#i wanted to use portrait but the lighting was BAD

[reality-itself-but-magic]

Lost in a land not your own, with your memories of the past torn and smudged like paper left out in a storm, you clung to whatever memories you could salvage. When you woke up, you had three things: A brittle, broken sword, a map with a destination circled, and a simple written apology. You were found in the temple of one of the newer gods, one of those which hadn’t quite learnt to control their powers. There were reports of them making storms in deserts, warping life by accident, all sorts of bizarre occurrences. Bizarre almost like taking a stranger from their home and dropping them somewhere else.

But gods did as gods were, and seething over the mistakes of a child would not do any good to you. You set out to get to the circled destination, determined to find your way back home. Home to where there would be people waiting for you - maybe even people who worried after you.

You set sail with a company of honest folk, merchants and farmers looking to sell their wares across the seas. You didn’t want to trouble any of them, taking up instead a quite corner, where it was just you and the rocking waves.

You took out the sword you had landed with. It was broken, brittle, bad craftsmanship. You couldn’t remember where you learnt to tell how well made a sword was. Running your hands over the dull edge, you startled as you heard a voice from behind you.

“That looks awfully worn.” A stranger commented. “Want me to fix that up for you?”

You took them up on the offer, once they told you they used to be a blacksmith. Crows feet lined their eyes, but warmth still shone in them. They told you much more, as you spent the whole evening with them while they worked, partially to keep an eye on the sword, and partially because you yearned for conversation, a sympathetic other. When they were done, they handed you the sword, no longer as marred and battle-worn, but still without many virtues to extoll. Your hands closed around the leather of the hilt, and with a flash you knew something with certainty. You had loved this blade, once. This was a blade you knew as kindly as yourself. The blacksmith might have seen some of that, because they left you be for the evening, departing with an address and a firm order to drop by if you were ever near.

By the time the voyage over sea had ended, your spirits had grown low, and the map had faded for him many times you had unrolled it, pored over it, imagined yourself home with it. The next leg of your journey, you went to meet a woman who led travelers on trips to the mountain villages, whom the blacksmith had recommended you speak to.

She was kind, a bit sharp while she bargained, but kind, inviting you to stay in her house for the night, as the trip on horseback began the next day. As you followed her along hallways with framed portraits, floors dotted with children’s toys, you felt a sort of yearning, a nostalgia for a place you’d never been. The warm, lived-in home she kept was painfully familiar to you, but terribly out of reach.

By the next day, when lunchtime rolled around, the unpolished nature of your sword was irritating you. You picked up a round enough stone, with an expert eye, and spent your spare time polishing the blade. You remember… something. There is a great weight to this sword.

By the time she guides you to the village, your memories are lacing together. Your recollections multiply, you know this path, this stone, this plant. You know this place where you learnt the trade of forging, this place which is your home.

You break into a dead sprint as your heart pounds in you ears. The guide is left behind but somehow, you don’t think she’ll mind. Up ahead, tending to the garden, is a beautiful woman half-wearing armor, interrogating someone nearby. As she sees you, her face lights up.

“So you are here! Everyone seems awfully worried about you, and I was gone far longer than I meant to be, the bounty hunters guild is being stingy as always-” She was cut off by you barreling into her, hugging her as if you could merge into her so you would never be separated again. You step back, drawing the sword.

“I believe this is yours?” You ask, memories almost all reformed. You remember her - your beautiful, amazing wife, for whom you had forged this sword with your two hands, who probably didn’t even know you were missing if she was just now able to return from her adventuring - and you swear you’ll never forget her again.

@otherwindow I made it unsad ^^

A Dark Souls-like game where the lore for a weapon gets less vague the more you upgrade it. Broken Blade: A brittle sword. You can’t seem to let it go. Unpolished Blade: A cherished weapon from ages past. Polished Blade: You remember something. Bride’s Blade: Your wife’s sword.

[odinsblog]

“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.

[saintobio]

the art of loving, feat. l&ds rafayel.

pairings. rafayel, fem!reader genre. fluff, smut, established relationship, 18+ tags. artist x muse, hints of abandonment issues, clingy bf!rafayel, allusions to nude paintings, fellatio, cum eating, protected sex, praise kink notes. my third l&ds boy :’) there’s a full blown sylus oneshot coming but for now, i have to write abt our cute fish! i’ll continue the jjk wips on the weekend bcos my l&ds hyperfixation is currently taking over 🤧

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who makes you the muse of his paintings. he loves how he can adore your face while turning his blank canvas into something as colorful as you. it all started when he used to sketch you when you’re not looking. and it’s a habit that he, time and time again, still does. whether you’re reading, sleeping, or simply lost in thought, he finds these moments precious and captures them in his sketchbook. he actually has a dedicated corner of you on his mo art studio, where it’s filled with paintings and sketches of his beautiful girlfriend.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who loves to paint with you. he’ll set up a canvas next to his and guide your hands, laughing together as you create something… unique. look, he’s not making fun of your painting. in fact, he’d say you’re actually very talented. “it’s not bad at all,” he’d claim, “it’s an exquisite art… if i close my eyes.” how mean! but honestly, if you were to sell your artwork, he would still be the first person to buy it.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets playful with paint. while you’re on the subject of ‘painting together’, you know how cheeky rafayel is, and when he dabs a bit of paint on your nose or cheeks, the light-hearted paint fight ends in messy, colorful kisses. one time, he even left a purple handprint on your bum, and giggles each time he sees it from behind.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets clingy when you’re busy. he’ll sulk if he feels you’re not paying enough attention to him, often wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling into your neck to remind you he’s there. he can very grumpy, too. like a spoiled brat who he didn’t get what he wants. it’s just that he dislikes the feeling of being ignored and abandoned, so the last thing you knew not to do is make him wait too long on your dates or make him feel like your mind is occupied by anything else other than him. because he’d go as far as pretending to be in a helpless situation just so you’d drop everything and run off to him. how silly!

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who surprises you with personalized art gifts. from small sketches slipped into your bag to full portraits given on special occasions. it’s his way of expressing his love, because he’s very grateful of how supportive you are when he has art exhibits. your presence calms his nerves, and he always looks for you in the crowd to find strength in your encouraging smiles.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to cuddle while discussing his latest ideas. he enjoys your input and loves bouncing ideas off you. his hands like to roam around your body as he keeps you in bed all day, whispering sweet nothings into you ear and making the atmosphere warm and intimate. “i can’t help it!”was his usual excuse whenever you’d call him out for being too touchy. “sometimes, my inspirations come in the form of physical intimacy, you know!”

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who can’t resist kissing you passionately when he’s inspired. he sketches you in intimate moments, letting you lie beautifully naked in bed and with only a blanket to cover the lower half of your body, like a vulnerable mermaid looking to be held by her prince. he’ll pull you close, hands covered in paint, leaving colorful fingerprints and delicate patterns on your skin as his lips capture yours in a heated kiss. he would peel the blanket off you slowly, taking his sweet time as if memorizing every dip and curve to later recreate in his art. his touch is both tender and electrifying. and his expressions, both raw and passionate as he eyes every inch of your body.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whispers his deepest desires in your ear. his voice becomes husky with emotions, telling you exactly what he wants, and leaving you blushing and eager to feed him the attention he seeks. he’s very needy, indeed. but most especially in bed. he’d often grab your hand, allowing you to brush it against his toned chest and down to his… aching member. it’s begging to be released, you both know it. and so when he guides your head closer to his crotch, you already know what ‘job’ you had to do for him.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whines a lot while you’re pleasing him, but in a cute way. he’s just very vocal about it. he’s incapable of keeping his little moans whenever he feels your tongue rolling around his tip, your lips leaving open-mouthed kisses along the sides of his length. it’s like suction when you fully take him into your mouth, the image of your head bobbing to suck his cock is extremely vivid in his head. “mhm~ don’t stop.” rafayel loses his mind over it. “my darling, lover girl. you’re so pretty, my baby.” and when you’d allow him to cum inside your mouth, he’s a weak man watching you swallow every single drop.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who respects your boundaries and doesn’t push you to try things in bed that you’re not comfortable with. when you told him he can’t do you raw, he willingly obliged. so, lo and behold the huge box of condoms on his nightstand. he believes in practicing safe sex because you both aren’t ready for that kind of responsibility yet. but that doesn’t lessen the frequency of your activities in bed. in fact, his beloved box of rubbers would easily run out after 2-3 weeks.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to be praised when doing the deed with you. it’s just innate in him. you have to let him know if he’s doing good, have to let him hear how great he feels inside of you, how pretty he looks when you gaze down on him, and how amazing his hands are in finding your most sensitive places. “raf, you’re the best at this,” you’d moan into his mouth, the sound of skin-slapping echoing across his studio as you feel him racing through his climax, “s-so good, ngh~” he’s one to smile at your little whimpers. “yeah, you like where i’m hitting it, baby?” “haa—i do!” “thought so.”

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who wants to be displayed all over your social media accounts. it’s as straightforward as he is—he wants his face to take over your account. he wants to know that you’re proud of him and that you’re showing off your handsome boyfriend whenever you can. he also wants you to interact with his posts, leave comments, and hit the heart button. every. single. time. he gets easily sulky if sees you ignoring his cute posts about you. that’s just how he is, and it doesn’t frustrate you one bit, because he just loves being the center of your world in exchange for treating you the center of his. that was the art of loving rafayel.

[reignpage]

Vice President!Sukuna

Hanssen: disasters all around

Word count: 5.4k Contents: cursing, violence, alcohol use, general dumbassery at parties, references to sexual assault/harassment, bts of Gojo's '4Justice' party, misuse of ChoCHo

“Why am I here?”

Sukuna inhales deeply, leaning against the dirty brick wall, one foot propped behind him, scuffing his trainers. Between his fingers, he holds a lit cigarette, dangling precariously as he bore a half-smirk, barely there, eyes smouldering when he meets the confused gaze of his cousin. 

He scoffs. “Because you owe me a favour.”

The younger man grumbles a complaint but remains squatting on the floor, legs tired from standing for so long. Having been creeping around the side of some frat house for half an hour now, he’s grown restless. Refusing to explain further, Sukuna huffs silently at the pout his accomplice is sporting. 

Suddenly, a click jolts the artist awake, eyes darting to the mastermind, who’s tense and jerking his head to signal it’s time to go. Unfolding himself, Choso mimics Sukuna’s position, directly behind a huge hedge, away from street view.

A silhouette steps out from a widening door, yawning loudly as it stretched. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” it yelped, burping loudly before walking away to get into its shitty car. 

Sukuna watches the car splutter away, disappearing beyond the curve of the road, and makes his move. He rounds the hedge and climbs up the stairs to feel for the door handle. 

Unlocked.

“Dumbass Theta Chis,” he mutters. They never lock their damn doors. 

The night is still and both cousins’ shallow but even breaths are the only things that can be heard as they slink inside the house.

Aware that he could have simply paid off one of his family’s goons, Sukuna feels absolutely no regret when, as he switches the light on, he bumps into a vase. It shatters on the ground. Choso winces, feeling bad for said vase, but nonetheless walks in, hiking a duffel bag up; who is he to feel guilty about the destruction of property?

Empty as expected, they eye the place. Sukuna scowls in disgust over the pigsty they’ve walked into; empty beer bottles lay scattered all over the floor, chairs and tables askew, streamers limp over almost every surface, and yeah, in the corner that’s undeniably used condom. The soles of their shoes stick to the floor and neither of them want to make guesses on why that’s so. 

Still, they look over at the one unsoiled spot in, likely, the entire house, standing side by side. Sukuna has a smirk, eyes glinting. His cousin on the other hand is wincing again, catching a glimpse of that deranged expression on the ringleader. 

How did he let himself get caught up in his theatrics, again?

There, above the grand staircase —not quite as grand Alpha Phi Delta’s, well, most certainly not as grand — hangs an obnoxiously large portrait of the founding fathers of the fraternity. 

It’s Theta Chi’s Holy Grail. 

But tonight, it’s the cousins’ personal playground.

With a heavy sigh, the sleepy sidekick drops the duffel bag on the floor, the rattling of metal all too familiar to him, and he gets to work. As much as he loves art and creating art, being used by his stupid cousin who sports seniority by less than a year never feels great. 

“Don’t rush, Choso,” an excited snarl pierces him, and he dares not look back, already exhausted of his antics, “I want this to be just perfect.”

………………………

At the centre of campus, the night is not so quiet. 

Lights are beaming and flashing, blinding the moon itself. There’s a deep thumping rocking the ground and it vibrates through every pole, every cup and every person. The Quad is packed full of people from all years and all practices, with a solid chunk consisting of students from other universities, friends of friends. Anyone who is anyone is here tonight, but who they are doesn’t matter. Everyone moulds into heap of gyrating bodies, swaying and jumping to the beat. 

Huge speakers line the perimeter, and drink stations have been practically robbed. Everyone has one thing on their minds tonight and that’s to get totally wasted. 

Just a hair’s breadth away from the first blade of glass, there you stand. You’re breathing out, itching at a spot on your wrist subconsciously and it’s turning the skin there red. 

Your thoughts are racing. You shouldn’t be here; you’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through and it’s against the rules and the police could come and so many things could go wrong., 

But when was the last time you went to a party? 

Not a charity event or an end of the academic year staff party, but a real party, drank cheap but strong alcohol, and danced to music with no lyrics. 

When was the last you had even danced?

You scratch harder. 

Most people are passing by you like you’re invisible, but one or two people would smile or wave, in a rush to get into the throngs of thoughtless pleasure. Maybe this was a bad idea — it’s unlikely you’d even enjoy this. You’ve always been a homebody, after all. 

A flash of black catches your eye. A figure blanketed in woven darkness is standing around, clearly anxious about the noise, the mess, the consequences. She picks up a random red cup lying on the floor and throws it into a bin. 

Is that the Treasurer?

Just as you’re about to take a step towards the girl, a voice reaches you, somehow clear despite the deafening noise of inscrutable music. You whip around and almost stumble at the sight of a person you’ve been trying not to think about the entire night. 

He’s in a plain white shirt, jeans hanging low on his hips, flashing a Calvin Klein band, and hooked over his fingers is his varsity jacket strung over his shoulder. Head cocked to the side as he gives you a once over, whistling at the sight of your bare legs. 

You suddenly feel cold in your skirt. 

“Hey, prez,” he drawls, “been waiting for me?”

Your eye twitches. Then you turn away, facing the writhing mass of bodies surging with energy, fuelled by mixed concoctions and techno beats. You feel even more afraid. 

This is definitely not your crowd.

“How was the press conference and everything else?” You don’t even know what you’re saying, just feeling a need to distract yourself with conversation. It’s easy to talk to Sukuna when you’re not looking at him. It hurts to look at him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a desire to wear that jacket he’s carrying. But you don’t want to ask. 

He steps beside you, eyeing the crowd just as you are. 

“Nothing special.”

You nod. 

Sukuna throws you a side-glance, sensing your nerves, and he thinks it’s hilarious. There’s a chuckle rising from his chest, but he has enough tact to smother it. So, he settles for giving you an elbow nudge, rolling his eyes when you glares at him. 

“You gonna stand there all night or you gonna do what you came here for?”

“I’m going home.”

He laughs. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

The sight of you stomping away is too damn comical to resist the urge to wrap his arm around your waist. Pulling you close, he presses you tight against his chest, and whispers right in your ear, “Don’t leave before I get to see this other side of you, prez.”

You try to wriggle yourself out of it, but he only tightens his hold. Too anxious to fight, shaking like a leaf, you accept it. That’s the reason you feel most satisfied with to justify clutching his forearm, unable to wrap around the thickness of it, and remaining in that position. Sukuna’s so warm, it’s as if winter’s never going to come.

“I’m pretty sure all the alcohol’s gone by now,” you mumble.

There are a few people staring and whispering at the both of you, but he pays no attention to the gossipers. Blinking, you realise you’re swaying. Or rather, he’s swaying you to an imperceptible music, a song only he hears. It’s slow, not at all like the rapid fire of beats that everyone else is feeling running through their bloodstream. 

“I’ve got a hidden stash,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry, prez. You’re gonna have fun tonight, one way or another.”

The way he says that sounds like a threat, like he knows something you don’t, and that clears your head. You push off him and snatch his jacket in one go, like it’s yours and he had stolen it from you. 

Sukuna doesn’t flinch, simply pockets one hand into his jean pocket, and runs the other through his hair. It looks slightly damp, and you have to gulp to push away the thoughts of him in the shower. His bicep flexes at the movement, shirt rising to reveal a flash of skin, and a trail of hair disappearing into his boxers. 

That shouldn’t make your mouth water. 

With a slight shake of your head, you adorn the jacket, feeling the material slide against your skin, still warm, absolutely burying you in the fabric. Why is it so big?

“Alright, follow me.” 

He’s sauntering off, long legs taking him so far in a blink of an eye. You stumble after him, meandering along the other people jumping and hooting like they have no worries whatsoever. 

Sukuna’s taken you to the Life Sciences building, a little further away from the heart of the party, but still feeling the weaker waves with the random people making out against walls, or girls crying into each other’s arm. In a lab room, he opens a locked cabinet with a key hidden under a textbook. Stocked are two bottles of vodka.

You don’t ask why it’s there or how many other stashes he has, though you know you really ought to so you can confiscate them. He places the bottles on the work bench devoid of beakers or test tubes, and without warning, grabs you, the unsuspecting victim, by the waist and lifts you up onto the surface. 

Yelping, you smack his shoulder. He ignores that and just lifts himself up to sit beside you. So then, there you sit, legs pressed against each other, sharing a bottle of vodka. The liquid burns your throat, and you hate the smell of nail varnish. It’s like an estranged lover, familiar but it doesn’t know your name. The instant warmth it courses through your body is very much welcomed, however. 

Minutes pass in relative silence, you both check your phones here and there and pass the bottle to each other. You try not to think about the fact that you're technically sharing an indirect kiss. That's childish.

“You know,” you begin, “I’m surprised you’re a party person.”

He lifts a brow at that.

It’s quiet here. Sure, you can still hear the distant rumbling of disco and craziness, but where you are, the loudest noise is the dull thrum of the radiators. And your heartbeat, but you hope he can’t hear that. You need him not to hear it.

You continue, “It’s just, I’m pretty sure you don’t like people.”

“Oh, yeah?” He fires back immediately. “You know me so well, prez?”

Shrugging, you take the bottle from him and gulp, “I know you better than you think.”

You’re aware of how vague and ominous that sounds but the alcohol’s making it really easy to not care. If karmic law exists, then you’d be allowed this —these little jabs at his true form whenever you can. You’ve earned it. You know that, so then why does every word leave a bitter taste in your mouth?

Sukuna rubs a hand across his jaw, tasting your words and mulling it over. The lab room is lit up only by one light, just hanging a couple metres away from you. It’s enough to see the flush climbing up your neck.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

You laugh at his petulant tone. It reminds you of the frustration babies face when a square brick doesn’t fit through the triangle hole, try as they may to force it through. Opening your mouth, you’re about to make a retort, but then suddenly, shouting breaks out in the hallway, and you flinch, hand flying to grab his bicep. 

Bare skin touching bare skin, it’s a feeling of utter scandal, and like you’ve been burned, you let go just as soon as you grabbed on. 

“Relax,” he stares at his phone screen, “just some frat guys fighting.”

Frowning, you ask, “What about?”

The smirk Sukuna has makes your heart clench. 

Rolling his piercing between his teeth, he considers his words carefully before deciding on, “Someone’s defaced the portrait in Theta Chi.”

You gasp. “No way. One of the alums on the board went to Theta Chi. They’ll be so upset.” The paperwork will be crazy, is the only thought passing through your mind. There’s a sudden lightness to your head and it pushes a giggle out. 

“Weren’t the people who egged my window from Theta Chi?”

Sukuna takes a swig of the vodka, regretting, for a moment, his failure to stash something stronger. Ignoring your question, he jumps down suddenly. You don’t want to wait for him extend a hand out, or worse, grab you anyways. So, you jump as well. With much less grace.

Stumbling, you fall into him, right in his chest, buried between hard muscles. He smells nice. Clean. He really did just take a shower before coming. And once again, you’re picturing him soaked and naked and steaming and —

That’s enough. 

You aren’t drunk enough to indulge in thoughts like that. 

“Trying to cop a feel, prez?” His voice is gruff despite the amusement lacing his words. “You should know I charge extra for that, although I’m willing to give you a discount.”

Pulling away, you flash him a finger, and he only smirks. 

“Seriously, what happened to Theta Chi?” You frowned. “I need to know how pissed the alums will be.”

He glances down at you, a dry expression on his face. “Someone painted some shit about their hazing process. That’s what Gojo’s saying in the group chat, anyways.”

Humming, you wracked your brain for every detail you can recall about the fraternity.

“The previous president mentioned that in passing to me last year, when I was shadowing him. Something about this long tradition of stripping the freshers naked and making them run into the woods? But I thought that was just a rumour.”

The man shrugged, already bored of the conversation.

You glare at him.

“This doesn’t have something to do with our conversation, does it?” It can’t be. “When you said you’d send a message.”

Surely, your vice president would have enough sense to know that a ‘message’ is just a stern talking to, and definitely not whatever the hell is going on. It would be catastrophic if this is linked back to him, and you.

Sukuna’s already walking towards the door, more interested in the commotion than the way your brain is firing at a thousand miles per second, even whilst the vodka begins to fuzz up your clarity. 

“Dunno why your first thought is me and not the extremely outspoken vandal we’ve got in our midst, prez.”

That makes sense, and it calms you a little, even if it’ll still be a headache to deal with. But you can’t shake off the feeling that, somehow, he knows more than he’s letting on. 

Following Sukuna, you both peek at the hallway where a crowd is forming. There are a bunch of guys wrestling each other onto the ground with uncoordinated swings and kicks. People are egging them on and recording, dodging the violence when it gets too close. 

And yeah, you’re so very sure the paperwork’s going to be insane. Especially as two members of the student council will be seen in the background of the dozens of videos being taken. The headache is already developing. 

“You fucking dick! Admit you broke in and destroyed our fucking picture!” A guy in a tank top despite the chilly weather yells and you recognise him as a fellow law student. Travis or something. He’s always been nice, quiet, but seeing him now as he trips over his own feet, backwards hat flying off, you realise, maybe he was just too hungover to participate in class. 

“I didn’t do shit!”

Another guy throws a punch, missing its target but succeeding in pushing his victim over, but the act also drags him down. Both fall together. 

“You’re a fucking liar! You drew over my great-great grandfather’s face with Pac-man!”

Someone from the crowd hollers, “Who the fuck doesn’t love Pac-man?”

“You fucking strip the freshies, you freak, a Pac-man on your ugly grandad is the least you deserve, asshole!” Someone else from the crowd screams. 

And they’re collapsing back down, people try to pull them off each other but only end up getting dragged in. It’s one huge uncoordinated Jenga tower crashing down. Sukuna tilts his head, mildly interested. They’re all too drunk to throw a proper swing, one that could do real damage, but if even just one person could slip and crack their head on the floor, that would be enough. 

A member of the crowd gets knocked over in the kerfuffle, distracted by something on their phone and skids along the floor with a pig-like squeal. Acting on reflex, you jolt towards the stranger, arms reaching out to pick them back up, but Sukuna grabs the back collar of his varsity jacket, the way one holds a puppy by its scruff. 

You’re dragged away, to the other direction, away from the mess of drunkards, too consumed by the alcohol to realise that this is going to hurt in the morning. 

“You’re just any other college student,” he scolds once you’re in the clear, “you’re not the president of the student council tonight.”

A pout drags your bottom lip down and you clutch his arm to your chest, it takes Sukuna by surprise, suspicion painted all over his face like you’re strapping a bomb around him. 

“But Sukuna,” you peer up at him, “you call me prez.”

He scoffs, a disbelieving amusement wracking his body. You’re trying to kill him. That must be it. There’s no way you’re this much of a lightweight, so much so that you’d quickly abandon your integrity, and go as far as to say his name like ’S’kuna’.

Your eyes have glazed over and there’s an inelegance to your movements, little clumsy jerks and goddamn it if it doesn’t make Sukuna’s chest do that weird thing it always did when he looks at you. 

How repulsive. 

There’s a part of him that hopes you’ll remember the utterly embarrassing position you’ve placed yourself in, but he also doesn’t want to deal with the avoiding eye-contact and ignoring him thing you do. It’s irritating as hell.

“You’re fucking dangerous when you’re drunk, Jesus,” he snorted. 

That makes you giggle. You’ve still got his arm trapped, blanketing it with his own jacket, and it’s warm, warmer than the alcohol your body’s desperately trying to digest, the foreign liquid an enemy.

“Fucking finally!” Someone yells. 

It’s Gojo. 

He’s marching towards the both of you, hands flailing in anger. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes before he pushes you slightly behind him. “What climbed up your ass?”

“Your Treasurer, that’s who!”

And with theatrical movements he reenacts the complaints he’s been hearing, about how she’s preaching safe sex to couples making out in the hallway, shouting at people to pick up their litter, and sending him a finger from down at the Quad to where he stood on a balcony. 

The last part seems to upset him more than anything else.

“Why did you bring the freaking fun police?” He directs the question at you. He always assumes you’re the root of all his problems, and well, you won’t deny that. “She’s gonna ruin my rep as the best party-thrower!”

Gojo’s a huge pain in the ass and to see him so frazzled over a different member of the council makes you pleased. You jab a finger at his chest, giggling as you mocked, “Someone needs to arrest you for being so stupid.”

When you hiccup, Gojo looks at you, horrified. His eyes dart comically between you and Sukuna like you’re pranking him, like he’s missing a big joke, instead of making it, for once. Seeing Sukuna only raise a brow in challenge, he groans, rubbing a palm down his face. 

“You guys are killing me, I swear!”

And then he stomps away. 

You giggle again, his lanky body looks so funny speed walking. You take the bottle from Sukuna and gulp clumsily. Some of the liquid dribbles down your chin, and you don’t care. This is the freest you’ve felt in months, hell, maybe even years. It’s as if chains have been loosened and you can stretch your limbs. 

Taking the bottle away from you, he tilts his head back slightly to take a gulp too, except he doesn’t look away whilst he does it. Not a single drop goes to waste, not even as he brushes a thumb over your chin and swipes it over his own lips. 

The skin where he touched sizzle. 

You clear your throat, “Should we tell her it’s okay?” 

Sukuna shakes his head with a devilish smirk and retorts, “You’re not the prez tonight, remember? Let the idiots fix themselves up.”

Slapping his chest and then settling on groping his pec, you slur out, “I’m never not the ‘prez’, idiot.”

“You’re just y/n, tonight,” he insists, encasing your wrist with one large hand, and stilling your movement so you can’t squeeze like a creepy uncle. “Be selfish for once, yeah?”

“Like you?”

Your head is tilted in curiosity, lashes fluttering and he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about. He won’t deny his habit of putting himself first, and he certainly won’t apologise for it, but the way you put the question to him brings a flash to his head. 

Strobe lights, warm bodies and lies.

Sukuna reels back like he’s been slapped. 

He gets not a single second to process anything before there’s whooping. People grin at you two, punching the air in an expression of solidarity, chanting ‘fuck Mahito!’ at the top of their lungs. It’s fun to see everyone so friendly when most days people stroll by without so much as even a glance your way. 

A guy comes up to you both, in a blue sweater and cargo shorts, doing that weird handshake men do with Sukuna and you sort of want to join. He greets you with one of those half-nods and takes a sweep of your body, a grin on his face. 

“Want something?” Sukuna pushes out through gritted teeth. 

The guy shakes his head as if to clear his mind before he’s smiling like a little boy again. “Just wanted to talk about our next game. Heard the team’s good but I think their defence is a little weak.”

Hearing the basketball talk, you grow disinterested. 

Which Sukuna doesn’t sense until it’s too late. Because your question threw him off and he’s slacked. For perhaps the first time in his life.

So, when he glances down beside him and finds you gone, he’s cursing the heavens and leaving his teammate mid-conversation. He searches for you everywhere, trying to find an oversized purple jacket hanging off your frame, even popping into the girls’ bathrooms, ignoring the crying girls there.

“Flighty fucking woman,” he growled. 

There’re still too many things he had planned for your one-night truce, too many things he wants to pull out of you whilst you’re honest. And with you, the surprising lightweight that you are, being drunk off your head, alone, the thought of all the ways things could go wrong is making a muscle tick in his jaw.

He sees Choso, leaning against a bike shed, looking up at a mural with a cigarette between two fingers. It’s half washed off; the scaffolding abandoned for the night. Sukuna couldn’t care less for the sentimental mood his cousin’s in. 

“Why do you look mad again?”

Sukuna ignores that, “Seen the prez?”

The younger man tastes the word in his mouth. “The prez? The president of the council?”

Okay, apparently all the usefulness he’s capable of has been maxed out this evening. Without a parting word, Sukuna continues his search. He’s practically running. People are trying to catch his attention. Guys who’ve fallen under the delusion that they’re friends for reasons that elude the pink haired man, and girls who mostly likely wanted to put the rumours of his skills in bed to the test. 

He ignores all of them, popping his head into every classroom, growing more and more agitated, and he swears, once he finds you, he’ll tie you up and lock you in a closet so you can’t run off, can’t make his heart clench and his palms sweat. 

Eventually, he ends up back at the Quad, there’s too many idiots crowded in one place to see, and he’s certainly not going to attempt to sift through them all. He sees Gojo on a balcony, standing beside two figures, sunglasses pushed up over his head, grinning so brightly, even from where Sukuna’s standing, he can see all his teeth. He’s leaning over the railings, eyes fixed on something at the side. Just as Sukuna makes a step towards his direction, deciding that getting a higher vantage point would be the best strategy, a flash of purple catches his attention.

He found you.

But it’s too late. 

You’ve already climbed a table, shoes next to some red solo cups, drawing many people’s attention. No one expected to see the president here, and certainly not with a varsity jacket on. Perhaps, people are worried you’re about to lecture them, to warn them about the rules and trespassing and whatever else. 

Resting against a pillar, he sighs and rubs his jaw. 

Apparently, drunk you loves attention. Well, he shouldn’t be surprised; you’re a great orator and it just comes naturally to you, even if you are a bundle of nerves sometimes. He decides to stay there, watching your passionate speech, arms raised like you feel the zeal course through you. The music has quietened, the, no doubt ridiculously expensive, DJ a certain frat president hired lowering the volume. 

Everyone’s watching you, halting their grinding and jumping to hear you out. You introduce yourself -not that you needed one to begin - and talk about the challenging couple months, the way students turned on each other and staff showed their bias. You saw the girls, other victims, forced to cower, forced to feel dirty, and doubt themselves. 

But you also witnessed the love, the support, the community. The sisterhood that carried you all to this point where the truth has made itself clear, justice prevailing because they cannot deny the bravery you’ve all showed. 

There are a few people wiping tears from their eyes, guys occasionally shouting in agreement. Despite most people coming just for a good time, it seems like there really was a need for catharsis. Recent events haven’t just taken a toll on you and the girls and the lawyers, but also on the other women on campus. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. 

Drunk you is the female reincarnate of Mark Antony, go figure.

Half obscured by shadows and half lit by flashing lights, he stands there, eyes never leaving your figure, jolting every time you stumble on the table, but as infuriating as it is, you’re surrounded by a bunch of guys, ready to catch you.

He’s developed a disliking of parties over the years, hating the bumbling ineptitude of drunk people, and all the drama that comes bursting from the seams of repressed idiots. Still, he attends most of them, never taking part in the chaos but often just watching. 

Sukuna hates parties but this one isn’t too bad, he decides.

A notification goes off on his phone and he sees his roommate’s message — a video and a text following it. 

the girl of your wet dreams is really getting the waterworks going huh?

Once again, Sukuna rolls his eyes, saving the video and ignoring Toji. 

God, he hopes when he brings you back to your dorm room that you won’t throw up all over him. He can deal with carrying your dead weight back to the Northside Halls, and the no-doubt moody and grumpy you that’ll show up the next morning, dragged down by a killer hangover, and even the insults you’ll no doubt hurl his way when you accuse him of enabling you for his own entertainment. 

But if you throw up on him, he’ll lose his mind.

You reach a dramatic end, thrusting your fist into the air and people follow suit, just as drunk, if not more so, and easily influenced. They clap, roaring and whooping. The music comes back on and the dancing returns, invigorated by the shift in energy. 

Clambering down, feeling satisfied, you’re being shaken by the overly supportive drunk friends you’ve made within the span of the five minutes until Sukuna found you. They slap you on the back, congratulating you and saying other things that aren’t really registering in your mind. 

Escaping to a quieter part of the Quad, you skip along, to nowhere in particular, and fall face first into a hard wall. It hurts and you clutch your forehead, cheeks puffed out as you furrow your brows.

Glancing up, you’re met with a stormy gaze, it’s smouldering something unyielding and threatening. But, as you squint through the haze of insobriety, you see the gentle tracing of his eyes over your frame, and then as if he saw what he wanted to see, it hardened to something much more akin to a feasting.

You’re drunker than you feel. 

“You left,” his tone is calm but there’s an undercurrent of heat there. It’s accusing and scathing, and it teases at your spine. 

With a shrug, you reply, “You were boring me.”

You’re a little sweaty, the running away and the standing beneath so many lights had you feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon. And when he swipes a hair off your forehead, you can only splutter in complaint when he smears your own sweat onto your cheek.

“It’s bedtime, prezzy, come on.”

His voice is uncharacteristically soft, a quiet whisper against your head as he clutches you to his chest just as your knees cave in. Your vision is spotty, and your lips are dry. 

In a blur, you find yourself in your bed. 

When did you get here?

How did you get here?

You’re too tired to tell, eyes drifting close. 

Your desk lamp is on, lighting your room enough for you to see the silhouette of a man running his hand along your table, eyeing the piles of papers scattered there. He flips a page over, studying your handwriting and the sticky notes with random faces, some frowning and some with Xs for eyes. 

“S’kuna?” 

His stare snaps towards yours and it steals your breath away.  

“Go back to sleep,” his voice is soft. And even whilst weighed down by the alcohol, you’re aware of how tiny your room is with him in here. It feels wrong to have Sukuna pacing the length, studying the pictures on the wall and the neatly piled laundry waiting to be put away. 

You have no idea what he’s thinking, and it scares you. Groggy and still not fully conscious, you croak, “Did you bring me back?”

“No, we teleported,” he fires back, without missing a beat. “Yeah, I brought you back. I didn’t touch you or anything, so just relax.”

“I didn’t think you did,” you admit, the sentence muffled by your comforter. 

Sukuna leans against a wall by your door, calculating if everything’s as it should be, and you finally notice he’s just in his white shirt, no jacket in sight. 

“Wait,” he cocks his head in question, “it’s cold out. Wear your jacket.”

He laughs, it’s low, just a couple huffs really, but it’s a laugh, nonetheless. It feels like one of those rare victories. “Nah, keep the jacket. You like damn thing more than I do.”

“No. Wear the jacket,” you point to the chair it’s draped over; your arm is heavy and you’re drifting off again. 

He narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t see that, breath evening out. “Always so stubborn,” he says this more to himself, walking over to your chair and snatching it with more force than necessary. “I’ll take it, on loan.”

You don’t reply.

But when he stands over you, knuckles brushing a stray hair off your cheek again, you hear him from behind the haze of sleep and exhaustion say, “You always get what you want, don’t you, prez?”

And then he’s leaving, shutting the door much quieter than you ever have. You swear as you take one last inhale, you can still smell his fresh soap and feel the scalding burn of his touch. 

Both of you know you’ll barely remember any of this, if anything at all. Despite that, you find yourself hoping that you, at least, remember the feeling of being free and unburdened, even just for one night. You also hope he’ll remember what life could be like if you two got along, so perhaps he’ll ease off a little.

Just as you enter a dream state, you sluggishly respond to something that seems so far away now, the words escaping you like one last exhale before you’re dead to the world.

“I never do.”

[merakiui]

thinking about the first years using a spirit board during one of the times they all spend the night at ramshackle with you and grim, but they get into contact with skully instead and he takes the opportunity to flirt with you through the board. skully completely ignoring all of their questions of "are you a demon" "how did you die" "can you help me cheat on next week's history exam" etc etc just so he can chat with you through the board with the planchette like: h-e-l-l-o m-y d-e-a-r. y-o-u l-o-o-k r-a-v-i-s-h-i-n-g t-o-n-i-g-h-t. and the lights start to flicker but only because skully's so happy and excited when you fluster and quietly thank him. he'll spell out as many compliments as you'd like~ they're all very genuine.

only the first years could manage to summon the freakiest (read: silliest) ghost on campus... who leaves kisses on their hands/cheeks, who just wants to chat with friends, who loves you so very much and has been lonely for far too long now. >_< but not on ace's watch!!! he's not going to let some dead guy charm you from the great beyond. >:( meanwhile, skully's portrait is looking on at all of the silliness.

the horror movie trope of when the characters forget to close the session and it leaves that channel open for spirits to slip through.... something something skully who is able to move around much more freely than he could before, no longer confined to his portrait. this is wonderful!!! now he can follow you to class and explore the campus, witness just how much has changed since he was a student here last. it never occurs to him that he can use his newfound freedom for bad. he just wants to admire his beloved (cue dreamy sigh). <3

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 7

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals, vomiting, blood and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lizzie opened her eyes slowly, the world around her blurry and out of focus. She knew immediately she was in her hospital room, the smell of antiseptic and the dimmed lights a familiar, unwelcome presence.

She groaned softly, the small sound echoing faintly in the stillness of the room. Her throat felt like sandpaper, her mouth dry and aching. She tried to swallow, but her tongue felt too thick, sticking to the roof of her mouth.

“Welcome back,” Tasha said softly, and she turned her head to see her best friend.

"Tasha?" Lizzie croaked out, the simple word sounding like it was torn from her raw throat.

Tasha moved closer, her familiar face coming into focus. "Yeah, it’s me," she said with a quiet smile. "How are you feeling?"

Lizzie's forehead creased in a frown as she tried to take stock of her own body. "Everything hurts," she managed to say, her voice ragged.

Tasha reached out, her hand gentle as she tucked a strand of hair out of Lizzie's face. "I’d be surprised if it didn’t. You gave us quite a scare."

Tasha's eyes were filled with a mixture of affection and worry, something Lizzie was very familiar with.

Lizzie felt a twinge of guilt as she noticed the dark circles under Tasha's eyes, evidence that she'd probably spent the night here, watching over her once again.

“How bad?” She brought out weakly.

Tasha's face pulled into a frown, her usual carefree expression replaced by concern. "Bad," she said simply, not bothering to soften the blow.

Lizzie's eyes closed at the word, a wave of dread washing over her. She knew Tasha wasn't the kind to sugarcoat things, but still, hearing it confirmed was like a punch to the gut.

“You ripped out your IV line too by the way… your elbow is pretty ripped up…and you got stitches in your tongue.”

Lizzie let out a shuddering sigh, hearing the list of her injuries laid out in front of her.

“How many?” She asked weakly.

“Seizures? At least 6. But you were seizing when I found you and Mara was starting to get worried so we don’t know exactly.” Tasha said quietly. “Can you remember…anything?”

Lizzie’s brow furrowed as she tried to access her memories, but they were muddled and hazy. “Not much,” she admitted, her voice soft. “Just…flashes. And pain.”

Tasha nodded, her expression sympathetic. “That’s probably for the best, honestly. It wasn’t pretty.”

But there was something else…something important… “Who won Miami?” She croaked out.

Tasha laughed. “Your boyfriend did.”

Wait what?

Lizzie's eyes widened at Tasha's words. "Boyfriend?" she croaked out, her voice slightly higher than normal.

Tasha smirked, clearly amused by the mix of confusion and surprise on Lizzie's face. "Yep. Lando. Your boyfriend. He won Miami."

Lizzie's mind was reeling. Lando? Her boyfriend? She thought she must've been hallucinating. "He's not my boyfriend," she protested weakly.

Tasha raised an eyebrow, her face the portrait of skepticism. "Oh really? You want to tell me that the same bloke that flew around the globe the moment he heard that you were in the hospital after he finally won a Formula 1 Grand Prix isn't your boyfriend? The same guy that hasn't left you since you arrived? That keeps holding your hand?"

Tasha stared pointedly to the other side of her bed and Lizzie turned her head.

"It's all too much for little Lando Norris," Tasha chortled with some amusement.

Lando was there. deep asleep in a chair that Lizzie just knew was horribly uncomfortable.

Lizzie felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of him.

He looked exhausted. His hair was rumpled, his clothes slightly askew. There were bags under his eyes, and his mouth was open slightly as he snored softly, his head tilted back against the wall in a position that was bound to be painful.

It looked like he'd been there for a long time. Like he hadn't left her side at all.

Tasha chuckled softly. "Looks a bit cute when he sleeps," she commented, still amused. "Like a big ol’ puppy. Kinda like Mara. The only thing lacking is the twitching paws.”

Lizzie was still staring at Lando, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. She had so many questions. But right now, all she could focus on was the fact that he was here, fast asleep, keeping her company.

"Why..." Lizzie finally managed to get out, her voice hoarse. "Why is he..?"

Tasha's expression softened. "Because, love," she said gently. "That boy cares about you. A lot."

Lizzie swallowed thickly, her heart pounding in her chest. She was overwhelmed by the realisation. Lando cared for her. He cared enough to hop on a plane and fly halfway around the globe as soon as he found out she was hurt. And now, he was here. Fast asleep in a hospital chair, just so he could be near her.

Tasha patted her hand, clearly enjoying her inner turmoil. "Don’t look so shocked," she teased. "It’s not like it isn’t obvious.”

"Shut up," Lizzie grumbled weakly, still staring at Lando’s sleeping form.

"Though we are going to have a talk about the fact that you are dating a bloody F1 driver and haven't said a single word to me," Tasha told her with a snort. "A McLaren driver. Really?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "It's not like I planned it," she defended herself weakly. "It just happened."

Tasha shook her head, amused. "It just happened," she repeated drily. "With an F1 driver. I can’t believe you."

Lizzie huffed, turning her head to glare at her sister. But the effect was ruined by her exhaustion and the fact that she was propped up by a dozen pillows.

Tasha chuckled at her attempts to be intimidating, clearly not feeling threatened. "Relax, sweetie," she said. "I’m happy for you. But I am going to make fun of you for this."

Lizzie sighed, leaning her head back against her pillow. "You’re insufferable, you know that?"

Tasha grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

"Besides, I am gonna go home now, and leave you with your boy," Tasha sing-songed. "You should thank me."

Lizzie groaned, letting her head drop back on her pillow. "Don’t leave,” she protested weakly.

Tasha just laughed, clearly enjoying her distress. "Don’t be such a baby. You’ve got your boyfriend to keep you company.”

"He’s asleep," Lizzie protested weakly, watching Lando’s sleeping form.

Tasha shrugged, undeterred. "So? Wake him up."

"I’m not going to wake him up." Lizzie grumbled, still eyeing Lando’s sleeping form. He looked adorable when his face was all relaxed.

Tasha smirked. "That’s because you enjoy watching him sleep," she teased. "Admit it."

Lizzie felt her face flush at her sister’s words, and she shot her a disapproving look. "I do not," she said stubbornly.

Tasha was clearly enjoying herself, her smirk growing wider. "Oh really? Then why are you blushing, hmm?"

Lizzie could feel her cheeks growing hotter, and she tried to hide her face, but the blasted hospital gown only exposed more of her already flushed face. "I’m not blushing. It's the drugs."

Tasha let out a hoot of laughter, clearly not buying her excuse. "Nice try. You're totally blushing and we both know why."

Lizzie grumbled, still staring at Lando's sleeping form. He was blissfully oblivious to their bickering, his snores still filling the room.

Tasha just smirked. "You know, it's kind of cute how you're watching him like a hawk," she teased.

Lizzie huffed, trying to ignore her sister's amusement. "I'm not watching him. I'm just... making sure he's comfortable."

"Sure, sure," Tasha said with a knowing smirk. "Because everyone knows the best way to make sure someone's comfortable is to stare at them like they're a cute puppy."

Lizzie shot her sister a withering look, but Tasha just chuckled. "Relax, Lizzie Lou. I’m just teasing you. I think it’s adorable."

Lizzie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the hint of a smile that was creeping onto her face.

Tasha smirked, noticing the change in her expression. "Aww, look at that. You’re not denying you think he’s cute."

Lizzie huffed, trying to salvage some pride. "I... I’m not saying he isn’t cute," she mumbled.

"Oho, so you do think he’s cute," Tasha teased, the smirk still plastered on her face.

Lizzie groaned, her face flushing again. "Shut up."

Tasha just laughed, clearly enjoying her sister's embarrassment. "Don’t worry. It’s cute. You're acting like a little school girl with a crush."

"Go away," she told Tasha.

Tasha just chuckled and ruffled Lizzie's hair affectionately. "Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to your staring. But I’m not done teasing you about this."

Lizzie groaned, burying her face in her pillow dramatically. "You’re the worst, you know that?"

Tasha grinned, clearly relishing in Lizzie's dramatics. "Yep, I know. But you love me anyway."

Lizzie grumbled but didn’t deny it. Tasha just laughed again. "Alright, I’m gonna leave you to your... ogling," she teased, her voice full of mirth.

Lizzie gritted her teeth at Tasha's teasing tone but didn’t object. "Just go," she said, her voice still hoarse.

Tasha grinned one last time. "Alright, alright. I’m going. Have fun with your ogling."

Lizzie just rolled her eyes and huffed, sinking back into the pillows with a sigh.

Tasha chuckled again as she ruffled Lizzie’s hair fondly. "Don’t drool too much."

Lizzie groaned and swat at her hand, but Tasha just laughed, dodging the weak blow.

"Good night, Lizzie," Tasha said as she started walking towards the door.

Lizzie just grumbled and made a face at her, but the effect was ruined by the fact that she was still propped up by pillows and looking exhausted.

Tasha just smirked at her attempted protest and blew her a kiss, amused by Lizzie's grumpy expression. "Sleep tight. And try not to stare at your boyfriend too much. You might creep him out."

Lizzie just rolled her eyes and blew a raspberry in response, a childish gesture that made Tasha laugh and shake her head.

With a final wave, Tasha disappeared out the door, leaving Lizzie alone with Lando, who was still fast asleep in the chair.

She turned her head to look at him, her heart doing a strange little flutter as she watched his chest rise and fall with each slow breath.

Despite Tasha's teasing, Lizzie couldn’t help but stare at Lando. He looked so endearingly tired, his normally carefully styled hair now sticking up in all directions. It was a side of him that not many people got to see, and Lizzie felt a strange sense of privilege at the fact that she was able to witness it.

Mara took that moment to decide that Lizzie made a better place to sleep than the bed and came crawling up.

Lizzie groaned as Mara clambered onto the bed, the dog's weight making the mattress dip.

"You cheeky thing," Lizzie murmured, reaching out to pet Mara under the chin. Mara just wagged her tail and settled down, curling up against Lizzie's side.

Lizzie chuckled softly, her hand buried in Mara's fur. "Comfy, huh? Using me as a pillow now, are we?"

Mara just closed her eyes and leaned into her touch, clearly comfortable and relaxed.

Lizzie continued to pet her, her fingers running over the soft fur. It was nice to have a little bit of normalcy. Even when it was just this.

She glanced over at Lando, still fast asleep, and couldn’t help but feel a pang of affection. He looked so adorable, his face relaxed in sleep, his lips slightly parted.

...and then Mara decided that slobbering and licking all over their entertwined hands was the thing to do.

That woke up Lando, no question about that.

Lando’s eyes shot open at the unexpected sensation of Mara licking at his hands. He jerked upright, startled out of his sleep, and looked down at his now slobbery hand.

He glanced over at Lizzie, who was trying (and failing) to stifle a laugh.

"What the...?" Lando muttered, clearly befuddled and a little annoyed. He wiped his hand on the material of his trousers, trying to get rid of the slobber.

Lizzie couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle at his expression. "Sorry," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Mara thought you needed some extra canine affection."

Lando gave Lizzie an exasperated look, his annoyance melting away at the sound of her laugh. "Right," he said drily, shaking his head. "Because nothing says "affection" like having a dog slobber all over you while you’re trying to sleep.”

She wanted to laugh, but all that came out was: "You are here," Lizzie said weakly.

Lando looked over at her, his expression softening as he took in her weak form. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I am."

The simple words held so much weight in the quiet of the room, and Lizzie felt a surge of emotions. She had never been so glad to see someone in her life.

"You...you didn’t have to come all this way," Lizzie managed to say, her throat still raw.

Lando shook his head. "Yes, I did," he said, his voice firm. "You...you scared me, you know? Hearing what happened... I had to come."

Lizzie’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, and she wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, to reassure him. But the IVs and monitors kept her firmly tethered to the bed.

Instead, she settled for a small smile. "I’m fine, you know," she said weakly. "Just a bit... sore."

Llando gave her a look that clearly said he didn’t believe her. "You call being hooked up to all these machines and having multiple seizures 'just a bit sore'?" he asked, his tone slightly harsh.

Lizzie flinched at the harshness in his tone, but she knew he was right. "Alright, alright," she mumbled. "Maybe it’s a bit more than just 'a bit sore'. But I’m still alive, aren’t I?"

Lando sighed and ran a hand through his already unruly hair. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "But... God, it's been so damn scary, Liz."

“I thought… you didn’t answer any of my text messages,” he said weakly.

Lizzie’s heart sank at his words. She hadn’t meant to worry him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Lando shook his head and let out a hoarse laugh. "Of course you’re apologising," he said, his voice filled with a mix of irritation and affection. "You just went through hell and back and you’re apologising to me."

Lizzie just gave him a small smile. "Well, you know me," she said weakly. "I’m a big softie."

Lando huffed and ran a hand over his face. He looked exhausted and incredibly anxious, and it was clear that he had been worried sick about her.

“You won?” She asked him.

Lando looked at her in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned on his face.

"Oh," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. I won."

Lizzie's eyes widened in surprise. "You did?" she asked, unable to keep the awe out of her voice.

Lando nodded, the pride in his eyes clear. "Yeah, I did."

A mixture of emotions washed over Lizzie - pride, amazement, but also sadness. Lando had won, but she hadn’t been there to witness it.

She swallowed thickly, the words sticking in her throat. "I... I wish I could have seen it," she said, her voice hoarse.

Lando’s expression softened, and he reached out to take her hand. "I’ll show you the highlights when you're feeling better, alright? You just focus on getting better."

Lizzie felt the comforting warmth of Lando's hand gripping hers, and she gave him a small, grateful smile.

"You better show me everything," she told him, her voice still weak. "I want to see every lap, every overtake. No skipping."

Lando chuckled softly, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "Deal," he promised.

They were quiet for a moment, their hands still holding. Lizzie studied Lando's face, taking in weary lines and the dark circles under his eyes. It was clear that he hadn’t gotten much rest since the accident.

"When was the last time you slept?" Lizzie said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Literally five minutes ago, you woke me,” he said with a snort.

“From a nap on a hospital chair. I know how uncomfortable these are,” she shot back. “I meant in a real bed.”

Lando grimaced at the mention of the hospital chair. "Yeah, this chair is brutal," he agreed. "My back is killing me."

Lizzie chuckled weakly. "Maybe you should just get in the bed with me," she said teasingly. 

Lando’s eyes widened at her words, and he looked at her sceptically. "Are you sure that’s a good idea? You know, with the IV lines and all that."

Lizzie shrugged noncommittally. "I don’t think the nurse will mind," she said, her tone still teasing. "I’ll just tell them you’re my emotional support F1 driver."

Lando let out a snort of laughter at her words, his lips curving into a grin. "Yeah, I’m sure that’s a completely normal arrangement," he said sarcastically.

"Hey, it’s a valid medical need," Lizzie said with mock seriousness. "I need my F1 driver cuddles to help me heal."

Lando rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. "You’re ridiculous, you know that?"

Lizzie feigned an offended expression. "Me? Ridiculous? I’m wounded, I’ll have you know.

Lando chuckled at her dramatic act. "Oh, trust me, I know you’re wounded. You’ve got enough cables and tubes attached to you to prove that."

Lizzie stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "Yeah, rub it in, why don’t you. I’m already suffering enough. I think the least you can do is give me some cuddles."

Lando pretended to consider her request for a moment before sighing dramatically. "Fine," he said, putting on a show of resignation. "I suppose I can sacrifice myself for your healing purposes."

Lizzie grinned victoriously as Lando stood up from the chair. He maneuvered himself onto the bed carefully, trying not to disturb the IV lines.

Once he was settled, Lizzie scooted closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body radiating through their clothes. She buried her face into his side, inhaling his familiar scent.

Lando wrapped his arm around her gently, his hand resting on the small of her back. "This better not be a ploy to steal all my body heat," he joked.

“Can you give me my phone?” She requested

Lando nodded and reached over to the bedside table, where Lizzie’s phone was resting. He grabbed it and handed it to her.

"Here you go," he said, "but don’t get too sucked into it. You need to rest."

Lizzie rolled her eyes playfully as she took her phone. "Relax, I’m just going to check my messages."

Lando eyed her suspiciously. "You’re not going to play Candy Crush or something, are you?"

Lizzie gave him a wounded look. "I’m only going to check my messages."

She opened the phone and started scrolling through her inbox. Lando shifted next to her, getting more comfortable as he made himself at home.

“…by the way, just ignore what I wrote you,” he said suddenly.

Lizzie looked up from her phone, a puzzled expression on her face. "Ignore what?" she asked, unsure of what he was talking about.

Lando let out a sigh, a weary look in his eyes. "Just… ignore any of the texts or voicemails I sent you while you were in here. They’re stupid, and they don’t matter."

Lizzie’s curiosity was piqued. She set her phone down and looked at him, her expression soft. "Why? What did you say?"

Lando ran a hand through his hair, his expression sheepish. "Just… things I shouldn’t have said. Things I didn’t mean. I was just... frustrated, and worried, and not thinking straight. I didn’t mean any of it, seriously."

Lizzie felt a pang of guilt in her chest. She could only imagine what kind of things he’d written or said to her while she’d been unconscious.

"Hey," she said softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his arm. "I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. You don’t have to feel embarrassed."

Lando let out a hoarse laugh, the sound lacking any real humor. "Trust me, it was. I was… not in a good headspace, and I may have said some things you didn’t need to hear."

Lizzie’s heart ached. She could imagine how stressful this situation had been for him and she couldn’t help but feel a little responsible for the pain he’s been through.

"I don’t care what you said," she said firmly, her grip on his arm tightening. "I still care about you, you big dummy."

Still, she scrolled through her text messages…and tapped on Lando’s name, scrolling up till her last message to him.

And then she got to read all of it.

Lizzie's heart sank as she read through the messages Lando had sent her, each one filled with panic, worry, and a hint of angry frustration. She could tell that he had been struggling, that the stress and worry had gotten the best of him.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and kept reading, each message more emotional and desperate than the last.

And the fact that he had thought she didn’t care about his win…that she was simply ghosting him…

As she continued reading, Lizzie's heart ached with every message. She could feel the pain, the fear, the frustration radiating from his words. And the fact that he had thought she was ignoring him… that she didn’t care about his win… that stung like a dagger to her heart.

The messages were a stark contrast to the Lando she knew, the confident, carefree guy who seemed to take everything in stride. These messages revealed a side of him that was vulnerable, insecure, and desperately in need of reassurance.

“Lando.”

Lando's attention snapped back to Lizzie, his eyes widening in surprise. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Lizzie let out a heavy sigh, her hand trembling as she held up the phone. "Did you really think I would just... ignore your messages like that? That I didn't care about your win?"

Lando fidgeted uncomfortably under her gaze, his eyes flickering away from hers. "I...I don't know," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "I just... you didn't reply, and I thought... I thought you were angry with me or something."

Lizzie's heart ached at his words. She could see the guilt and shame etched on his face, and she knew that he was beating himself up over his reaction.

"I… I was unconscious, Lando," she said softly. "I couldn’t exactly respond."

Lando let out a frustrated huff, his eyes still averting hers. "I know that," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I know that now, and I feel like an idiot for even thinking that. But at the time, I was just... scared. And angry. And worried."

Lizzie could see the mix of emotions on his face - guilt, shame, regret, and still that tinge of anger at himself. She scooted a little closer to him, her hand reaching out to take his.

"Hey, look at me," she said softly.

Lando bit his lip, his eyes flickering up to meet hers reluctantly. He looked so weary, so tired, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Lizzie took a deep breath, trying to choose her words carefully. "I want you to know that I would never, ever intentionally ignore you. Especially for something as important as your first win. I know how much it means to you. I care about you.”

Lando let out a hoarse laugh, his expression still marred with guilt. "I know you care about me," he said, his voice hoarse. "I just... I don’t know. Maybe I was just feeling selfish. I just wanted to hear from you, y’know?"

Lizzie nodded, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand. "I get it," she said softly. "I really do. But you have to know that I would never ignore you like that. You mean too much to me."

Lando’s expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice laced with regret. "I’m sorry for being an idiot. I should’ve handled things better."

"Hey," Lizzie said softly, her grip on his hand tightening. "You were worried. And scared. I get it. But you need to stop beating yourself up about it. I’m fine. We’re both fine. And I���m not going anywhere, okay?"

Lando let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders finally sagging in defeat. He looked at Lizzie, his expression weary but genuine. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay. I just... I needed to hear that, I guess."

Lizzie gave him a small smile, her hand still holding his. "You don’t have anything to be sorry for, you idiot," she said teasingly. "Just... try not to jump to conclusions next time, alright?"

Lando let out a huff of laughter, his expression finally lightening a bit. "Yeah, yeah, I’ll try," he said, a hint of his usual teasing tone back in his voice.

“And I am so fucking proud of you,” Lizzie told him softly.

Lando's expression softened, the guilt and worry in his eyes fading away. "You...you are?" he asked, like he couldn't quite believe her words.

Lizzie nodded fervently, her grip on his hand tightening. "Of course I am," she said firmly. "You won, Lando. You actually did it. I’m so incredibly proud of you."

Lando let out a shaky breath, his eyes welling up with emotion. "You really... you really mean that?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Lizzie's heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She wanted nothing more than to hold him close and tell him how proud she was.

"I do," she said softly. "I really do. You’re incredible, Lando. You have no idea how amazing you are."

Lando sniffed, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. "You’re just saying that because you’re drugged up," he said, a hint of his usual teasing tone still in his voice.

Lizzie rolled her eyes playfully. "I’m not that drugged up," she said, poking his side with her free hand. "I can still think clearly enough to know how incredible you are."

So incredible. She managed to lean up, and press a chaste kiss against his lips.

“Incredible enough that I get to call you my girlfriend? He asked her hoarsely as she pulled back.

Lizzie's heart fluttered at his words, her cheeks heating up.

"Of course you get to call me your girlfriend," she said, a soft smile playing on her lips. "And I get to call you my boyfriend. The incredible, amazing, F1 race-winning boyfriend."

[charlesslut16]

-celebrating christmas?-

summary : you don't like christmas due to hings that happened with your family but charles changes your mind...

PAIRINGS : charles leclerc x fem!reader

WARNINGS : mentioning of bad experiences with family

note : I hope that you have a great december!

masterlist ; DECEMBER MASTERLIST 24’ 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cold breeze swept through the streets of Monaco, sending a chill that made you pull your scarf tighter around your neck. The holiday decorations hung in every window, and festive lights twinkled in the night. Everywhere you looked, people seemed to be basking in the warmth of the season. But for you, the holidays didn’t hold the same magic they did for most people.

Christmas had always been a complicated time. Growing up, your family had never been the picture-perfect holiday portrait. Arguments, misunderstandings, and the pressure of unrealistic expectations had dulled the spirit of the season for you.

By the time you were old enough to understand what the holidays were “supposed” to be, you had already built a wall around yourself, protecting your heart from the memories that didn’t match the ideal.

And now, as you walked through the streets of Monaco, you couldn’t shake the emptiness that the season seemed to bring. Everything was supposed to be about family, about love, but for you, Christmas had always been about disappointment.

"Are you sure you don’t want to join my family for Christmas this year?" Charles’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, and you turned to look at him. He was standing next to you, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, a soft smile playing on his lips. His warmth, both literal and figurative, was undeniable, and yet you still couldn’t bring yourself to feel the same festive excitement that seemed to surround him.

"I’m okay, Charles," you replied softly, giving him a faint smile. "You know I don’t really celebrate Christmas much. It's just... not my thing."

Charles, always so understanding, nodded, but you could tell he wasn’t completely satisfied with your answer. "I know, but maybe it’s time to give it another try. Christmas isn’t just about big family gatherings or the gifts. It’s about finding peace, finding something that feels right for you." He paused for a moment, looking at you with his warm, dark eyes. "I want you to experience it, with me. Just us. It doesn’t have to be big or extravagant. Just… a calm, cozy Christmas."

You hesitated, the familiar ache creeping back into your chest. You didn’t know if you could change your mindset, if you could suddenly embrace what you had always rejected. But Charles’s gaze was so soft, so patient, that something deep inside you wanted to try. Just for him. Maybe, just maybe, this Christmas could be different.

The days leading up to Christmas were quieter than you expected. Charles didn’t push you too hard; he simply started making small gestures—things that seemed insignificant but somehow mattered more than anything.

He brought you hot cocoa on cold nights, asked if you wanted to watch Christmas movies with him (even though you never usually enjoyed them), and insisted on decorating his apartment, even if it was just the two of you.

"You’re sure you’re okay with this?" Charles asked as he placed a few more ornaments on the Christmas tree. The apartment, once sleek and minimalistic, now had a soft, festive charm. You hadn’t realized how much he’d been working on making things cozy for you until now. There were candles, fairy lights, and the faint scent of pine in the air. It was a gentle invitation to relax, to lean into the season in a way you had never allowed yourself.

You sat on the couch, watching him with a small smile on your face. "It’s nice, Charles. It really is."

He paused in his decorating to look at you, a quiet tenderness in his expression. "I’m glad you’re here. I just want you to feel comfortable. This Christmas is about healing… about making new memories."

You didn’t say anything at first, unsure of how to put into words the feelings that were stirring inside you. For the first time in your life, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like something more—a chance to experience something new, something tender. And that was all because of Charles.

The night before Christmas Eve, Charles invited you to dinner, something simple—just the two of you. There were no extravagant meals, no complicated plans. Just a homemade meal, laughter, and a glass of wine shared between two people who didn’t need anything else.

The quiet comfort of his company was enough. You didn’t feel any pressure to perform, to fit into the holiday mold you had rejected for so long. Instead, you simply existed together, and that felt like the greatest gift.

After dinner, Charles suggested a walk through the streets, the same streets where the festive lights danced above your head and the gentle sound of Christmas carols echoed softly in the distance. The world felt quieter tonight, almost as if it, too, was waiting for something.

"I know it’s not your thing," Charles said as you walked side by side, "but I want to show you how I see Christmas. It’s not about everything being perfect. It’s about the moments that feel right, the little things."

You glanced at him, feeling the sincerity in his words. It was almost as if he was trying to say something more—something deeper. But for once, you weren’t in a hurry to understand it all. You simply wanted to enjoy this moment with him.

Christmas morning arrived, and you woke up to the sound of soft laughter coming from the kitchen. The faint smell of pancakes drifted through the apartment, and for a moment, you wondered if it was all a dream. But then Charles appeared at the door, wearing a soft grin and holding a tray of breakfast. "Merry Christmas," he said, his voice low and filled with warmth.

You smiled up at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Merry Christmas," you replied, sitting up in bed, still half-wrapped in the blanket. There was something so simple about this moment—no frills, no big celebrations—just the two of you, sharing something small but meaningful.

He placed the tray on the bed and sat next to you, nudging the pancakes toward you. "I know you don’t like all the chaos, so I thought we could just stay in and enjoy each other’s company."

It was everything you needed. No expectations. Just love. You reached for his hand, feeling your heart settle, your anxieties slipping away. This wasn’t the Christmas you had always envisioned, but it was exactly what you needed.

As you ate breakfast together, the conversation flowed easily, just like it always did with Charles. It was quiet, comfortable, and sincere—no pressure, just the kind of companionship that made you feel safe. You realized then that maybe Christmas didn’t have to be grand. It didn’t have to follow the script of what you thought it should be. It was about the moments that made you feel loved, that made you feel at peace.

Later that afternoon, the two of you took a walk by the water. The air was crisp, the sun low in the sky, casting everything in a soft, golden light. You had forgotten how beautiful Monaco was, especially during the holiday season when everything seemed to slow down, as if the world itself was giving you a chance to breathe.

"I know Christmas has never been easy for you," Charles said softly as you walked together, "but I want you to know that I’m here. I want to make new memories with you—ones that bring you peace, happiness. No pressure. Just us."

You smiled, the weight in your chest easing. "Thank you," you whispered. You weren’t sure what the future held, but at this moment, with Charles by your side, you felt like you could finally allow yourself to enjoy the season.

Christmas had always been a complicated time, but now, for the first time, it felt like something you could celebrate.

Maybe it wasn’t about perfection. Maybe it wasn’t about a big family gathering or grand gestures. It was about the people you loved and the quiet moments you shared with them. And with Charles, you knew that whatever came next, Christmas would always be a time for new beginnings.

For once, it didn’t feel so lonely.

"Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all," you murmured, squeezing his hand.

He smiled down at you, his eyes warm with affection. "Maybe not."

And just like that, you realized that sometimes, the simplest things—like a quiet Christmas spent with someone who truly cared—could heal the wounds you hadn’t even known you were carrying.

[sidsinning]

#1 thing I am the most curious about/eager for the series to explore is 1000% the Morningstar family, especially Lilith

Bc who even is Lilith in reality besides what we have seen her as in the eyes of the other characters

Clearest image we get of her is in their family portraits

We usually see her as the menacing mystery figure working in the background, but in these photos she's clearly a normal happy mom who genuinely loves her family as any mother/wife would. She's not just a smirking dominant figure with a hidden agenda. All she's doing is having fun with her family and has no qualms about showing a range of emotion.

Charlie sees her as the role model she takes after and wants to make her proud. It turns out she sees Lucifer in pretty much the same light, but with the addition of having an awkward relationship bc of the distance they've had. With Lilith she never speaks about her with any lingering awkwardness, so we can assume she's been a good mom raising Charlie this whole time.

(For those who are saying "Lilith is a bad mom bc who leaves their kid alone for 7 years???"- she is literally thousands of years old while Charlie is well into adulthood before those 7 years. It's like a business trip to them. She wasn't an absentee parent for leaving for 7 years out of Charlie's 200+. The thing that's weird is that she's not communicating with Charlie. Our girl deadass owns property with a job and employees. Just bc she's not great at it and is having Lucifer step in to help recently, doesn't make Lucifer the superior parent suddenly. He's confirmed to be a kind of shitty dad despite how much he cares for her by the creators themselves. Kind of the point of his introduction ep guys. The 7 years are a mystery to unpack. Chill tf out.)

In this flashback people are blaming Lilith for separating Lucifer and Charlie on purpose, seemingly as the cause of their distant relationship. But it feels more complicated than that, based off Lucifer's reaction.

He's sad reaching out to Charlie by the end of the flashback, but when Lilith first appears he's smiling all the same and not deterred in giving Charlie to Lilith to carry away for what reason we don't know. A normal, standard occurrence he's used to. It seems both parents have agreed it's best for Lilith to take Charlie at this age now, for whatever reason.

Was his mental health affecting his parenting too much so they decided Lilith would shoulder the bulk of the task? Maybe Lilith really did separate the two somehow for her own reasons and convinced Lucifer with it? Another mystery reason each parent agree on?

When exactly did both of them separate? When Charlie was already an adult or around the time of the flashback when Lilith was her primary caretaker as a kid? (I'm assuming adulthood since Lucifer and Lilith seemed to still be getting along in the flashback despite her emotionless face.) Why did they separate when Lucifer seems to clearly love and yearn for her all the same, still wearing his wedding ring? 😭😭😭

And ofc what is this deal she made with Adam to stay chillin on a beach in heaven, and why did Adam, a reckless narcissist who likes yappin to whoever is gonna listen, not ever reveal this fact to her family to the very end?

There is just so much to unpack with their family and Lilith is the key ingredient rn to unlocking it

Like ofc I'm looking forward to Sir Pentious in heaven, Alastor's deal, the future of the rebuilt hotel, Lucifer now being a seemingly main character in season 2, etc.

But the Morningstars,,,different level

[jazz-writer]

I saw that requests were open how about a Poly Marauders x reader one where reader is the Slytherin Skittles hufflepuff friend that there really protective of but the Marauders have a crush on her so every time one of them comes to flirt with her a skittle walks by and is just like “ no not happening come on” and tug her away. I just think it would be funny to see like Pandora and James bickering because she won’t let him into the slytherin common room to flirt with reader.

okay I might or might not have postponed writing the part two to bad nights just to write this fic before- it was such a bloody good idea!!!! Thank you sm for requesting hun, this was so fun to write, i did spend four hours writing this I hope it fulfills

Duck goose chase.

James had been trying to sneak past the portraits in the hallway for the past ten minutes, his eyes locked on the Slytherin common room entrance just ahead. His usual confidence was somewhat dampened by the fact that Pandora, was standing guard like a lioness.

"Come on, Pandora, you know I just want to talk to her," James said, trying to charm his way through.

Pandora crossed her arms tightly over her chest, narrowing her eyes at him. "Not happening, Potter. You’ll have to find a different way to flirt with her."

James grinned, leaning casually against the wall. "You know, I don’t think ‘flirting’ is the right word. I’m just talking to her."

"Flirting, talking—same difference," Pandora retorted, tapping her foot. "You're not coming in."

He glanced toward the entrance to the Slytherin common room, where he knew Y/N would be waiting for him, hoping he’d be able to slip past Pandora’s watchful gaze. James had gotten pretty used to the way Pandora was when it came to her friends. And when it came to Y/N, well, Pandora was relentless.

"Come on, you know I’m not a threat to her," James tried again, his voice light but his patience wearing thin. "I just want to see her for a bit. You can stay and supervise if you want, I don't mind."

Pandora raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh, sure. And what’s your plan when you get in there? Sweet talk her into giving you all her attention while you ignore the rest of us? No, James. Not happening."

James had to admit, she had a point. Every time he spent time with Y/N, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, but he never meant to make anyone feel left out. He wasn’t about to start a fight with Pandora, though—he knew better than to challenge someone who could take him on in a duel and still look calm.

"So, what’s the big deal, huh?" he asked with a shrug. "What are you so worried about?"

Pandora gave him a pointed look, her lips pursed. "I’m not worried about Y/N. I’m worried about you—getting distracted by all the pretty girls in the room, then forgetting about her entirely. Or worse, not respecting her boundaries. I know how you work, Potter."

James held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I get it. I’m not here to mess things up, I promise. Just wanna see her for a minute."

Pandora seemed to soften just slightly but didn’t move. "I’ll give you one minute," she said, her tone firm but not as harsh. "One. And if I think you're taking advantage of her, I’m pulling you out by your ear."

James held back a laugh at the sheer intensity in her voice. "Deal. But don’t go easy on me—let me in!"

Pandora hesitated for a moment, clearly considering her options. Finally, with a huff, she stepped aside and waved her hand toward the entrance. "Fine. But you better not break her heart, Potter."

"I never do," James said with a wink as he passed her, grinning to himself. He was about to reach the entrance when Pandora’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

"One minute, Potter," she called after him. "I mean it."

James chuckled, flashing her a quick thumbs up. "One minute. I promise."

He stepped into the common room, and as the door shut behind him, Pandora stood there, her arms still crossed, waiting.

Inside, Y/N was waiting for him. She was sitting on one of the plush armchairs, an amused smile playing on her lips as she watched James enter.

"James Potter, sneaking into the Slytherin common room?" she teased, her green eyes sparkling. "What happened to the rules?"

James flopped down next to her with a dramatic sigh. "Pandora happened. But don't worry, I’ve got one minute before she comes charging in like a storm cloud."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the situation. "You’re lucky she even let you in. She’s a tough one to get past."

"I know," James said, grinning as he leaned in closer. "But I’m tougher."

"Not tougher than Pandora," Y/N replied, her voice teasing, though there was something softer in her eyes. "She looks out for me, you know. I’m glad she does."

James couldn’t help but admire the way Y/N always stood up for herself, even when it came to her protective friends. It was part of what made her so damn captivating.

"She’s a good friend," James said, his voice sincere. "I get it. But I can hold my own, too."

Y/N smiled at him, but just as the warmth spread across her face, they both heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps—Pandora’s.

"Alright, your minute’s up," Pandora called from the door, looking decidedly unimpressed. "I’m not getting into trouble for you, Potter. So, out."

James gave Y/N a playful wink. "Guess that’s my cue to go. I’ll see you later?"

"Of course," Y/N said, her smile bright. "Don’t make Pandora chase you next time."

As James stood to leave, he exchanged a brief, almost apologetic glance with Pandora, who was still watching like a hawk

He chuckled, leaning toward Pandora as he passed her. “Next time, I’ll bring a gift. Maybe that’ll win you over."

Pandora simply raised an eyebrow. “Not happening, Potter.”

——

The stands were buzzing with excitement as Gryffindor and Slytherin’s Quidditch teams faced off. You were with your Slytherin friendsPandora, Dorcas, and Regulus—cheering loudly for the Slytherin team. You’d always enjoyed Quidditch, though you preferred to watch from the safety of the stands. But today was especially tense, with the Marauders making it impossible to look anywhere else but the field.

James Potter was also playing and you couldn’t help but notice him as he flew, winking and blowing kisses to the crowd. He glanced over at you, his signature grin plastered on his face. He pointed directly at you and mouthed, “Catch me if you can,

before zipping off again, nearly colliding with a Chaser.

Your friends, however, noticed James’ flirts immediately. Pandora leaned in and muttered, “Not again… I swear, if he keeps this up, I’m going to hex him into next week.”

“Relax, Pandora,” you chuckled, adjusting your scarf, but you could feel the heat in your cheeks. “He’s just being James.”

But before Pandora could respond, Regulus was already standing, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as he spotted James flying near the stands. 

“Does he ever stop?” Regulus muttered under his breath, eyes locked on James, clearly unimpressed. “He’s making a spectacle of himself.”

Sirius, who was playing Beater, caught sight of you. As he swung his bat to hit a Bludger, he looked over and winked directly at you, making it obvious he was aware you were watching.

“Are they always this blatant?” Dorcas asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat. "This is ridiculous."

Before you could reply, Pandora jumped to her feet, her voice sharp as she looked over her shoulder at the Marauders. “Alright, that’s it. You two are waytoo much.”

“Pandora, calm down,” you said, but it was too late. She was already waving her arms toward James and Sirius, sending them both a pointed glare. “Focus on the game, boys!”

“Hey!” James called out from mid-air, throwing you a wink that made your heart race. “I’m trying to win this for you, (Y/N)!”

Regulus, clearly fed up, stood beside you, his hand lightly resting on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, (Y/N), they’ll be gone in a second. Let’s move away before they get any more ideas.”

Pandora grabbed your arm, gently pulling you away. “You deserve better than their theatrics anyway.”

As you moved farther from the field, you glanced over your shoulder to see James and Sirius both frowning, realizing they wouldn’t get the attention they were hoping for. You couldn't help but smile a little, even as your friends steered you toward a quieter spot.

---

You were sitting in the library, surrounded by piles of books and parchment. It was a rare moment of peace, and you needed it for your Herbology essay. But peace in the library had a tendency to get interrupted, especially when Sirius Black was involved.

You felt a shadow fall over your desk and looked up to see Remus standing there with that signature smirk. “I was wondering when you’d show up in here, (Y/N),” he said, casually dropping into the seat next to you without waiting for an invitation. “I could help you with that essay, if you want. I’m excellent at… writing."

You blinked up at him, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m good for now, Remus,” you replied, trying to focus on your work.

Remus , however, had no intention of leaving. He leaned closer, his voice lowering to a teasing whisper. “Are you sure? You wouldn’t want to end up with a C only , would you?”

Before you could formulate a response, Dorcas appeared beside you, her tone sharp. “Remus, you’re really not helping here.”

Remus didn’t budge. “I’m just offering to make things a little easier for (Y/N).”

Dorcas crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. “That’s what you say, but it’s just a distraction. She doesn’t need your help. She’s doing fine on her own.”

Remus rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered. "Alright, alright. I’ll give her space… for now."

But Regulus, who had been watching from the far end of the table, strolled over, his voice calm but firm. "Actually, I think (Y/N) has had enough of your 'help' for today."

You couldn't help but laugh quietly at Regulus’s deadpan delivery, even as he gently began gathering your books, nudging you out of your seat. “Come on, (Y/N). You’re much better off away from the chaos.”

As Regulus guided you toward a quieter section of the library, Pandora and Dorcas both shot you teasing looks.

"You know," Pandora muttered, shaking her head, "They’re relentless, but I think they like. the chase."

but as you looked back, you saw the marauders mouth “hogsmede, 5 pm” to you. Maybe you could sneak off, you thought, blushing as red as a tomato.

Thank you for reading! Requests open for all characters and themes!

also I might start a marauders rp! Dm if anyone wants to join! If we get enough members we will start!

p.s: this was proof read by my sweet friend @hers-miche !! Thanks love ! They helped me loads with the adjectives <33

[viiper1]

The perfect Date.

The ideal date they would plan for you.

Head canons

Mentioned: Armin, Jean, eren, Conny, Reiner

Armin Arlert.

Would start off with a Picknick near a flower field.

Would make you a flower crown.

You’d watch the sunset together and do cloud gazing/star gazing (depending on how long you guys stayed)

Or Picknick at the beach

and if he thinks you’re the type of person to like or value that sort of thing he will give you cute seashells he found.

Afterwards you’d take a walk on the beach, walking barefoot in the sand during the sunset.

He’d probably take some pictures too to remember this date. For some reason he always takes the best pictures of you without even really trying.

And MIGHT gift you a self made memory book or a handwritten letter.

If it’s colder he’d take you ice skating

will teach you how to properly skate because you keep falling on your ass.

Don’t worry he’s catching you (most of the times)

Connie Springer.

Would take you to an arcade or a gaming center (and laugh at you every time you lose to him) would swear that you cheated when you win against at him more than once.

You two almost spend the whole day there completely forgetting about the time because you were having so much fun.

Or a amusement park/fun fair

he will try to encourage you if you’re scared to ride a ride

and even make fun of you a little bit “don’t tell me you’re scared, how cute” he teases

On the ride you’re BOTH screaming your asses off.

“You seemed scared…at your grown age…cute I guess” You made fun of him tease him back.

You two almost ride all the roller coasters

He tried to win you a plushie on claw machine but it takes him like 6 tries untill he gets one small plushy

“I swear these machines are rigged!” He says but then tries again on a different machine.

You make him ride the Ferris wheel with you at the end.

Jean Kirstein.

Drive in movie theater,

If you’re watching a scary movie it’s probably because he thought you’d snuggle into him in fear but then he’d be the one to claw on to you but he swears on his grandma that he isn’t scared.

Dinner date but he’s making dinner for you.

Idk why but I love the thought of Jean making dinner for his lover.

OR you’re both cooking together,

maybe even messing around and smearing a bit of flower on his face but he’d definitely get revenge for that one.

He’d have candles lit and the lights out, it would be super romantic.

Surprisingly the food doesn’t taste bad.

Afterwards if you’re not too tired, you both would point portraits of each other and he’s lowkey a good painter so he did a really nice job.

If you’re too tired you’d just snuggle in bed and watch a movie.

Eren Yeager.

Also Arcade or gaming center

it was supposed to be cute a first but it turns very competitive very fast

he doesn’t like to lose and if he does he’ll say he let you win on purpose.

You better watch out at laser tag he will not hold back just because you’re his gf.

Takes most games supper serious and you barely have a chance at winning.

Feels kinda bad afterwards so he buys you a plushy and roses at the store around the corner as a surprise.

Or a rooftop restaurant dinner/bar

the view was so beautiful, it felt unreal,

he was paying ofc

He bought you a bracelet with the initial “E” on it, and expects you to wear it everyday.

Will ask why you’re not wearing it if he doesn’t see it on your arms throughout the relationship/marriage.

Reiner Braun.

Romantic fancy dinner

He would 100% stand there with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and open the car door for you.

It’s a Very fancy restaurant but he didn’t tell you so you lowkey look like you wandered into the wrong building. He feels kinda bad afterwards when you tell him you feel out of place and underdressed.

You already KNOW he’s paying.

Or picnic and candle painting

He’d try his best to make a pretty candle but he’s not as good at it as you.

He puts them in the loving room but doesn’t really want to use the candles because he doesn’t want them to ‘disappear’

After you made him go on another candle painting date in hops that you get to burn at least one of the, now four, candles he still insists on not using them and suggests a different normal candle.

Ofc if you Insist on wanting to use one of the four, he’ll let you but he’s lowkey a bit sad to see them go since they reminded him of the date.

Thank you for reading<3

@briefpeachdinosaur

[heartofwritiing]

We could make such a pretty picture

Paring: musicianbur x photographer!reader

Summary: you are lovejoy’s tour photographer and wilbur likes to tease you.

authors note: this is so rushed and unedited mostly just my stream of consciousness that popped into my head while i finish up the zombur fic! its almost done!!

warnings: fluff, short, flirting, a little suggestive maybe, i use a cringey (?) line idk take it as you will lmao, unedited!

“Make sure you get my good side darling.”

Before every show backstage, Wilbur would always tell you to quote: “get my good side” whatever that meant. It was impossible to get his bad side. Every angle Wilbur Soot always looked ethereal, and that had nothing to do with your photography skills.

You would gaze up at him from the pits, readily pointing your camera to capture any shot of him playing his heart out to the screaming fans behind you. Rightfully so, you couldn’t deny how good he looked up on that stage.

Skin glistened with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, and the light eyeliner slightly smudged in the corners of his eyes. His lips pulled up in a smirk as he flipped his hair in a certain way when a beat dropped. It was undeniable now, that he was doing this on purpose. He was goddamn attractive and he knew it.

After the show you would always sit in one of the green room chairs, keeping to yourself and letting the excitement of the after-show buzz from the band fill the room. You were scrolling through the photos, admiring your work on a picture of Ash with the lightning just right when you felt a presence creep up behind you.

“That ones quiet good,” Wilbur’s voice made you jump out of your skin, and he laughed at your startled state.

“Thanks,” you replied, returning to scrolling through your pictures but Wilbur stayed right by your shoulder. Sounds of his bandmates laughter filled the space, he couldn’t care to jump into their conversation. Too entranced by your photography. Wilbur had never truly seen your work before. Of course there was pictures the band used for the instagram account, but those were taken by their previous photographer.

You were new, and Wilbur had briefly seen your work before. Only two shows into the tour, you didn’t have the time to sit with the lead singer and exhibit your entire portfolio to hkm. But seeing how you captured his presence on stage so well, with the white strobe light hitting him at just the right angle, caused his interest to be peaked even further. It made him want to get to know you better.

“you know, we make such a pretty picture,” you can hear the deviousness in his voice and the underlying meaning behind his own lyrics he was using towards you. It warms your cheeks and you avoid his eyes that are burning into the side of your face.

You cleared your throat and repositioned yourself in your seat. “whatever you say, its all you up there on that stage,”

The next night, standing once more in the pits, camera ready as the first chords of 'Portrait of a Blank Slate' blasted through the venue speakers, and screams exploded around you. As the color lights switch from dark blue to deep red, Wilbur saunters to the microphone and begins singing the first lyrics.

You lift your camera up to your face and look through the viewfinder to be met with an up-close Wilbur, who is pressing his lips right into the microphone. A smirk pulled the corner of his mouth when he peeked open his eye to catch you pointing your camera at him. Cheeky bastard.

As he sang the next few lyrics, his hands lift up to the top part of his shirt where it was unbuttoned. Running his index finger from from his collar down to his chest, he sang; ‘shes an artist, paints across my chest,’ while sending you a quick wink.

Your mouth parted in utter shock and felt your heart beating in your ears. How does this man do this to you? You hadn’t even known him that long, but he was making you feel dizzy with the slightest little actions. You quickly shook away any thoughts popping into your mind and took a couple more photos of him. The last one was of him leaning back while strumming the next chords, then you moved on to capture more of the other band members. You just had to force yourself away from him before you got carried away.

That same night later on the tour bus, you were going through your photos again. One in particular caught your eye, it was of Wilbur with the red lights behind him casting him in a dark glow, and his guitar lifted into the air while he threw his head back. Infamous rockstar pose, you decide to call it. You chose a couple more to post to your professional instagram account, tagging the band members each in their respective photos.

About an hour later a notification came up on your phone that a mutual had commented on your photo. You checked it and immediately felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the words on your screen.

@/WilburSoot: Told you we make such a pretty picture ;)

taglist: @trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @scenefaez @highstonedcat

if you want to be added or removed from the taglist let me know!

[world-of-wales]

❥ 14 JUNE 2024 | The Princess of Wales has issued a moving personal message thanking people for their support during her ongoing cancer battle, revealing she will attend Trooping the Colour with her children.

The portrait features her standing in front of an IVY climber, which symbolises fidelity and eternal life. In ancient Egypt, it was dedicated to Osiris, who represented immortality and in ancient Greece, Ivy was the plant of Dionysus because of its vigour. It has played an important role in the past, during long winters with little light, it offered a spark of hope that spring would come again.

The tree in the picture is the WILLOW which symbolises strength, adaptability and resilience. It's ability to grow and survive in adversity show how we can thrive even in challenging conditions. In ancient European folklore, it was believed that the willow tree brought good luck, and people would knock on its trunk to bring good fortune.

In a statement she said,

I have been blown away by all the kind messages of support and encouragement over the last couple of months. It really has made the world of difference to William and me and has helped us both through some of the harder times.

I am making good progress, but as anyone going through chemotherapy will know, there are good days and bad days. On those bad days you feel weak, tired and you have to give in to your body resting. But on the good days, when you feel stronger, you want to make the most of feeling well.

My treatment is ongoing and will be for a few more months. On the days I feel well enough, it is a joy to engage with school life, spend personal time on the things that give me energy and positivity, as well as starting to do a little work from home.

I’m looking forward to attending The King’s Birthday Parade this weekend with my family and hope to join a few public engagements over the summer, but equally knowing I am not out of the woods yet.

I am learning how to be patient, especially with uncertainty. Taking each day as it comes, listening to my body, and allowing myself to take this much needed time to heal.

Thank you so much for your continued understanding and to all of you who have so bravely shared your stories with me.

- C

[duskier]

Werewolf AU / fat hairy werewolf gf x poly!141 idea rambling in honor of the art by @littlebit-of-art ♡

|| okokok werewolf lore is always varied but I love the idea of like. shift at will werewolves, but they have forced shifts during the full moon where they get all primal and stuff... thinking about the 141 in the woods, in hiding from bad guys, getting cabin fever and impatient as hell. Pissed that Laswell has benched them (though understanding she has legitimate reasons why)

Soap finds you first, middle of the night. Well, you find him, actually. He was just sneaking out for a cigarette, went alone because he didn't want to share- his pack was running low. You're a tall creature when shifted, much too large to be excusably identified as a wolf. It's the full moon, so the 'you' isn't all there- moreso your hindbrain, your dumb dog of a wolf self. Of course *she* makes a beeline towards Soap after smelling him in the air, first human you'd seen in years- he thinks he's about to get mauled to death but is pleasantly surprised when he sees your tail wagging and you're nudging him to come play with you.

The rest of the squad looks at Soap like he's nuts when he comes by with you in tow, the "can we keep it?" look on his face. Ghost has half a mind to shoot you, no matter how damned cute you looked flopping over on your back, your primal way of telling the group you were friendly.

Price knows you're something strange, not a normal wolf. After some bickering between Soap and Price ("He looks cold :("..."it's a wild fucking animal, Sergeant") you're allowed to curl up on the couch in the den of the cabin, just in front of the fire. The wood of the furniture squeaks under your weight, reassuring Price you wouldn't be sneaking anywhere at night without him noticing.

...But come morning time, when you are you again- human, that is- Price is left speechless. Who was this beautiful, stark naked woman, and why was she on the couch? Where'd the wolf thing go? Poor man, fighting his urges to look you up and down over and over until he'd memorized every silky furry curve, the soft pout of your lips...

After an embarrassing wake up call, a lot of screaming and scrambling, you were sat in an oversized blanket wrapped around you and explaining who and what exactly you were to the 141. You appreciated the warm place to sleep in, so you offer them a deal- let you move in, you'll hunt for them in your wolf form. Easy enough.

What you never could have expected was how much you would become attached to the team. It starts off small, them getting used to your large wolf form- Gaz gives you a scratch behind your ear once in a while. Then it becomes so common for you to rest on him that when he sees you, he wordlessly clears his lap, a perfect resting spot for your head. Soap asks to draw you once, then it becomes a natural thing and he's a sudden canine anatomy expert in weeks, half his sketchbook filled with you- human and otherwise. Price checks in on you, worries over you and waits up every night that you're out late hunting for them. Reminds you not to push yourself, you've stocked them plenty for winter, as he wipes your bloody maw clean with a towel before bed. Ghost gets annoyed at your limp from stickers caught in your paws, but then it becomes a daily ritual for him to groom you all over, pulling out annoyances caught in your fur or paws.

...That's just when you're in your wolf form. When you're in your human form, the men are all just as sweet, if not sweeter. Price finds an old record player, teaches you to dance to the music. Revels in the feeling of pulling your soft body close, hands lovingly caressing every inch of your body as you sway in time, your pretty head resting on his chest. He becomes quickly besotted by the feeling of your arms under his hands, the silky hair covering inch of your skin making him just mad with affection and want. Soap makes even more portraits- drawings with harsh and soft lighting, never wanting you to ever hide your body in the ways you'd been taught to previously. Can't stop raining down compliments on you the entire time, as if every five minutes he's blown away once more at your beauty. Doesn't miss a single tuft of hair, a single bit of your body. Gaz who finds every way he can make you laugh because once he's heard it, once he's seen the way your laugh moves through your whole body and the way your smile lightens the room, he's like a lovesick puppy. (It becomes bad news for Soap, because nothing made you laugh quite like Gaz pranking Soap, each prank becoming more and more childish.) Ghost takes the meager rations they have- thankfully bolstered by your hunting- and makes the best warm meals you'd ever had. Makes you taste test every meal- never plated until it has your approval. Watches you with his golden brown eyes, searching for your praise.

One night, Laswell shipped them their new rations and included a bottle of bourbon, a late birthday gift for Price. 'Sorry you're still there,' a note on the bottle apologized. The team couldn't care less about being there, so focused in on you. You take turns having small shots of the liquor and end up watching the men as they excitedly share story after story with you, each wilder than the last. Price puts his big warm hand on your leg, unable to keep himself from squeezing gently. Gaz has his arm on the backrest behind you, fingers toying with your hair. Soap sits at your feet, his head on your knee, you feel his stubble against your skin whenever he speaks. It's Ghost who breaks rank first, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and telling you you're the prettiest girl he'd ever met. You blush, and he says he'd like to kiss that blush right off of you. It's slurred, it's silly, but it works, and you let him kiss you, his mask rolled up to his nose. Soap protests, then, of course, how dare he not get a kiss. You jokingly ask Gaz if he'd like one too, of course he agrees and you oblige them both, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You turn to Price, who was watching intently, eyes glittering in the firelight. "Come here, love," is all he has to say before you're crawling onto his lap and kissing him silly, the peanut buttery smell of his cigars filling your senses.

From there it's as natural as breathing to wake up in a cuddle pile, to kiss them all goodbye before going out on a hunt. For each of them to take you to bed, alone or all together or somewhere in between. They treat you like a precious thing, but never like glass- they know all too well how strong you are.

They find out even more of your capabilities when they are attacked.

Full moon, you're out hunting. Happily secure in letting your wolf side take the reins, looking for the best deer to take home for your boys when you hear a crack like a whip in the distance. You hear Soap screaming just as everything goes red for you. The primal side still in control, all it can think is that your pack was in danger. You ran faster than you ever thought possible, bulky wolf body breaking through old trees, unstoppable in your path to your mates. The men you kill in your way aren't anywhere near prepared for you, slaughtered like nothing. From your boys' perspective, you were a terrifying sight to see. Snarling and monstrous, standing on your back haunches taller than a building, soaked in blood and gore. It isn't until all enemies were silenced that you're capable of thinking anywhere clearly enough to look for your boys, make sure they were okay.

Thankfully, no one was hurt. Ignoring the mess covering you, you were sniffing and nuzzling each of them ignoring their protests in disgust, distressed whines leaving you. They weren't able to calm you that night, having to allow you to stalk a perimeter around the house all night long, daring more enemies to come. It wasn't until the next day that they found you, human form collapsed in the dirt from exhaustion. They take the time to bathe you, gently and with reverence, grateful for both your life and their own. Softening your skin with lotions and oils after, wrapping you in their nicest blankets and surrounding you in a giant cuddle pile so that when you awoke, you'd feel safe.

And you do. You can't imagine life without your boys.

[alottiegoingon]

flannels

summary: where shauna catches you wearing her flannel

shauna shipman x fem!reader (all characters are aged up + in college)

warnings: established relationship, pre-crash, minimal usage of bad words, yellowjackets but in college, NSFW content!!! (MDNI), fingering, dom!shauna, sub!reader, probably a bunch of english mistakes and bad writing, not proofread

Shauna’s birthday was coming up and for the past three months you have been struggling. You and Shauna were officially dating for almost six months now and you wanted to give her something special to let her know how much you loved her. That’s why you decided to skip practice today and go straight to her house after class by making up some silly excuse. You knew that she was smart and wouldn't believe you at all but you were willing to take the risk. As time was running low, you decided on the one thing that you knew that Shauna would love.

Flannels. She would wear them everywhere and at any occasion. You could track her from miles away just by looking for a girl wearing oversized flannel shirts and, honestly, it was one of your favorite things about her. You could worry about other small gifts later, but now you were determined to find the exact size of her clothes and that’s why you were standing in front of her house, waiting for her mom to open the door for you.

You didn’t want Shauna to find out, you wanted to be a surprise. That’s what you told her mother when you called her the other day, explaining the situation and practically begging her to let you sneak into her room while her daughter was out. Gladly, you were a sweetheart. At least this is what her parents called you. Always a sweet angel, a good influence for their daughter.

Now, you were stepping into your girlfriend’s room. The light from the string lights in the wall by her bed was on, giving the bedroom a dark pinkish tone along with the small lampshade. Taking a quick glance, you could see thousands of pictures of Shauna with her friends, especially her best friend Jackie, and of you two hanging on her wall and in portraits by her desk. In a blink of an eye, you remind yourself of the reason why you were skipping practice and would probably get your ass beaten by Jackie tomorrow, you had no time to lose. Rushing into Shauna’s closet, you get in, not taking longer than a second to find what you were looking for.

The amount of variety of colors in the shirts made you giggle as you were reaching out for one of the many to check the size on the small tag. It wasn’t a surprise that it was only one size apart from yours and to be fair, you always wondered about how comfortable it would be to wear them. Shauna would probably take hours to come home since Jackie was not much of a compassionate soul when it came to soccer and would always make the girls almost faint of exhaustion by the time practice was over. You had nothing to worry about.

You smell Shauna’s perfume lingering in the air as you put on one of her flannels and button it up. It only made you miss her more now, distracting your brain from the actual reason you were in her room. You look in the mirror close to the bed and you finally understand why she loves this so much. It’s cute, comfortable and it surprisingly matches with the pants and shirt that you were wearing with no effort.

“Are you in the closet?” Your heart almost stopped beating and you feel your blood turning to ice in your veins as a very familiar voice reverberate through the room. You turn around with the speed of light to find Shauna standing, leaning against the doorframe and staring at you, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. The seriousness in her posture and even the slight fear that would leak through her intense stare was being betrayed by a goofy smirk on the corner of her lips.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find a better way to tell you.” You make use of the most soothing tone you can achieve, exaggerating a pout as you approach your girlfriend. “Shauna, I’m gay.” Your pout fades away as quickly as it started, being replaced by a cheeky smirk on your lips, and your girlfriend lets out a soft chuckle. You feel Shauna’s arms gently embracing you, sliding through your sides and getting tighter around your waist. Like an automatic response, you wrap your arms around her neck, both of you failing to hold silly smiles.

“I thought you were sick but… Apparently you were just in the mood for stealing your girlfriend’s clothes?” She teases and you can even notice a bit of a flirting in her voice. She looks away from your eyes, dragging her attention to your body and how her flannel looked slightly bigger on you, gracefully falling from your shoulders to the middle of your thighs. You, however, do not look away from her and you see her big dilating pupils glistening differently. She loses her arms around your body to unbutton the first ones, catching your attention. “What are you doing here?” She insists as you remain quiet.

“Waiting for you…” You shrug. As usual, you couldn’t hold the eye contact when you lied poorly and Shauna noticed it at the exact same second. “Waiting for me in my bedroom instead of going to practice and leave together?” She lifted one eyebrow, trying her best to not smile. It was kind of amusing to her how you had such a bad time lying and how easy it was for her to figure it out. “You are such a bad liar.”

“I know! It’s so hard!” You exhale in relief. It’s not like you were a good liar and would be able to keep the lie for much longer. It wasn’t on your plans to reveal your idea but Shauna was smart. Probably way smarter than you, and would have figured out if you were lying again. “I was trying to find your size to buy you another flannel. I know you love them and I just…” You stop.

You feel the warmth of Shauna’s hands going down from your shoulders to your biceps and giving it a gentle squeeze in a reassuringly way, subtly asking you to continue.

“I don’t know what I should do for your birthday, alright? I can’t find anything good enough, it has to be perfect! I’m a terrible girlfriend.” You grumble and the next thing you hear is Shauna’s surprise scoff.

“What?!” She doesn’t even let you consider saying something else. She had to intervene and stop this nonsense. “Listen. I don’t need a perfect gift.” She innocently mocks you while mimicking your desperate need to give her something flawless. Her hands reach up, her palms resting on your cheeks, cupping your face and forcing you to look into her eyes. You almost get lost in them, like always.

“I literally managed to date the prettiest girl in Wiskayok High, this is the best gift that I could ever receive. The only thing I want is to spend the day with you, you idiot.” She murmurs and you see her cheeks getting a new color, a light shade of pink. No matter how hard it was for her to show her feelings, she would always push her limits and face her fear, eager to let you know how important and loved you were and you appreciated her effort a lot.

For a moment you find yourself wanting to look away, too flustered to not break the eye contact, but you can’t miss your girlfriend’s reddish face. “Fine. I just wanted to give you something special.” You whine and see Shauna’s expression change ever so slight as she suddenly breaks the eye contact and shifts her attention to your body. “Maybe I have something in mind.”

In less than five minutes you were lying in Shauna’s bed with her on top of you as her lips were busy marking the skin of your neck. “You know that your mom is home, right?” You ask, running out of breath already, just to hear a muffled attempt of your girlfriend to pronounce slurred words. “I locked the door, it’s fine.”

You figured what Shauna’s idea of a perfect gift was when you were about to take off her flannel and she immediately stopped you. She was begging you to let her fuck you while you wear it and you could swear that her pupils got bigger than usual.

You made a pitiful sound as her teeth dig into your neck, claiming you and brushing her warm tongue right on top of the recent wound. Your hands were on her head, fingers getting lost between her dark hair, as you were nearly melting under her. Shauna, on the other hand, was fierce and while doing a very good job on your neck, her right hand was exploring your upper body. The coldness of her fingertips made you squeak when she got under your shirt and slowly scratched your stomach. Soon she was already playing with your nipples, pinching and squeezing as much as she wanted to and it was driving you crazy already. “Shauna-“ You tried to catch her attention and beg her to just fuck you but she interrupts you.

“Patience.” Her tone is firm as she mutters her words, this time leaving your neck alone to give your lips lots of quick pecks as a way to shut you up. It worked every time. On her knees between your legs, she takes her time at finishing unbuttoning her flannel that you were wearing, staring at you intensely. She lifts the cute white shirt that you were wearing underneath up to your chest and gets down on you. Her face is inches away from your skin and you feel your clit throbbing as you anticipate everything in your head.

You were forced to cover your own mouth to avoid any loud moans when Shauna’s tongue met your stomach. Her hands were moving through your sides and no matter how awkward you could possibly find; she was always looking at you feeling completely mesmerized even by your tiniest reaction to her touch and while wearing her clothes. It takes her seconds to unzip and undo your jeans and you help her to toss it on the floor. Unlike your jeans, your damp panties didn’t get the same faith. Instead, Shauna just pulled them down to your ankles and you accidentally whine, excited to feel her or anything coming from her. It didn’t take longer before Shauna was kissing your inner thighs purposefully close to your core. Her grip was tight on your legs, forcing you to spread them as far as you could.

“Stop teasing.” You cooed. Better, you begged. Giving up on quieten your moans, your hands went straight to the bed and firmly grabbed the sheets. Shauna didn’t seem as desperate as you, of course, and she was enjoying making you squirm under her. It was her favorite view. “Just be quiet.” Impatiently, she slaps your thigh and the sharp sound fills the room along with an unexpected moan of yours. She kisses your thighs for a few more seconds, holding them in place and exposing your wet pussy completely, and after what it felt like hours, she goes back to meet you.

You groan in annoyance, completely shocked by how she just left you hanging. Your lips parted, ready to complain or say anything to make Shauna get back there but she was faster and your attempt to mutter a few words changed to a gasp as you feel her fingers barely rubbing up and down on your soaked pussy, feeling all of you. “How are you so wet already?” She chuckles and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. Can you just-“

Your words were cut by a breathy whimper as you feel two of your girlfriend’s fingers entering your pussy. You were so soaked that it was almost embarrassing how easily it went all in. Then, you understood why Shauna left your legs, she wanted to look at you. Her eyes were so intense on you that it could dig holes onto your skin if she wanted to. Instead, she was just enjoying you feeling her touches and wanted to memorize every second of it. As you squirmed under her, Shauna’s fingers began to slowly pump into you, in and out in a tortuous pace just to see you beg.

“Please…” You panted looking into her eyes. She smirks but the rhythm doesn’t change. She has to hear it. “Please what?” Just like expected, she insists on forcing you to say exactly what you want. On forcing you to submit completely and just enjoy her touch. And as usual, you obey it.

“Faster.” Your words are like an inaudible hiss or hush but urgent like oxygen. She nods subtly with a proud look in her face and gives in to your wish. A squelch sound began to echo around the room thanks to how fast Shauna was shoving her fingers inside of you and curling up at the right spot, making you squirm violently and scream almost immediately. You didn’t even care about being loud anymore. Not when Shauna Shipman was fucking you like that.

Your hips started to slowly move, grinding and following Shauna’s fingers pace inside of you. Your moans were getting louder as her movements were getting sloppier. You were both panting and sweating together and the look in your girlfriend’s eyes was almost hypnotic. “You like this?” She murmured and you nodded frantically, whimpering and gasping for air softly, rocking your hips and feeling your legs getting shaky and tense as Shauna was feeling your spongy walls squeezing her fingers tighter. Your breath was getting heavier as you were pathetically trying to ride her fingers, lifting your weight from the mattress to feel her going deeper even if just a little more. Shauna noticed your despair and gave you what you wanted by pumping firmly and fast but making sure to fill all of you. With her thumb, she started to rub your swollen clit in messy circles and you gripped her shoulders as you felt your orgasm building up quickly.

Your grip was so strong that Shauna felt your nails digging into her skin even though her shoulders were covered by one of her famous flannels and she lets out a painful groan but smiled as soon as she realized what was about to happen. “Are you going to cum for me, sweet girl?” She whispers and you can’t manage to answer. It was too intense, too overwhelming.

It took a few more thrusts before your back automatically arched and your fingers squeezed the fabric of your girlfriend’s clothes as you orgasm. You moan her name like a chant over and over again, rolling your eyes back and feeling your inner walls compressing against her fingers, pushing them away. Following your body’s orders, Shauna slowed the pace before she could gently pull her soaked fingers out of you and the act made you groan as you adjusted yourself to the empty feeling.

When you take a look back at your girlfriend, she has an alluring expression in her face. Dreamy eyes and halfway open lips just enough to help her breath. You smile tenderly as she kisses your forehead, trying to recover from the intense climax.

“I changed my mind. Maybe you should buy some new flannels for me. We need to try all of them.”

[melancholicstation]

𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠 ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST: OPEN DOOR! - a jack schlossberg one-shot. 𓊇ྀི

summary: your open door architectural digest interview with your husband jack schlossberg takes an unexpected, and downright sensual turn in your shared kitchen over the most innocuous citrus fruit. note: this is part of the husband!jack schlossberg universe, here are other works with wife!reader and husband!jack: like an american, husband!jack hc's, and comfort husband!jack hc's

warnings: orgasm denial (male), cunnilingus, smut, 18+

words: 1,830

"Hi AD, We're Jack and Y/n, welcome to our house"

Filming for Architectural Digest, as glamorous as it might look from the illustrious glow of a MacBook screen, was not all it cracked up to be. AD had been relentless in their pursuit, contacting both you and jack's agents on more than one occasion proposing the opportunity for you guys as a couple to be featured on their open door celebrity series.

Initially as a couple you had turned the opportunity down, with Jack working tirelessly on the campaign and you being busy with negotiations on your new book deal: it just wouldn't have worked. But after your wedding, which was featured in Vogue, the title "The Bride Wore Vintage John Galliano And The Groom Wore JW Anderson. Inside Their Cape Cod Ceremony" The open door offer came around once again and it came at just the perfect time.

A few weeks back you and Jack had been getting back into the grove of normal life after returning from an illustrious three week honeymoon in the Greek Cyclades: a honeymoon spent in mostly nothing—bar itty-bitty specs of linen as makeshift bikini's, and gucci by tom ford beachwear.

Getting back to AD, you'd woken up before Jack: which was funny because when you first entered the relationship Jack was always the one who got up early, maybe you've been a bit of a bad influence in that department. Nevertheless you spend about five to ten minutes neglecting to wake Jack up: instead opting to trace the sepia hairs littering the top of his neck while quietly leering at his chest hair—looking like an absolute creep, but I mean, he was your husband after all so—that's gotta minus at least 15% of the pervy factor, right?

When he did wake up—and subsequently clocked your staring contest with his chest, he proceeded to lean over like a total and utter drama queen to piously cover himself with the sheets like a 30s model getting a tasteful nude portrait of herself to give to a lover.

You neglected to do any makeup only choosing to smear some P50 lotion on you and Jack's face—you swore he was like a toddler sometimes always wanting to mirror whatever weird shit you put on your face. Once the hair, makeup, and stylist team for AD got there you and Jack were effectively separated for the next few hours, which you did not hear the end of via jack's incessant complaints about the distance between him and you over iMessage and many, many unhinged gif selections sent to your iPhone.

But alas, you two were reunited for the open door interview and it started off generally normal...

First, you two were situated on the front steps of your townhouse and asked when and why you chose the house,

Jack started for you, "We moved here about five years ago, and it was the second house we both had looked at ever in our whole lives, and it so happens that it was the first house we ever bought as a couple"

"Seems clandestine to me", the interviewer cheerily replies to which you both glance at each other playfully while he speaks.

Taking the hint to speak up, you share what drew you to the home adding, "I love the city, but I also love wood and I love light and I love antiques, so I just fell in deep love with the place. For us it struck the perfect balance of being in the city while not feeling like the city was breathing down your back all the time, it can be hard to find a place like that here."

Making your way into the apartment, you and Jack were told to take a short break for about 2 minutes while the videographer got a good layout of the place, and scoped out the best lighting angles to capture it.

Your home occupies the first floor of a Meatpacking District block, and is a few blocks away from the Hudson River—which more than encourages your Husband's borderline addiction to paddle boarding. But, hey you routinely get to see your man walking home in an ultra-tight swimsuit sopping wet, so who were you really to complain about such things?

Despite loving the city, you found yourself devoted to the charm of those old French farmhouse interior's that you'd looked at in your mom's old magazines. And it felt particularly poignant to you guys as a couple—being that your first couple of dates were in the south of France.

You and Jack didn't want the space to come off as just another midcentury modern sterile, ultra-functional flat. So, you opted for sheetrock to be removed from the walls and ordered a large pair of antique door double doors for the living space off 1stdibs.

Just as abruptly as the break had started, it subsequently finished and the cameras began rolling once again. The interview dragged on until you two had finally gotten to the kitchen which was the last room and the last portion of interview.

You started the space off absolutely waxing poetic about the olive-coloured room,

"This is our little kitchen, we painted it horribly together. And then needed to implore a professional painter to fix our many, many painting faux pas." you take a breath to giggle slightly with Jack at your shared delusional confidence that you could paint a whole room successfully.

It was then Jack's time to pitch in, while the camera man did a slow zoom across the decor littering the marbled countertops—causing you and Jack to both notice a certain stone bowl containing a citrus fruit that you know for certain neither of you put there before AD came. Weird you thought, you weren't notified that set-dressing came with the interview.

Leaning on the counter Jack laments, "I love baking, I cook a lot too. I love limes"—to which he dramatically takes a lime into his hands, spinning it between his large fingers, "They're great and I love them so much, and I like to present them like this in my house."

You try not to let the emotion of total bafflement present on camera at Jack straight up lying for the hell of it about the limes being an integral part of your shared household decor—he neglects to mention that they're set dressing and that he's moderately allergic to them.

Closing of the interview you fake lead the interviewer out of the house to close out the interview, only to let them back in seconds later. The interviewer, Mark, who seems to be a genuinely sweet guy thanks you and Jack for your time, informing you that the crew should be packed up in 10 minutes, and the camera guy only needs another 5 minutes to get b-roll footage.

Once all the pleasantries have been fulfilled you lead, or rather playfully drag Jack by his crisp collared Prada button-up into your kitchen.

"Jack, I mean seriously what the hell was that, truly? I know you know you're allergic."

"M'sorry it was just too good not to pass up! I mean what kind of weirdos just but a bowl of lemons out and nothing else? it's barbaric just from a feng-shui standpoint alone!"

"Godd you're such a weirdo. Come kiss me and make it quick so I can forgot that very fact, please" you beckon him to you, placing your chin on his chest with your hands on his chin. Which, by the way is blemish-less—god, you absolutely hated men sometimes.

"Oh come on! you only kiss me cause I'm a weirdo, let's be real." Jack chuckles yet fulfils your request. He kisses you like a man starved which was quite concerning since you had only parted from him today for two hours—absolute max.

The intimacy got more and more heated until well... maybe you currently had your loafer clad feet either side of jack's head while he ate his idea of a mid-afternoon desert.

The very motion of Jack placing the flat side of his tongue against your clit sent you into an absolute. fucking. meltdown. To the point where the moans you made no longer represented someone who was cognisant that they're were about fifteen people working for AD rooms away. You try to compose yourself, which provides a stark contrast to his relentless endeavour on your clit that seem to be ever increasing.

As if to praise your restraint of volume his thumb gently strokes the inside of your thigh—up and down... and up and down. Sensing your impending climax Jack speeds his motions and adds a digit that outright seems to antagonise you—almost trying to tease a mind-numbing orgasm from you. And because you're weak in the face of his machinations, you of course do.

On your come-down you notice a glaring visitor—a quite large bulge in his pants and decide to take pity on it and by looking at the saccharine, loopy look on his face, him as well.

But you wouldn't be yourself if you didn't make him work for it at least a bit.

Continuing your motions on his bulge: feeling it's twitches and reflexes as intimately as you feel him breath while sleeping on your chest at night—

That was until the door to the kitchen was knocked upon,

"Sorry to be a bother but could you guys get that bowl of limes?—the crew is absolutely swamped trying to pack up for the road."

It was at this point in your movements on his bulge that Jack was starting to get loud, a bit too loud for your current situation, so you did the one thing that could shut him up—bar actually suspending the current movements on his mound: but that wouldn't be half as much fun would it?

Quick thinking led you to quite forcefully shoving a medium sized un-cut lime into his mouth to drown out his moans: it sure as shit worked but his puppy dog-like eyes made you feel bad for your prior roughness—you settled on a quick caress of his hair as a pseudo apology.

"Oh of course it's no trouble at all, we'll go grab it now!"

Hearing the footsteps move further and further from the kitchen you glance at Jack: a pitiful, overstimulated sight really. But a sight you deeply enjoy no less.

Picking up the bowl of lemons you grab his hands, afixing each hand to a parallel side of the stone bowl,

"Why don't you go give them back that bowl of limes you love so much and then maybe we can get back to what we were doing?"

Overcome from the intense stimulation Jack nods, willing to do anything that brings him present relief,

"Good boy" you coy, swiping off your own juices from his mouth and chin, then finally taking the un-cut lime out of his mouth.

tags: @obsessedwithjohnjr @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl @strryhaze @beloved-angel

[cabinetofquriosities]

Virgin State of Mind

Agatha x Rio || Warnings: Smut

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Agatha swallowed down any emotion trying to escape her. Her throat burned with unsaid protestations, knowing they would fall on deaf ears. Her gown was fitted to her, the embellishments delicately and thoughtfully added by her ladies. No. Her mother’s ladies. Those women had never been her sisters in the craft. They only dealt with her out of respect for her mother.

The Queendom all feared the princess from the time she accidentally drained a witch who tried to assassinate her. Seeing a six year old reduce a four century old witch to dust was enough to put them off of her for life.

The only person in her family who showed her any affection was her older sister, Wanda. Given their circumstances, people would assume Agatha resented her. She was first in line for the throne, able to create rather than destroy with her magic, and clearly their mother’s favorite.

Wanda was even allowed to marry for love, making her own husband out of magic and giving him his own consciousness. She explained it to Agatha as using the best parts of the echoes of lost souls and assembling them into a good person. He was more accepted by the Queendom than most men were. The place was a strict matriarchy where witches didn’t need men to procreate. Wanda’s choice, while confusing, was respected since Vision would never take power.

Regardless of the favoritism, she loved her sister more than anyone she knew. Wanda was the only person who treated her like an equal.

Wanda walked into the room with a wide smile, lighting up at the sight of Agatha in her dress.

“Oh, you look so perfect,” Wanda sighed.

“I am glad you think so. Mother said it was too good for a girl like me, but that I needed to look good to represent the Queendom…”

“Oh…” Wanda said with a shake of her head before leaning in to whisper, “Fuck her. She doesn’t know how great you are going to be.”

Agatha felt her heart clench at her sister’s sweet words. She took her hands in hers as the royal ladies worked on the hem of her dress.

“I do not know how great I will be allowed to be. I am going to be the wife of a powerful queen… who has a very frightening reputation. I doubt she will want to share her power in any way.”

“Her Queendom only sounds scary,” Wanda assured her.

“It is literally called The Dark Queendom.”

“Because it is in a dense forest with the tallest trees. It is dark there simply because of the nature. Trust me. I have visited. It was beautiful in a strange way. Like you.”

“Thank… you?” Agatha said with a smirk.

“Strange is good. Normal is boring. You, sister, have never been boring. And neither is your bride.”

“Have you met her?” Agatha asked, not having been given so much as a portrait of the woman.

“I have only seen her from afar when she arrived this morning.”

“… She is here? Well… how did she look? How did she seem?”

“She seems… self assured. Regal. And she looks breathtaking. I will admit, I felt a bit of jealousy.”

“Stop, you did not,” Agatha said with a roll of her eyes, “You only say that to lift my spirits.”

“I am telling you the truth. Your bride is gorgeous. A little… intimidating…”

“… scary…”

“Sure, a little scary, but that does not make her bad. Perhaps she has softness within her that you just need to find. Keep in mind that others misjudge you out of fear as well.”

Wanda hardly needed to remind her of that. She silently thought about the description of her future wife. Being the foreign wife as well as a second daughter, she would be at her mercy for all intents and purposes. She only hoped she would be a bit kinder than the world had been to her.

The bells rang in the distance, making Agatha’s heart skitter to a stop. The music of strings and flutes could be heard from the nearby hall. Wanda wrapped her sister in a tight hug before stepping back to watch the ladies put Agatha’s veil on.

The massive doors opened revealing Agatha in an opulent gown. Her veil followed behind her, held by little girls in puffy dresses with curled ringlets. She avoided her mother’s judgmental glare and instead focused on Wanda’s loving expression. She saw her bride already at the altar. Her dress was black lace draped over dark green silk. It clung to her form unlike Agatha’s that had an extravagant, puffed skirt from the small of her waist to the floor. Rio, on the other hand, wore something that flared out only at the very bottom with a lace train. Her crown was made of black obsidian adorned with emeralds. Her face was obscured by a black veil just as Agatha’s was by a white one.

The high priestess began her speech, detailing the history of matrimony between queendoms and the nature of love. Agatha found it absurd to speak of love while marrying two complete strangers.

Once instructed, Agatha reached out and pulled Rio’s veil back. She was grateful she was still partly hidden. Through the sheer barrier of her own veil, she could see how beautiful Queen Rio Vidal was. Rio then took her turn. Agatha braced herself for a disappointed reaction from the other woman. Instead, she saw the very controlled queen lose composure for a moment, her lips parting at the sight.

“Goodness, you are stunning,” Rio said, uncaring of her manners.

Agatha blushed deeply, not used to such compliments. The subjects watching the ceremony went from seeing Agatha as a problem to be married off to seeing her as someone worthy of captivating the legendary Dark Queen. Evanora suppressed a scowl. Even though the match was her idea, she bristled at the thought of Agatha’s happiness. She had seen her as an inherently evil child who did not deserve a life as good as Wanda’s. The nature of Agatha’s powers was enough to turn Evanora against her, taking it as an expression of who she was at heart. Her powers were deadly and destructive, so she considered Agatha to be those things at her core.

Truth be told, she didn’t necessarily need an alliance through marriage. One with the Dark Kingdom was extremely helpful, but she could have created one through other means. She chose to do it this way because she assumed it would be a punishment to Agatha. Being stuck in a place as dark and miserable as she was looked to be a fitting end to her. She had heard stories of how powerful and terrifying Queen Rio was. She was good to her people, but feared by anyone who crossed her. She won every war for centuries before other empires just stopped trying to attack.

She had not taken a bride in all of that time. It shocked everyone when she sent a messenger to ask Evanora for her daughter’s hand, sight unseen. Evanora supposed it was simply loneliness getting to her, or the need of an heir. Regardless of never leaving the throne, she needed a spare.

The priestess read their vows, using a vine to tie their wrists together in an ancient ceremony. Agatha found herself sneaking looks at Rio’s eyes, feeling very shy as Rio kept her eyes exclusively on her. They made the promises to one another before the priestess told them to kiss their bride. Agatha had never been kissed before. At twenty years old, everyone who knew her kept her at an arm’s length. While she was confident in matters of magic, she was nervous and naive when it came to intimacy.

Rio’s hands came up to frame her face. She looked at Agatha in a way no one had before. She looked at her with appreciation and desire. She leaned in, brushing her lips over Agatha’s before pressing them against hers. Agatha felt herself melting into it. She found herself clinging to her biceps as if to steady herself. She found herself smiling more genuinely than she had in quite some time when they pulled back from one another.

The reception was almost obscene in how showy it was. Everything was covered in diamonds and gold. Wanda and Rio got along well, the latter just happy that her sister had someone good. Rio and Agatha were in their own world, bonding over discussions of magic knowledge and favorite writers.

Evanora approached the pair of newlyweds and all but ignored her own daughter. Instead, she turned herself to her new daughter in law.

“Queen Vidal. It is an honor to finally meet you in person.”

“Likewise. Your daughter is amazing. I am grateful you consented to the match.”

Agatha lit up at Rio’s compliment. The boost in confidence was something Evanora couldn’t help but crush.

“If only I had my other daughter to offer. She is dazzling. Certainly the cream of the crop,” her mother said smugly.

Rio looked to Agatha and saw her face fall. She recognized the sight of someone being siphoned of happiness. Even worse, it seemed to be something she was used to. She turned back to her new mother in law with a tight smile.

“As sweet as Wanda is, I would choose Agatha a hundred times over. It is just a shame you cannot recognize brilliance when it is right in front of you every day. I am glad that she will be somewhere where she will be appreciated for the wonder that she is.”

Evanora’s eyes flashed with anger, but she knew she couldn’t say anything back. Rio’s queendom was older and stronger than her own. She needed this alliance more than Rio needed anything from her. One stray insult and Rio could topple her empire.

“Well… I am happy that you see value in her. I wish you a… happy union..” Evanora bit out.

“I thought you would,” Rio said with a smirk.

As her mother left in a huff, Agatha looked at Rio with a look of shock. She never had anyone stand up for her in such a clear way. Even Wanda was held back by the fear of their mother. Agatha suddenly looked at Rio like she had just hung the moon.

“Thank you,” she said, “You did not have to-“

“Yes, I did, my beloved,” Rio said, turning toward her and cupping her chin in her hand, “No one will ever disrespect you like that again.”

Agatha could already feel herself falling.

Once the reception was beginning to wind down, Rio took Agatha to a portal she made by tearing it open with her dagger. It was as if she ripped a hole in the air itself. Once her goodbyes were done, she stepped through into her new home.

There was a party already happening in what looked to be something of a common square. The place was so different from the land Agatha came from. The trees blocked out the sky save for a few openings that showed stars and the moon. Entire neighborhoods were built around massive ancient trees. For such a notoriously feared place, people seemed to be so happy and familiar with each other. People of different classes and standings were dancing together. Mythical creatures who would be banned from public spaces in other queendoms and kingdoms were an equal part of the population. All of it felt warmer and more loving than anywhere Agatha had been.

Between each of the treehouses were vine and wooden branches connecting everyone for several miles out. The queendom was massive, but still held a communal energy. The trees were varied and of magical varieties others had thought were extinct. Their leaves glowed along with the vines that connected the homes. Lanterns and orbs hung from branches along with abundant fruit. Even the ground had a soft glow and glitter to it. Agatha could feel the enchanted energy of the nature itself. It was all dripping with magic as if this was the place from which it all flowed.

“Welcome home,” Rio said with a smile.

After celebrating for a few hours with her new subjects, she knew she would be extremely happy in her new life. People were much closer to their rulers and the social barriers were much thinner. Royal advisors and leaders were drinking and laughing with those who would be considered peasants anywhere else. Rio was on a first name basis with every subject she came into contact with. Agatha was in awe of how different this was from strict and stuffy monarchies. She watched Rio being tackled to the ground by a throng of children. She giggled and rolled around with them, play wrestling like a family friend. Agatha couldn’t imagine her mother even allowing a “common child” to touch her skirt, let alone play with them.

After a feast, dancing, and countless introductions, Rio took Agatha by the hand and led her away. She walked them through the trees to a large clearing. The woods opened up to a palace formed by glowing glass and vines. The glass shimmered and swirled with pale colors, illuminated by interlocked light emitting vines. Instead of the boxy, hard edges of a castle, there were domes and arches. Inside were floors of cobblestone and grass. It was so different from the oversized fortresses of other self obsessed kings and queens. It was a true home that was grand, but not in a way that bragged of riches or stature.

The light from the walls themselves fell upon Agatha, coloring her in hues of purple and pink. Rio found herself staring, speechless for a moment at the sight of her in that moment.

“Would you like to see the bedroom?” Rio asked.

Agatha suddenly felt a wave of anxiety cover her. She had just had her first kiss mere hours earlier. Now, she was going to spend the night with someone. It was comforting that it was someone she already liked, though. She nodded slowly.

Rio laced their fingers and brought her hand to her lips, kissing the back of it. She led her upstairs to a beautiful room. The ceiling was a dome, giving them a perfect view of the constellations overhead.

Rio stepped behind Agatha, kissing her neck. Agatha’s pulse fluttered against her lips.

“We can just sleep next to one another tonight. You should not feel any pressure to do more,” Rio murmured.

Rio’s willingness to wait was the very thing that made Agatha comfortable enough to consider going further. She turned in her arms and looked up at her.

“I want to,” she said simply, leaning up and pressing her lips to hers.

Rio deepened the kiss, tangling a hand in her long, wavy hair. Agatha wrapped her arms around her and clutched the fabric of Rio’s dress in her fists. Rio, meanwhile, moved her hands to work on the buttons along Agatha’s dress. Once it was loosened, the dress slid down and landed in the plume of puffy skirts. Agatha stepped out of it, finding herself completely bare. She flushed red from her cheeks to hers chest. Rio regarded her with reverence, her lips parted and her pupils dilated.

“Perfect,” Rio breathed, causing Agatha to feel a rush of desire that drove her to surge forward and pull Rio into a kiss.

As they embraced, she tugged at Rio’s dress, needing fewer layers between them. Rio smiled against her lips before stepping back. She reached behind herself and undid the ties. The silk and lace fell away, revealing her to her new bride. Agatha was rendered speechless with a dropped jaw. Her mind forgot how to function in that instant.

“I will take your stunned silence as a compliment,” Rio purred, stalking towards her.

Agatha nodded before stepping back, feeling the bed against her legs. She sat down and moved onto the mattress, kneeling and gazing up at her.

Rio took in the delicious sight of this shy bride on her knees for her. She moved down, crawling over her like a panther examining its prey. Agatha felt the rush of danger and the promise of pleasure. Rio leaned down, running her tongue along the column of her throat. Agatha craned her neck, letting out a shaking breath.

Rio reached down and took her hand, guiding it to rest on her ass. Agatha squeezed it hesitantly, gripping it more solidly when the other woman pushed it against her palm.

Rio descended down her body, licking and nipping at every inch of unmapped skin. She felt almost high off of the knowledge that she would be the only person to touch her this way. She left red and purple marks across her chest and abdomen. Her bride squirmed and whimpered as her mouth took her nipple between her teeth, swirling her tongue over the sensitive skin.

“Have you ever touched yourself down here?” Rio asked, sliding her hand down between her thighs.

“No…” Agatha said, “I was told it was wrong…”

“Oh, but it is so very right.”

With that, Rio circled her arms around her legs and tugged her towards her mouth. She pressed her lips to her cunt, running her tongue over her before opening her slit. She explored what made her feel good, pressing her tongue against the area surrounding her entrance, sucking on her lips, and teasing her clit. Every passing moment wound Agatha up even more. She groaned and gasped.

Her hips began to grind against her face. Rio slid her tongue inside of her, thrusting into her. Agatha fisted the sheets in her hands as her back arched. She cried out, riding Rio’s face as she alternated between fucking her with her tongue and sucking on her clit. Purple light sparked in the air around them as Agatha’s pleasure crested. Her heart raced and her thighs shivered before her walls collapsed around Rio’s tongue.

She shivered and let out soft noises as Rio lapped at her, gently cleaning her. She kissed up her form, pressing her lips to hers. Agatha tasted herself and pulled her wife closer to her. Their limbs intertwined as she caught her breath. She felt like her body was thrumming with energy. Rio closed her eyes with a smile.

“Wait.. but you have not gotten your turn…” Agatha began.

“Shhh… rest for now. We are far from finished,” Rio whispered.