaron sits up with a cheesy grin, eyes flickering from the small bag in her hands to her face. She sits next to him and puts the bag on the coffee table. “Gotta open it and see.”

“I got you somethin’ to.” He reaches on the side of the couch to pull out a small blue bag and place it in front of her. “Open yours first.”

Brennan grabs the blue gift bag–reaching inside she pulls out a small black velvet box. “Aaron.” She pulls her lip between her teeth to hide back a knowing smile. The material was soft beneath her fingers. The pads of them over the name ingrained in it. He reaches over to open it for her. The round cut diamond shines in her face that was accented with smaller ones. “This is beautiful.” 

Brennan had her eye on the woodland wedding set since the moment they decided to elope. Aaron had seen her looking at the rings on a jewelry website a few months ago. In the midst of them deciding to elope they hadn't thought about rings. She had been dropping hints the past few weeks, not realizing he already had the ring sized and delivered to his brother's apartment. 

She holds her left hand out palm down, making him chuckle at the excitement in her voice. “Put it on for me?”

He gently grabs the ring and silver band between his fingers. It slid on her fourth finger like butter. The silver-leafed band fitting snug below her left knuckle. Brennan would have to get used to the new weight on her finger, but her heart swelled knowing Aaron paid attention to details. 

Brennan almost forgets about her gift. “Open yours.” 

Aaron kind of had a clue on what it was when he pulled out the small wood grained box. The material smoothed against his fingers as he opened the box. “Damn.”

Brennan grins at the appreciative look on his face-eyes squinting as he pulls out the black and gold band. “Do you need your glasses?”

“Nah, baby. This.” He blows out with a small laugh and a smile that reaches his eyes. “It's perfect.”

Tungsten Carbide wasn’t a cheap material. The gold interior and then cut around it accented the black texture. She pulls it from his fingers and grabs his left hand. She had to sneak a couple of his other rings just to get it sized right. He watches her grin as it fits snugly around his ring finger.

“Now them bitches can know you're married.” 

@liquourlaughslove @heytaewrites @wrestlingprincess80 @simplyzeeka @prettyfilmz @venusesworld @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @harmshake @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @eilujion @heytaewrites @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@browngirldominion @insidefeelingofanadult @blackerthings @gwenda-fav @brandithecrystalgem @captainwithoutmakingitlove @dremmmm @kindofaintrovert @thegreatlibraryofalex @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo @kuromiish @virgomess @bbyxgall @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @dundienominated @mymindisneverhere

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Here's an unusual home built in 1968 in Tucson, Arizona. It is insulated by thousands of glass bottles, that give it a colorful glow inside. It has 3bds, 3ba, and is priced at $432,500.

A large entrance foyer leads into the living room. The walls have clear glass bottles with amber glass arches.

The walls that aren't made of bottles are made of stones. The ceiling is whitewashed wood with log beams. The floors vary throughout the home. Note the freestyle fireplace and the platform that the sofa cushion is on.

This is a very large space.

Quite a deep fireplace.

The dining room has interesting cabinetry- it's made of saguaro cactus.

It appears that this handmade table will convey.

The eat-in kitchen is spacious and has regular cabinetry, but the walls are both stone and glass bottles. Pretty clear ones form arched windows over the sink.

The home has unusual rooms, nooks, and passages like this area.

One of the nooks is a home office. The rectangle in the wall above the desk must be a decorative feature. The ceiling is fabric.

The primary bedroom is very large and features a fireplace with patterned brick walls accented with bottles.

It has a long built-in sofa and the walls are made of green and amber bottles.

The bed is on a platform and that's the large bath on the right.

This is some stone bath. Don't slip in here, the walls will knock you out.

Look at all the walls in the garden.

There's also a guest cottage on the property.

This is interesting.

There are 2 bedrooms with platforms for the beds.

Not sure what this is.

A separate bath house serves as the 3rd bathroom.

Not sure, but I think he guards the bath house.

There's also an outdoor kitchen and several covered outdoor spaces. Love this handmade pool table.

It doesn't have a garage, but it has a double car port.

If you like the desert, the cacti garden is quite lovely and the property measures 2.53 acres.

[miffy-junot]

Illustrations of Napoleon in La Vie Parisienne, 1932.

accompanied by the following short story:

'In the great dining-room with its mahogany furniture, and whose windows opened on the Luxembourg Gardens, bathed in the brightness of the May sky, dripping with cries, laughter, joyful songs, peopled by a world of birds chirping, pulling, chirping as best they could, a young man of small stature, thin, with flat hair,  with a yellow face and dark eyes, was seated before a table laden with food. He ate quickly, mixing stews and sauces, sliding the starters and roasts onto his plate, and pouring himself from time to time with that golden wine of Cap Corse, a little heavy, mellow, fragrant, all laden with the Provençal sunshine which shimmered in the jokes of the bottle.

On the table, in the middle of a centerpiece, a large basket of ruddy cherries offered its collapsed bunches which strewed the tablecloth like rubies held together by a tangled cord of green silk.

An official sneaked into the room, dressed in a half-oriental, half-French suit. The servants drew back near the dressers and changed the dishes. The young man turned nervously and asked: "What is it?" Is that you, Roustam? The official made the military salute and waited, heels clasped together, holding out a letter with the red wax seal he held in his hand. "Approach!" said the guest in the same rough, brittle, authoritative voice, in which, however, a hint of a southern accent lingered. He took the letter with a quick gesture, took off the ribbon that sealed the envelope, and drew out a large sheet of armorial paper which he looked over. "What?"

He jumped to his feet, pushing his chair back and slumping behind him on the waxed floor. The official raised the seat and smiled enigmatically. His master's mood swings no longer frightened him. The little man went to a window and leaned on the balcony. He was dressed in white breeches, white stockings and patent pumps. A tightly buttoned frock coat, of coarse blue cloth, further slimmed down his waist, "a real parchment," he himself often mocked. A scarf, richly embroidered, tied as a belt, said the rank of the young man, the first in France at this moment, the first in the world, soon. His hand trembled a little as he opened the paper a second time, and the text danced before his eyes:

"The Countess Melchior du Colombier has the honor to announce the marriage of her daughter, Angélique du Colombier, to the Baron de Bressieux, a union that will be celebrated in Valence on May 11th."

He stared at the lackeys and Roustan, motionless, without seeing them, and murmured: "On the 11th of May?" Today? Ah!" A sort of secret pain further reduced his emaciated face. He crumpled the paper in his nervous hand, and then, uncertain and tormented, he took it up. Then, abruptly, he turned his back on the room and looked at the park, which twelve strokes of noon at the church of Sainte-Geneviève were gradually emptying of its belated strollers. Against the gates of the Palace, alone, the consular guards, weapons in arms, continued their comings and goings, aimlessly. "May 11th! Sixteen years! already? His eyelids fluttered. He bit his lips and relived the past that had been abolished for so long, which, in a minute, was reborn.

*****

He saw himself again, a second lieutenant fresh out of school, barely sixteen years old, already carrying the weight of this whole "sacred" family that the death of his father had left weighing on his shoulders as a child. Thus he worked prodigies to provide for everything, and his wit, his talent, his . good humor did the rest. At that time he was not yet suffering from the malignant fever which was to take hold of him in Douai two years later and not to let go for fifteen years, until the vesicatories of his doctor Corvisart succeeded in curing him. Yes, on that day in May, 1786, when he was cheerfully ascending the steep ramp of Crussol's "string," carrying his gold-trimmed tricorn hat under his arm and having unfastened the collar of his white coat with red collar and facings to be less warm, he was joyful. "She" had arranged to meet him up there, in the "cherry orchard," by the whimsical caprice of a little girl, happy to command this young officer whom everyone in Valence was snatching up, and sure of being obeyed. Thus he came obediently to yield to her call, which he had perhaps solicited a little, and was delighted beforehand to admire through the eyes of the young girl the spectacle, already watched a hundred times, of the valley of the Rhone and its distant Alps.

A voice suddenly made him start. Emerging from the ruins where she was concealed, Angelique ran towards the second lieutenant, clapping her hands, and bounding from one stone to another. A last jump, badly calculated, made her stagger. He rushed to hold her back, and received her, fresh, rosy, smiling, to his breast. The blonde curls brushed against the teenager's long black hair. "Here you are?" There you are? How happy I am! You may have come all the same," she cried, clinging to his arm to go up the path. "What happiness!"

They crossed a hedge and found themselves among the cherry trees laden with fruit that the sparrows were plundering. "You know," continued Angelique, "I have received your letter! It's almost a love letter! If Mama knew?" "Mademoiselle..." he stammered, troubled. "But Mama knows nothing, you fool! Your letter is pretty! But you write badly and make spelling mistakes. You write "j'entends" without an "s" and "supplie" without an "e." Well it doesn't matter. I understood all the same!" She walked around him, rummaging through the three-button scarlet pockets for the candy she liked. "Naughty!" she said, sulky! "He didn't bring me anything!" Angelique pouted and continued. "And then I read your fairy tale, 'The Mask of the Prophet'. "But it is not a tale," he murmured, hurt. "It's an anticipation." "It doesn't matter, it's terrible!" Ah, you have imagination, you."

She kissed him with her fingertips and began to dance in front of him. He looked at her with admiration. She grew impatient. "Come, stir up! Say something..." "I will tell you..." She interrupted him: "No. Not yet... Here, help me pick cherries." Together they had drawn up a ladder against the thickest of trees. And the young girl was already climbing the ladder. "Hold me tight, I'll throw them to you." Under the fingers of the adolescent the supple waist quivered. A shower of cherries surrounded him, which he did not think of collecting. "I will go higher." She disappeared into the branches. The second lieutenant looked up to watch his sweetheart's climb and, in spite of himself, under the silk skirts he saw two slender ankles in embroidered stockings. "Pick them up, pick them up," she ordered, laughing.

When he rose, his hat full of fruit, Angelique, standing on the last rung, looked at him with a mischievous irony. "Come here!" He approached and offered his harvest. The young girl, her deranged linen kerchief, gave a glimpse of her throbbing throat. Around her ears two clusters of cherries hung like curls. "Come nearer again, you coward!" He obeyed. Angelique had put one of the bunches in her mouth and swung the other at the tips of his fingers. "Close your eyes!" He lowered his eyelids and. In an instant, a furtive kiss brushed her lips, while a sweet fruit crushed on his tongue.

He found himself alone in front of the abandoned ladder. Out there, in the distance, the young girl was fleeing, waving her arm in a sign of farewell. The young officer hesitated. Already Angelique was disappearing behind the hedge. And the youth had only to go down the hillside, melancholy eating his cherries perfumed with country love. That same evening his regiment left for Lyons to suppress the revolt, known as the "two sous," and the young second lieutenant was never to see Angélique du Colombier again. She was not fifteen years old.

*****

The letter, torn into tiny pieces, flew out of the open window like flakes of late snow. And the recipient after having furtively wiped his face, he returned to the table. "Bring me these cherries!" One of the footmen lifted the large basket, the fruits of which were scattered. The former second lieutenant took a bunch, raised it to his lips, caressed it, and threw it back: "After all, it's useless. Work! He crossed the room, opened a door "Roustam! Send for Junot." In the study, sober and stern, the young man sat down. A step made him turn.

"Good morning, Junot. Do you know that today is a date for me?" "By the way, Lodi's victory, isn't it?" asked the other naively. "Ten years ago!" "Perhaps! And I'm only thirty-three years old. What's up?" said the dreamy young man. "A grenadier of the consular guard committed suicide last night. Out of love, they said. I inquired about the motive of the act: A disappointed passion."

"He's a coward," growled the young man, running his hands over his sweaty forehead. He reached the large board and threw a sharpened pen to his interlocutor. Write. "Order of the 22nd of Floréal — Year X of the Republic. The grenadier Gobain committed suicide for a woman. A soldier of the guard must know how to conquer the pain of passions, for to kill himself in order to escape them. it is to abandon the field of battle, before conquering..." "And then?" asked Junot. "That's all. Sign for me: "The First Consul. Napoleon Bonaparte". On the window sill a fragment of armorial paper had just landed.'

source

[silvercap]

if ur still taking prompts :3 “silent fury” but make it h/c? maybe one of leon’s boys goes on a “rampage” to save him orrr maybe someone is angry at the dso for almost killing him again or ya know whatever strikes your fancy

OHHHH I LIKE THIS!! (Prompts)

7. Silent Fury

Chris coughs frantically as the gas invades his lungs, throwing his oxygen-starved body at the sealed metal laboratory door with enough force that he can practically feel his shoulder bruising upon impact. Beside him, Leon sags against the wall with half-lidded eyes, gun hanging from limp fingers.

"Fight it," Chris chokes, but Leon's body has already succumbed, knees buckling beneath him as he collapses bodily to the floor and doesn't move again. Chris grits his teeth, ignoring another wave of dizzy lightheadedness in order to redouble his assault against the locked door. The room has no other exit, round and filled with glass tanks that Chris can't make out when his vision is blurring so badly but knows are filled with half-formed specimens suspended in bubbling liquid. The green glow makes him nauseous, casting the walls and his skin alike in eerie neon.

Chris throws himself into the wall with one last desperate effort and drops to his knees, heaving for air. His throat hurts from breathing in chemicals and god knows what else, muscles aching and spasming as it attacks his body. Leon doesn't move when Chris drops the rest of the way to lie beside him, weakening arms reaching out to scoop up the other man and pull his unconscious body close. Chris presses their foreheads together and blacks out an instant later.

-~-

When Leon wakes, it's to harsh light and a hand in his air, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to make sense of the figures towering around him. An experimental shift reveals that his hands have been tied behind him, the hardness of a chair pressing into his back as his head is stretched backwards to expose his throat. He coughs.

"With us, again?" an accented voice drawls, one of the figures stalking towards him to reveal a tall man in militaristic clothes, a blade in his hand. Flinty eyes stare Leon down as he tries and fails to think of who this wannabe tough-guy could possibly be, the man's calloused fingers twining around the knife in a delicate way that reminds Leon of Krauser and his knife tricks---and tells him that the man knows how to handle it. He leans in close, drawing the sharp tip very gently down the curve of Leon's bottom lip. "We're very pleased to have you as our guests today, Mr. Kennedy."

He grins, letting the knife follow the natural line of Leon's jaw and down to a collarbone, where he presses into the skin just enough to make a bead of blood bubble between Leon's clavicles. Leon rolls his eyes. "Is this supposed to be scaring me? Get on with it, will you?"

The man laughs, standing upright. "It's not you that I'm trying to scare." He shifts away so that Leon can see past him into the dingy, cement-floored room he's been placed in---and the other chair several feet in front of his own, one Chris Redfield secured to it with rope around his wrists and ankles. There's blood on his temple, eyes blazing dark with silent rage that would be terrifying if only he weren't looking at Leon with such tender concern at the same time. Leon feels his blood run cold.

"Chris?" he calls. "Don't give them what they want. I'm trained for this, alright? Don't fucking tell---"

A hand grabs Leon's chin with force, a thumb shoved between his lips before he even registers what's happening. He thrashes, about to bite down, before a blow to the side of the face distracts him. Leon reels, attempting to kick one of his bound legs towards the large man who'd been brandishing the knife, but it's no use. He's the one holding Leon's jaw, a large wad of cloth in his other hand. It's all too easy for him to jam it hard into Leon's mouth, pushing so much fabric in that Leon, well, gags.

His eyes water as duct tape is wrapped far too tightly over his lips and around the back of his head, clinging to his cheeks and sparking a wave of panic at the claustrophobic feeling before he forces himself to exhale slowly through his nose. He's okay. He's faced worse. It's going to be---

"Lets begin," the man drawls, and plunges his blade deep into the flesh of Leon's thigh without warning.

Leon doesn't even try to hold back his cry.

He's not sure how long they torture him for, just that the world quickly goes foggy and distant with pain, shouting voices demanding things that Leon can't give. He can't see Chris through the hair that's fallen over his eyes as he lolls his head to his chest and heaves for breath, the wounds on his body, broken fingers, and ribs pulsing in time with his thundering heart. His cheekbone aches where a particularly nasty hook had split the skin, nose damp with blood that makes it even harder to breathe properly. The gag fills his mouth, saliva dampening the heavy fabric and muffling his pathetic whimper of pain as the man who's been beating the shit out of him offers one last slap to the side of the head.

Chris has been yelling incoherently for the past few minutes, but Leon can't hear his voice anymore. Maybe they gagged him, too.

"I'm tired of this, Redfield," the man says, a flash of metal the only warning Leon gets before the edge of his knife is up against Leon's throat, putting pressure on his trachea that makes him cough. The man digs in harder in response, the bright sting of Leon's skin splitting open on the blade's edge enough to make him wince. "Agree to the terms, or I cut his---"

There's a commotion that Leon can't make sense of, the blade leaving his throat so that he can suck in a relieved gasp of air. His eyelids flutter. Fuck, he's tired.

"Leon?" Leon can't open his eyes to see who's calling his name, the fear in their voice nearly tangible. They're talking fast, panicked. Chris, it has to be. Hands tug at the duct tape on his face, an effort that doesn't accomplish much more than wrenching Leon's aching neck. "Leon, don't do this to me. Leon? Open your eyes, Leon."

Pain spikes as Leon obeys, the harsh light upsetting the headache that had exploded into being three or four punches in. Chris's worried gaze appears before him, haloed in the glow.

"Good, that's it. Eyes on me, okay?" His voice is calm, collected, but Leon can hear that he's on the verge of tears, blood shivering down Chris's wrists as he carefully slices open the tape and peels it quickly from Leon's face. His hair is wild, eyes sharp with anger, but his touch is nothing but gentle. Even when Leon grimaces as his hair pulls free of its follicles, he's careful. "I've got you, I've got you."

Leon spits out the gag before Chris can even get to that point, the rag falling into his lap as he coughs and heaves for breath. He's dimly aware that he's trembling, but Leon's certain it's too small of a detail to notice. That is, until Chris pauses in his ministrations to run soothing hands up and down Leon's arms, leaning their foreheads together.

"It's okay. It's okay," he soothes, something dark stealing into his tone. "I took care of them. Let me deal with these cuts and I'll untie you, okay? I've got you."

Leon glances to his left and sees a growing pool of blood. He swallows, letting his eyes fall shut as Chris puts pressure on the deep gouge in his leg. "I trust you," he rasps, and means it.

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: In which Lockwood is late, and Reader ends up face-to-screaming-face with the consequences.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔲𝔟𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢!

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Canon typical violence, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, Lockwood & Co. are in their twenties, kind of an AU?, blood, graphic descriptions of moderate head injury, no use of y/n, strong language.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Aaaand we're back! If you're familiar with the work this used to be, I'm begging you to let me know how you feel about the changes! Without further ado - dig in!

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.08k

  She’s going to kill him.  

  The sun has long set and the blue light of dusk does no favours for the ambiance of the house in which she is the sole living visitor.  For the tenth time in half as many minutes the girl glares at the green numbers faintly glowing at her from the clock on the back of the stove.  Twenty minutes past six, and still no sign of the single most infuriating man born this millenia.  Her roommate/employer was supposed to be here almost an hour ago, having instead left her to complete a potentially deadly job all by her lonesome.     Okay, so maybe she’s being a touch dramatic.  All reports from their client indicate a Type One, but even with the weakest Visitor, one mistake can be fatal without backup.   Sighing loudly, she drains the thermos of tea clutched in cold hands and slams it down on the counter, using the motion to vent the last of her frustration.  Fighting a ghost on her own would be significantly easier if she wasn’t radiating enough negative emotion to keep it fat for a month.  

  She leaves her lamp on and resting on the counter, then hauls the heavy kit bag off of the kitchen’s marble counter and ventures into the living room with the intention of laying down a circle for when all hell inevitably breaks loose.

  Once inside the room, a quick scan of the space tells a decisive story about the occupants.  The furniture itself is uncannily clean, accents of sunshine yellow and navy blue scattered amongst a palette of white and cream that one would find between the pages of a 50’s home decor catalogue.    With more care than any other member of her agency would bother to show, she places the duffel on the floor in front of a dreadfully yellow loveseat to avoid soiling the vibrant fabric.  Iron filings had a way of working their way into the woven material of their kit bags; she'd spent enough time trying to scrub the rust stains out of her own clothes to know how dreadful it could be.  The recently widowed Mrs. Roland had more than enough to worry about without adding blemishes to an otherwise spotless space, especially one sure to see plenty of grieving guests over the next weeks.

  It becomes harder to maintain focus on her assessment of the space as the temperature in the room begins to drop, the hair on the back of her neck standing straight on end as the perverse feeling of being watched sets in.  She lifts her hand to smooth the prickling sensation, though the chill of her skin does little to soothe it.  Her attention is pulled to the closed door down the only hallway attached to the living space, something from within silently calling her to enter and discover what secrets lay beyond.     Who is she to deny the call of curiosity when it comes knocking?  Especially when it comes alongside another noticeable drop in temperature.

  With a calming breath that hangs visible in the air like a miniature stormcloud, she considers her next move.  The Fittes manual clearly states the first order of business in a situation such as this should be to prepare an iron circle so you have an avenue of escape should anything take a turn for the worst.  As such, this would be the first step of any by-the-book agent.

  Unfortunately one does not find themselves under the employ of Lockwood & Co. by behaving like a by-the-book agent, and in a streak of bad luck she’d broken both her primary and backup rapier’s on the job this week.  She’d called ahead for a new one of course, but Lockwood was supposed to be in charge of bringing it with him.  Obviously, this was proving to be a problem.

  Muttering a few choice words about ignorant manchildren with poor time management skills under her breath, she bends to unzip the kit bag and retrieve the chains.  The muttering becomes progressively more vulgar with every second the links refuse to come free, clearly caught on something else from the haphazard way they’d been tossed in after their previous job.  Lockwood had drawn the short straw and been left to stow their gear whilst her and George had set to work righting the furniture the Poltergeist had been lobbing at them all night.  Apparently he’d been displeased enough to simply pile everything in together instead of taking the time to place things properly.

  Forcing another a calming breath, she makes a mental note to explain the phrase ‘weaponized incompetence’ before bracing her foot against the rough canvas of the bag and tugging harshly on the chains.  They come unstuck abruptly, the remaining force behind the pull sending her backwards to land unceremoniously on her rear, whilst the momentum of her sliding foot shoots the bag underneath the yellow monstrosity.  It comes to a rest dead centre beneath the settee, its other contents partially spilled and glittering tauntingly at her from the shadows.

  Unable to deny herself a moment to wallow in frustration, she rolls onto her side to rub at her smarting tailbone as she contemplates what deity she must have pissed off in a past life to deserve this kind of treatment.  Whoever said the gods have no sense of humour had clearly never known anyone with luck like hers.     The shattering of glass from down the hall proves effective in disrupting her pity party, immediately on high alert as her instincts kick in with a vengeance.  Blood roars in her ears as she pushes herself to her feet, suddenly blissfully ignorant of the literal pain in her ass.

  “If there’s anyone up there I haven’t pissed off yet, please, not another bloody poltergeist…”  She mutters under her breath, sparing a few seconds to shoot a pleading look at the ceiling and bracing herself for whatever comes next.  

  Once she’s certain nothing is going to start flying across the room at her, she loops the cold links of chain into a vice grip in her left hand, letting roughly half of them fall loosely from her right as a makeshift flail.

  The floorboards creak eerily under her feet as she approaches the simple white door at the end of the hall, making her glad for the undeniably tacky runner in the middle that at least partially muffles the sound.  As an involuntary shiver wracks her frame, she curses the metaphorical pain in her ass for her lack of a proper weapon one final time before focusing her attention wholly on the matter at hand.    Although cold to the touch, the doorknob twists open easily.  Even the hinges are blessedly silent.  She wastes no time in pushing it open and crossing the threshold.  By-the-book or not, no agent worth their weight in salt would ever hesitate in a doorway.

The room on the other side is unassuming, the same shades of white and cream attempt to convey peaceful feelings, but something about them is downright unnerving tonight.  The moon outside bathes the room in white light, adding to the almost ethereal nature of the scene before her.   Her gaze is instantly drawn to the only splash of colour in the room.  A painting stands stark against the white wall on her left; shades of songbird-yellow illustrate a field of golden grass, a single leaf-bare tree standing tall and proud in the midst of it all.  When she looks closely, she can see the delicate lines of lightly fraying rope binding a low-hanging wooden board to a thick branch overhead  - a child’s swing.  The initials ‘H.R.’ are barely visible in the bottom right corner.   She can’t recall how she got close enough to see the details.   A deep yearning to return to the peace and innocence of childhood almost knocks her off her feet, knuckles white around the heavy chain as she strains against the urge to reach out and Touch it.  Losing herself in visions of the past now would be a death sentence without someone to watch over her.

  Swallowing thickly, she tears her eyes away from the painting and forces them to scan the room properly.  To the right there’s what seems to be a large window, though any view of the glass itself is obscured by the sheer white linen curtains swaying in the gentle breeze.  There’s a light layer of dust present on the surface of the bedside tables, evidence of the rooms lack of use over the past weeks.  Where had Mrs. Roland been sleeping, if not here?   Even in the dark she can see how perfectly the bed is made, each layer tucked and folded neatly to rival any upper class hotel.   Something is wrong.  She can feel it.  There’s something obvious right in front of her, a voice in her head screeches at her to figure it out before she gets herself killed.  If she wasn’t still reeling from the strength of the psychic imprint on that painting she would have already realised there should be no breeze present to disturb the curtains, no matter how light the material.

  She turns to inspect the left side of the room but in the process a flash of white in her peripheral vision has her blood running cold.  Time seems to slow around her as a series of unfortunate events occur in particularly rapid succession.   First, her eyes lock onto the shards of glass scattered across the white carpet in front of the window.  Then, her heart leaps into her throat as she realises the light they’re reflecting is coming from behind her.  Finally, she whips around to find a shapeless white shimmer in the air only inches from her face.

  In a split second she rushes through a mental checklist; no overwhelming malaise, no ectoplasm stains around the house, no ghost-fog, below freezing temperatures, delayed apparition.  The sudden flare up of bright other-light is the final piece of the puzzle.  A Changer.  Not the best possible option, but she’d take it over some of the alternatives any day.  At least she could drop a few of her mental walls to focus on physically evading the thing.

  …Strike one.

  Feeling at least partially in control of the situation again, she leaps towards the bed, tucking into herself to roll across the softness before springing to her feet on the other side.   The previously flawless bedding holds an imprint from her impact and subsequent dismount, but that’s not what she finds herself frozen staring at.  Technically she isn’t actually staring at anything, more at the absence of it.  When she tried to look back at the new shape of the Changer, she found the room completely empty.     Shit.

  If it had been a weak apparition, and that flare was it deciding it was better off without a corporeal form, then-- squeezing her eyes shut, she breathes deeply as she tries desperately to get a handle on her panic and replace the psychic defences she’d oh so foolishly abandoned.   It’s too late.  An ear piercing shriek erupts through the space, echoing off of every wall to create a cacophony of noise she only realises she’s adding to when her throat starts aching in protest of the violent treatment.  A bloody Screaming Spirit.  This is a problem - no pun intended.   A cold ache permeates her body, she can feel herself becoming more sluggish with every passing second.  If she could just lay down, cover her head with one of Mrs. Roland’s goose down pillows, surely that would block out enough noise to let her rest?

  That might have been the end of her, succumbing to ghost-lock alone in a house straight out of Home & Garden, if the front door hadn’t slammed open loud enough to wake the dead.  Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she gathers her wits and sprints from the room.  It’s not until both feet are on the hardwood in the hallway that she notices she’s dropped the chains and is now completely unarmed.  Not the end of the world, but still not ideal.   Apparently having neglected to learn from her previous mistakes, she’s distracted enough to lose her footing and slip on the runner.  

  Strike two.

  As she slides into the living room, arms pinwheeling in an undignified manner in an attempt to stay upright, a part of her can’t help but wonder if this is revenge for mentally calling it tacky.  Regaining her balance just in time, she pivots on her heel, intending to make a beeline straight into the kitchen and out of the house to buy enough time to come up with a proper plan.  She makes it three steps into the kitchen before being stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Sorry it took me so long, darling.  Traffic was atrocious.”  An infuriatingly calm voice says behind her, making the slender arm wrapping around her waist a split second later only slightly less alarming.  He pulls her back firmly against him, his warmth enveloping her.  She curses her traitorous body for immediately relaxing into his chest.     Any verbal response she might have had to The World’s Worst Boss™ invading her personal space is cut short as he releases his hold and manoeuvres her to safety behind him, the singing of metal on metal filling the air as he draws his rapier.  

  “Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole!  The sun set half an hour ago!”  She seethes, smacking the back of his shoulder to emphasise every word in an attempt to vent some of her frustration before she implodes.  He huffs an absent laugh at her theatrics, still scanning the sunny sitting room for any sign of something chasing her.

  “Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with?  Or what the Source could be?”   She gapes at him unabashedly, honestly attempting to drill holes in the back of his head with her eyes.  Was he really going to ignore her after subjecting her to this nightmare of an evening?  Lockwood looks back over his shoulder, flinching at whatever he finds in her eyes.

  “Y’know what?  Figure it out yourself.  You would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyway.”  She barely recognises her own voice without the warmth it usually carries when she speaks to him.

  “What do you mean?  What happened?”  

  It’s his genuine concern that throws her off first, second is the way he promptly turns to face her.  Her breath catches in her throat as she’s met with the undeniable fact of their proximity, face to face.  Well, face to chest, really.   He’s looking her up and down carefully for any sign of injury, a frown painted across his face as his hands hover between them, trembling gently but making no move to touch her.  

  Upon joining Lockwood & Co., she’d figured out rather quickly that he had some kind of touch aversion.  When she’d accidentally touch his hand or brush past him in Portland Row’s narrow entryway, he would jerk away from her like he’d been stung, stumbling over his words and staring at the ground before making a quick escape.  Lucy and George seemed to be safe for him by now, which made sense considering he’d known them so much longer, so she swore to herself she’d respect his space and give him whatever time he needed to open up to her.     It had been better in recent months, as long as he knew to expect contact he could stay calm.

  A shrill scream echoes across the house, jarring her from her thoughts.  She winces in pain at the sudden noise, tucking her hands beneath her hair to cover her ears.  Lockwood covers the minimal distance between them in an instant, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest to shield her the best he can from the sound.     As quickly as it started, the screaming stopped.  His arms loosen around her, allowing her enough room to pull her palms away from aching ears.  

  “You okay?”  His voice sounds farther away than it should.  

  She doesn’t have much time to worry about that though, not when his face is suddenly so close to her own.  Dark eyes find hers in the lamp light, worry overflowing within them.  Her thoughts run wild with images of closing the distance between them, each and every one making it harder to breathe.     Needing a second to compose herself, and entirely refusing to trust her tongue not to betray her, she raises her hands at him in an attempt at a placating gesture and tries to take a step back.

  His eyes sharpen, grabbing her by the wrists as she moves to lower her hands.  The movement startles her, instinct taking over as she tries in vain to pull away.  Tightening his grip, he uses his hold on her to guide her closer to the lamp.  As soon as they’re near enough the light that she can properly see every detail of his face, he releases her.  She opens her mouth to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing manhandling her like that, but clamps it shut when he reaches for her face.

  His skin is soft against her own as he grabs her gently by the chin, she thinks she might pass out.  He slowly turns her head so the light is on her right, then uses his other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she swears to god she’s going to combust.  Breathing is a distant memory when she feels his thumb swipe gently across the skin connecting her throat to her jaw, just below her ear.  But when he looks at her, his gaze is serious.  He retreats suddenly and she’s certain he’s taken part of her heart with him.   Then he shows her the blood on his hand, and her stomach drops.  She looks down at her own hands, finding more blood smeared across her right palm.  The side closest to the painting.  

  At least there really isn’t any doubt about what the Source is.

  “Now will you tell me about it?”  It might be fairly obvious the humour in his tone isn’t entirely sincere, but she laughs nonetheless.  Grateful for something to tether her back to reality, and for his own form of reassurance, she decides then that she won’t give him hell for dragging her around.   There’s still an edge to him, something sharp just behind the eyes that she’d never seen from him before - it dawns on her.  He’s angry, and not just a little.  

  For reasons unknown to her, the words come tumbling from her lips as if they can’t get out fast enough.

  “Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom.  Husband’s name was Harold Roland.  There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen.  Twenty quid says that’s the Source,”  She pauses, wracking her brain to ensure she hadn’t forgotten any vital information, “Oh!  And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

  When he doesn’t reply, she looks back up at him.  She finds him already looking at her, an expression akin to a proud smirk gracing his features.  He opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates.

  “Your rapier is on the table.”  It obviously isn’t what he first wanted to say, but right now all she can bring herself to care about is the promise of not being so damn helpless anymore.

  The unassuming cloth bag makes her giddy with excitement, but it’s expectedly short lived.  A bright other-light erupts in the other room, almost blinding them.  Lockwood recovers quickly, his blade whistling through the air as it cuts through the centre mass of the plasm figure throwing itself at him.   She quickly frees her own blade, barely sparing it a glance.  It feels lighter than she’s used to, which shouldn’t be possible considering she’d ordered the precise model she’d had previously, but that’s a problem for later.  The first order of business is trying to concoct a plan to get past the ghastly form of Mr. Roland without losing their hearing, or their lives.

  Striding back across the tile to stand behind him, she flicks her gaze around the room, her head moving restlessly while she tries to piece the loose ideas rattling around in her head into an actual plan.  If she had a salt bomb, maybe she could…     One metaphorical lightbulb moment later and she’s grinning as the final piece falls into place, sliding her rapier into its sheath on her belt.  She might have felt a little guilty about this if she hadn’t still been so bloody pissed at him, but as they stood now; any plan that involved getting the job done and short circuiting her boss at the same time was an excellent plan.  

  Leaning forward and pressing her chest against Lockwood’s back is the only way to get close enough to reach the first step of her plan, but she can’t help but feel a touch of vindictive pleasure at the way he goes rigid in response to her.     Sliding her palms down his sides, over his hips, and slipping her hands under his coat, she retrieves the salt bomb he always keeps in a hidden pocket behind his back.

  She’d learned this fun fact only a few months into her employment under him, having discovered it in a bonafide witch hunt for whichever irresponsible dunce kept leaving salt bombs in their laundry and ruining her favourite clothes.  Apparently he’d found himself without his kit in enough life threatening instances to always carry a backup plan.

  “Follow my lead.”  She says, not waiting for him to reply before stepping back and hurling the bundle of mineral and cloth over his shoulder.   The apparition wails and recoils as it explodes in its face, giving her an opportunity to slip past her colleague and make a break for the silver shimmer under the obnoxious loveseat before Mr. Roland could return to his murderous state.  Dropping to the ground and rolling to shove her arm as far under the settee as possible, she hooks a finger through the silver net, launching herself upright and letting it trail behind her as she sprints down the hallway.  She’s so focused on not wiping out on the carpet runner again, she almost misses Lockwood’s warning.

  “DUCK!”  There’s a sobering panic in his voice as he bellows from behind her.  Every warning bell in her head goes off at once and she barely has time to register the ghostly arm reaching for her through the wall before she’s diving into a tight roll underneath it.  

  The muscles in her legs ache with protest at the speed with which she springs back to her feet and skids through the doorway onto the carpet.  She tears the painting off of the wall and throws it to the floor before freezing, suddenly aware of her empty hands.  

  A quick glance confirms the net’s position on the floor in the hallway where it had been dropped in her evasion of the Visitor’s touch.  

  Well shit. 

  Three strikes, you’re out.

She doesn’t even have time to unsheath her rapier before Mr. Roland appears before her and shrieks at her.  The kinetic force of the psychic blast throws her back, directly into the solid wooden bed frame.  There’s a sickening thud as her head makes contact.  

  Nausea floods her body immediately, followed closely by the pain; her back aches from the impact, but she can’t move from the warped position her body had landed in.  With the shrill whistle heralding the arrival of blood rushing in her ears, the vibrations and flickering lights she’s assuming are related to Lockwood, and the horrifying sensation of the room pitching and reeling like a ship in a storm, the whole experience feels like some kind of twisted carnival ride.     Time begins behaving strangely, as does her memory.  Has it been ten seconds, or ten minutes?  Why is her body so angry with her?   A blanket of numbness creeps over her aches, pains, and anxieties, allowing her to become too aware of the sickening dizziness.

  At first she thinks it’s the whistling in her ears that’s beginning to fade, but no such luck.  Instead, it’s her awareness as a whole, dropping bit by bit until there’s just…

  Nothing.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]