#i really did my best with this one and i hope it shows

[bloodxbat]

Heyyy, could you do an NSFW fic with Spencer where it’s best friends to lovers and they’re roommates and maybe it’s a really hot day and readers barely wearing anything and Spencer can’t control himself etc 🫶🫶

Hey Anon! absolutely I can!! I had so much fun writing this, I've not written a fan fiction in so long so I hope this is ok!!

My requests and taglist are open so feel free to send me a wee message!!

Hope you enjoy the fic :))

Can’t Control Myself

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut!!! 18+, MDNI, P IN V sex, unprotected, creampie, oral (fem), best friends to lovers, swearing! Dom Spence, Praise, Marking kink, all the good stuff 

Reblogs help me stay motivated to keep writing fics! :))

Taglist: @writing-wh0re Message to be added 

Word Count: 2,649

Prompt(s) used: none

Summary: You and Spencer have been best friends for 3 years, you’ve lived together for almost 2 now. Spencer has always had a ‘’thing’’ for you but has always been way too shy to admit it. On a particularly hot day he loses control of himself over the clothes (or lack thereof) you’re wearing. 

Masterlist

The apartment you and Spencer shared was small, which made this weather even more unbearable. Books piling up, almost touching the ceiling keeping in all the heat, stopping cold fresh air from coming in. Any outfit you put on was just sticking to your skin in an instant. The fabrics attach themselves as if they were part of your skin. You huff out a frustrated sigh as you peel off yet another outfit that suffocated you in this heat. 

Throwing your wardrobe all over your room trying to find the loosest outfit you owned you finally found something. ‘Please let this one help, please’ you thought to yourself as you pulled on the clothes. 

You’d found a black short-sleeved crop top, so short that it barely covered your tits when you lifted your arms, and a pair of loose fabric shorts that showed off the underside of your ass accenting its curves under them. A sigh escapes your lips, you sway your hips and air brushes itself up your skin giving temporary relief from the heat. 

Finally having found your outfit you make your way out your room and down the small hall leading to the living room/kitchen to grab a cup of ice cold water. Spencer was sitting on the brown leather couch that took up the centre of the room in front of the TV, which was not switched on of course as Spencer would never ‘’waste his free time watching that thing’’. You chuckled to yourself as you noticed he was reading The Odyssey for the hundredth time it felt. 

Brushing your hand over his shoulders you greet him 

‘’Hey Spence’’ you smile walking into the kitchen area.

Spencer looks up from his book feeling your slight friendly touch, turning round to see you in the kitchen. You were stretching up on your tiptoes to reach the cupboard where the glasses were kept. His eyes went wide, your crop top and short had rode up your body at the movement. Exposing your skin, your curves, your perfection. He had never seen so much of you before. 

‘’H-hi Y/N’’ he manages to stutter out, clearing his throat.

‘’The Odyssey again Spence?’’ You ask not looking at him as you grab ice from the freezer, bending over in front of him. 

Was this a dream, his eyes didn’t leave you, devouring your body. His mouth was salivating, he wanted too much to know how you tasted, how you felt. He hadn’t even processed your question before you were walking over to him, glass in hand waving in front of his eyes.

‘’Earth to Spencer’’ You chuckle

‘’S-sorry I lost track- wh-what did you uhm whatdidyousay?’’

‘’I asked if you were seriously reading The Odyssey again? Does it not bore you?’’

‘’Yes i’m reading it again and no of course it doesn’t bore me, this is one of the greatest classics of all time!’’

You chuckle at his passion for the book. Taking a seat next to him, taking the book out his hands, your fingers brushing his skin slightly, such a small gesture but enough that his vision was turning blurry and his mind racing. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin so you looked up at him. 

Spencer was wearing a white loose fitting linen shirt, the top button undone exposing the skin of his chest to you, and brown hemp trousers. Even in this heat he still tries his best to look professional, even from the comfort of his own apartment.

‘’Everything ok Spencer?’’ Your voice filled with genuine concern, looking at your friend he doesn’t seem quite himself. He is normally hyper focused, aware of every surroundings, given the nature of his job, it's not paranoia it's just…him, but now he seems distracted.

‘’I-’’ Spencer licks his lips trying to think of the words, the right words to tell you how he really feels. How all these years he has found you the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on. How he’s up late at night thinking about you, what he could do to you, how he could make you scream his name. How you would feel pinned below him. He could feel himself begin to grow at the thought, your touch bringing him out of his thoughts. 

You placed your hand on his arm, stroking your thumb along his skin. Waiting patiently for him to answer. His deep brown eyes caught yours, god his eyes were beautiful, you could stare into them all day. You felt strange thinking of your friend this way but it also felt so right. You couldn’t deny that Spencer Reid wasn’t attractive, he wasn’t named ‘pretty boy’ for nothing because he certainly was that. 

‘’You’re driving me crazy’’ Spencer says suddenly, his voice low and raspy.

‘’W-what?’’ your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden boldness.

‘’You heard me pretty girl’’ his eyes stare holes into yours with burning passion ‘’You’re driving me. Crazy’’ he emphasises the last word. 

Spencer shuffles closer to you, grabbing your hand and taking it off its place on his arm. The cool air touching your palm from where his warm skin used to be moments before. Your eyes never leave his, as you watch him lick his lips once more. 

‘’Wearing this outfit, practically naked…fuck’’ he groans

Spencer rarely swears in fact you've only ever heard him swear when he clumsily bumps his head off of a shelf. My god it was hot, those types of words just rolling off his tongue.

‘’It’s getting harder to control myself around you Y/N, ever since I laid eyes on you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. 3 years, for 3 long years i’ve not stopped thinking about you, thinking how you would feel, how you would-’ he paused letting his eyes roam over you ‘how you would taste’’

His words cause a heat to form in between your legs, a wetness forming on your shorts. It was only then you notice the bulge appearing in Spencer's trousers, the zip practically about to burst up against him. 

‘’Why don’t you come and find out’’ You don’t know where this bold side of you came from but the way it turned the expression on Spencer's face to complete lust, his eyes growing darker from your words. You hope that the image burned itself into your eyes so you would never forget it. 

Without hesitation his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft and gentle at first, his lips were so smooth and inviting, they felt so familiar to you, like they were meant to be on yours and only yours. You could feel his tongue graze your bottom lip slightly wanting more you open your mouth inviting him in. Your tongues dance at first, softly brushing over each other, he tasted of coffee, humming against him at the taste. The kiss became more hungry, tongues battling for dominance which Spencer of course won. 

He pushed you down so you were beneath him on the couch, his hands grazing up your sides causing you to shiver. His hands reached your breasts that lay under your shirt, his fingers found their way to your hard nipples, pinching them softly. Your back arched up into him as you moaned softly at the sensation. You could feel him pulse onto you through his trousers at your noises. 

‘’That feel good?’’ he smirks, his lips travelling down your jaw and onto your neck, sucking and biting. 

‘’Mhmm, p-please spence’’ you hand made its way into his golden brown curly hair that stuck to the nape of his neck from sweat, tugging slightly as he continued to kiss down your neck. Ripping your shirt off of you to get a better look at your body beneath him.

‘’Fuck’’ he groaned, his eyes taking in every inch of your exposed skin. ‘’So fucking beautiful why didn’t I confess sooner’’ 

Before you could say anything his lips are back on you, attacking your skin sucking every inch he could find leaving red marks behind him. 

‘’S-spence’’ You gasp at all the marks

‘’Shh, I’m marking you as mine, d’you understand me? Everyones gonna know who you belong too’’

His words were like sex itself to your ears, the very thought of everyone being able to see that he had his way with you causing a pool to form soaking your thighs. Your fingers made their way to his chest, undoing the buttons on his shirt pushing the material off his shoulders. His chest was so smooth and toned, your eyes roamed over the sight in front of you causing Spencer to smirk. 

‘’Like what you see?’’ he says

All you can do is nod, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth, then looking into his lust filled eyes. 

‘’Good- because it’s all yours angel’’ 

It didn’t take long before the rest of your clothes were discarded on the floor. Both of you tangled in a hot mess on the couch skin sticking to the leather beneath. Spencer started to train his kisses along your chest. Teasing your already hard nipples with his tongue, soft moans spilling out your mouth. He continues his way down further, nestling his head between your thighs, wrapping his arms under you keeping you in place. 

Feathering kisses on your inner thighs, nipping at the soft skin slightly, your back arching up into him. Silently begging for more. 

‘’Need you to use your words if you want something angel’’ He continues to kiss your soft skin.

‘’P-please Spencer’’ 

‘’Please what?’’

‘’I n-need you please’’

‘’Want me to taste you angel is that what you want?’’

He wasn’t continuing until he got confirmation from you. 

‘’Mhmm’’ you nod, looking down at him. The sight of him looking up at you through your thighs drove you crazy.

Without warning Spencer slammed his lips against your heat. Lewd noises filling your small shared flat. His tongue sliding between your wet folds, lapping up every bit of you, savouring your sweet salty taste. Spencer could’ve came right there, he groaned onto you as he sucked on your clit, causing vibrations to shoot right through you. Waves of pleasure bringing you to the edge. 

Who knew Dr Spencer Reid was so damn good with his tongue. You reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer to you as you neared release. 

‘’Fuck Spencer oh my-’’ You moaned breathlessly. 

‘’Taste. So. fucking. Good.’’ Spencer said between licks. Not wanting to be away from your heat for even a second. 

Your grip on his hair got tighter, earning a groan from him. 

‘’You gonna cum angel? Go on, cum on my tongue, wanna taste you so fucking bad’’

His words sent you over the edge. The knot in your stomach unleashing as you reached your high all over his face. Waves of pleasure coursing through your body, your legs going limp, that was the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had. Spencer moaned onto you as he hungrily lapped up all of your juices. He pulls back, his chin glistening with you all over him, licking his lips before crawling up to be face to face with you.

‘’Good girl’’ he groans softly before taking your lips with his. You could taste yourself on his tongue. 

Spencer's hard length brushed up your folds. The sensation causes you to shiver. His tip was red, angry, needing attention. He positioned himself outside your hole. 

‘’Gonna fuck you now angel, otherwise i’ll lose control’’

‘’Please- please fuck me’’ desperation on your tongue. Hearing you talk to him like this drove Spencer crazy. Knowing he was the one to make you this way. Slurring your words with absolute pleasure. 

He slowly thrust forward, stretching you out. Your mouth hung open at his size, it felt unlike you've ever felt before, pain, pleasure, it was almost overwhelming. You gripped onto Spencer's skin so tight, your nails dug into his flesh leaving crescent shapes. Silent moans falling from your mouth as your foreheads touched together. 

‘'M’gonna move now angel ok?’’ Spencer groaned

He slowly pulled out, almost all the way before thrusting back into you, he was so deep you could feel him in your stomach. That first thrust forced out the most sinful moan, the noise going straight to Spencer's cock, he practically collapsed into your neck. He continued to thrust in and out of your wet cunt, the sounds of skin slapping filling the air. 

‘’Mm oh- fuck Y/N, so fucking tight’’ 

His pace quickened, your body shaking with pleasure. You didn’t care how loud you were being, you wanted people to know who you belonged to, who made you feel this way. Spencer's mouth was beside your ear, whimpering and moaning with every thrust he made into you. Your walls clench around him with every noise he made. 

‘’I’m not gonna last if you keep tightening around me sweetheart’’

‘’Please- wanna feel you’’

‘’What do you wanna feel angel?’’

He never stopped thrusting into you, he was going unbearably fast, you were definitely going to have a few bruises tomorrow. 

‘’Cum S-spencer, please gotta feel it’’

Your words cause blood to rush straight to his length.

‘’Fuck Y/N where do you want me to cum hmm? Getting so fucking close’’

‘’I-inside Spence, p-lease’’

‘’Are you sure?’’

‘’Yes- please need to feel it, fill me up Spencer please’’

He would like nothing more.

‘’Whatever you want, angel’’ he groaned, continuing to pound into you. He was so close, both of you breathless and sweating all over each other. Your eyes lock, both mouths agape with pleasure. Spencer's eyes turn dark, they turn lustful, he is close. You push yourself up against him more. 

‘’Fuck’’ He almost shouts, moaning loud as he releases thick white ropes into you, coating your twitching walls. The feeling of him cumming into you causing you to reach your second release. Eyes rolling to the back of your head with pleasure, you didn’t realise you were drooling over yourself. Spencer reached his thumb up, wiping it away, still inside you, waiting for both of you to catch your breath before pulling out. 

Spencer focussing on your convulsing hole watching as his cum spilled out of you, the sight almost enough to make him ready for round two. He got up and grabbed a damp cloth cleaning you both up, before pulling you into his arms.

‘’That was-’’ You begin still breathless and speechless from what you just did.

‘’Amazing’’ he finished your sentence for you.

‘’How long?’’ you asked, looking up at him, tracing shapes on his exposed glistening chest ‘’How long have you felt this way?’’

‘’Honestly- since the day I met you’’ he confessed, all you could do was stare at him with a smile creeping on your face. 

‘’I was too scared to say anything, I didn't want to ruin the friendship we had, you were, are, too special for me to lose’’ Your heart warming at this confession.

‘’But seeing you in that outfit…I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer, I'm just glad you feel the same way’’ He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You grab his face and lightly kiss him on the lips. Sighing into him pressing your foreheads together. 

‘’I’m glad I chose this outfit then’’ You chuckle leaning your head up against his shoulder. 

You both stayed there, naked on the couch, holding each other. You convinced Spencer to watch TV with you, he actually enjoyed the show but he would never admit it. Neither of you got up to put clothes on, it was too warm for that. 

You fell asleep watching TV snuggled into him, your soft snores peeling Spencer’s eyes away from the screen. Not wanting to wake you he just smiled and kissed you softly.

‘’Good night Angel’’ he whispered.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

Didn't expect me to write more about Sol, did you? Honestly, I needed to do more research into his character, after all, since I kinda ignored him in the game as soon as Crowe showed up. Like, no wonder he did what he thought he had to do.  

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet. I'm still learning about the BDSM community, and honestly, it's been really eye-opening.

A close friend (college roommate: adding on the fact she adores Sol—Sorry not sorry, love) of mine has been super helpful, sharing and explaining things about the BDSM scene to add more depth to my writing.

A lot of my inspiration comes from her, along with the Tumblr fanfic community and the original creator's work. I try to blend what feels true to the characters while throwing in my own twist. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with my man—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. He exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence, though the details are still unclear. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy. 

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…) 

For Crowe preferences! 

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished. 

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender. 

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after. 

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.  

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.  

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment. 

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.  

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.  

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.  

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment. 

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew. 

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore. 

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer. 

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable. 

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy. 

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down. 

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions. 

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous. 

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache. You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His head teases your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want. Can’t do anything unless you say it. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing lightly as if testing the waters. 

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His grin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory. 

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears on your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him. 

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb, slick with your tears, slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.  

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you. 

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences. 

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.   

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor. 

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.  

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability. 

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there. 

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed. 

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching. 

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.  

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares. 

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away. 

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break. 

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior. 

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable. 

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable. 

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.  

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it. 

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.  

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.  

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.  

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.  

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

✑ Somnophillia 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend. 

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you. 

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.  

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you. 

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.  

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.  

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.  

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.  

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.  

God, he was losing it.  

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further. 

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly. Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it? 

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry! 

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything. 

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special. So sacred. There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Every tender smile, every soft whisper... and every shadowed obsession that came with it. 

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 17. Carrots

A/N: Kinda related, kinda not, but you should watch “Hot Frosty” on Netflix if you haven’t, totally recommend it (it’s very ridiculous in the best way possible). Sorry for all the awful dialogue you are about

Snowman x fem!reader || questionable use of vegetables, temperature play (kinda), mentioned overstimulation

When your witch friend asked you to build a snowman with her, you thought nothing of it. It would be fun, the snow was fresh and everyone seemed cheerful around you as you built his round body. Your friend, though… She made hers to look a bit more realistic, less round and more angular, in a way that was giving uncanny valley vibes. But you thought nothing of it, why would you?

When she asked if you liked him, you started to suspect there was something special about him, but again, you thought nothing of it. And when she used the carrot to make a dick instead of a nose, you almost peed yourself laughing. It was just so stupid looking, all white and round but with a big carrot dick… You should have known better.

And then he showed up, alive and walking, knocking on your door and staring up and down at you like he was about to fuck you right there. His carrot dick was erected and pointing straight at you. You gaped at him as he smiled, stroking his dick slowly. You gaped some more, your eyes accidentally traveling down. That was an amazing carrot…

No. Behave, you cannot fuck a snowman, you tried to remind myself.

“Wait here,” you told the snowman, who only nodded. You grabbed your phone and dialed your friend. “Why there’s a living snowman at my door, dude?!” You screamed at her as soon as she picked up. The poor dude was looking at you as if you were his dream come true.

“Calm down, you seemed very lonely and I had a bit of extra magic lately… So I gave you my Christmas gift early. Do you like him? Have you tried him yet?”

“Have I tri- What the fuck?!” You must be dreaming, there was no way that was happening to you. You pinched yourself and blinked, but the snowman was still in front of you and your friend was still talking.

“He’s ready for you, darling. He wants to treat you like the queen you deserve to be,” she explained, almost bored. You wanted to pull her hair until she was bald.

“You did not send me a sex snowman,” you repeated, trying to make sense of what you were seeing and hearing.

“I did. Now I have to go, have fun!” She said before hanging up on you.

“We are not fucking,” you told him, your frown so deep you could see your eyebrows.

“I’m going to feed my carrot to your hungry bunny,” he deadpanned, in a tone that you supposed was intended to sound sexy. It didn’t. You struggled not to laugh, but his face was so serious you couldn’t do that to him, he looked so hopeful.

You stared at him, his hand lazily stroking his carrot once again. You felt your face blushing. You really needed to get laid, your pussy was getting wet about a snowman and a carrot… But you had more pressing matters than your wet pussy.

“One: you can’t say things like that. And two: we aren’t going to fuck.” His face fell and he stopped moving his hand, making you almost sad. Dang.

“Why not? I can smell your juices.” He could what? “You are hot for me and I’m cold for you, we should do something about it.” How desperate were you that he sounded right? You did want to fuck a snowman… Fuck, there was something so, so wrong inside of you because you were considering taking him on the offer.

“I- We- You are a snowman,” you let out, not really having a point.

“And you are a human, but my carrot is very hard for you.” You chuckled, the absurdity of it all getting to you. But most of all, your strength to hold back disappeared with that affirmation. He was made for you, and you were very horny, and his carrot looked especially delicious right now…

“Okay,” you agreed, your pussy almost clapping with enthusiasm. It had been a long time since you were properly fucked and you were feeling the need for sure.

“Okay? Are you… are you sure?” He suddenly seemed very confused about your decision, as if all his bravado died the second you agreed to fuck him. You wanted to coo at him, but you decided there was a better choice.

You walked to him and kissed his half open mouth. He was cold, but at the same time his lips felt like velvet against yours as you devoured his mouth. He gave as much as received, deepening the kiss and circling your body with his arms. You were pressed firmly against his front and your nipples instantly hardened, he was so cold in such a pleasurable way… You didn’t even know you had something for temperature play but good snowman if your pussy wasn’t quivering thinking about his hard carrot pocking your stomach.

You parted, looking at him intently, but when you didn’t find any doubt in his eyes, your choice was already made. “Fuck me, my snowman,” you almost pleaded, your voice trembling as your pussy pulsated at the same rhythm as your heart.

“Your wish is my command.” He laid you on the floor, right in the middle of your living room. “Are you ready for my carrot?” He asked, as you tried not to giggle. You nodded, fearing if you opened your mouth you would laugh and he wouldn’t give you his dick. And you needed it. You needed it so, so bad.

He entered you in one long thrust and you cried out in ecstasy. The contrast between your warm body and his cold skin was exhilarating and arousing, sending you to the stratosphere of pleasure. You didn’t know what was about to happen, but the size and shape of his carrot ended up being fantastic. The almost pointy tip played with your cervix as the wide base made your pussy clench around it, rubbing against your G-spot in the most amazing way. It was the perfect sex toy, even better, he was like a breathing sex-toy and that made your brain turn a bit fuzzy at the edges, arousal so big it was maddening.

He started a punishing pace, his dick going in and out of you so fast and hard your whole body was moving across the floor. You had to hold onto the carpet (carpet burn be damned) to be still as he pounded into your welcoming heat. He kept moaning how warm and wet you were, how good your heat felt against his cold… And you could only chant “yes, yes, yes” as he kept going.

And when you came like a tidal wave, your whole body convulsing as he kept fucking you. He didn’t stop, he fucked you through it as he used his cold fingers to rub your clit, making you ascend in your pleasure even higher. You screamed his name, pulling at his ice hair and trying to hold for dear life as you kept coming and coming…

And he kept going.

He fucked you many more times that night, his stamina endless as he kept using his clever carrot to pound into your G-spot as his cold fingers pinched your clit until you couldn’t hold back orgasm after orgasm. It was the most intense pleasure you’d ever felt, and by the time you asked for a rest, he was smirking down at you, the smugness in his face making your overused pussy twitch in anticipation.

And then you remembered… You had to thank your friend. Damn it.

[peppermintquartz]

Continuation of this

"Why do I keep thinking about shellfish?" Evan asks after he's eaten breakfast and downed half the bottle of water along with the painkillers.

Tommy pulls up a chair. "You were going on and on about oysters and the sea last night."

"Oysters?" Evan's brow creases adorably. "Why oysters?"

How is it that I can't let you go? Tommy doesn't voice the thought, though he does smile at Evan. "Beats me. You were the one who was fixated on it."

Scowling, Evan pouts as he tugs on the hem of his old tee. The color used to be a dark green but it's been washed so often that it's faded. "It musta made sense. Otherwise I wouldn't be talking about it." Then his brow clears. "You!"

"Me?"

"I was comparing you to oysters!"

Tommy grimaces. Yeah, Chimney did say something to that effect. "You don't like oysters, Ev- Buck."

"Not the ones here in LA, they're fucking overpriced and not fresh enough. Peruvian seafood is among the best in the world, and I had this amazing oyster ceviche once that blew my mind." Evan pauses, then smacks Tommy's arm. "And don't distract me. I'm trying to remember my analogy. Okay, so you're like an oyster. How are you like an oyster?"

"I have the consistency of snot?"

Evan glares at him. It's a cute glare. Tommy coughs into his hand, trying not to show that he is charmed. With a huff, Evan starts with, "Okay. You have cultivated a hard exterior to survive a difficult environment."

Tommy nods. "Fair enough."

"And in response to the difficult environment, you cling to the familiar and try to hide because you're actually full of soft and tender delicious goodness." Evan raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Tommy pretends not to be perturbed by the read. "I guess you'd know exactly how I taste," he jokes flatly. Evan ignores it.

"You hide in plain sight," Evan continues, on a roll now, "and it will take skill to pry you out from your chosen rock." He reaches over to grasp Tommy's forearm. "But there's something that's different between you and oysters."

Tommy can't look at him. "I'm not a mollusc?"

Evan's tone is infinitely gentle. "Yeah. Showing me vulnerable side won't kill you, Tommy."

Clenching his jaw, Tommy stands and takes the tray from the bed. "You can take a shower if you want. I've washed and dried your clothes. A-and you have the other clothes you left here."

"You didn't pack them up," Evan points out when Tommy's nearly to the door. "You could've packed them up with my stuff and returned them. But you didn't." He cocks his head and a sad yet hopeful smile crosses his face. "The way I didn't pack up yours. Because we still want each other in our lives."

Tommy can't breathe. He flees the bedroom.

---

Now that he is here, Buck plans to stay until Tommy really opens up to him. Even if he has to camp here forever. Even if Tommy throws him out physically and changes the locks.

He knows how to pick locks now - thank you, Lockpicking Lawyer - and he will not leave Tommy's home until that uncomfortable conversation about the breakup is held. Maybe several.

Oysters aren't shut forever. At some point they open up. And Buck is going to be there when Tommy does. He's done waiting for Tommy to make the first move. He's done waiting, period. Now he is going to act.

"I'm driving you home," Tommy declares at noon. He is resolutely not making eye contact.

"Good luck doing that," Buck says. "Are you going to carry me out of here? Big strong firefighter pilot like you, I'm sure you can do it."

"I could... I could report you to the police for-for home invasion."

"You brought me home, Tommy. Hen and Chim will vouch for that, and I'm sure there's security footage." Buck isn't smirking, not that Tommy will know since he isn't looking. He gentles his tone. "All I'm asking is for us to talk about our relationship. Why can't we do that?"

His face red, Tommy shuts his eyes. Then he mutters, "Fine. Fine, we'll talk about it. But please put some clothes on."

"You've literally eaten me out for hours before."

"That's when we were dating!"

"If I put some clothes on, promise you won't try to get me out of your house?" Buck says, deliberately shifting in the bed so his legs fall apart a little more. Watching Tommy squirm is kind of fun. (So sue him, Buck's feeling rather vindictive about the entire matter.) "Because I can and will strip in your car and have us both arrested. Then we'll have to spend the night in a jail cell together."

Tommy inhales sharply. "Fine. I promise. Now... now cover yourself up."

First chink in the armor. Buck grabs Tommy's LAFD T-shirt and pulls it on, appreciating the way it hugs his body, and pulls on his briefs. He's been shameless before, he can be shameless again. He'll show Tommy that it's perfectly okay to be vulnerable and open to the people he loves through visual metaphor if his words won't cut it.

Anything to get Tommy to be his again.

[ecemf]

And the Award Goes To... // A Carmen Berzatto Fanfic

18+!! MDNI!!

A/N: When this year started I definitely did not foresee myself writing not only one but two depraved fanfics both about hooking up in award ceremony bathrooms... but here we are.

This one actually took so long and I don't even really know if I like it but I hope y'all enjoy it. Big cheating vibes so if you're not into that don't read. Ok thanks bye!

Summary: As a writer for Vogue, you've been assigned to cover The James Beard Awards this year. This would be great, as your boyfriend is a nominee, if it weren't for the fact that your toxic ex was also nominated for the same goddamn award...

Warnings: cheating, smut, unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it guys), choking, dom/sub dynamics, bit of degradation, porn with lots of plot, asshole boyfriend, asshole carmy, no usage of y/n

WC: ~5.8k

Enjoy!!

Nerves. That’s all you’ve been feeling this entire week.

When your boss had told you in October that you were assigned to cover the James Beard Awards you were elated. Partially because, you know, it was the goddamn James Beard Awards, but mostly because it would be your first major story at Vogue. You had been a writer for their Food column for a few months at that point, and while it wasn’t exactly as you had imagined it while writing it over and over in your manifestation journal, it wasn’t bad, and you were sure you could work your way up. This story was a chance for you to do so, so why would you pass it up?

What you didn’t know when you accepted the assignment weeks before the nominations came out, was that your new boyfriend, Alex Moore, would be nominated for Best Chef in the Midwest. This wouldn’t have been a problem- in fact quite the opposite -if it weren’t for the fact that your toxic ex who you hadn’t seen in ages was nominated for The Same. Damn. Award.

Now it’s May, and the dreaded day has arrived. You finish applying your vampy lipstick with a shaky hand as you hear Alex yell for you from downstairs. You two have been together for about 10 months now, and it’s been great. Alex is good; he’s stable. Sure he’s a bit egotistical and barely has any free time, but he’s a chef, aren’t they all that way? Alex talks about the future with you, he always calls when he’s tied up at the restaurant, he tells you he loves you.

He’s nothing like your ex, which is a good thing. You think. You love him. You think.

You rush down the stairs with your red Louboutins click-clacking on each wooden step. The shoes had been a six-month anniversary gift from Alex, who apparently didn’t know that anniversary means year. Your boyfriend came from old money which he loved to throw around, especially when it came to spoiling you. He had also purchased the dress you were wearing that night. It wasn’t something you would pick out, but it was nice. Simple and sexy without showing much skin.

“Finally,” he sighs, seeing you make it to the bottom of the stairs, “You look great in that dress. Shoes are a nice touch.”

“Thanks baby,” you say, approaching him where he stands by the counter, “You look hot,”

You go to give him a kiss but he puts his hand up before your lips can reach him, “Hey! Watch it!” He scolds, “I don’t want red lipstick marks all over me when I accept my award tonight, so you’re gonna have to keep it in your pants, nympho,”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, one that he gave you a few weeks into living together. Alex thinks it’s crazy that you want to have sex once (if not maybe two or three times) a day. He’s nothing like your ex.

—

When you arrive at the awards ceremony, your heart is racing. You had been squeezing Alex’s hand like a lifeline the entire ride there; he chalked it up to you being nervous about the work aspect of tonight.

You weave through people hand-in-hand with your boyfriend, saying hello to those you recognized, being introduced to those you didn’t. Currently, you were becoming acquainted with the sommelier from some new fusion place. Alex knew him from college. Or from when he did his training in Belgium? You aren't sure, you weren’t really listening. The only thing you’re focused on tonight is avoiding a very specific nominee. You hope you don’t seem too distracted in this (very boring) conversation.

“I’m gonna go find our seats,” you say to Alex, excusing yourself from the hellish small-talk, “It was great to meet you,” you say to- actually, you never caught her name.

As you saunter through the rows of tables, scanning each place card for you and your lover’s names, you try to calm yourself down. “No sign of him yet,” you think, “Maybe he won’t even come. That would be just like him, not showing up.”

Finally, you find the place card reading “Alex Moore”, but when you look at the table setting next to it, it’s empty. You glance around the table- maybe it blew off the plate? As you scan the surrounding area, you grow a bit concerned. Did they forget to put your name out? Were you even supposed to be there? You had no trouble getting in at the door, but-

“Looking for this?”

You freeze. Of fucking course he found your seat before you could.

You turn on your stiletto to see no one other than your ex-boyfriend, Carmen Berzatto, Executive Chef of The Bear. He stares back at you with your place card between his two fingers like a cigarette. Fitting.

“Please give that back,” you say, doing your best to seem unfazed by his presence.

“Wow,” he responds in mock-offense, “That’s the hello I get after all this time? C’mon, Jig,”

You wince at the nickname. You and Carmen had met while you were bartending in college. He was a regular at your bar, and you were a bright-eyed bushy-tailed 21-year-old hoping to make it as a food writer in the big city. You two bonded over your love of food, and would trade recommendations back and forth for different spots around town. You were the only bartender out of the whole staff who used a jigger (was no one else worried about their ratios??), so before he knew your name he would just call you Jigger, which then got shortened to Jig. Even after he finally asked for your name (and number), and even throughout your 3-year relationship (if you could even call it that), he still called you Jig more than your actual name.

“Hello Carmen,” you reply with a tight smile, extending your hand, “May I please have my place card for my seat?” You ask again.

As he opens his mouth to respond, you hear Alex calling out for you, “Babe!” He quickly walks over to where you and Carmen stand, “Hey, you found our seats?” He turns to look at Carmen, “Hey man, good to see you!” He embraces the chef, and takes a step back, looking at the place card in his hand, “Why do you have my girlfriend’s name in your hand?”

You panic. “Ummm… Carmen here found it on the ground, and he was kind enough to pick it up and come find me with it,” You (not so kindly) snatch the white paper out from between his fingers, “thank you again,” You hope your tone makes it clear that you want him to walk away.

“Find you…” Alex looks between the two of you, obviously confused, “Sorry, do you two know each other?” Shit.

Carmen looks at you, amused. You didn’t tell your boyfriend about him.

“Yeah!” You say, a little too enthusiastically, “Um yeah! I erm, I interviewed Carmen about The Bear for that article a few months back, remember honey?”

Alex looks back at you and thinks for a second. “Oh right, I remember that article,”

You never wrote an article about The Bear.

“And how could I forget such a face,” Carmen chimes in. You try to give him a warning with your eyes, and he seems to receive it when he says, “Well, it’s good to see you both, I should go find my place card this time. Good luck out there tonight, Alex,” He pats your boyfriend on the bicep.

“Hey, you too, man,” Alex responds, grinning. As Carmen walks away, he leans down to you and whispers not-so-discreetly, “He’ll need it,”

You try to ignore the comment as the two of you sit down. Your boyfriend was a good chef, a great chef even, but Carmen was better. When you read through the nominations all those months ago, you knew he would win tonight. As someone who had watched the man in his element, there was no doubt in your mind: Carmen would take home the award.

As people continue to mingle and find their seats, you take a glance around the room. The reception hall was huge, there had to be at least a thousand people in the building. Which is why it’s so painfully ironic that Carmen’s seat is in direct eye-line with yours. As you continue to survey your surroundings, his icy blue eyes meet yours. He was staring at you with a familiar look in his eye, and you try to ignore the knots it was tying your stomach into. You quickly look away, turning your attention back to Alex. He turns to look at you, and you go to give him a quick peck, forgetting your conversation from earlier. He once again stops you, rearing his head back to avoid your lips (or your lipstick, rather, so he claims).

“Sorry, I forgot,” you say dejectedly to your boyfriend, who looks at you like you just tried to stab him, “I’m gonna run to the bathroom really quickly before they get started,” you tell him, touching his arm.

“Okay, my speech won’t be until later in the ceremony, so no rush babe,” your ever so confident man responds.

You grab your purse as you head out of the large room, searching for the bathroom. You wish you could find an usher…

“Looking for the restroom?” Asks a young man in a suit. You nod. “It’s-“

“I can show her,” you hear from behind you as someone takes your arm, and before you know it, Carmen is leading you down the hall.

You quickly pull back from him, “Would you leave me alone?” You say quietly, hoping no one is watching or hearing this, “I am trying to work and enjoy my night, okay? You should do the same,” you start down the hallway again, alone this time.

“Alright…” Carmen says behind you, “the bathroom isn’t that way, just so you know.”

You stop, and turn to face him again, “So then where the fuck were you taking me?” You ask, exasperated.

“Well, if you would let me show you…” Carmen looks at you expectantly.

You stare back at him silently, and finally allow yourself to actually look at him. He looks good. Like, really good. Carmen never dresses up, but when he does, good lord he’s a sight for sore eyes. You indulge, ogling at the way his black dress shirt sits taught against his strong chest. Even under the thick suit he has on, you can see his strong arms. Those arms that used to hold you, throw you around, flip you over, help you bounce up and down on-

“My eyes are up here, y’know,” Carmen says sarcastically, obviously noticing what you were doing.

You ignore his comment and his noticing, “if I follow you to this mystery place will you leave me alone tonight?”

“Is that really what you want?” Carmen responds with a certain edge to his voice. An edge you recognize. An edge you miss.

You gulp. “Yes,” you say quietly.

“You were always a bad liar,” Carmen mutters, walking past you down the hall, “c’mon, Jig,” he says for the second time tonight.

—

After a few more hallways and a flight of stairs, you and Carmen arrive on the roof of the building. As soon as you’re outside, the blonde pulls out a pack of cigarettes, silently offering you one as his hangs out of his mouth.

“No thanks, I quit,” you say, putting your hand up.

“Well look at you, changed woman,” He jokes as he lights his cigarette, “Old Money Moore wasn’t into it?”

You roll your eyes at the jab at your boyfriend, “For your information, I quit before me and Alex even met,” you look down at your shoes and shiver a bit in the evening air, “why are we up here, Carmen?”

“Will you stop calling me that?”

“Stop calling you your name?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. You never used to call me that,” he takes another drag of his cigarette, “I mean, unless we were fighting,”

“So most of the time, actually,” You respond, humorlessly.

“Did we spend most of our time fighting?” The man looks you up and down as he continues to smoke, “As I recall we spent most of our time fucking,” he exhales.

You bring your fingers to your temples, “Oh my God, get to the point,” you glance down at your phone, “the ceremony’s going to start soon, and I really don’t want to miss anything,” you say. And you mean it - you have a goddamn article to write!

“Is he gay?” Carmen smirks at you.

“W- what? Is who gay? What are you talking about?”

“Your ‘boyfriend’,” he makes air-quotes around the word, “Alex, is he gay?”

You have half a mind to just turn around and head back to the ceremony, but you don’t. You’re not sure why. Yes you are.

“Firstly, he is my boyfriend. No need for the air quotes, asshole,” You start, annoyed that you’re even having this stupid conversation, “secondly, no, he is not gay. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a woman, and we’re in a relationship, so,”

“Oh I’ve noticed,” Carmen says, raking his eyes up and down your body, “I was just asking because I watched him refuse to kiss you earlier,” he throws his cigarette on the concrete ground, stubbing it out with his foot, “and any man who refuses to kiss a woman who looks like you, well, I just have to assume he probably isn’t into women,”

Your face goes hot. Half from the embarrassment, half from arousal. Boy was he laying it on thick. You clear your throat and meet his eyes, which you had been avoiding doing since the two of you got alone.

“Not that it’s really any of your business,” you start, narrowing your eyes at Carmen, “but he asked me not to kiss him so that I wouldn’t get lipstick on him for when he-“ you cut yourself off, realizing how ridiculous it sounds out loud.

Carmen chuckles, staring into your soul. You avert your eyes.

“When he what, baby?” He asks, coyly.

“Don’t call me that,” you say sternly. Or at least try to.

Carmen starts walking towards you, slowly. He backs you up against the wall behind you until there’s only a few inches of space between the two of you. You still avoid meeting his eyes.

“Jig, look at me,” he says quietly, and you obey, finally locking eyes with him. He moves even closer to you and puts his hand on the wall above you, caging you in, “he doesn’t want your lipstick on him for when he does what?” Your faces are so close he’s almost whispering. God, you wish he would leave you alone. No you don’t.

“For when he wins the award tonight…” you say, barely loud enough for Carmen to hear. But he obviously does, as he hangs his head and laughs. The tops of his curls nearly touch your nose. You stare up at the sky again, half from embarrassment, half from arousal. He was so goddamn close. You could smell him.

He lifts his head, still chuckling a bit, “that dumbass thinks he’s going to win the award tonight?” He asks you in disbelief, “like seriously?”

You knew Carmen would win the award, there was no doubt about it, but he was being a major asshole. A sexy asshole, but it was a bit much.

“Carmy-” You go to tell him it wouldn’t be impossible for Alex to win, but you freeze when the nickname slips out of your mouth. He smiles devilishly at you.

“There it is,” he says with that shit-eating grin on his face, “say it again,” he whispers, getting his mouth dangerously close to yours.

“Stop it,” you whisper back. His nose nudges yours and you turn your head to the side.

“What’s my name baby?” Carmy murmurs as he ghosts his lips up and down your neck, “Say it again, sweet girl,” he pulls the neckline of your dress to the side and bites down.

“Carmy,” You whine. You grip his shirt, trying to find something to ground you as your ex-boyfriend sucks a mark into your collarbone, “please, I can’t,”

“But you want to,” he smirks as he continues kissing your neck, your insides becoming molten lava, “Alex doesn’t need to worry about your lipstick on his face, baby. You know why?” He pulls back and looks you in your eyes, already glazed-over and needy, “because I’m gonna win that goddamn award,” he grips your waist as he pulls you tightly to him and whispers in your ear, “and then I’m gonna fuck his girlfriend while I wear it.”

You try to catch your breath as he releases you and your back hits the wall. Carmen takes his thumb and runs it over your bottom lip. You think he’s going to put it in your mouth, but he just wipes a bit of the lipstick off of it. You watch in lustful amazement as he then takes the red pigment and rubs it on his neck underneath his collar. He pushes off the wall and without a word leaves you standing up on the roof, alone, soaking through your underwear.

—

“Jeez, did you fall in?” Alex says quietly as you shimmy into your seat. You had missed the beginning of the ceremony. “Are you feeling okay? You look a bit flushed,” he rests a hand on your thigh and you give him a small smile.

“Yeah, sorry, you know women’s bathroom lines…” you say through tight lips, hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions.

Your prayers are answered when your boyfriend simply nods and turns back to the presenters. You turn to see Carmy staring holes through you, with that stupid goddamn smirk on his face. You take a deep breath and try to return your attention to the stage.

—

You sit through a handful of awards and speeches, and finally it comes to the “Best Chef” section of the night. Up first: Midwest. AKA: Your Boyfriend vs. Your Ex. Your heart races as you watch the presenter give a speech about the award and the nominees. He reads off all of the names of the nominees, and your palms sweat as you rest a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

The room is quiet as the announcer says, “And the James Beard Award goes to…”

You inhale.

“…Carmen Berzatto of The Bear!”

You exhale.

Alex curses under his breath and clenches his fists. You try to rub his back but for the third time tonight, he pushes you away. You sit quietly with your hands in your lap as Carmen takes the stage. God, why does he look so good even in stage lighting?

Carmen walks up to the microphone after having the medal placed on him by the presenter.

“Wow. Um, I’d like to thank my team first and foremost, I wouldn’t be able to achieve anything without them. I’d erm, I’d like to specifically thank Sydney Adamu, my sous chef and partner. She really should be the one up here, but I guess I’ll take it,” The crowd laughs along with him, “I’m really grateful for this award and anyone who’s ever eaten at The Bear. Thank you.” He looks dead into your eyes and grabs the medal as he ends his speech, “I can’t wait to wear this thing!”

Everyone laughs except for you, whose face goes beet red. Luckily the lights are dim enough for it not to be an issue, but you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. You turn your attention back to Alex, whose ears had apparently had steam coming out of them for the past two minutes.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” he mutters, “that was supposed to be my award. After all the fucking money my parents donated to this foundation? What a joke.”

You pretend you don’t hear your boyfriend whining like a spoiled brat, “Are you okay?” You ask sweetly, “It’s just an award baby, it doesn’t really mean anything,” you try to replace your hand on his shoulder but he swats it away. Hard.

“Jesus can you not touch me for like five fucking seconds?” He says, pretty loudly, considering they’re in the middle of presenting the Best Chef Northeast award. You look up to see if anyone heard and see Carmy coming down the steps of the stage, clenching his jaw as he watches the interaction. You hold your stinging hand and excuse yourself to the restroom before your tears of anger can spill over.

As you stand in the mirror, dabbing your eyes before any more tears can fall, you hear the bathroom door creak open and the deadbolt turn. Behind you in the mirror appears who else but Carmen fucking Berzatto, wearing that stupid fucking James Beard Award. You stare at him through the mirror, silently.

“Well, aren’t you gonna congratulate me?” He says, walking towards you. You turn around to face him, “C’mon, Jig, nothing?”

You stare at Carmen. You watch the way he stares back. All of today’s events race through your head. All the times your boyfriend rejected you, dismissed you, ignored you. Those moments on the roof, the adrenaline you felt, Carmy’s words ringing through your mind.

“and then I’m gonna fuck his girlfriend while I wear it.”

You reach out and grab the medal on his chest and use it to pull him into you. It’s intense off the bat, a mix of teeth tongue and lips, hands frantically grasping at each other. Carmy grips your neck and your waist as you lace your fingers through his curls and give a tug that earns you a soft moan. You begin kissing down his neck, leaving dark red lipstick marks all over. You push his sport coat off his shoulders and begin undoing the buttons at the top of his shirt.

“Eager, are we?” Carmen teases, helping you in removing his shirt.

“Just shut up and fuck me, Bear,” you respond, bringing his mouth back to yours.

“Mmm,” Carmen pulls away, “what happened to my good girl who used to beg so politely?”

“She only gets fucked once every two weeks so she’s kind of impatient right now,” you say as you continue to place kisses all over Carmy’s upper body and palm at his erection.

“Hold the fuck-“ Carmy pushes you off of him and looks at you with shock on his face, “that asshole only fucks you twice a month??”

You look back at him in all of his glory. His curls messy from your hands, his sculpted form covered in your lipstick marks, his pupils blown, his dick, well, huge. Why did you ever give this up?

“He just doesn’t have a high sex drive he says,” you shrug, putting your hands back onto him, “I don’t really wanna talk right now, Carmy,”

“Does he at least eat you out first?” He looks genuinely perplexed and frightened by this information. How could someone have this masterpiece of a woman under their roof and not be ravaging her at least once a day?

“I asked you to fuck me, not make me laugh, Berzatto,” you deadpan back at the man, “seriously, now you know how much I need this, so please,”

“Oh you need it bad, baby,” Carmen says as he turns you around to face the mirror. He begins unzipping your dress ever so slowly, leaving kisses across every inch of your back. You step out of your dress, left only in your matching bra and underwear along with your red Louboutins. “Turn around,” Carmy orders.

You do so. You look at Carmy through your lashes, feeling equally exposed and terrifyingly aroused. The man growls underneath his breath, just staring at you.

“What a fucking idiot,” he says, before picking you up and placing you on the countertop, “doesn’t fucking realize what he has, rich fucking asshole,” Carmy mutters more nasty things about your boyfriend as he pulls your panties down your legs. He smells the soaked fabric before putting them in the pocket of his trousers. He pulls your legs open and groans loudly. “Jesus, baby, is all this for me?” He runs a finger through your soaked folds, collecting some of your arousal which had been building since you first saw him hours ago.

You squirm atop the counter as Carmy just toys with you. He stares at your vagina with amazement, like it’s a piece of art. Finally, he dives in, licking a flat stripe from your entrance to your clit. You gasp loudly. One of your hands flies to grip onto the counter top while the other finds purchase in the golden curls currently perched between your thighs.

It’s just as good as you remember it. That’s the problem, always has been. The sex is so goddamn good. It’s what kept you crawling back every time Carmen would hurt you for 3 long years. You hated your past self for always giving in, but right now, you understood her completely.

Carmy swirled his tongue around your clit as he inserted two thick fingers into your entrance, curling them just right. The stretch was like nothing else. You let out a beautiful noise, causing him to groan into your pussy, the vibrations adding to the delicious stimulation. You clenched around his fingers as he continued his ministrations, feeling that familiar knot tightening in your lower stomach.

“You gonna give me one?” Carmy says, looking up at you with a soaked face and hungry eyes, “You gonna come all over my fingers, baby?”

“Yes, Carmy, yes, oh my god,” you babble, feeling so close, “please don’t stop baby,”

Carmen raises to his feet while continuing to finger you. He pulls you closer to him, leaning into your ear. “Does that feel good, princess?”

As you moan uncontrollably as you muster a “yes feels good,” but you know the questioning won’t end there.

“Yeah baby?” Carmen adds a third finger and you squeal, “how good does it feel?”

“God it feels so good please don’t stop,”

“Who’s making you feel this good, sweet girl?” He continues to whisper into your ear.

“You Carmy, it’s always you,” you respond breathily, the coil in your stomach moments from snapping.

“Say it again,” Carmen growls.

“Carmy oh my god-“ and with that your vision blanks. Your legs shake as you come harder than you have since… well since the last time you fucked Carmy. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he continues his movements, prolonging your orgasm.

You grip onto his strong shoulders as you come down, resting your forehead against his as he removes his fingers from you.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, as you watch him stick all three fingers into his mouth and suck off your residue. You watch familiarly as he gathers spit in his mouth and grabs your jaw. Knowing the routine, you gladly open your mouth, as he spits in the mixture of the two of you. You moan as you taste yourself mixed with Carmen.

“Swallow,” he demands, holding your throat. And you do. “There’s my good girl,” he says, undoing his belt with one hand, “thought I lost you there, baby,”

You hum contentedly as he continues to hold you by your throat while he pulls his cock out of his pants and boxers. You moan at the sight of the state of it. Veins bulging, tip bright red and leaking, and, well, huge.

Carmen pumps himself a few times before saying, “take your bra off,” letting go of your throat to opt for one of your newly free breasts, “love these fucking tits, god.”

You squeeze your legs together as he strokes himself while playing with your nipples. It’s hot, but you need more. Now.

“Carmy, please,” you said, making your sweetest eyes at him, “I need you so bad,”

“You gonna beg me baby?” He responds with that stupid grin on his face.

“I’ll do anything,” you say, disregarding your pride (and your boyfriend).

“Is that right, angel?” He asks, caressing your face as you nod, lowering his voice, “you’ll do anything for this dick?” He continues stroking it as he looks into your eyes, “you need to get fucked so badly that you’re in here begging me for my cock while your boyfriend’s in the other room. Didn’t realize you were such a slut, baby,”

Your pussy throbs as Carmen continues to taunt you, “yes, I’ll do anything please,” you’re truly so desperate at this point, “please just give me your cock Carmy,”

“Say it,”

“Say what?” You ask, genuinely confused.

“Say you’re my slut,”

You gulp. “I- I’m your slut,”

“And why are you a slut?”

“B-because I’m in here begging for your cock when my boyfriend’s right outside…”

“And why are you begging me for my cock when you have a boyfriend?”

Okay this interrogation was getting old.

“Because it’s so much better, Carmy, please just give me your dick haven’t I been good?”

“You’ve been so good, baby,” Carmy says as he pries open your thighs and buries himself inside of you.

You yelp at the intrusion, not expecting himself to push himself in to the hilt on the first stroke.

Carmen lifts up your right leg and puts it over his shoulder. Then the left. He watches as your tits bounce while you half-lay on the countertop. You watch as his medal bounces on his chest with each thrust. He notices.

“You like that baby?” He asks, snaking a hand down to rub circles on your clit, “you like getting fucked by the best chef in the midwest?”

“Yes Carmy, fuck, just like that,” you moan out, “best dick in the midwest,” you say, somewhat jokingly.

Carmen half-laughs half-growls at the comment, “that’s fucking right, baby, best dick you’ll ever have. That’s why you keep coming back, right? That’s why you’re in here cheating on your stupid fucking boyfriend? Yeah?” With that last comment, he delivers a slap to your clit, causing you to scream and your pussy to clamp down around him.

“Fuck always so tight, princess, always so good for me,” Carmy babbles, getting lost inside of you, “this is my pussy. No one else’s. Say it.”

“It’s- fuck!” You yell as Carmen adjusts his angle, now hitting your G-spot over and over, “It’s your pussy Carmy, fuck! It belongs to you, I belong to you, oh my God don’t stop, please!”

It seems like Carmy misheard you as he stops fucking you and pulls you down off the counter top and kisses you ferociously. He grabs at your ass and you whine at the loss of him inside of you.

“Hold on baby, I’ve got you,” he says against your lips, “just need to do something,” he says, as he lifts off his medal and places it around your neck. You look up at him, confused. “Turn around,” he says, darkly.

You turn around to look at yourself in the mirror. There’s a red mark around your neck from where Carmen was gripping you, your updo from earlier is now mostly down, your chest is littered with small hickies, and between your tits lies a motherfucking James Beard Award.

Carmen pushes on your upper back so that you’re leaning over the counter and re-enters you at a punishing pace. The bathroom is filled with lewd noises of skin slapping skin and moaning. You look up to see Carmen staring at you through the mirror. Except, he’s not looking at your face, he’s staring at your tits. Wait. No. He’s staring at the medal bouncing with your tits.

Carmen looks into your eyes through the mirror, “yeah look at you,” he growls, somehow pushing into you even faster now, “my girl wearing my fucking award. Jesus Christ look at that,” he watches intently as the piece of silver bounces off of your chest with each thrust he delivers, “fuck, who’s the best baby?”

“It’s you, Carmy, you’re the best,” you moan out in response, “you’re the best,”

Carmen reaches around you and grabs the medal, but keeps the ribbon around your neck. He pulls on it just enough that your back arches and your head falls onto his shoulder. The new angle this creates is mind-blowing, and you once again moan all too loudly. Carmen litters kisses and bites along the shell of your ear.

“I’m so close baby,” he strains into your ear, “want you to come with me,”

With that he takes his free hand and resumes his work on your clit. The combination of the dragging of his thick cock over your G-spot over and over again with the tight circles he’s rubbing into you has you barreling towards your second orgasm. Knowing your body the way he does, Carmy can tell, and he tries his best to time his release with yours.

With one final stroke, you’re coming undone on Carmy’s dick, throat still held tight by the ribbon of his award. Carmen stutters as he comes inside of you with a groan, holding your hips in a way that will bruise as he paints your insides, the warmth adding to your intense pleasure. You both come down from your highs with a collection of sighs and moans, and finally, Carmy pulls out of you. You whimper at the loss of contact and the feeling of him leaking out of you.

Wordlessly, you begin to dress yourself again. You don’t even bother asking Carmen for your panties back, that’s an argument you’ve lost to him enough times already. You zip your dress back up, Carmen silently helping you get it to the top as he too works on making himself decent again. You attempt to fix your hair looking in the mirror, getting it back to a somewhat similar state to when you arrived earlier this evening. You smooth out your dress, and go to walk out of the bathroom when Carmen clears his throat.

“You, um,” he looks at the floor before making that piercing eye contact he’s so good at, “you deserve better, you know, than that asshole,”

You stare back at the man you loved for so many years. The man you still love today. He was right, you did deserve better. Better than Alex, but better than him, too. You nod back at him with tears in your eyes.

“Congratulations on your award, Carmen,” you say quietly. You walk out of the bathroom, back to the ceremony.

[yuurei20]

Im hoping if we get a third lost in the book event it’s Winnie the Pooh, just a wholesome little event with a bunch of Winnie the Pooh characters. I’ll also settle for The mouse detective or Toy Story. What lost in the book event would you like?

Hello hello! ^^ Thank you for this question!

Those are wonderful ideas for future Lost in the Book events!! I agree that Winnie the Pooh would also be lovely! Vil's VA Aiba Hiroki has an interview in the fanbook mentioning that he loves Winnie the Pooh and I am sure that Vil maybe being in a Pooh-event would make him happy ^^

During the Halloween livestream Jamil's VA Futaba, when asked what Disney World he would like to be transported to, answered Winnie the Pooh!

(He did not add "-san" to Pooh's name when speaking and the rest of the show was the other VAs teasing him by calling him "Pooh" it was so funny ww)

As for other maybe-ideas, Yana describes her four favorite Disney movies in the first volume of the Magical Archives Game Guide:

Lilo and Stitch. The story of a bratty alien who meets a girl and discovers what a real family is. It's a science fiction-like story with lots of different aliens, but they are all very human and try their best every day, which makes me want to hug them all. And Stitch is too cute. My favorite character is Stitch. I watch the Nightmare Before Christmas on Halloween or Christmas every year. Tim Burton's films have influenced me a lot. I always fall in love with his stylization and ability to portray sinister motifs in a charming way! The main character, Jack—his energy is infectious. My favorite character is Dr. Finkelstein. Treasure Planet was the catalyst that started me watching a lot of Disney films: I saw it casually in the theater when I was 18, and immediately afterwards started drawing and submitting manga to publishers. The main character, Jim, was a very realistic teenager, and I felt really empowered by how hard he worked. The characters are all quirky and selfish. But that's what makes them so appealing. The main character and the villain are not entirely good, but they are not all bad, either. That is one of the films that had a particularly strong influence on me when I was working on Twisted Wonderland. My favorite character is Jim. Beauty and the Beast is the film that had the greatest influence on me when I was young and still trying to find myself. The ruined castle, the inhuman prince and his servants, the wise and strong heroine, the undaunted villain...I love all the different elements, too much. My favorite characters are Mrs. Potts and Chip. -Toboso Yana (Magical Archives Game Guide (2020))

We cannot be sure how much of the game's content is being decided by Yana on her own vs. how much is being requested of her by Disney (on an episode of Twisted Radio Station a producer said that they had wanted to do a Stitch event from before the game even launched), but it is interesting that the only two Lost in the Book series events we've seen were both from her top four list 👀

And both events sound very fun! ^^ A Twst Beauty and the Beast that is maybe also a hometown event for Vargas? Silver and Lilia in an event about a struggling teenager and the ship's cook who is both his secretive father figure and not what he seems? So interesting~♪

[boimann]

comic 7 spoilers

ok i have a lot of thoughts about comic 7 and i need to ramble a bit or i'll go mad, this post is just to get those thoughts out of my head so read it as me screaming into the void, also these are just my opinions you can 100% disagree with me just please don't yell at me ;_;

i didn't like it, don't get me wrong i did like a few things in it but as a whole... :|

so starting off with the things i did like:

Miss flo pauling :D !!! she's awsome as always, i will always love her no matter what and i'm glad she didn't fall for the australium's temptation and got rid of it :]

SOLDIERS FAMILY!!! they are perfect no notes 10/10

buff merasmus, also perfect

✨heavy with a beard✨

and that's a wrap on the things i liked. what was supposed to be the big finale of this really cool story just ended with a whimper of a flashback...why?? i think the biggest issue i have with the whole comic is the fucking time skip, i honestly don't think it was necessary?? it feels like they just wanted to have a 7 years joke and i get they wanted to show were the mercs are at after the events of the comics but idk i think there could have been another way to show it :/

i especially didn't like what they did with scout, i love the idea of him being a good dad and basically the opposite of spy but idk going from him still basically being scout from the game saying he's moving on from miss p to him being a responsible dad feels really abrupt and it's all because of the timeskip because we skipped past all the development of him getting to that point. am i saying that we should have seen all of that development?? of course not because fitting it all in one issue would have been impossible but the way it is now it feels wrong ;_;

another thing i didn't like was that half of the mercs just didn't have any lines?? :[ it would have been so cool to see more of them or/and seeing them interact for example medic was litterally sided with the enemy for half of the last issue but i guess no one cares?? and i guess demo has nothing to say about his best friend being engaged?? or anything at all really, it was all so fast they forgot to give my man any lines (ﾉ´ｰ`)ﾉ

also didn't love spy taking off his mask because you know most of his character is being a misterious masked rogue but that scene with tanya was really sweet so it cancels out <3

so yeah this was all i could think of right now if i get anymore thoughts i will reblog this post and add them later, for now i will pretend that the comics end with the sixth issue and try not to think about it too much, i hope that anyone reading this post was able to enjoy the comic more than i did and again if you want to add your own thoughts please don't be mean bc i will cry (promise threat)

[writingtraumaforever]

SONIC 3 MOVIE REVIEW (SPOILER FREE ABOVE LINE, SPOILERS BELOW IT):

I am so mixed feeling’d about this movie right now. On one hand, I loved it. It had such a good telling of Sonic and Shadow’s dynamics and stories and how they view one another, and I loved that and will be elaborating more on this in the spoiler section. The changes they made from the video game were 50/50 to me. Some I get, others I just was really disappointed in. The action scenes are AMAZING. Battles are SICK, and I have admittedly been on the fence about Keanu voicing Shadow, but he won me over completely after watching the film.

Team Sonic’s dynamic is top tier in this movie. Knuckles, Sonic and Tails are the lights of my life, I love these brothers so much.

But if you are going into this film expecting a SHADOW movie???? You’re gonna be disappointed. This is, do not be mistaken, absolutely a Jim Carrey movie. This is a Robotnik movie 110%. Idk if they just couldn’t afford too many lines from Keanu or what, but Jim stole most the screen time. Which was hilarious and all, but it definitely stole from the deeper/darker story that was suppose to be at play. They went the insane/funny mad scientist route with Gerald rather than the vengeful and broken man he was, and this kinda falls flat and makes the whole thing feel less dangerous and life-threatening than it actually is.

I will say that what little we ARE given of Shadow is amazing. Thankfully us die-hard Shadow fans are use to picking up whatever scraps SEGA throws at us with this hedgehog and absolutely running with them. And in terms of that, we were given a MEAL. But Shadow’s story was definitely rushed rather than fleshed out. It’s like they gave us about 4 minutes of background for him and were like “Alright. That’s it. That’s him”. And then we just roll with it from then on. My hopes on the reason they did this is because we’ll perhaps get a Shadow the Hedgehog show or movie in the future where they elaborate on all this even more. But as for this movie??? Just be ready for a LOT of Robotnik.

I still think Gerald should’ve just been dead so Shadow could have more screen time instead of them cashing in on Jim Carrey. The movie as a whole was so unserious because of him.

That’s really my biggest letdown.

The whole plot felt VERY rushed. Like they were too worried about getting to the next action scene to really flesh out the story properly. Sadly this happens a lot when writers just ASSUME we know the story already so not all of it needs to be told when we just REALLY want all of it to be told. It’s also obvious they cut back on some plot points so it could stay kid friendly.

But don’t let this discourage you too much! Like I said, it really was a good movie. And it’s probably still up there as my fav simply because Shadow IS in it and Team Sonic’s moments save it for me. Not to mention Sonic and Shadow’s interactions, though few, are absolute perfection and capture them both so dang well like—

I will cherish those scenes forever. Sonadow fans have a FEAST with the scenes they were given, okay???

I give it a solid 7.5/10. Maybe 8 if they add more deleted scenes later or announce a Shadow show. :)))))

10/10 if you’re only there for Jim Carrey (whom I personally don’t care for).

Now for Spoilers:

Pros:

LIVE AND LEARN WAS USED AND WAS THE ABSOLUTE BEST.

The moon is successfully pissed on.

They very much did their best to make it apparent that Sonic and Shadow are the same but were simply given different fates and it’s SO GOOD BUT SO SAD. Like. Two sides to the same coin very much came across.

Them punching each other across continents was SICK.

Shadow pinning Sonic by his head was GAY.

Sonic pinning Shadow by his chest fur was GAY.

Sonic and Shadow’s talk on the moon is easily my favorite thing in the movie. Followed closely by their Super battle against each other and then their Super battle in space. I’ve recently written in my stories about how being super together creates this special bond between them, and these scenes 100% confirm/reinforce that!

Maria and Shadow scenes are PRECIOUS! Her playing guitar for him, him dragging her around the compound with her in skates, them watching the stars together- it was all beautiful!

I’m really glad they allowed a brief moment of clarity that Gerald did in fact love Shadow and care about him at one point because he’s literally the biggest butt the rest of the movie and just uses him.

StoneXRobotnik shippers will be both elated and heartbroken.

So many perfect Sonic and Tails and Knuckles bro moments omggggg their dynamic in this movie was so dang good I died. From Tails saving Sonic’s butt multiple times to Knuckles putting his angry and fiery disposition aside for his brother and handing over the master emerald— it was perfect. Knuckles is big lovable idiot energy, absolutely, but it’s not overdone. He’s serious when he needs to be and is SUCH an oldest brother. I loved his conflict with Sonic AND how he was the one who saved both Tails and Sonic at the end.

WADE IS THE GUARDIAN OF THE MASTER EMERALD.

Shadow being a feminist with his latinas.

“Vengeful guac.”

Shadow and Sonic fighting together in space and constantly checking in on the other! Shadow asking Sonic where he is and using chaos spear to absolutely annihilate every robot after Sonic ahsjdkglg boyfriends protecting each other vibes.

Tbh, the entire scene where Shadow and Sonic are fighting side by side gives such huge soulmate vibes like oh my god they were VERY MUCH CONNECTED.

Their banter is EVERYTHING.

Shadow quoting Maria “even when the star is gone, its light remains” and then looking at Sonic?! GAAY.

Tom and Maria both poking Sonic and Shadow in the chest and telling them who they are in their hearts and who they choose to be is what counts. THIS being what brings them together?? PERFECTION.

Despite my annoyance at the amount of Robotnik in the movie, Eggman’s sacrifice and message to Stone was very touching.

Tails and Stone are the dream team.

Knuckles is forever scared of ghosts.

Shadow going after Tom ONLY because he thought it was the General and then immediately regretting it and feeling guilty when he sees it’s not and then having to watch Sonic cry over his body while Shadow sees himself crying over Maria is PEAK. BROKE MY HEART.

Sonic revisiting his cave. Shadow HAS to find and live in that at some point.

THE DID THE POSE THEY DID THE POSE

“HOT TOPIC”.

AMY ROSE AMY ROSE AMY ROSE AND SHES SO PRETTY AND STRONG OMG SHES SO SICK I LOVE HER SO MUCH ALREADY it looks like they’re trying to make her appear older than she is in the games, so I’m pretty sure they’re gonna be putting her with Sonic at some point. Which is fine by me cus I ship Sonamy too and to me, movie Sonic would be the one of all the versions of Sonic to want to settle down with some girl one day. I mean. His whole story is LITERALLY based around him finally getting to settle somewhere and have a family instead of continuing to run. Makes sense.

METAL SONIC METAL SONIC METAL SONIC

SHADOW PICKING UP HIS INHIBITOR RING AT THE END

Cons:

Um. The words “Faker” and “Ultimate Lifeform” are not ONCE uttered in this movie, and to me?? That’s absolute slander. That alone brought this movie down a whole point in my 1-10 scale, okay??? Negative 5,000 aura. Disgusting. Maybe the Commander possibly mentioned him being the Ultimate Lifeform, but Shadow never did and that’s just WRONG. This is a whole plot point in the game and in their characters from then on in the franchise, and it’s just glossed over!

Maria isn’t sick. The ARK isn’t in space. She isn’t shot. It’s all kinda dull in comparison to the game, tbh. They’re definitely still after her and shooting to kill because the soldier says “we have our orders” when Walters tries to stop him, but he still don’t shoot her so like— again. Dimmed down.

No Prison Island scenes other than the beginning when Shadow breaks out. Which was. Super disappointing.

It’s all just so unserious. Especially the Robotniks.

Chaos are just Japanese mascots. Which is big sad for Cream and Cheese fans.

No creation of Shadow = no Biolizard

No “Sayonara, Shadow the Hedgehog”. They tried to reference this with a joke from Jim Carrey, but it fell flat imo.

Indifferent/Open to:

Shadow came from a meteor. He wasn’t created. While I hate Gerald didn’t inherently create him, I am also glad this leaves room for the Black Arms to become a thing. It’s also very possible GUN and Gerald were both just lying about this. Because it very meticulously did NOT show Shadow actually coming from the meteor in any scenes. It just showed the meteor crash site and how it had Shadow/Balck Arms coloring. So maybe Gerald still did experiment on a hedgehog and stuff and it’s just lied about because that’s like— not okay??? But also, I noticed it never showed any like. Major accident that would’ve caused GUN to suddenly invade like that?? They just suddenly decided Shadow was too powerful and they needed to kill everyone while in the games, there were multiple incidents where people were hurt or compromised by the artificial chaos experiments before GUN invaded. PLUS Towers had seen and reported Gerald making a deal with the devil (Black Doom). So like— why would GUN just suddenly decide to annihilate everyone in Project Shadow like that??? It would be one thing if they just decided to shut them down, but they were actively going in there to KILL! So like— I feel like we’re missing pieces and being mislead.

Rouge isn’t there. Which I GET because how/why would she be?? By the end of the movie, there’s definitely ways for more mobians to start appearing (Amy is a prime example). So it makes sense that Rouge isn’t there yet because it’s EARTH so how WOULD she be??? And Shadow using chaos control at the end could open ways to other worlds (like in Sonic X when Sonic went super the first time and more Mobians started arriving on earth). But there were SO MANY MOMENTS SHE WOULDVE BEEN PERFECT. So it’s a shame, but understandable. Plus, how could they have made room for Rouge when they barely had room for Shadow with all the JIM CARREY.

I’ll probably continue to add to this as I process this movie over the next few days.

[cosmicrelease]

steve notices everything about eddie. and one thing he has noticed recently is that eddie has been painting his finger nails more often. sure, he always paints them black because it’s “hardcore”, but still steve is obsessed.

one day while he is hanging out at robin’s he notices her collection of polishes, “do you think you could teach me how to paint nails?” steve inquired.

“of course i can. this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain metalhead painting his nails would it?”

steve blushed, “robs, will you teach me or not?”

a couple weeks, and a lot of practice later, steve finds himself at eddie’s place for a movie night. they had already eaten too much pizza and were about to start a second movie when eddie casually said,

“hey stevie do you mind if i paint my nails? i’ve seen this movie dozens of times and i need a fresh coat.” he mentioned with a small laugh.

“want me to do it?” steve asked hesitantly.

“what?”

“do you want me to paint your nails?” he asked more confidently this time.

“um I’m not sure what you know about painting nails but i’ll let a pretty boy like you give it a go.” eddie quipped. leaving steve with a pink tinge on his cheeks.

after eddie went and grabbed the bottle of black polish he and steve situated themselves to face each other on the couch, “are you sure you’re okay with me doing this on the couch? what if i get it everywhere?”

“i trust you sweetheart.”

steve shook the bottle, mixing the polish together, another trick he picked up from robin. then he grabbed eddie’s right hand and began meticulously swiping polish across the nails. steve could feel eddie’s eyes on him so he was trying his best to not get nervous causing a shaky hand.

“stop staring at me you’re making me nervous!” steve tried to bush it off as a joke.

“i can’t help it stevie! you just look so adorable when you’re focused.” eddie openly flirted. causing the other man to blush again.

once eddie finally pulled his eyes away from steve’s pink cheeks and looked at his almost done nails he realized something, “holy shit steve! i didn’t think you’d be this good at this! have you been secretly painting your nails and not letting me see?”

“what? no! trust me if i painted my nails i would show you.” steve joked.

“be real steve how did you get so good at this? i mean, i paint my nails regularly and I’m not even this good. have you been secretly practicing?”

steve didn’t reply while he cleaned up the edges and made sure they were dry he released his hold on eddie’s hands, quickly missing the feeling.

“i asked robin to teach me. you never know when a friend might be i need of polish assistance.” steve tried to joke.

“really sweetheart? because i think you just wanted an excuse to hold my hand.” no hint of joking or teasing in his voice.

steve felt caught. he thought he had done a good job of hiding his feelings for eddie. had he really been that obvious? what should he say? what if eddie is upset? would eddie call him sweetheart if he was upset with him?

avoiding looking eddie in the eye steve softly asked,“would you be upset if it was?”

eddie took steve’s hands in his, looking softly and sweetly at steve, “of course i wouldn’t be upset! if anything i’d be overjoyed! you think i just flirt with everyone stevie? i was hoping you would notice at some point, i wasn’t exactly being subtle about it.

“i think it’s adorable that you learned how to paint nails just so you could hold my hand. but i want you to know you could have just asked. you can ask for anything you want baby and i’ll give it to you.”

steve was looking into eddie’s eyes, looking for any hint of lie. but he couldn’t find one. he knew eddie was being sincere. before leaving eddie hanging for too long steve piped up, “can i have a kiss?”

eddie smiled wide at the request before leaning in to give steve exactly what he asked for. and they both knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

a/n: your honor, they love each other! and they deserve to make out! this thought came to me when i was painting my nails and i felt compelled to share it with the world.

[gyubakeries]

❆ 𝐠𝐲𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬! ❆ | 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐮 - 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 <𝟑

❆ 𝑑𝑎𝑦 8: baking cookies | l.sm

a/n: hii! welcome to day 8 :) my love language is baking and i would genuinely combust if i got to do it with seokmin, so this was really fun for me to write. hope you enjoy!

word count: 878 contents: seokmin x gn!reader , baking cookies , crack , fluff , chaotic , no cookies were harmed in the writing of this , christmas fun

you're on the couch, mindlessly scrolling on instagram, when you come across it.

"seok! i found it!" you exclaim excitedly, and it takes your boyfriend a total of five seconds to sprint to the living room.

"you found it?" he screams. "the candy i lost in the living room?"

"what?" you ask. "when did you lose candy in the living room? more importantly, how?"

"ah, you got me excited for nothing," seokmin pouts. "i found this really good candy at this restaurant and i'd been saving the last piece so i could buy it at the supermarket, but i lost it, so i don't even know what the name is. anyways, what did you find?"

"the recipe!" you jump up to show him the video on your phone. about a month ago, you had watched this recipe, and you had so badly wanted to recreate it, but before you could save the video, your phone died, and the video was gone forever.

until today, that is.

"oh my god! we need to do it right now," seokmin practically shrieks, but you don't mind. after having dated him for almost four years, you were almost desensitized to such high levels of sound.

"let me just save it first," you mumble, carefully saving the link to the video, sending it to yourself, seokmin and even your parents for extra backup. "seok, can you check if we have all the ingredients?"

as you list off the ingredients, seokmin rummages through the kitchen, and when he gives you a triumphant thumbs-up, you couldn't be more happy.

"it's cookie time!" seokmin sings loudly, and you let him drag you gently into the kitchen to get started.

―

"you just spilled flour everywhere!" you groan. you had barely started with the recipe for gingerbread cookies, when seokmin had managed to drop almost all the flour on the kitchen floor.

"my hands were slippery from the butter!" seokmin defends himself. "calm down, we can't have an angry and clumsy chef in here. i'll clean up the flour, you focus on the cookie dough, yeah?"

you inhale deeply and try to gather your composure. seokmin was right; angry and clumsy were not the best combination. you only grumble slightly when he presses a kiss to your cheek and rushes off to grab a broom and clean the mess.

while seokmin sweeps up the flour, you busy yourself with combining the flour, sugar, ginger powder, spices and butter together, after which you add some honey. just as you start kneading the dough together with your hands, seokmin approaches you with clean hands and puppy eyes.

"can i knead the dough please?" he asks, and it's difficult not to give in, especially when the full power of his large, doe eyes is directed at you.

"go ahead," you smile, moving away from the bowl and allowing seokmin to carefully knead the dough together. he initially cringes at the weird texture, but soon enough, he's moulding the cookie dough into random shapes and messing around.

"that's enough kneading," you instruct, and seokmin gathers all the dough in one large lump, not before popping in a small piece of it in his mouth first. "mm, tastes good!"

"you're gonna get salmonella poisoning if you eat raw cookie dough," you tell him, but he shakes his head. "it's a risk i'm willing to take. let's shape our cookies now!"

you grab the baking tray you had prepped with parchment paper and the two of you get to work on the shapes of your gingerbread men. you focus all your concentration on making the shape as perfect as possible, groaning and muttering in frustration when the head became too big, or if the arms and legs weren't symmetrical.

finally, after a lot of hard work, you step back to admire your creation― three perfect looking gingerbread men with raisins for eyes and a mouth, smiling up at you.

then you look over to seokmin's, and it's safe to say that his gingerbread men look like they just got beaten up.

"min, what on earth have you made?" you ask, barely holding back your laughter at the sight of seokmin's cookies.

"they're supposed to be mini bruno mars gingerbread men," he explains, and you think that if bruno mars ever came across these cookies, he'd probably end up crying.

however, what seokmin lacks in artistic skill, he makes up for in enthusiasm. even as you both laugh at how his 'bruno mars' cookies came out of the oven looking like a brown glob, and your perfect cookies became disfigured, his bright smile never left his face.

that's what you love about seokmin, his happiness is so contagious that it affects you in the best way possible. he's like a ray of sunshine on stormy days, a warm hug when the nights are cold, and the human embodiment of comfort when you're falling apart.

(you tell him how his loud voice and bright grins have changed you for the better and made you happier when you're both eating the cookies after dinner.

you pretend that the tears in both your eyes are from the excess amount of ginger powder you've put in the cookies, and not the unwavering love you have for each other.)

- fin.

divider made by @bernardsbendystraws !

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@theidontknowmehn @shinwonderful @baseball-dokyeom @hearts4hee

@t-102 @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia @cixrosie

series taglist in comments!

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head to the series masterlist - here <3

head to the masterlist for more

[pharawee]

I usually don't do yearly recaps because my memory sucks December is one of the busiest months for me and I'm lucky if I get to gif at all but this year I thought I'd take a look at all of the gifsets I did in 2024 and see which shows, pairings and moments I liked the most.

✨FAV BLS OF 2024

1000 Years Old: 2024 was supposed to be the year of vampire BL (going by all the announcements and pilot trailers) but in the end only this one aired (edit: wait, I forgot about OMG! Vampire to protect myself 🥴) - and it was neither spicy nor particularly spooky. Instead, it was all heart and quirkiness and when it was over I cried for a week because of the bittersweet ending.

Playboyy: This show is truly a masterpiece, with layers of subtext and social commentary. Also, it's fun and camp and sexy and ridiculous. I'm so glad it's going to get a second season.

Caged Again: How come that a little show about a penguin and a panther is legit one of the best - if not THE BEST - Thai BL of the year?

Knock Knock, Boys: I came for Best and Seng and Pak but then Almond and Latte bewitched me body and soul. Kongthup now owns me.

Every You, Every Me: I don't know what I was expecting (well, okay, a whole lot of Mick & Top - which is exactly what I got) but it surely wasn't crying my eyes out for two episodes right in the middle of the show.

Spare Me Your Mercy: Long awaited and currently still airing - I actually love this show a lot because it reminds me of all the detective dramas (esp Endeavour and Grantchester) I used to binge. Morse but make it queer is actually all I ever wanted.

7 Days Before Valentine: This show's depth and artistry and stageplay-like character absolutely blew me away.

I Saw You in My Dream: WeTV absolutely blew it out of the water this year with their many diverse productions, and this unassuming and charming little show with a supernatural twist (love me one of those!) was no exception.

Monster Next Door: Big Thanakorn in his first main role with his first acting partner in an extremely fun and all around lovely Kongthup/WeTV production. And I just love how nuanced it was when they could have just stuck with the whole introvert/extrovert cliché.

✨FAV PAIRINGS OF 2024

Hope x Save (Jack & Joker): These two completely took me by surprise, especially because I had such an intense reaction to Pee Phiravich's character in La Pluie. I had originally set my eyes on PromMark and while I definitely ate up their crumbs, HopeSave just checked all of my boxes: morally grey antagonists (at least for a while there), doomed by the narrative (until they actually got their happy ending, yay!) and ride and die for each other.

Pete x Kenta (Pit Babe): I'll be a PeteKenta truther until the day I die (see all of the checkboxes above), and if Change2561 didn't subscribe to the branded pair model, they'd agree with me. As things are I'm actually kind of meh about Pit Babe 2. I bet KentaKim won't have knives at each other's throats!! (PeteWay is delicious though.)

Prom x Nont (Playboyy): Uhhh, that's a lot of the same checked boxes. So maybe I have a type. Thanks 2024 for making me realise. Also, I hope these two make each other worse in season 2 (before they get their HEA because ultimately I'm vanilla like that).

Latte x Almond (Knock Knock, Boys!): Oh God, these two. I was prepared to be ride or die for Thanwa and Peak but then LatteAlmond barged in with a pink sex toy and it was over for me. They just have so much heart and so much sincerity between them (and while their dynamics are different in Caged Again I'm really enjoying Nokia and Jaonine there too for pretty much the same reason + their incredible comedic timing).

X x Namping (Every Me, Every You): It's probably a good thing we got these two for two episodes only because we might not have survived a whole 8 or 10 or even 12 episodes of them. Plus, the anthology-like character of the series made a sad ending possible in the first place, and I really appreciate it - even if it almost destroyed me.

✨FAV MOMENTS OF 2024

Twins: For a moment there we had FrameRyan and it was beautiful.

The Sign: Chalothorn stole the whole show for me and then when he inexplicably vanished I kind of stopped watching. Whoops.

Deep Night: I have seen the throuple light thanks to SeijiPanKen.

The Rebound: Frank Thanatsaran's acting (but also that scene...) overshadowing pretty much everything else (and now he's with Star Hunter which... you know... ehnnnn 🥲)

To Be Continued: Fluke Pongsapat and Junior Khajbhunditt starring in a way underrated 8-episode netflix show with one of the most beautiful love scenes ever, and I've been wanting more of them ever since.

Two Worlds: Kongthup giveth and Kongthup taketh away (aka for one and a half episodes I had Phupha and Khram and now I will never know peace).

Century of Love: Offroad Kantapon as a sultry fox spirit.

Sunset x Vibes: When Star Hunter remembered Fong and JJ exist and then they stole the whole entire show (there really wasn't much to steal though...).

The Sign: Whatever was going on between Heng Asavarid and Nat Sakdatorn in this scene BUT I NEED MORE (pls Idolfactory I'm begging you release Heng from his solo actor prison).

Two Worlds: Kongthup choosing violence by giving Pak and Mon one of the spiciest love scenes of the year.

The Rebound: THESE TWO (boxes checked!! But also I need more Nammon in my life).

Kidnap: GMMTV's strategic placement of Papang in a suit.

The Hidden Moon: Whenever that tiny low-budget show got surprisingly deep and artsy (and also spicy).

My Stand-In: When I watched a whole show for one (1) character that wasn't really a character at all. Oh, the tragedy of it all (and yes, I'm still scared of Ming).

Pit Babe: When I made several posts about the Pit Babe novel but then I actually ended up loving the villains more than the main characters. I'm watching Pit Babe 2 for them and them only. Winner of my heart here I come!

Aaand that's it, my first ever yearly (Thai) BL recap - which actually ended up way longer than planned (guess my memory isn't as bad as I thought. Then again, I had my gifs to fall back on).

2024 was an amazingly diverse year for Thai QL (along with the wonderful news of marriage equality in Thailand finally becoming a reality) and looking back I now realise (not that I was ever seriously worried) that gmmtv's monopoly is actually way more of a blessing than a curse because not only did it cause WeTV to heavily invest in their own productions, it also leaves more than enough room for innovation and creativity via smaller and indie companies (along with the truly big players finally paying more attention - see: Spare Me Your Mercy). Innovation which in turn enriches gmmtv's portfolio as well (judging by their line-up for 2025 the years to come). In short: the Thai BL ecosystem is truly thriving.

And with that, may 2025 be even queerer than 2024 with tons of marriage proposals and actual marriages (PorschArm here we go!), and a favourite little (or in gmmtv's case not so little lmao) BL niche for everyone.

I hope you had as much fun with BL in 2024 as I had. I really appreciate everyone's commentary posts and meta and fanart and gifsets and tag games and reaction posts, even if I didn't spend as much time on my dashboard this year as I wanted to. I'm so glad tumblr BL fandom exists. ILU guys. Only the bestest and kindest things for you in 2025!🌈✨

[xxnashiraxx]

✨Ali's Birthday Bash!✨

Part 2 | Part 3

Hi everyone!!! Welcome to my birthday bash!! I have exactly one week till my 26th bday!! (It's special cause I'm only 26 on the 26th once!! 😁) I decided a month or so ago that I would like to spend it giving back to the people who have made me feel loved and accepted here on this silly little app and in this wonderful community! 💕 I am oh so grateful, and so beyond awestruck by the friends I've made here and the opportunities to bond with people I never would have met or had otherwise, that I had to do something to show my appreciation. 💗 I won't wax poetic too hard in this opening section, except in the little tidbits below, but my goal is to get 2 of these out a day, probably at different times each day (cause my schedule is a little erratic haha 💗) and I'm going to try so hard to get to everyone- I have some backlog, and I hope I can finish all of these before next week is up! But please bear with me! 💕 This may extend past my bday cause I work fulltime and I have to travel for the holidays, but I have a big list and a lot of people to show love to, so! 💗 Without further ado!!

divider here!

Ysera (for @khywren)

This was the first portrait (right? portrait? ahh idk) I completed!! I have some gripes with it, and I spent so much time trying to go back and forth trying to get things and proportions and perspectives right, but I think she's ready!! I'm not going to be a perfectionist any longer (a bald-faced lie) but I can't keep staring at it!! Now on to what really matters! @khywren you have been such an amazing friend and wonderful presence in my life ever since I met you!! You were one of the very first people to read my fic and comment on it, and you care so much about my writing and show it and it just means so much to me (": Before you and a few other people began to read it, I didn't think I would continue anymore, but you helped me come out of that funk and feel better about the good and the bad! 💕I love Ysera so much, I cherish her and her nature and personality and wish I could hug her on the daily 💗 Your writing is so beautiful and evocative, and it's truly a gift to this fandom- I am so happy to call you my friend and so glad that I get to read your work! I hope I did your gal justice!! 💕 You have my heart forever 🥺💕

Tav (for @bby-bel-art)

BELLL!!! 💜💜 You are such an amazing person!!! I am so so so grateful we met! You are an incredibly talented artist with such a big heart and I treasure you so much! I cannot tell you how insanely overwhelmed with love I feel every time you send me a little art of Ofelia, or make a playlist for my fic, or tell me an idea and I just 🥺💕I feel so unworthy and awed that you like it and think about it and it's crazy- I truly don't know what I did to deserve you, but I am forever honored! You have the best music taste and I admire you so much- thank you for everything, and thank you for being my friend!!! 😁💜 I hope you like this little art of Tav- I am new to scales, so they may not look exactly like they do in the game, or much of the features 💀 But I hope you like it! 💜

Look out for more of these in the coming week! I will tag them all as #ali's birthday bash so hopefully they're a bit easier to find! I love you all so much!!!

[w1w2]

Skating the Divide

Myoui Mina x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 5k

Synopsis: On the ice, every move tells a story. For two skaters with opposing styles, the competition is more than just a test of skill. It’s a clash of worlds.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 - Cracks in the Ice | Part 3 | Part 4

The tension between Y/N and Mina had been simmering since their first practice, and by the end of the week, it had reached a boiling point. The rink had become a battleground, their clashes echoing louder than their skates cutting into the ice.

They stood at the rink, catching their breaths after yet another failed attempt at the lift sequence. Mina pinched the bridge of her nose, her frustration barely contained. Y/N leaned against the edge of the rink, her hands gripping the boards tightly as if trying to keep herself from shouting.

“Let’s go again,” Mina said, her voice clipped and businesslike.

“Again?” Y/N shot her a disbelieving look. “We’ve done it a million times already. Maybe the problem isn’t me.. it’s your precious plan.”

Mina turned sharply, her gaze like ice. “The problem is that you refuse to follow it. If you would just listen—”

“Listen to what? More lectures about how I’m not good enough?” Y/N interrupted, her voice rising. Her chest heaved as she pushed off the boards and skated toward Mina. “You’ve been nitpicking every single thing I do since day one. Newsflash: I’m not a robot!”

“And thank God for that,” Mina retorted, crossing her arms. “Because if you were, we might actually make progress.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh, so now it’s all my fault? Maybe if you stopped micromanaging every second and let me breathe, we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

“I wouldn’t have to micromanage if you took this seriously,” Mina snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

That did it. Y/N’s eyes burned, her face flushing with anger. “Are you kidding me? I’m the one who’s been busting my ass trying to make this work while you stand there acting like you’re too good for all of this!”

Mina’s jaw tightened, her calm facade finally starting to crack. “I’m acting like I’m too good?” she repeated, her tone low and dangerous. “At least I know what it means to work for something instead of just hoping my charm will carry me through.”

The words hit harder than Y/N expected, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let Mina see the sting of her remark.

She doesn’t know anything about me, Y/N thought angrily, but her inner voice wavered. Beneath the anger, there was a flicker of doubt. Was that how Mina really saw her? As someone who didn’t deserve to be here?

Her throat felt tight, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Mina. “At least I don’t skate like I have a stick up my—”

“Don’t,” Mina interrupted, her voice quiet but sharp enough to stop Y/N mid-sentence. Her gaze bore into Y/N, and for a moment, the air between them felt impossibly heavy.

Mina clenched her fists at her sides, her nails pressing into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. Y/N’s chaotic energy grated on her nerves in a way that was both infuriating and... unsettling. She told herself it was frustration, that it was the clash of their approaches to skating but she couldn’t ignore the deeper, unspoken emotion simmering beneath the surface.

It was a flicker of something she didn’t want to name, let alone acknowledge.

She doesn’t understand what’s at stake here, Mina thought, her chest tightening as familiar pressure wrapped around her like a vice. This isn’t a game. This is everything.

For Mina, skating wasn’t just a sport. It was a lifeline, a discipline that had shaped her entire existence. Every hour spent perfecting her craft, every blister and bruise, every fleeting moment of joy on the ice, it all built toward the singular goal of being the best. To win. To be untouchable.

But Y/N’s approach was the antithesis of everything Mina believed in. Her free-spirited movements and unpredictable improvisations felt like chaos wrapped in glitter. It was beautiful in its own way, but it lacked the precision Mina had spent years honing.

She doesn’t take it seriously enough, Mina thought, her gaze narrowing as she watched Y/N skate in frustration, her arms gesturing wildly as she argued. How can I rely on someone who doesn’t understand that perfection isn’t optional?

And yet, as she looked at Y/N, standing there with her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with determination, Mina felt a pang of something foreign.

How does she do that? Mina wondered, her mind briefly slipping from its carefully controlled script. Y/N’s defiance wasn’t just loud, it was fearless. She made mistakes and brushed them off like they didn’t matter, and she skated with a freedom Mina hadn’t felt in years.

For a fleeting moment, Mina envied her. Envied the way she seemed to embrace imperfection, to pour herself into the ice without fear of judgment. But that thought was dangerous. It lingered in the shadows of her mind like a whisper she refused to hear.

That kind of thinking wouldn’t win championships, Mina reminded herself firmly, forcing her gaze to harden. There was no room for freedom. No room for chaos. Only discipline and control. Y/N’s heart pounded as she stared at Mina, her chest tight with frustration. She hated the way Mina always seemed so calm, so composed, like nothing could touch her. It made Y/N feel like she was constantly playing catch-up, like no matter how hard she worked, she’d never be good enough.

Mina’s cold, clipped remarks were the worst. Each one landed like a blow, subtle but sharp, carving away at Y/N’s confidence.

How does she do that? Y/N thought bitterly, her fingers curling into fists. How can she make me feel like an amateur with just a few words?

But beneath her anger, Y/N felt an ache she didn’t want to name. Mina’s constant criticisms stirred up ghosts from her past. Memories of every coach, every judge, every competitor who had looked at her and told her she didn’t belong.

She thought of the rink back home, the cracked ice and the borrowed skates she had to make last for seasons at a time. Of her parents sitting in the freezing stands, cheering her on even when she placed last. Skating wasn’t just a passion for Y/N; it was survival. It was the one thing she had fought to hold on to when everything else felt out of reach.

Mina doesn’t know what it’s like, Y/N thought, bitterness creeping into her chest. She doesn’t know what it’s like to fight for every second on the ice. To always feel like you’re one mistake away from losing it all.

But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? It wasn’t just Mina’s words that got under her skin. It was the way she carried herself, like she was untouchable. It made Y/N feel... vulnerable.

Y/N shook her head, brushing the thought away. Vulnerability wasn’t an option. She couldn’t afford to let anyone see the cracks, least of all Mina.

No way am I letting her win this. Y/N lifted her chin, her defiant glare locking onto Mina. If Mina wanted perfection, Y/N would show her something better.

They tried the lift again, Y/N’s hands firm on Mina’s waist as they prepared for the sequence. Y/N steadied herself before lifting Mina again, her knees bent with effort as she tried to match Mina’s timing. But as Mina stretched into position, Y/N’s grip slipped slightly. She tried to adjust, but their movements collided in an awkward tangle, sending Mina sliding awkwardly out of Y/N’s grasp.

Y/N let out a frustrated growl, catching herself on the edge of the rink. “This isn’t working,” she said, her voice taut with anger.

“Because you keep improvising,” Mina snapped, skating a tight circle before coming to a stop in front of Y/N. “If you would just stick to the plan—”

“Oh, here we go again with the plan!” Y/N interrupted, throwing her arms wide. “God forbid I add a little flair to this robotic routine you’ve cooked up.”

“This isn’t about flair,” Mina retorted, her voice rising ever so slightly. “This is about trust. I can’t work with someone who doesn’t take this seriously.”

Y/N froze, the words hitting her like a slap. Her mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the arena lights.For Mina, the words had slipped out before she could stop them, but they carried the weight of her deepest fear: failure. She couldn’t afford to lose control, not in her routine, not in her partnership, and certainly not in front of the judges.

For Y/N, the accusation cut deep, feeding into her worst insecurity: that she didn’t belong here. She skated to prove herself, to show the world she was more than an underdog. But now, those fears gnawed at her, leaving her feeling smaller than she’d ever admit.

They tried again, and again, and again. Each attempt only seemed to widen the chasm between them. Needing a moment to recharge, both were physically and emotionally drained, their movements sluggish and their tempers frayed as they stepped away for a brief respite.

As Y/N sat on the bench unlacing her skates, she muttered to herself, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Mina overheard, her gaze flicking toward Y/N briefly before she turned away. “Neither can I,” she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible.

The rink was eerily quiet that night, the usual hum of activity replaced by the soft hum of the arena lights. It was late, well past the time most skaters had gone home, but Mina and Y/N remained. Neither had planned to practice this late, but both had silently agreed to stay after their latest argument earlier in the day.

Y/N skated in slow, lazy circles at one end of the rink, her mind a storm of frustration and doubt. At the other end, Mina methodically practiced footwork, her movements precise and controlled. For a long while, they didn’t speak, the silence between them heavy but oddly comfortable in its stillness.

It was Y/N who broke the quiet.

“You’re always like this, aren’t you?” she said, her voice carrying across the empty rink.

Mina stopped mid-step, turning to face her. “Like what?”

“So... perfect.” Y/N skated closer, her tone somewhere between bitterness and curiosity. “Everything you do is so flawless, so polished. You’ve probably never even fallen in public, have you?”

Mina’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. “Falling isn’t an option,” she said, her voice calm but guarded. “Not if you want to be the best.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying her. “Must be exhausting.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than Y/N intended. Mina hesitated, her usually poised expression flickering with something more vulnerable.

“What’s exhausting,” Mina said finally, her voice quieter, “is trying to make it look easy.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the admission. “What do you mean?”

Mina sighed, gliding to the edge of the rink and resting her hands on the boards. For a moment, she didn’t speak, her gaze distant as if she were seeing something far away.

“When you’re at the top,” she said, “everyone expects you to stay there. You can’t make mistakes. You can’t show weakness. Because the moment you do...” She paused, her grip tightening on the boards. “Someone’s waiting to take your place.”

Y/N skated closer, stopping a few feet away. She hadn’t expected this. This glimpse of vulnerability from someone who always seemed so untouchable.

“That’s why you’re so hard on yourself,” Y/N said softly. “And on me.”

Mina turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “Perfection isn’t optional,” she said. “Not for me.”

Y/N leaned against the boards beside her, their shoulders almost touching. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know what that’s like,” she said with a wry smile. “Perfection’s never been an option for me. I’m just trying to survive out here.”

Mina glanced at her, the faintest trace of curiosity in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Y/N hesitated, then exhaled deeply, her breath fogging the cold air. “I didn’t grow up like you. I didn’t have the fancy coaches or the perfect skates. I had to borrow skates that didn’t fit, patch up my gear, and hope for the best. I’d practice on this crappy little rink with cracked ice and no heat, and I’d watch videos of skaters like you, wondering how the hell I’d ever get to where you are.”

Mina listened in silence, her usual mask of composure replaced by quiet attentiveness.

“I mean, look at you,” Y/N continued, her voice tinged with both admiration and frustration. “You’ve got everything. The talent, the polish, the... the presence. People look at you and see perfection. They look at me and see some scrappy underdog who doesn’t belong.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Mina’s gaze softened, and she looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing the edge of the boards.

“You think I don’t feel like that sometimes?” she said quietly.

Y/N turned to her, surprised. “What?”

Mina’s shoulders stiffened slightly, as if bracing herself. “You think I don’t feel out of place? Like I’m just... playing a part?” Her voice wavered, just barely. “Everyone expects me to be perfect, but sometimes I feel like I’m one mistake away from proving them all wrong. From proving I’m not good enough.”

Y/N stared at her, the ice between them melting with every word. She had never seen Mina like this.. Vulnerable, human.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Y/N said softly.

Mina glanced at her, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “And you have a funny way of making me question everything I thought I knew about skating.”

They both laughed, a quiet, tentative sound that echoed in the empty rink.

For the first time since they’d been paired, the air between them felt lighter, less fraught with tension.

“So,” Y/N said, nudging Mina playfully with her shoulder. “What do you say we try again? No lectures, no rules. Just... skating.”

Mina hesitated, then nodded, her smile softening. “Just skating,” she agreed.

Together, they pushed off the boards and onto the ice. And for the first time, it felt like they were skating as partners.

The sound of their skates slicing across the ice filled the rink as Y/N and Mina attempted a particularly challenging lift for what felt like the hundredth time. The late-night practice had stretched even longer. This wasn’t just about the competition. It was about proving to each other, and perhaps themselves, that they could make this work.

“Ready?” Mina asked, her voice steady but softer than usual.

“Let’s do it,” Y/N replied, nodding as she adjusted her position.

Y/N positioned her hands firmly around Mina’s waist, her grip tense but determined. Mina bent her knees slightly, readying herself as Y/N exhaled sharply and began the lift.

For a brief moment, everything felt perfect.

But then, something shifted. Perhaps Y/N’s footing faltered, or Mina overcorrected her balance. The shift threw them into a dangerous wobble, and for a terrifying second, Mina felt herself tilting backward.

Instinct took over. Y/N tightened her hold, steadying Mina just enough to lower her to the ice safely. Mina’s feet touched the ground with a jarring thud, and she stumbled forward, clutching Y/N’s shoulders for balance.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Mina’s chest heaved as she caught her breath, her hands still gripping Y/N’s shoulders. Y/N’s hands remained steady at Mina’s waist, trembling slightly from the effort of holding her partner aloft.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, her voice low but steady, a flicker of worry in her tone.

Mina nodded, her cheeks flushed from both exertion and the unexpected closeness. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Their eyes met briefly, the usual friction between them replaced by a tentative understanding. The adrenaline still thrummed through Mina’s veins, but it wasn’t just relief that held her in place. It was the realization that she had trusted Y/N in that moment, and Y/N hadn’t let her down.

Y/N, the chaotic whirlwind she had often dismissed, had proven herself capable, someone she could count on, even when the stakes were high. It unsettled her.

There was a fearlessness in Y/N that Mina couldn’t deny. An unwavering trust that, even in the midst of chaos, things would work out. And Y/N had trusted her in that moment. Despite all the friction between them, despite the tension and arguments, Y/N had trusted Mina to catch her.

It unsettled her. And yet... it felt right.

“You should trust me more,” Y/N said, her voice softer than Mina had ever heard it. Her breath was warm against the cold air, and a small, almost teasing smile tugged at her lips.

The words caught Mina off guard. Trust had always been a loaded concept for her. Something earned through precision, control, and discipline. Y/N embodied none of those things. But at that moment, Mina didn’t bristle. She didn’t overthink.

Instead, she smiled back. Just a little. “Maybe you should stop making that so hard,” she said, her tone lighter than usual.

It was a rare exchange for her, a moment of levity in a sea of pressure and perfection. And for the first time, Mina didn’t feel the need to guard herself.

Y/N’s hands lingered on Mina’s waist, her fingers curling slightly as she caught her breath. Her heart pounded, not just from the effort of the lift but from the realization of how easily Mina had placed her trust in her.

Mina had always seemed untouchable: cool, unyielding, and always in control. But in this moment, Y/N glimpsed something else, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. Mina’s posture, though steady, carried a softness that spoke of trust.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t feel at odds with Mina. Instead, she saw the flickering possibility of real teamwork.

She glanced up, and her breath hitched slightly when her eyes met Mina’s. There was something unspoken in the other woman’s gaze, a softness Y/N had never seen before.

“You know,” Y/N said, breaking the silence with her usual humor, because humor was the only way she knew how to handle moments like this, “for someone who’s all about control, you’re pretty good at improvising.”

The corner of Mina’s lips twitched, a flicker of a smile that felt warmer than the rink’s frozen air. “Don’t get used to it,” she replied, but the words lacked their usual bite.

Y/N grinned, her chest lighter than it had been in days. “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like this side of you.”

Mina exhaled softly, but she didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she allowed Y/N a moment to regain her footing, her usual critique conspicuously absent. There was no biting comment, no impatient sigh, just a quiet acknowledgment of their shared effort.

Y/N’s heart softened. She’d spent so much time seeing Mina as a wall she had to climb, but maybe Mina wasn’t a wall at all. Maybe she was someone who understood what it meant to carry weight, even if she carried it differently than Y/N did.

They tried the lift again. This time, Y/N’s movements were measured, her hands steady as she guided Mina off the ice. Mina, in turn, adjusted seamlessly, their timing finally beginning to align. The lift wasn’t flawless, but it felt solid, closer to success than it had ever been.

By the end of the session, they were both exhausted, but the atmosphere between them had changed.

As they skated off the ice together, Y/N nudged Mina with her elbow. “Not bad, Myoui. Not bad at all.”

Mina smirked, the warmth in her eyes belying her usual cool demeanor. “You weren’t terrible either.”

It wasn’t a declaration of friendship, nor an admission of trust, but it was something. A crack in the walls they’d both built around themselves.

For the first time, they weren’t just skating partners thrown together by circumstance. They were a team.

The world outside was dark and quiet, the city lights twinkling faintly against the night sky. Y/N walked a few steps behind Mina, the tension that had previously hung between them replaced by a tentative calm. They didn’t speak until they reached the vending machines near the exit, where Mina paused, frowning slightly as she studied the options.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, her tone curious.

Mina glanced at her. “Getting something.”

“From this ancient thing?” Y/N stepped closer, tapping the vending machine with a grin. “It barely works. Half the time it eats your money and gives you nothing in return.”

Mina arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned before a laugh burst from her lips. “Wait, was that a joke? Myoui Mina, did you just try to roast me?”

Mina smirked, a barely-there expression that Y/N almost missed. “Maybe.”

“Wow.” Y/N put a hand to her chest, mock gasping. “I’m impressed. The ice queen has a sense of humor.”

Mina rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched. She turned back to the machine, pulling a few coins from her pocket. Y/N watched her select a pack of strawberry Pocky, the machine groaning as it dispensed the snack with a mechanical clunk.

“Strawberry?” Y/N asked, tilting her head.

Mina nodded. “It’s my favorite.”

“No way.” Y/N leaned over and pulled a similar pack from her bag, holding it up triumphantly. “Mine too. The superior flavor, obviously.”

Mina blinked, her gaze flicking between Y/N and the candy in her hand. For the first time, she looked genuinely surprised.

They sat together on a nearby bench, the cold air biting at their faces as they shared an unspoken truce over their mutual love of strawberry Pocky. Y/N broke the silence first.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said, leaning back against the bench.

Mina raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”

Y/N shrugged, biting into a stick of Pocky. “I don’t know. Someone... meaner? I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re still infuriating, but... you’ve got layers.”

Mina didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she looked down at the box in her hands, her fingers toying with the edge of the packaging. “You’re different than I thought too,” she admitted softly.

Y/N glanced at her, caught off guard by the honesty in Mina’s tone. “Yeah?”

Mina nodded, her gaze distant. “You’re... fearless. It’s frustrating sometimes, but it’s also...” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Inspiring.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed lightly, trying to deflect the compliment. “Careful, Myoui. You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”

“Don’t push it,” Mina replied, but her voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Later, as they walked to their separate cars, Y/N glanced at Mina and asked, “Do you ever do anything just... for fun? Like, outside of skating?”

Mina tilted her head slightly, the question catching her off guard. “I don’t have much time for fun.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning to face her. “You’re kidding, right? No guilty pleasures? No goofy hobbies? Nothing?”

Mina hesitated, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I like puzzles,” she admitted reluctantly.

Y/N burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet parking lot. “Puzzles? That’s adorable.”

Mina frowned, crossing her arms. “There’s nothing adorable about it. It’s logical. Strategic.”

“Sure it is,” Y/N teased, grinning. “Next time, I’m bringing you a puzzle of, like, kittens or something.”

Despite herself, Mina smiled. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re uptight,” Y/N replied with a wink.

For a moment, they stood there, the tension that had defined their partnership slowly melting away. Mina found herself charmed by Y/N’s infectious energy, her ability to find humor and joy in the smallest moments.

And for Y/N, Mina’s quiet humor and growing warmth were a revelation, a reminder that there was more to the ice queen than meets the eye.

As they parted ways, Y/N called after Mina, “Don’t let me catch you practicing without me tomorrow, okay? Team effort, remember?”

Mina paused, looking over her shoulder with a faint smile. “Only if you stop improvising.”

“No promises!” Y/N shouted, laughing as Mina rolled her eyes and walked to her car.

The night marked a turning point, not just in their partnership, but in the way they saw each other. They were still opposites in many ways, but beneath the differences, a bond was beginning to form.

A few days had passed since the tentative understanding between Y/N and Mina at their late-night practice. The air between them was still fragile, like the ice beneath their skates, and both women tread carefully. Their sessions were more productive now, but far from seamless. Y/N’s daring improvisations still clashed with Mina’s perfectionism, but there was less venom in their arguments and an unspoken effort to meet halfway.

The rest of the rink, however, was less accommodating.

It began subtly. Side glances and hushed conversations that trailed off when Y/N or Mina entered a room. At first, Y/N ignored it. She was used to being the odd one out, the wildcard in a sport dominated by elegance and precision. But as the days went on, the whispers grew louder, harder to ignore.

One day, as Y/N sat on a bench lacing her skates, the words finally pierced through her focus.

“I don’t get it,” one skater said, her voice carrying just loud enough to reach Y/N. “Why would they pair someone like her with Mina?”

“She’s going to drag her down,” another replied, the sharp edge in her tone unmistakable.

Y/N’s fingers faltered on the laces, her chest tightening. She kept her head down, pretending not to hear.

“Can you imagine?” The first voice laughed. “Mina, the queen of precision, stuck with someone who can’t even land a consistent triple loop.”

“It’s a joke,” chimed a third. “They’re only doing this doubles thing to shake things up, but pairing them together? It’s cruel to Mina.”

Y/N bit her lip, her stomach churning. She forced her fingers to keep moving, tugging at the laces with more force than necessary.

The voices continued, oblivious or uncaring that she could hear every word.

“She’s all flash and no substance. It’s embarrassing to watch.”

“Maybe they thought Mina could whip her into shape.”

“Or maybe they wanted to give Mina a challenge. You know, like a handicap,” one added with a smirk, and the group burst into laughter.

Y/N’s hands stilled. The words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. She’d always prided herself on her resilience, on not letting the opinions of others dictate her worth. But this felt different. It wasn’t just about her; it was about Mina, too.

She glanced up briefly, catching her reflection in the mirror across the room. Her usually bright eyes looked duller, weighed down by doubt. Was she really dragging Mina down? Was everyone right?

Later that day, during a break between sessions, Y/N sat alone at a table in the skaters’ lounge, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee. The room buzzed with activity, skaters stretching, laughing, and reviewing their routines. Y/N tried to focus on the notes Mina had left her about their sequence, but her mind kept replaying the voices from the locker room.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice called, too sweet to be genuine.

She looked up to see Nayeon, one of the more vocal skaters, sauntering over with a sly smile. Nayeon was flanked by two others, all of them radiating the kind of confidence that came from years of polished performances and unshakable scores.

“How’s it going with Mina?” Nayeon asked, leaning against the table. “Must be... challenging.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “We’re doing fine,” she replied, keeping her tone even.

“Really?” Nayeon raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Because from what I hear, it sounds like she’s doing most of the work.”

One of Nayeon’s friends snickered. “I mean, she’s Mina Myoui. She can handle anything. But it must be hard, carrying all that dead weight.”

Y/N’s grip on her coffee cup tightened. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

Nayeon tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “I’m just saying, doubles skating is about synergy, right? And it’s hard to have synergy when one partner’s a champion and the other... well, you know.”

The laugh that followed felt like a dagger. Y/N stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“You don’t know anything about us,” she said, her voice low but trembling with anger.

Nayeon smirked. “Oh, I think everyone knows exactly what’s happening. You’re lucky to be skating with someone like Mina. Too bad she’s stuck with someone like you.”

The room fell quiet, the tension palpable. Y/N’s chest burned, the weight of their words pressing down on her. Without another word, she stormed out, the door slamming shut behind her.

She didn’t stop until she reached the empty rink, the cold air biting at her flushed cheeks. She needed to move, to release the storm swirling inside her.

Pacing the rink’s edge, Y/N muttered under her breath. “Lucky? Stuck with me? They don’t know anything.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, gripping the boards tightly.

Her mind raced with doubts. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am dragging her down. Mina’s perfect. She deserves someone who matches her, not... me.

But alongside the doubt was anger. At the skaters, at herself, and, though she hated to admit it, at Mina. She’d overheard some of Mina’s earlier comments, the veiled criticisms that had fed into her insecurities. Even if things between them had softened, Mina hadn’t gone out of her way to defend her, either.

“I’m not dead weight,” Y/N whispered fiercely, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

She stayed there for a long time, the quiet rink swallowing her frustration. When she finally moved, it was with a determination burning in her chest. If the world thought she wasn’t good enough, she’d prove them wrong. Not for Mina, not for the judges, but for herself.

[renatogpadilla]

The One Where She Comes Clean.

It took Lux a full 3 seconds to process what she had just heard.

She had wondered, despite her best intentions what could her friend have possibly seen in that harrowing vision that had made her break the way she had...

Losing a daughter would do it.

Isha... Not-Isha kept going.

"She wasn't mine," She sobbed out between tired tears "but... But she was mine, you know...? She came... into my life at my lowest p-point... And for seven m-months... S-seven beautiful months, she... she made it so... so b-bright! My Isha.... my.... my p-perfect, beautiful baby girl!"

She couldn't hold it in any longer. Lux hugged her friend, both of their eyes filled with tears, as she sobbed into her arms.

They didn't know how long they'd stayed like that. It didn't matter. Eventually, the tears stopped... slowly. Her eyes were burning. Everything hurt.

Jinx managed to talk. "I... Listen, Lux. You saved me too. In more ways than one... And I want to be honest with you. If anyone knows, I want it to be you... but...." How do you even start?

"If you're not there yet, I understand. I won't push. When you're ready, I'll be here." Jinx wondered if Lux was this sincere all the time or if she just put on a pretty face for her... Either way, she couldn't have asked for a better friend right now.

"I think I genuinely don't deserve a friend like you." Jinx meant that. She really didn't deserve her.

"Well, suck it up, Firework." Lux had to push that out of her throat. She just told you about her dead daughter and you're trying out nicknames?! "You're stuck with me. And I don't plan on leaving you alone."

"...Firework?" She could not let Lux know how much she actually liked that. She had an image, dammit!

"Hey, you call me 'Flashlight'!" It wasn't a chuckle so much as a sputtered breath that left her mouth, but the feeling came across.

"Okay, fine. That's fair." Something in her still feared telling Lux everything...

She didn't know where to go from here... Lux was staying the night. Should she offer tea? She didn't have cookies or anything. She should have had cookies! What kind of witch didn't have cookies to lure children into the woods with?! She had to step her game up when she stopped feeling so depressed...

"But... If not your birth name" Which was a shame, because Lux found 'Powder' really cute "and not your other name... What do I call you?"

And here she had to take a gamble... In her mind, she was praying to Janna or whatever other spirit could hear that the name of the most wanted criminal in Piltover-Zaun hadn't reached Demacia... Or at least not Lux.

She wanted to be honest. But she had to brace herself first. "I can be... completely truthful with you, right?"

"Always. I'm almost offended you even had to ask!"

"Heh... I know. Listen, Flashlight. There's a part of me that's terrified to tell you."

"...Why?" Oh, did Lux want an answer to that question?

"Because..." Just say it. She took a deep breath. "Because you've told me your story. And I'm afraid that... I'm scared that if I tell you..." You wouldn't come see me anymore? You would hate me?

"You'd have to take the first step for once?" Lux didn't mean for it to be a jab, but she wanted to get out of the depression, by whatever way she could, and this girl needed to get this out.

"I'm afraid that you'd be too... Familiar with me." She could think of no other word to describe it. She was kinda glad she couldn't. "You... Um..."

"Go on, friend." And she said it so sincerely that Jinx felt her heart grow a size... She swore those eyes got bigger the longer they stared at her. "I'm not leaving."

She dared to hope. "You promise...?"

Lux actually stood up from the couch. Jinx could tell she was sore from the fight still, but she didn't let it show. And then she took a knee and put one hand over hers and another over her heart.

"I," she said, and she put the weight of the world into her words "Luxanna Crownguard, swear on my honor as a Noble, as a servant of the Crown of Demacia, on my Knighthood and on my light as a Mage, that I will not desert you. I will not run from who you are. I will not judge or hate you for what you have been through. On our friendship and on the joy you've brought me... Lest I be struck dead by the gods themselves."

Tiny lights floated around them. Lux wanted to make sure she knew she meant business. What a dramatic little lady she'd let in her hut! Welp, she'd done it now... Fuck it.

"Whatever happens now, you asked for it."

Lux just nodded her head and smiled. One more deep breath.

"You know Piltover?" She started. Might as well match her dramatics if she was going to tell her.

"The City of Progress. I've heard of the place, but I've never been..."

"Well, you'll hear a lot of stories about it. About how they have the most beautiful skyline and how their technology is second to none... It's alright. They're good, I guess. But what they won't tell you is that their glorious city sits on top of another. One that breathes the refuse of their engines. The smog of their factories... The dust beneath their boot. This is the city of Zaun. And I used to call it home."

Lux was sitting fully cross-legged on the floor now, looking up at her like she was her favorite teacher... Or like a child, hearing a new story for the first time. Jinx realized she missed being a storyteller. She liked that the theatrics she could weave into stories didn't require several hours of explosive safety prep... Like she'd ever cared about the safety prep!

"And even in this veritable hive of scum and villainy, where the air was thick with smoke and drug lords named 'Chembarons' ran the streets, there was a still a little corner of light: A section of the city, marshalled by a man named Vander. My dad. This place was called The Lanes, and smack dab in the middle of them, there was a quaint little bar called The Last Drop... And in that bar lived Vander and a gang of kids. There were four of us: There was Mylo, Claggor... my sister Violet... 'Vi'. And me. Powder. And we spent our days gathering scrap for dad to sell and keep the bar afloat... Well, at least that's what we thought. Looking back, he probably just gave us that idea so we'd feel important. Petty heists here and there, nothing too crazy. Mylo could pick any lock, Claggor was big and smart, always a step ahead of everyone else and the one who always knew the getaway route... Vi could punch like hell and I had my little gadgets. None of them worked as intended, but I was getting somewhere." She nodded her head at Pow-Pow and Fishbones on the floor. "That's one thing I can proudly say I got much better at."

"Question!" Said Lux. She actually raised her hand, the darling! "If there were just those four of you, then... Where does Ekko come in?"

Leave it to Miss 'Repressed Fairytale Princess' to immediately ask about her crush. Good to know Lux had her priorities straight!

"He hung around on occasion. He was more Benzo's kid than Vander's. He usually tipped us off to jobs the gang and I could pull. He was small and could get in anywhere if you stopped paying attention to him... He did stay with us for some time, learning how to fight with Vi... Dancing to the jukebox with me..." She had to take a moment. "You know, I don't think I ever noticed how much Ekko made me feel like a kid until you made me bring him up." He really had been there the whole time... Looking back, that crush he'd had on her was so incredibly obvious that she should have noticed, kid or not. That boy was smitten!

"Sounds like you were getting there by yourself already."

"I might've been, Flashlight... Anyhow, it was Ekko that tipped us off to the biggest heist of all. Some big-shot academy nerd over at Piltover had gotten his hands on something incredibly valuable, and now we were going to strike it rich..."

She told her about the heist on Jayce's house in detail, and while she did so, it occurred to Jinx in this moment of retrospection, that she had never actually met Jayce Talis!

The Man of Progress himself! The Father of HexTech! She'd just... stolen his marbles (and his sandwich) and ran! He made Vi those overdesigned bitch-mittens and she'd never even seen the guy outside of a couple posters or ostentatious mugs!

She wondered where he was now and if he had made it out of the scuffle with Noxus alive. After all, if he hadn't dabbled with the Arcane, she wouldn't be who she was...

Lux was completely enamoured by the story. The little band of ruffians braving the top of society to put food on the table... It was inspiring! It made her think of the struggle Mages faced now in Demacia. And Powder (she'd call her that for now, until she got a name.) had been a fighter since the beginning! And now what a woman she'd become! She could make gadgets that could bring down demons from actual Hell and explosions that outshined the moon! As far as she was concerned, she could have been anything but chose to live as a witch of the woods for the vibes!

She admired her more with every bit of her story she learned...

Little by little, Jinx told her overenthusiastic Demacian friend how everything had been downhill from the moment they'd robbed Jayce's place. The Piltie Enforcers that had killed her and Vi's biological parents now flooded the underground, looking to make an example of the undercity for what they had finally perceived to be an excuse...

She slowed down on the details after a while... And eventually, she told her about the night the rest told her to stay behind...

"I should have stayed behind... Looking back I notice that Vi was just trying her best to keep me safe. But then, I just wanted to be useful. So I went anyway... And I took a new toy with me. Filled to the brim with those magic marbles we stole. It was my biggest bomb ever. And it was gonna get them all out."

Lux could tell by her tone that it was not gonna go that way. She got up and sat on the couch with her. She'd put some tea on after she got done with this part. If she wasn't in shambles by then.

"I got there to see my friends, my sister and my dad pinned down through a small window. They'd run rampant and clobbered everyone that got in their way... Now it was my turn to help. Well... I set the little bomb through the window and let it walk off into the fray." Jinx had to stop for a moment. Lux could see in her eyes that what happened next would be heavy... Maybe she should do it now.

"Tea, friend?" She offered.

"Yes. Please. A lot. I... I think I'm going to need it..." Fuck, she missed coffee sometimes.

Lux put the kettle on. If you could call that ramshackle mechanical contraption a 'kettle'.

"If you need to stop, I understand."

"I think if I don't get it out now, I never will." Jinx owed her the truth after tonight. "I... Be patient with me? Please?"

"Of course. You don't have to ask."

Careful, Jinx. She's about to make you believe in kindness again...

While the water boiled, Lux sat down next to her friend. She made some little light balls float around them and dance a little. Nothing too crazy... It was nice that she'd managed to control her powers to the point of making little magic lanterns, but she wanted to try something new now. Something simple, for her.

"You know." Lux started "When I blasted that monster today, I felt something I'd never felt before. Like, I connected to light in a way I'd never understood... Like I could almost talk to it."

"Now who's got voices in her head?" Oh, good. Powder was making jokes now! That was great! A bit of the gloom of the night was starting to dissipate at last...

Lux shot her a playful glare and continued. "Anyways, now that I see it in that light, heh, I was wondering what would happen if I just... Asked nicely."

As she said that, she waved her hand in front of one of the little light motes she'd made... And a few seconds later, it slowly changed. From yellow, to green, to a lighter tone. A red... A purple... Until finally, a light, magical blue floated in front of them. Slowly, all the little lights changed, one by one, lighting up the hut in a blue hue that reminded her of her friend's beautiful fireworks.

She turned to look at the not-a-witch... and she saw tear roll down her face.

"It's beautiful, Flashlight." Jinx had had pretty lights lit for her before (albeit more dangerous and rebellious ones) but this was so... soft. So caring and genuinely precious... This was a gift. "I'm proud of you, for what it's worth. And I'm glad you're here."

"It's worth the world, mon ami." She leaned in close to the little sphere of light. "Thank you!" She whispered. And the little lantern glowed a little brighter. Jinx knew it was just Lux making it 'answer', but she still let herself get lost in the magic for a moment...

She drank her tea slowly... Calm your nerves. Eventually, she put her cup down and resumed her story, the new mood lighting actually calming her down a bit more than she thought. "Well, I was right about one thing: That really was the best bomb I'd ever made. So much so that even I didn't expect it to go off so... effectively. The blast sent me flying onto the street... As well as the entire building."

She'd expected, deep down, that a blue glow would make it harder to tell Lux how the bomb she'd used had killed two of her friends and her father, made her sister hate her for a decade and taken down the entire building with gods-know-how-many people still inside, but if anything, it was comforting to see a blue glow that didn't mean somebody wouldn't see tomorrow for once...

As she continued telling Lux what she'd done, she felt a pain growing on her chest. "This is it!" she thought. "If she can still care for you after she finds out you blew up children then she's sticking around for good."

"There were five of us when that explosion went off... but when the smoke cleared, it was just Vi and me." She lamented. Some days she wondered what Mylo and Claggor would have said about the life she'd led. Would they have come with her? Would they have fought against her? Would they have joined Ekko's Firelights and stayed out of it until it was their problem? Whatever the outcome, a part of her would have still cared. She'd always care. That was her own jinx. "I killed them all, Lux. I killed Mylo and Claggor and dad... And when Violet realized what happened, she... she said something. She called me something that would shape who I'd be forever. A name I took for myself the day... the night 'Powder' died. And she did die in that blast. I just didn't know it until my sister told me to my face."

She was too afraid to look at Lux. She wasn't saying anything, so maybe she was trying to process just who she'd been friends with this whole time... Jinx continued before one of them got cold feet.

"Shortly after, she was sent to jail. Pilties needed someone to blame and I was in the wind. My other dad had found me and taken me in after Vi and I fought. A crime lord named 'Silco'. The man who kept the Chembarons in check. He nurtured my curiosity. Kept me safe from the gangs... From myself. He never blamed me for what I'd done. He'd been Vander's friend before everything. I'd killed his friend, and he didn't blame me! Eventually, I grew up to be his number one closer. His little Boogeyman that exploded his enemies. And he had enemies, Lux! After Vander was gone he practically ran The Lanes, if not all of Zaun! He was a force to be reckoned with... And I was the little monster he had to make sure people stayed in line. I spent years killing my way out of facing my trauma, hearing the voices of my dead friends in my head, building my gadgets, blowing people up without a shred of remorse... Seeing my sister's face in the people I gunned down. I hated her, Lux. For years, I thought she'd left me to rot... I didn't know she'd been taken... I didn't know she still loved me. And, to be honest... Outside of Silco trying his best to be a crime lord and a part-time dad... I..." This was something she had never admitted to anyone. People who knew her could see it, of course, but she'd never said it out loud... "I didn't think I could be loved. I didn't think I deserved to be loved." And some days, when things get really rough, I still don't.

Warmth was the first feeling. Like a loving little oven had started microwaving her from the side. And when she turned, Lux was holding her tight. Her hands were glowing. Her face too! Her whole skin, dimly lit, warming up Jinx's body... She hadn't noticed she was cold. Lux just held her. And something about it melted in her heart.

"It wasn't your fault."

Those were the first words that came out of Lux's mouth.

It was words Powder had wanted to hear her entire life.

She held her back. The warmth in her chest felt like a knot that had strangled her soul for ages had finally been undone. She allowed herself to sob as Lux kept talking, and she couldn't see her face, but she knew she was crying too. The lights turned yellow again. Warm and welcoming. Like a hug. Like a home.

"You were a child. You tried to help. You didn't know. It wasn't your fault, Powder. That night, that life, will never be your fault! Okay? And if anyone ever blames you for it, I'll light them up myself!"

And for the first time, she believed it.

Her eyes were dry at this point... She was out of tears. And that was okay. It was her that kissed Lux's cheek this time. She'd never really been known to be tender, but her Flashlight had earned it. She could be soft for one person, she thought. As a treat. For both of us.

They pulled apart.

"Thank you, Flashlight. But... Not 'Powder'." She'd made up her mind now. If anything happened to Lux, she would burn Demacia to the ground. "And... not 'Isha' either."

"Alright then." Lux wiped her eyes and stretched out a hand. She wanted to know everything about this person now. "Hello, miss. I'm Luxanna. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jinx chuckled. She took her hand in hers. "Believe me, the pleasure is absolutely all mine, Luxanna." And she meant that with her whole heart...

"My name is Jinx."

[quinnkdev]

i wrote a short thing about OFF, and my relationship to it as its translator; thoughts ive wanted to put into words for a while.

you can read it here as well, under the cut.

wait! wait... there is more to be said about OFF than, at the time of my previous review, i had the bandwidth for. i had, temporarily, reached a point of saturation with it - you only regurgitate a game's text again and again so many times until you start getting a bit weary of it, after all - but now that the bomb has burst and the remake is public knowledge (i kept that stuff secret for 2+ years!), i have the peace of mind to really unpack this. OFF was my companion for the late end of my teen years and more or less the whole of my current adulthood. the better - maybe even the best parts of my life - were (at least in part) shaped by adoration for and dedication to this game and its story. OFF survived the beginning and end of several friendships and relationships (romantic or otherwise) throughout my life, and i project it will survive many more - if not me, as a living human being. and i hope you understand that this is a lot to put into writing. can you imagine? something you did at 16 years old, because you were bored and liked a video game; a text someone else made, passed through you like a pamphlet - outgrowing you like that, becoming larger than you may ever be? i wrestle with that feeling frequently. some would grow resentful of the object of this kind of ruminating, especially as a writer and gamedev themselves- but i can't find it in me to ever hate OFF, no matter how often i hear about it; there simply is nothing like it. OFF has created several core memories that i can flash back to. i remember the knot in my stomach at its ending. i remember that it was time to sleep, and i remember staring at the ceiling, closing my eyes, and seeing void behind them, with white bedsheet ghosts floating there. i remember the resolve to translate it. i remember: "i have to show this to decon" (a friend that i've long since stopped speaking to). i remember isaiah (friend i lost touch with, number 2) asking me to keep working on the translation because he loved the game and wanted to know what happens in zone 2. i remember a vacation in france i mostly spent on a shoddy laptop my grandmother owned, on slow (maybe dial-up) internet, tinkering in RPG maker 2003, trying to make more headway in a language i only barely knew better than the one i was translating from. i remember this more than the majority of the relationship that introduced me to the game. that's sad to consider, isn't it? can a story be more significant than a person? i was very unwell for large parts of the time i spent working on this translation. i had dark thoughts; i feared impossible and possible things both. i was depressed, and i made very real attempts to turn the world in the only window i know - my eyes - off. permanently. and maybe- that is why OFF is larger than me. because in the negative space of its conclusion, in the turning of the final switch from ON to OFF, there lies a question: "is all this despair, all this hurt, all this misery and all of this unsolvable injustice of this world worth it?" and OFF, in my opinion, says: yes. or at least, for me it did. i'm not letting go of these memories, or of these stories, or of my adoration for this game. i love it more by the day. i owe a lot to it. this isn't a funeral, it's a celebration. thank you, OFF, and thank you, mortis ghost. i would not be here, i would not be this, and i would not be me without you.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Rain Check? - Feysand Oneshot

Summary: 5 times Rhysand didn't take his shot, and the one time Feyre took too many

@carrieeve It's me! Hi! I'm your santa, it's me!

For the @acotargiftexchange, you told me you'd like an AU oneshot that was Feysand focused with a friends to lovers plot - I deliberated a long time over how best to bring that vision to life, and then after some light blog stalking, I saw that you're a fan of Jim/Pam from the Office! I started binging the show for research purproses, and a Feysand office romance was born! 🥰

I really hope you enjoy it! It's been such a joy quietly stalking your blog for these last many months, and I look forward getting to know you even more now that our identities are revealed! 💕

Words: 12k

Read on AO3

-

The first time Rhysand saw Feyre, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Only problem—so did every other man in the office. And they didn't exactly disguise their interest in the young, cute receptionist working on the fifth floor of their London skyrise.

After being propositioned by just about every single man in the office, including the ones who fell alarmingly outside her age range—a category which Rhys wasn't confident he was excluded from—he thought the last thing she needed on her first day was another colleague making a pass at her.

He offered a polite hello and welcome, but he intentionally waited until she survived her first week to strike up any further conversation. The chance opened for him when she walked into the break room at the precise moment he was filling up the kettle.

"Hey," he said, tipping the spout to gesture his hello. "Fancy a tea?"

"Oh." She glanced at the kettle, her bow-shaped lips popping open in what he could only assume was surprise. As if she'd walked into the break room expecting anything other than an electric kettle and a pod coffee machine. "I… didn't bring a mug."

"Well, Feyre, I'm not sure how they treated you at your last place, but here, corporate spoils us rotten with communal company branded mugs." Setting the kettle down on the base, Rhys flipped the overhead cabinet open, gesturing to its contents as if he'd unveiled a trove.

The dramatic flair earned him a polite laugh. It was cute, if a little forced. And he craved the chance to learn what her laugh sounded like when it wasn't given out of pity.

He gestured to the middle shelf, which deviated from the monotony of blue logo mugs. "If you do end up bringing a mug in, this is where you can keep it. Though I'll warn you, conversation gets stale here and that almost ensures you'll be asked for its backstory. I recommend bringing in something interesting, unless you want to end up like poor old Drakon."

"What happened to Drakon?"

Rhys gave a hearty sigh as he withdrew two mugs from the cupboard, shaking his head as he said, with the utmost solemnity, "He's known as the guy with a boring mug."

Her lips twitched. He thought that was a genuine smile she might have been fighting.

"If all I'm known for is having a boring mug, I think that's fine by me."

"Oh, believe me, you are far from the danger of that fate, Feyre darling—" the endearment slipped out before he could think better of it. He winced inwardly, trying to monitor her reaction in his periphery. Her brows lifted, and he continued on, hoping he could recover through the theatrics of setting the mugs in front of her, proclaiming proudly, "Because I'm gracious enough to let you use one of mine. Go on, take your pick."

The distraction paid off. Slip-up now forgotten, or so he hoped, Feyre leaned forward to read the print.

Then snorted. "This says Office Wanker."

He grinned. "That was my secret santa gift from last year."

Feyre lifted the other mug by its rather phallic shaped handle. The ceramic was dark green, with small white spikes pinched throughout to mimic a cactus. Feyre grinned as she read the white print on its side: Don't be a Prick.

"I'm sensing a theme."

"That was another gift." Rhys pitched his voice low. "Do you think they're trying to tell me something?"

"I think…" she bit her lip, her eyes gleaming with a mischief that told him she was purposefully building anticipation. "They might be mugging you off."

"That couldn't be it," he said, knowing his deadpan delivery was ruined. He could feel the stupid grin already plastered over his face and he couldn't help it. "My mother is adamant that I'm a delight. She says everyone likes me."

"I'm sure she's right," she whispered, with just the right amounts of sympathy and derision that Rhysand might have fallen in love with her right then and there.

He nodded to the two choices on the counter. "So which mug are you going with?"

"Oh—dear. Hmm. They're both such strong contenders." Feyre lifted the mugs, tilting and examining each with exaggerated scrutiny. Then she shoved the one with the phallic cactus towards him. "I think Prick fits you better. I'll go with Wanker."

"That's quite the statement to make in your second week," he said, eyes locking with hers as he accepted the mug, their fingers brushing just briefly enough to pass as accidental.

Pride warmed his chest when he noticed her cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. It was a similar shade to her lips, he thought. Which was a mistake, because he immediately needed to fight the temptation to stare at her mouth.

"Well," she said, withdrawing her hand, the movement a little stiff. A little uncertain. "At least I won't be known as a girl with a boring mug."

"That you most certainly will not," he purred.

The kettle clicked, steam billowing from its spout, and he was privately grateful for the excuse to pull his attention away lest he do—or more likely say—something stupid and inappropriate.

The entire office was flirting with her. If he escalated this beyond anything other than playful, inane small talk, she would think he was just another jerk trying his luck on the new girl. And really, isn't that exactly what he was?

Rhys lifted the kettle in offering. "So," he said. "Did you want tea?"

"Oh," she repeated. He would have teased her for it, this copy and paste exchange. Why did it keep surprising her that they were in the break room for tea? "No," she said finally, pointing toward the coffee machine. "I'm more of a coffee drinker."

"Ah," he said, pouring the water into his mug and tried to keep his cool as steam crowded his face. This whole time, he thought she was waiting for the kettle to boil. She could have been in and out of there in a minute if she just put the damn pod in.

But she lingered, watching him stir in sugar—which wasn't how he preferred his tea, but it offered an excuse for him to stay in the break room just a little longer.

"Do you—" he cleared his throat— "Do you know how to use the machine?"

"Yeah," Feyre said, waving the offer away. "I've got one like it at home."

"Ah, good."

He set his teaspoon in the sink, not in any rush to leave but faltering for a reason to stay.

If he could go back and do anything differently, Rhys would have chosen that moment to ask her out. Just for a coffee, to get to know each other. To explore what was already an obvious chemistry.

Instead he pinched the handle of his mug and nodded. "See you around then, Office Wanker."

Feyre waved. "Bye, Prick."

-

The bi-weekly sales team meeting was the bane of Rhysand's existence.

While he was being forced to sit and listen to Tamlin Spring stroke his own ego in front of the executives, Rhys knew his unattended inbox and phone line was being inundated with client inquiries that would prove a much better investment of his and the company's time.

Instead, he was trapped in an hour-long posturing session where each member of the team needed to prove to corporate that they were making enough money to justify their payslip. Something which Tamlin had been struggling with this month, though he was giving quite the performance about the value he had in the pipeline with his "nurturing prospects".

The door clicked open, and every head in the room swiveled towards the interruption.

Feyre stood there, one arm propping open the door, the other fidgeting with a sticky note. "Sorry to interrupt," she said with a wince. "I just have a note for Mr. Night. One of his clients is on line 6."

She waited until one of the executives gave her a nod of approval before scurrying to Rhys, her head ducked down. She didn't linger, pressing the sticky note into his hands, then disappearing as quickly as she'd come. He clenched his jaw when he noticed the trail of eyes that followed her.

Tamlin's gaze, in particular, dipped beneath her skirt-line, then back up. Twice. He shared a lazy grin to his left, not even trying to hide what he'd been doing. Worse, reveling in it.

"I should take this," Rhys said tightly, staring at the note in Feyre's hasty scrawl.

Office wanker,

Hope you're prepared to pay up.

"It's from my contact at Hybern," Rhys explained to the room. "I'm on the verge of closing this deal."

The executive gave Rhys a stiff nod of approval. Hybern had been a prospecting account for upwards of a year, until Rhys had taken over the lead two months ago. It was a big account, one he knew the execs were antsy to close.

Rhys had been waiting for Tamlin to finish fumbling his update to announce Hybern officially signed this morning. The choice had been purely strategic, an attempt to highlight the contrast between their performances after Tamlin tried to undermine him in the last meeting. And, admitedly, he'd been looking forward to the gratification of seeing Tamlin flounder in front of the execs he was trying so hard to brown-nose.

This was far more gratifying, though.

Rhys strolled out of the confrence room and returned to his seat, where he promptly picked up his desk phone and dialed line 6.

"Rhysand speaking."

"You thought I wouldn't do it," Feyre said in sing-song triumph. "You really thought I'd be too scared to do my job because of a bunch of serious old men in suits?"

Rhys blew out a stung breath. "Ouch, Feyre. Old?"

"Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you over your creaking bones."

"I didn't take you as a sore winner," he said, grinning.

"Doesn't matter what you took me as, because you know where you'll be taking me now? To lunch. And I'll be ordering something expensive."

He hoped she would. "Order whatever you want. A deal's a deal."

"Oh, I'm getting a side and a dessert."

"Better yet, why don't I take you to dinner? You can have the full course and drinks."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. One that prompted him to glance towards her reception desk, where he could see her pink lips part open. Her head swiveled towards him, brows merging to assess his meaning.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"We're celebrating," he said, evading the question. "I closed the deal with Hybern, you won our wager. Let's get drinks."

"Okay," she said. Her smile was shy. "Let's go to dinner."

"Tonight?"

She hesitated. "I… have nothing to wear."

"Blimey, Feyre. I didn't realize you'd come to work nude. A bit bold, don't you think?"

"Shut up," she said, giving an exaggerated eye roll to be sure he could see it across the room.

It was, perhaps, with too much severity that he rushed to add, "You look perfect."

The admission hung a second too long. Rhys cleared his throat before she could mull over the gravity with which he said it—meant it.

"Anyway, we'll leave together after work, yeah? I know just the place."

Feyre bit her lip. It wasn't the immediate agreement he was hoping for, but the pink flush rising over her cheeks was an encouraging sign.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll wait by the lift."

"Don't want them to see us leaving together?" He teased.

"Are you kidding?" She sounded horrified. "If they see us leave together, tomorrow there will be rumors that we're shagging."

"In rumor only?"

"See how well dinner goes first, Prick."

"That's not a no," he crooned, to which Feyre slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

He couldn't keep the dumb grin off his face, even once the sales team got out of their meetings and Tamlin plunked into the seat beside Rhys.

Tamlin scowled. "What are you so happy about?"

His voice was sour, even for Tamlin. Rhys figured the meeting must have gone south after he left. Ass kissing could only go so far when there's no money to be shown for it.

"I closed the deal with Hybern," Rhys said, deciding to capitalize on what was shaping up to be a superb day by rubbing it in Tamlin's face just a little bit. "Sending it through for approval right…" Click. "Now."

"Congrats," Tamlin muttered, mustering as minimal enthusiasm into the word as possible.

Rhys would have felt bad for the guy. When Tamlin first joined, Rhys had tried to take him under his wing, taking him on sales calls and feeding him solid leads that just needed a bit of nurturing. He'd thought they were something like friends until he'd caught Tam trying to poach his clients six months ago. When Rhys asked him to back off, Tamlin had gotten upper management involved, and things had gotten messy.

Since then, their relationship had regressed into this—Tamlin slumping back in his chair, frowning at his screen as Rhysand's closed deal started making the rounds in their sales channels.

The door to the CRO's office snicked open. "Hey, Rhysand. Can we talk?"

"Of course. I'll join you in a moment."

As Rhys slid out of his chair, he couldn't resist sneaking a glance towards Feyre. He was just doing his job at the end of the day, but he was good at it, and some juvenile part of his brain wanted her to notice.

Their eyes met. It always zapped through him, the sight of those bright eyes, like dragging his feet on carpet and touching something metal.

Feyre ducked her head, smiling shyly at her computer.

When he turned back, he saw Tamlin staring at him. Hard.

"What?" Rhys asked, straightening.

"The quirky little receptionist?" He snorted. "I didn't realize that was your type."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tamlin shrugged. "I'm only trying to warn you. I hear she's fucked half this office."

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, obscuring the fingers he curled into fists. He shouldn't let Tamlin rile him. He knew it was untrue, and even if it was, he wouldn't care. But Feyre would be upset if she knew that's what people were saying about her.

"Watch your mouth," Rhys said. "This is a workplace, not a locker room."

"Could've fooled me. I thought it was brothel when I first walked in."

Tamlin's head turned deliberately to Feyre, who's desk was positioned directly in front of the entrance. She was leaning over now, scribbling a note on her desk. At the angle, the cut of her top sloped low enough to show the tops of her breasts. The observation felt like stepping into Tamlin's mind, seeing Feyre the way he saw Feyre.

It was truly a shock to the system to feel repulsed by a sight of breasts—by Feyre's no less, which were magnificent in any other context. Rhys felted trapped between defending her, which would only validate Tamlin's suspicions and make her more of a target, or to let it slide and hope the bastard moved on.

"Each to their own, I suppose," Rhys said, brushing past Tamlin's desk. He slipped a hand out of his pocket to thrum his finger across the wood. "Hey—think they'll give me that promotion for the Hybern deal?"

The deflection worked. Like dangling car keys in front of a toddler, Tamlin's focus shifted back to the CRO's office.

He sneered. "Let me get back to work, Rhysand."

"Right. Right. That Adriata account, huh? Heard it's not going to well."

"Fuck off."

"So touchy," Rhys said, clicking his tongue. "I'm just trying to help. Maybe I'll give you some tips after my meeting."

Tamlin made a low grunt in the back of his throat, a sign that he was retreating into what Rhys and Feyre had dubbed 'beast mode'. Rhys actually preferred it when Tamlin was in beast mode. It meant kept his mouth shut and communicated through nods and grunts until his temper subsided—which, Rhys would argue, was much more effective communication than when his colleague attempted to use words.

It was a shame those sacred moments of Tamlin's silence would be wasted in the CRO's office. Rhys wasn't sure what to expect as he pushed the door open and poked his head inside.

"Come in," the CRO said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "I heard you closed the deal with Hybern. Many congratulations—I know that was hard won."

"They made me work for it," Rhys acknowledged, lowering onto the alabaster seat. "But I knew we'd close them in the end."

The CRO nodded. "You did good work."

"Thank you," Rhys said, bracing himself for the pitch. He knew he wasn't called in here for a congrats.

"You're a strong salesman," the CRO continued. "You have excellent people skills, and you're good at getting clients on your side."

Rhysand's brows rose. He didn't think he'd ever heard this much praise come from upper management before. He was still waiting for the catch.

"The deal with Adriata has fallen through," the CRO went on. That was corporate speak for: Tamlin wet the bed.

"That's a shame," Rhys said mildly. It wasn't his deal, and he wasn't exactly heartbroken to hear Tamlin fumbled a big sale.

"I know you have a contact there—Tarquin. You used to work with each other at your previous role. Do you think you could leverage that to recover the sale?"

Rhys paused. Adriata was one of the leads he'd fed to Tamlin through that acquaintance. He could have taken the deal himself, but he thought the new guy could use an easy win. It shouldn't have taken this long—nearly a year—to close the deal and it certainly shouldn't have fallen through.

"Adriata is Tamlin's client," Rhys said slowly. "If I helped close the sale…"

"You'd get the commission," the CRO said, hearing the question that went unspoken. "And the account will be yours. I just want this closed before fiscal."

In other words, before Monday.

Rhys glanced at the digital clock on the CRO's desk, calculating the time difference in his head. "Tarquin's based in L.A. Latest I can get him on a call is five."

"If you stay late and get this done, you can take Monday off."

It wasn't Monday he cared about. It was the date he envisioned with the pretty blue-eyed receptionist. He thought he would finally have the chance to take her somewhere nice and give this chemistry between them a solid chance.

Rhys bit the inside of his cheek. Feyre would understand, wouldn't she? With the commission he'd get from Hybern and Adriata, he could take her somewhere even nicer. Hell, he could take her out of London. Fly to Paris for the weekend. Amsterdam. Art museums. Anywhere she wanted.

"Okay," Rhys said, nodding. "I'll see what I can do."

After that, he returned to his desk. Tamlin was still in beast mode, ignoring Rhysand's existence and probably nursing his ego about the ruined Adriata deal. It offered Rhys the privacy to slip a sticky note from his desk and pass it to reception on the way to the break room.

Have to stay late tonight. Rain check on dinner?

-

The following Monday, Rhys took the day off.

And later that morning, he was waiting to meet his family for breakfast when he received a call from the police.

His mother, father, and younger sister had all died in a car accident on their way to meet him.

Rhys took the rest of the week off.

-

It was the day of the funeral.

He was sitting on a bench, staring absently at a flock of ducks wading through The Serpentine at Hyde Park.

He'd just gotten back to London and couldn't bear the thought of going home. So he'd come here, though it was a miserable, foggy day and he could feel the cold burning his nose, cheeks, and ears.

In some ways, the cold felt grounding. This pain was real. Fixable. So much easier to process than the intangible grief he was drowning in.

"Here I thought I was the only person in London mad enough to be out on a day like this."

It was just his luck to run into Feyre on today of all days.

Rhys knew he looked a mess. He wasn't trying to hide it. And he knew it was inevitable she would see him in his grief. Their company only offered five days of bereavement, after all. He'd be back at work on Monday, and he didn't anticipate being any less of mess than he was now.

When she appeared before him, hands settled on her hips, he wondered if this was how it felt to see a mirage in the desert. To glimpse salvation and know it was impossible to reach.

In the dull grey backdrop of English winter, she was a smear of vibrant color. She was wearing a sky-blue overcoat, buttoned over a cream turtleneck and brown suede trousers. Her cheeks and nose were frostbitten, like his own, and it made him feel strangely envious of the cold.

"You look like you're freezing."

Unlike Feyre, bundled in her coat and scarf and mittens, he wasn't dressed for the weather. He was wearing a black suit and tie, and though he'd brought an overcoat with him to the funeral, he was fairly certain he'd left it at the wake.

"I'm fine," he said.

A blatant lie. Usually he was better at those.

"Here." Feyre began unwinding her red knit scarf.

"No." Rhys held up his hands to stop her. "Really, Feyre, I'm—"

Dodging his weak attempts to deter her, Feyre unraveled her scarf and wasted no time hooking it around Rhysand's neck. The scent of lilac and pear coiled around him, constricting like the vise of a serpent.

"Keep it," she said. "It didn't really match this outfit anyway."

"I'm not sure it matches mine," he said, glancing down at the shock of red against his black suit.

"I don't know." Feyre leaned back to admire his outfit with a level of interest that had Rhys reconsidering his whole wardrobe. "I think you look nice with a bit of color."

"It's warm," he granted, pressing his palm to the soft fabric. The heat of her body was still there, though leeching by the second. "Thank you for lending it to me."

"Keep it," she said, taking the seat next to him. "Like I said, it looks good on you."

He could see what she was doing. She even raised her brows, practically taunting him for a response. Something like Clothes tend to look better off me, or it looked better on you.

The mask was in reaching distance. He knew the script. He just didn't have the energy to don the part.

Feyre tried to keep the concern off her face. The only problem was, he'd spent the better part of a year trying to learn how to read her. He knew her tells, and if he didn't, he could still see the crease of concern forming between her brows.

"Where have you been?" She asked, trying to sound casual. "The rumors are crazy, you know. You close the two biggest sales of the year on the same day and then disappear for a week."

Rhys offered her his best imitation of a grin. "Is that your way of saying you were worried about me?"

"You know as a receptionist, it's part of my duty to know all the latest office gossip."

"No gossip here, Feyre." He shrugged. "Just taking some time off."

Feyre frowned. Her voice was soft and devastatingly gentle as she said, "Rhys. It looks like you just came from a funeral."

"Didn't know them that well."

It wasn't that he didn't want her to know. It was that Feyre was one of his last shreds of brightness and he wanted to keep her firmly compartmentalized from this grief.

If he told her, she would worry for him. Every exchange in the office would be weighted. Different. He couldn't stand the thought of her holding him like shattered glass, the way everyone else in his life was doing.

And, most of all, he couldn't stand the thought of burdening her.

"I'm sorry," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric, as if trying to instill the depth of her conviction. "Even if you hardly knew them, I'm sorry if today was difficult for you."

"Difficult?" He said, the word strained. "No day where I get to see you is difficult, Feyre."

"Do you want to get a drink? You still owe me lunch, remember?"

Rhys pressed his hand over hers, squeezing tighter than he should. But in that moment, it felt like she was all he had to hold on to.

"Not today," he said. His eyes stung and he knew it wasn't from the cold. "Rain check?"

Feyre nodded. "Rain check."

-

Rhys went back to the office the following Monday.

Things returned to normal. Almost.

The equilibrium of his life had shifted, and normal looked a bit different. Less like living, and more like survival.

He didn't go up to the receptionist counter like he used to, armed with a hundred excuses just to talk to Feyre. He made his own copies. He scheduled his own appointments. He stopped playing mental games with Tamlin.

He just… stopped.

And everything else kept going.

That was the most overwhelming part. The constant, distinct sensation that he was being left behind because he didn't know how to keep up.

Feyre found new people to talk to in the office. Tamlin made different enemies. Corporate started taking an interest in other high performers. He felt like a shadow, an apparition haunting his own mundane life. And he only woke up once they were already burying him.

That was how it felt, anyway, when the news broke the office. Like handfuls of dirt tossed on top of his lifeless body.

Feyre and Tamlin are engaged.

He couldn't breathe. The weight was too much to claw through. Engaged? He didn't even know they'd been dating.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Rhys said to her in passing later that day.

"Oh." Feyre cheeks turned the same red as the scarf he kept in his bedside drawer. He supposed it was inappropriate to keep hold of it now. "Thank you."

"How long have you two been…?"

He was too much of a coward to even finish the question.

Feyre managed to fill in the rest, though. "About four months."

That was all? Christ, he could have been married to her four times over by now. If he'd been brave enough to ask her out on that first day.

But he sensed the way she braced herself for his response, and guessed people hadn't been holding back commentary about their hastiness to get down the aisle.

"Sometimes when you know, you know," Rhys said, reserving his own less-than-complimentary thoughts.

He could think of only one reason Tamlin was in such a rush, and the suspicion was too ego-centric to lend any merit to.

Feyre was a treasure. Anyone with eyes could see that. Even Tamlin.

When Feyre gave him one of her forced smiles, he felt it like another clump of dirt landing on his chest. There were many ways he'd describe his relationship with Feyre, but something it had never been was forced.

He'd hurt her, he realized. When he withdrew into his grief without explaining himself. He should have told her what was going on.

And now he'd lost her.

Rhys thrummed his fingers on the countertop. "Well, I should let you go back to work."

Feyre's solemn nod was the eulogy that finally sent him sputtering, wondering what on earth he was doing buried in this hole.

Tamlin was obnoxious, sure, but at least he was alive.

Maybe it was time to move on. Not just from his grief, but from Feyre, too. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd tried going on a date.

Not since she first started here.

With a heavy sigh, Rhys pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his cousin.

Rhys: Drinks tonight? x

Mor: I already made plans with a friend. Unless you want to join us??? 👀 xxx

Rhys considered. He snuck a glance at Feyre, catching her in the act of tucking her unruly hair behind her ear.

The sight of her struck him like a punch in the gut.

Rhys: Is she single? x

Mor: I thought you'd never ask 😌 x

-

It was his first night out in… god knew how long.

He hadn't left his house much in the last few months, and truthfully it had felt good to fall back into the routine of caring about his appearance. Taking a shower, shaving, picking a nice cologne, styling his hair so it wasn't just a sad mop of curls.

He felt… good wasn't quite the right word. He wasn't there yet. But his head felt clearer, and the air felt crisp, and he didn't feel like he was on the verge of suffocating in his own dread.

It was progress.

"Rhys!"

He barely had time to turn before his cousin vaulted into his chest, knocking him back a few steps from the sheer force of her hug.

"You look good!" Mor pulled back, her eyes brighter than the last time they'd met. He could see her relief in them. "Really."

"You do, too."

"You have no idea how many times I nearly sent Az and Cass on a kidnapping mission." She slapped his shoulder lightly in admonishment. "We've been worried sick!"

"I've just been busy," he said, knowing it was a lame excuse but lacking any other armor. "I'm sorry."

Mor sniffed. "You'll only be forgiven if you buy me and my friend a drink."

Rhys scanned the crowd. "Is she here?"

"Yeah. She just went to the bathroom. Asked me to order her a G&T."

"Coming up," Rhys said. "Go find us some seats."

"I haven't told you what I want," Mor pointed out.

"House red. Biggest glass they have."

She grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I missed you—"

"No touching the hair," he said, batting her hand away. "Seats. Now."

"Okay, bossy."

Rhys rolled his eyes, but there was a smile twitching the corner of his lips. It was nice. The normalcy of bickering with Mor.

It was a busy night, despite being a weekday, so it took a while for the bar to make their drinks. Longer still, for Rhys to take up the precarious task of balancing all three drinks in his hands as he searched for the table.

He caught a flash blonde hair poking over the seat of a leather booth and grinned. There was another girl sitting beside Mor, a brunette, both of their backs turned as he rounded the corner.

And nearly dropped the glasses on the floor.

Bright blue eyes stared at him, wide and achingly familiar. Her mouth parted open into a gasp.

"Rhys?"

He was equally dumbfounded. "Feyre?"

Mor said her friend was single. It shouldn't have been the first thought to bubble up through his shock. But it was.

"How do you two know each other?" Mor said, the question nearly accusational.

"We work together," Rhys said, recovering enough to set the drinks on the table.

Mor's eyes widened. "Oh my god," she said, whipping her head to gape at Feyre, who was dropping her head into her hands. "Oh my god, Feyre!"

"Is something the matter?" Rhys asked, unable to pry his eyes away from the red stain burning along the dainty curve of Feyre's ears. She kept her hands over the rest of her face, but he could see peeks of blushing skin through the gaps in her fingers. How was it possible that she was the one mortified about this?

He could see the mischief spreading over Mor's face, and it made him nervous. "Oh," his cousin said, drawing out the vowel as she plucked her wine glass from the table. "It's just that Feyre darling here has told me all about the people she works with in her office. Neglected to mention names, of course, but I'm starting to put two and two together."

Feyre darling. Smug satisfactions coursed through him at the realization that Feyre had been telling Mor about him. Not Tamlin—or at least, not exclusively Tamlin.

Feyre retreated from her hands just enough to glower at Mor. She wasn't meeting Rhysand's eyes, which likely had something to do with her scarlet coloring. He'd made her blush before, but never like this—never the kind that spread over her throat and collarbones, too. For a distracted second, he let himself imagine dragging his lips across every inch of red skin, just to see how long he could make the color linger.

"Let me guess," Rhys said, knowing he should keep the purr from his voice—she was engaged, for Christ's sake—but his eyes never lifted from her face. "She told you about a devilishly handsome salesman who sits at the desk across from her?"

"Hmm." Mor feigned an expression of deep thought. "That doesn't ring any bells, no. Though I'm pretty certain she mentioned something about a giant prick?"

Feyre's lips twitched, the making's of a smile.

Until Rhys interjected, "I suppose I do wear tight pants."

"You're disgusting," Mor said, wrinkling her nose. Feyre made a sound like she was inclined to agree.

And it was starting to drive him crazy that she wasn't saying anything. Was still refusing to look at him.

He tried to tempt her gaze by dragging her gin and tonic across the table, pushing it towards her as he asked, "What else have you been telling my cousin about me, Feyre darling?"

Finally. Finally she looked at him. Those blue eyes were more wary than he was used to seeing, but still full of challenge. More so, as they narrowed.

"I didn't know you two are cousins," she said, artfully evading the subject.

"Would have kept the finer details to yourself, if you'd known?"

Feyre lifted her chin. "It's not nice to speak ill of someone's family."

"Oh, I'm sure your descriptions were scathing." He smirked. "Do you have a code name for me?"

"Yeah, Prick."

"I know you're more imaginative than that, Feyre. You probably gave her a physical description, too, hmm? Tall, dreamy eyes, dark-haired—"

"Swaggering, insufferable arrogance," Feyre filled in.

Mor shook her head in disbelief. "I should have known it was Rhys from that alone."

"You wound me," Rhys said, clutching his chest. "Both of you."

His cousin rolled her eyes. "I think you'll manage to recover." She turned to Feyre and tapped her half full glass. "Where's the bathroom? There's a cute brunette at the bar and I need to make sure my lipstick hasn't smeared."

Feyre studied Mor's makeup. "You're fine."

"Liar. You just don't want me to leave you alone with Rhys." She slid out of the booth, her white teeth on full display. "I think you two can play nice for five minutes."

"Your judgment is questionable as always, Mor," Rhys said, though it did nothing to deter his cousin from gathering her purse and striding towards the restrooms.

Leaving him alone with Feyre.

He reminded himself to take deep, steady breaths—a task which escalated in difficulty once he noticed the scent of her perfume. Lilac and pear, the same she was wearing the day of his family's funeral. The same scent which had long since faded from the scarf she'd wrapped around his neck.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for crashing your girl's night."

Feyre shook her head. "Don't be sorry. I knew you were coming. I just… didn't know you were coming."

"And that makes it worse?" He said, ignoring the pang in his chest that she would prefer a stranger's company to his own.

"It makes it… complicated."

"Complicated?" Rhys raised his brows. "Like how Mor asked me to come here to meet her single friend kind of complicated?"

Feyre sat up straighter. "Mor said what?"

Rhys winced. He hadn't meant to throw Mor under the bus. "Just for my own clarity, you are engaged to Tamlin, right?"

"That's also…. complicated."

"Complicated how, Feyre?"

She chewed on her lower lip. A habit he'd noticed at the office, and had sent him walking stiffly to the men's room more times than he'd care to admit.

"Tamlin asked me to marry him last night," Feyre said, her voice so soft that he needed to lean over the table to hear her over the loud atmosphere. "I didn't say yes. I didn't say no, either. I just… I wanted more time to think about it, I guess. But he announced it to everyone in the office today."

Rhysand's grip tightened around his whiskey glass. "That bastard."

"I don't know what to do about it," Feyre said, all in one exhale. Her shoulder slumped. "I feel trapped. If I back out now, it will be this whole big thing. We'll have to walk it back in front of the entire office and it will be so uncomfortable."

The last thing Feyre needed was a big reaction. He could see it in the way she braced herself across from him, holding her body taut as if she was a passenger in some unbridled vehicle, expecting to crash at any moment.

He managed to keep his voice calm as he said, "This isn't the kind of decision that you should feel pressured into. You should marry someone because you want to, not because you feel obligated."

Feyre shrugged. The gesture was resigned, like he wasn't saying anything she hadn't already said to herself.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted.

"Then I think that's your answer. If it's not a resounding, unwavering yes, then you shouldn't do it."

"Will it ever be like that, though?" Her voice was strained. "Do people ever actually fall in love and know that they want to be with that person forever? Without any question?"

Rhys needed to take a deep swallow of his whiskey before he could answer. "Yes," he said, feeling it burn down his throat—the admission and the alcohol and the words he just couldn't bring himself to say. "If it's the right person, you know. Without any question."

Her eyes bored into his, so deep he swore she could see straight to the quick of his soul, where he was still raw and healing and afraid to tell her what he should be telling her.

Don't marry him.

I love you.

Please, don't marry him.

He didn't know what he would do—he didn't know if he would survive—if he unmasked himself completely, revealing every gnarled, jagged edge of jealousy and love and fear, and she still walked away.

"You came here wanting to meet one of Mor's single friends?" Feyre's voice trembled a bit, as if she was also holding back too much, waning beneath the weight. "Like, to be set up on a date?"

"Yeah," he said, shame drying the roof of his mouth. It felt like a betrayal, though he couldn't explain why or how. "It's been a while since I've put myself out there."

Feyre looked down at her drink. "Sorry you got me instead."

If there was one thing Rhys couldn't stand, it was hearing Feyre apologize for something outside of her control. She was always doing that in the office—apologizing for delays due to broken printers and out-of-order lifts.

"I owed you a drink though, didn't I?" He forced himself to wink. To grin. To play the smug arrogance he knew she expected from him. "This is a much better twist of fate."

Feyre opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something else, when Mor saddled back into the booth, lipstick freshly re-applied. "So," she said, tossing a lock of curls over her shoulder. "What did I miss?"

-

Feyre did, eventually, call off her engagement with Tamlin.

It happened months after Mor's failed setup attempt. Months of listening to Feyre go back and forth with Tamlin in the office about wedding plans, holding his tongue while she was strong-armed through every decision. Months of watching her steadily grow thinner, quieter, duller.

Months of watching Feyre Archeron wilt before his very eyes.

He didn't know what the catalyst was, in the end. All he knew was that one day, he walked into the office armed with a stupid joke to try to make her smile, since she was doing less and less of it these days. And instead he'd met the stern face of their new receptionist, Alis.

So when Mor told him that she'd invited Feyre on their annual trip to their family cabin in the Alps, he'd had conflicting feelings.

One hand, he'd get to spend a week of uninterrupted time with Feyre, where they could deviate from their usual script of jammed printers and pleasant weather. And more importantly, he could finally, finally, enjoy her company without the threat of her impending engagement looming over their shoulders.

On the other hand, what was the appropriate buffer to give the love of your life time to grieve her relationship with the worst man you've ever met? Mor had told him, very sternly he would add, that all topic surrounding Tamlin were strictly off limits.

Did that include topics concerning the absence of Tamlin, and if or when she'd be ready for someone to fill that void?

He ached to tell her how he felt. Now that the Tamlin-shaped dam was finally removed, he was drowning from the weight of holding back years of confessions and unrequited feelings.

Their burden became impossible to carry the closer the trip became, to the point where he considered bailing simply out of fear that he wouldn't be able to control himself. Feyre deserved better than that. After all this time, they both did.

But his fears were unfounded when she walked through the door.

Rhys had long associated Feyre's presence with joy. Even during those agonizing months he'd loved her and believed she would be marrying another man. The sight of her walking into a room still filled him with joy.

Now, he was flooded with distress.

She was thin. He noticed she'd been losing weight in the months leading up to her resignation. But this was drastic.

Feyre looked as if her dread and grief were eating her alive.

He wanted to weep at the sight of what Tamlin had done to her. Weep, then take Cass and Az and three of their best baseball bats and—

"Feyre darling," he greeted, lifting from the sofa with a broad smile. "Look at you, out of work clothes."

"I'm surprised you recognize me in something other than a blouse."

"Well, I wasn't certain at first," he intoned, strolling closer to the doorway. Until he could see the snowflakes on her long eyelashes and every adorable freckle smattered over her nose and cheeks. "But that smear of paint always gives you away."

Feyre turned her head to Mor, her eyes widening as if to confirm, Do I really have paint on my face?

"Oh, ignore him," Mor grumbled. But she did lick her thumb and lean in to rub Feyre's cheekbone, which resulted in sputtered protest that his cousin happily ignored.

Rhys watched Feyre thrash against Mor's hold, a familiar fondness stirring in his chest. "It is nice to see you again, Feyre. I've missed you at the office."

"Why?" She snorted. "Because I was the only sane person there?"

"Precisely for that reason."

He opened his arms to her, and he was relieved that she didn't hesitate for a second to throw her arms around him. Rhys held her tight, trying and failing not to marvel at how fragile she felt. Some delicate, breakable thing.

What happened to the girl who proudly drank from an office wanker mug on her second week? Rhys knew she was still there, hidden behind layers of guilt and sorrow and what he suspected was the subconscious voice of a man who'd tried everything in his power to whittle her down.

"How is… everyone?" She asked, her diction stilted just enough that he knew who she was truly asking after.

He shot a help me glance to Mor, who immediately jumped in and admonished, "You both promised me no office talk!"

Rhys held up his hands. "Okay, okay. How about wine talk?"

"Why dear cousin of mine, how did you know that's my favorite topic?"

"Lucky guess," he said flatly.

He recognized Feyre's laugh. That hollow, polite sound that she used during her first week in the office, when she felt obligated to laugh at every bland, unfunny joke. Including his own.

It was enough that she was laughing—that she was trying to laugh again. And he resolved that if he could do one thing for her on this trip, it would be getting her to laugh. A genuine, shoulder-shaking, clutching-her-stomach-because-she-can't-breathe laugh.

Rhys turned his gaze to her, failing not to notice the dark circles under her eyes. "What about you, darling? Are you drinking wine these days?"

She grinned, though it didn't quite meet her eyes. "I'm drinking anything these days."

That seemed like too much to unpack when she was still standing in the entryway, the open door blowing a gust of cold air at her back.

It was instinct, the way he reached for her scarf to unravel her in the direction of the overstuffed armchair. If he was overstepping, Feyre didn't seem to mind. Her laughter was more breath than anything, but she indulged him by twirling on her toes, helping him to unwrap the rest of the scarf as if it were a choreographed dance. Though, with the way her balance wobbled at the end, Rhys didn't suspect they'd be competing on any dance shows in the near future.

"Careful," he said, bracing her elbow. "The nearest hospital is an hour away and in the next thirty minutes, none of us will be sober enough to drive you."

"You could always bundle me up on a sled," Feyre mused. He let go once she regained her balance and tried not to look disappointed when she retreated from his touch to curl up on the arm chair. "At least if I didn't reach the bottom, I'd be going out in style."

"Sledding!" Mor squealed, clapping her hands together. "Oh, yes, we should absolutely do that this year!"

Rhys shot his cousin an incredulous look. "If I recall correctly, our last emergency hospital visit was the result of sledding."

Mor poked her tongue at him. "Whatever. Cass probably thought it was as worth it for the photos alone."

Rhys explained to Feyre, "Last year, Cass face-planted a rock. Fucked up both his front teeth."

"He was so drunk he didn't even notice until he saw the blood," Mor added, rolling her eyes. "Az took a picture and Cassian made it his screensaver for like six months."

Feyre shuddered. "I think I'll pass on the sledding."

If he was honest, Rhys hoped she stayed exactly where she was for the rest of the trip. Safe, in that oversized chair, in front of the crackling fire, where he could already see some color returning to her expression.

His eyes swiveled to the basket of blankets tucked beneath the coffee table. He knew if he grabbed one for her, he'd be accused of coddling. And maybe he was.

Even so, he couldn't help praising, "Wise decision."

"Lame decision," said a deep voice, striding out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped far too precariously around his hips.

The cabin had four bedrooms, two on each side of the hall, with only one bathroom nestled in the center. No one was exactly thrilled to be sharing a single bathroom between five adults, though Cassian argued half the fun was trying to catch a glimpse of Azriel naked.

"Cassian I presume?" Feyre said from the armchair.

Cass grinned, striding forward on wet, slapping feet. The only thing that dissuaded him from dripping onto the carpet to go shake Feyre's hand—or offer some other, far less appropriate greeting—was Rhysand's sharp glare

"And you must be the renown Feyre Archeron." He slid Rhys a knowing grin that was begging for a punch. "I'll go get dry before the hall monitor gives me a detention for getting his precious carpet wet. But then, you and I have much to talk about."

Rhys couldn't give two shits about the carpet, though it was his parents' and it was cashmere. But he would prefer if Cassian could avoid flashing Feyre when she was only a few weeks post-break-up.

He needed things to go well so that Feyre would consider coming back next year. And the year after. And however many holidays it would take for her to consider that she might like to be part of this group.

And if that was all she ever wanted, that would be good enough. As long as she was happy again.

"Should I be scared?" Feyre asked.

"Of Cassian?" Mor laughed. "No more than you would be afraid of a big, slobbery puppy."

"It's Az people usually find scary," Rhys said, wandering in the kitchen to fetch the girls their wine. "But that's just 'cause he's quiet. Truth is, he's a big softie."

"More like he's got a big softie," Mor muttered.

Rhys straightened. "Pardon?"

"Are we talking about Az's dick?" Cassian called, scrambling back into the room. "Without me?"

The front door shut, diverting everyone's attention to where Azriel stood, a gloved hand still pressing the handle. He blinked at them, sighed, and then walked back out the front door.

"Wait, Az!" Cassian called, cackling as he vaulted over the sofa to get to the front door faster, narrowly recovering from flashing them by fisting the towel at his groin. He managed to catch the door before it closed, sprinting outside with his feet and chest still bare.

"Are they…" Feyre hesitated. "Together?"

It was a terrible time to have handed Mor her wine glass. She sputtered, choking on a mixture of wine and laughter that erupted over her clothes, the sofa, and the coffee table.

Feyre leapt to her feet to help. "Oh my god, are you okay?" She thumped a fist behind Mor's back as his cousin's laughter fizzled into a coughing fit.

Rhys, meanwhile, set Feyre's wine glass on a clean corner of the coffee table and returned to the kitchen to grab some paper towels.

"I'm sorry for—all of them, really," he called to her.

Mor, still wheezing, could only lift her middle finger broadly on his direction.

"To answer your question," Rhys said, coming back to Mor's side to divide layers of paper towel among the three of them. "No, Cassian and Azriel are not dating."

His cousin shrieked at the reminder, launching into another coughing fit.

"Thanks," Feyre said, balling up her collection of towels to dab them gingerly into the carpet. Red wine. His parents were rolling in their graves. "I, uh, think I put that one together."

"Cass just likes to push buttons. And Azriel's the most private among us, which leads to a lot of speculation," he sent Mor a pointed look, "among our group."

Mor, having mostly recovered from her fit, tapped her chest and croaked, "It's the greatest tragedy of Cassian's life that he'll never know if his dick is bigger than Az's."

"We spend every year naked together in a sauna," Rhys reminded her, raising his brows as if to say, what are you up to? Mor didn't usually indulge conversations about naked men to this degree. "Believe me, he knows."

"And?"

Rhys jerked his head, just to be sure he'd heard the question right. Feyre was looking at him with a glint in her eye. She was biting her lip, restraining a laugh just like she'd done on the first day they'd spoken to each other in the break room.

A habit she'd never broken, after all these years.

His lips twitched. "And, what, Feyre darling?"

"What's the outcome of this annual dick measuring contest you three apparently have in the sauna?"

"Why don't you join us this year and find out?"

"Am I allowed to bring my strap?" Mor asked.

The front door shut, revealing cold-flushed yet grinning Cassian and a bewildered looking Azriel.

"I don't know what conversation we just walked in on," Cassian said, "but count me in."

This was a nightmare. At least, Rhys thought it was a nightmare. Feyre, strangely, seemed to be enjoying herself and he thanked the gods that she had a good sense of humor about all this chaos.

"You must be Azriel," Feyre said, beaming at the dark haired male becoming a shadow at Cassian's back. "I've heard so much about you."

Azriel glanced toward the door. Rhys knew he was debating the merits of trying to make another escape. He'd probably already started his car by the time Cassian caught up and dragged his ass back.

"All good things," Feyre assured quickly.

Rhys didn't think he'd ever seen Azriel blush before.

"What happened here?" Cassian said with a low whistle, taking in the mess of wine-soaked paper towels. "It's too early in the evening for you to have forgotten where your mouth is, Morrigan."

"Har har." Mor stood up from the sofa. "Just for that, I'm stealing one of your hoodies."

"Didn't you bring your own clothes?" He complained.

"It wouldn't be a punishment if I wore my own."

"I only brought like two hoodies!"

"You should have thought about that before you opened your big, dumb mouth."

"At least steal one of Az's. He smells better than me."

"If you think so, maybe you should wear one of his hoodies."

"Mor—" Cassian groaned as she strode off into his room. "Mor!"

"I should have warned you they were going to bicker like this," Rhys said apologetically, perching himself against the armrest of Feyre's chair to, at last, hand her a wine glass.

"Oh trust me, bickering over sharing clothes is a staple of sisterhood. I'm used to it."

"That's right, you have two sisters don't you? Nesta and Elain." She looked surprised he remembered. "How are they doing?"

"Well. Nesta is this scary, big shot lawyer who eats suited men for breakfast and Elain is living the dream cottage core life with her husband, Lucien. You remember him, right? He was Tam's—" she winced. Like that name was a bruise she didn't mean to press.

"I remember him," Rhys said, trying to help her past the slip-up. "Redhead, right? Snarky?"

She snorted. "You could say that again."

"Does he treat her right?"

"Oh, like a princess." She rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't believe the way she has him wrapped around her little finger."

"I believe it," Rhy said. He wondered if he had that stupid grin on his face again, the one that proved just how wound he was around Feyre's little finger.

Feyre didn't seem to know how to respond to that, but she shrugged and said, "They're happy."

Rhys didn't doubt for a second Feyre was happy for her sister, but he could see the discomfort on her face at that admission. It couldn't have been easy to have a brother-in-law who was close to her ex fiancé. And he knew first hand how difficult it was to see someone else happy and have that reality feel so distant it was foreign.

"I'm glad," he said. "And I'm glad you could join us this year. It will be a relief to have someone sane in our entourage."

"I don't think that's fair to Azriel," Feyre said. "So far, he's been the most well behaved."

Az smiled. "The night is still young."

Rhys chuckled at Feyre's look of betrayal. "Like I said, darling. You're the most sane person here."

"Maybe that's what I'd like you to think."

He liked seeing something other than resignation in her eyes again. So much that he couldn't resist leaning forward, his voice ripe with challenge as he purred, "Then I look forward to being proved otherwise."

-

Despite his best efforts, Rhys couldn't convince Mor that it was a bad idea to take everyone sledding the next morning.

They were all nursing hangovers from a concoction of liquors that they'd made the mistake of letting Cassian combine into what he called 'Solstice Punch'. Rhysand had a blistering headache, which wasn't helped by Cassian's noisy attempt to make breakfast. With only four rooms, Rhys had drawn the short straw for who had to sleep on the couch.

Rhys groaned, burying his head beneath a pillow. "There is no way in hell that you're getting me onto a sled today."

"Even if you get to share one with Feyre?" Cassian teased. "You'll get to wrap your arms around her and—"

"Shut up."

"I guess Az and I will just get to enjoy her company instead," Cassian said smugly.

It nearly convinced Rhys to go, until Mor strode into the living room. "Feyre isn't coming," she announced. "She's not feeling good."

Rhys sat up way too fast. "Is she okay?" He asked, blinking away the black spots that burst in his vision.

"Calm down, white knight. She's just hungover like the rest of us." Mor looked at Cassian, frowning. "Maybe we should take it easy today."

"Fuck that. Az is already loading the car. You coming?"

Mor sighed. "I can't leave Feyre."

"Sure you can," Cassian said, grinning over her shoulder at Rhys. "Lover boy will take perfect care of her."

Rhys slumped back into the sofa, ignoring the jab. "You go, Mor. We'll take it easy today."

Mor pressed her lips together, consternation pulling at her brows as she flicked her eyes between Rhys and Cassian. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll go. Someone needs to babysit the idiots. You sure you'll be okay, Rhys?"

"Peachy," he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Now get the hell out of here so I can go back to sleep."

-

Rhys couldn't say how much longer he slept for. When he woke up, the cabin was silent. Someone had graciously left the curtains drawn, keeping the living room subdued in darkness and by the same virtue, making it impossible to guess how late in the day it was.

The heating had kicked on at some point, leaving him sweating beneath the pile of blankets. He kicked them off and shuffled into the hall.

"Feyre?" He called, stopping to listen outside her door. When there was no answer, he assumed she must still be asleep.

Rhys pushed into the bathroom, intent on washing off his sweat even if the bright fluroscents felt like a thousand needles shoved into his eye sockets. He groaned, fumbling half-blind as he jerked the shower curtain open and turned on the water.

It was only once he was under the water, steam billowing around him, that he felt his head begin to clear. And that was when he realized he left his clothes in the living room.

Rhys fell forward with a groan, resting his head against the damp tile as he debated the merits of retrieving his clothes now or waiting until he finished his shower. There was no telling if Feyre would still be asleep by the time he finished. At least if he left now, he could evade a potentially awkward encounter.

It took all of his willpower to step out of the warm embrace of water. More, to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist.

He opened the door gradually, peering through the crack to ensure the coast was clear before he hurried with wet, slapping footprints to where his bag rested beside the sofa.

As he crouched to unzip the top, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door handle turning. He froze.

The door pushed open. He knew he was doomed because whoever stepped through was far too silent to be a member of his family.

Rhys hovered in place, clutching his towel tight around the hips, internally debating whether it was better to let her know he was there or try to flee behind the kitchen counter before she realized.

"Rhys?" Feyre called.

Shit. It was fine, right? She'd seen Cassian in a towel yesterday and hardly reacted.

Slowly, he rose from behind the couch, prepared to play this off with a flirty comment. But as soon as he saw her, his brain deserted every word of the linguistic tongue.

"Oh!" She jumped, faltering to quickly re-secure the towel she had wrapped around her torso.

Rhys decided a Christmas deity must be trying to punish him. There was no other explanation for the ridiculous towel she was wearing, so short her breasts spilled over the top and if she bent, even the slightest, he would be able to see her entire ass.

Where on Earth had she found a towel like that?

Rhys needed to finish mentally reeling his tongue back in before he was able to shape coherent words. And once he did, they came out entirely too rough, like he was scraping them over sandpaper.

"Well, one of us is going to have to change."

A familiar blush was spreading over her chest, but Feyre did a good job keep in her expression composed as she quirked a brow. "I think that depends on who wore it better."

"I won't make any argument on that front," Rhys said. It was taking every ounce of restraint not to drink her in like this. "I'm just grabbing some clothes and I'll head into the shower."

"Or—"

How could such a soft, breathy word strike with enough momentum to take him off his feet? Rhys clenched his hand tighter around the handle of his bag, trying to will his blood flow back into his head.

"You could come join me?"

Fuck. Fuck. He'd never heard Feyre use the voice before—at least anywhere outside of his own fantasies. It was just rough enough to scrape him raw, wondering if he'd imagined the sultry undertone or if he was letting his own ego get to his head.

"Join you where, exactly, darling?"

"The sauna," she said. "I've just warmed it up, and seeing as you're already dressed for the occasion…"

This was how it must have felt to be ensnared by a siren. To see your every desire brought to life, just in reaching distance, and to know it would be your undoing.

There wasn't any scenario where he could go into a sauna with Feyre, alone, and keep hold of the careful distance he was putting between them. He couldn't think of a single outcome that wouldn't end with Feyre in his lap, panting beneath his touch. And he wanted it. So badly he would crash his ship to shore and gladly drown in the wreckage.

But he wanted her to be ready, too. He didn't want to be another man pressuring her into say yes, making her feel trapped. If he was going to kiss her, touch her, do anything more than flirt with her, he needed to do it in a neutral space, where she could leave if it became too much.

Rhys was careful not to let the pain show on in his face. He released his breath through his nose, quiet, measured.

"I think we should wait until we're better hydrated," he said. "I wouldn't want you passing out. Rain check?"

Feyre's smiled dropped. Rhys was starting to feel nauseous again, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach.

"Oh." Feyre said. He could hear her disappointment. "Okay. Maybe later, then."

Rhys held himself still as she hurried past, fleeing into her room. His chest pinched at the sound of the door snicking shut, as if a piece of his heart was caught in the doorjamb, begging for it to open.

With a sigh, he gathered his clothes and went back to his shower.

Feyre

Azriel, Cassian, and Mor had returned at some point in the late afternoon with a few nicks and bruises, but no broken teeth. Feyre was assured that meant it was a successful sledding trip. Which was more than she could say about her lazy day at the cabin.

She'd spent most of it in her room, with the exception of her brief attempt to coax Rhys into the sauna. After his mortifyingly polite rejection, she'd spent the rest of the day in her room until Mor came knocking.

"You okay?" She asked, finding Feyre buried beneath a pile of blankets.

This was ordinarily Rhysand's room. Which meant that everything in here smelled like him. Citrus and a dark, churning sea, threatening to swallow her whole beneath warm, chunky-knit blankets.

"Doesyercznlkmm?"

"What?" Mor stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Feyre pulled her head out from beneath the blankets. "Does your cousin like me?"

"Rhys?" Mor frowned. "Of course he likes you."

"No, that's not what I mean. You know how I feel about him, Mor. Sometimes I think he feels the same way, but then he just pulls away from me."

Mor glanced towards the door, her expression wary. She always grew a little evasive whenever their conversation skewed towards Rhys, and Feyre felt a little guilty for putting her in the middle.

"My cousin can be pretty guarded," Mor said. "He keeps his cards close to his chest, especially after his family died. But… Look in that box, under the bed."

Feyre's eyes followed Mor's gesture to the small gap under Rhysand's bed. Curious, Feyre extracted herself from the bed to fish out a small shoebox. She pushed the lid open, frowning when she saw a red scarf carefully folded inside.

"He took that here last year. Wore it everywhere. It was the first Christmas since his family died and I think it brought him a lot of comfort." Mor shrugged. "He wouldn't say where it was from but I have my suspicions."

Feyre ran her fingers over the soft wool, recalling the anguish on his face when she'd given it to him. She'd always half-heartedly wondered what happened to the scarf, but she'd assumed he'd thrown it out or otherwise forgotten about it.

Mor said, "If you want to know how he feels, you should just ask him. But I think you mean a lot to him, Feyre. Maybe he's just waiting for you to tell him how you feel."

Easier said than done. The last two years was a montage of chances where she could have told Rhys how she felt and didn't. It was always never the right time. He was working late or she was rushing out the door or he was grieving or she was dating Tamlin—or it was just safer to stay in this soft, liminal space between friendship and something more.

Walking away from Tamlin had been easy. Complicated, yes, but emotionally… All she'd felt was relief.

If it's the right person, you know. Without any question.

"Right," Feyre breathed, nodding to herself. "Tell him how I feel. That should be…" Nerve wracking. "I can do that."

-

Rhys

When Rhys felt something soft wrapping around his neck, his first suspicion was that Az and Cass were pulling a prank on him. It wasn't uncommon to wake up from a drunken stupor in this cabin with a marker mustache and a few drawn-on dicks.

He was convinced when he felt the weight of a body settle over him.

"C'mon Cass," he mumbled. "Not now."

The body above him giggled. Light. Feminine.

"Does that imply Cass usually climbs into bed with you?"

Rhys opened his eyes to find Feyre's face hovering inches over his, her hair cascading around his head like a canopy. Her hands were at his chest, tugging a red scarf around his neck.

"What's going on?" He asked, not convinced he was awake. He didn't even remember going to bed, but the lights were off, so it had to be late. "What time is it?"

"You never gave my scarf back," she said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable answer to his question. "But you kept it all this time."

She was straddling his lap, her ass settled just above his groin. If he moved even the slightest bit, he would grind against her, and he couldn't deny the temptation crossed his mind.

"Are you drunk?" He asked. Which, as he thought about it, was a stupid question. They'd all been drinking—Feyre more than anyone. He had a vague memory of half guiding, half stumbling with her into his bedroom.

Which, as he sat up, was where he realized they still were. Not on the sofa. Christ, he must have crashed trying to get her to bed.

"Not any more than you," she argued. "At least I managed to stay awake. Pussy."

He laughed. "Did you really just call me a pussy?"

"Do you prefer it to Prick?"

"Not really. Though I'll admit, I am fascinated to learn what other filthy words you'd like to call me."

Feyre tugged at the scarf, drawing his face closer to hers. He could feel her breath against his lips as she whispered, "You'll have to earn them."

He fought a shiver at the invitation in her voice. "How?"

"Kiss me," she said, eyes fixing on his mouth.

He wanted to. More than he wanted to breathe. "We're drunk, Feyre."

Her eyes lifted to his. "Pussy," she said again, before grabbing both ends of the scarf and yanking it upwards, crashing her mouth to his.

Rhys shut his eyes, a guttural sound forming in the back of his throat as he slipped his arms around her back, pulling her tighter. It wasn't the kind of first kiss he'd imagined giving her. That had always been soft and sweet, an admission in itself.

This kiss was clumsy and urgent—two people latching to each other as if terrified the other would let go. Feyre wound her fingers into his hair, pulling with a grip he likened to someone hanging from a precipice, where every digit, every ounce of surface area, could be the difference between life or death.

"Feyre," he groaned, trying to pull away. She chased him, mouth crashing back to his, swallowing his protests, and he was simulatenously in heaven and hell. "Feyre," he said again, pushing lightly at her shoulders.

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away. He could feel her body trembling.

"Don't push me away, Rhys." Her voice was so small. "Please, don't push me away. Not again."

She might as well have reached into his chest and ripped his heart straight out.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, securing an arm around her back to keep her pressed where she was, her fluttering heart beating against his. "I'll sleep here. Just—let's wait until the morning, okay? I promise to kiss you stupid once you're sober."

Feyre tugged at her scarf as she thought about it. He knew she made her decision when she sighed softly and slumped into his body, resting her head against his chest.

"Rain check?" She asked, with a small yawn.

Rhys had never been happier to say those two stupid words. "Rain check."