#into the food problems a lot of the cast has

[ignihyde-resident]

I have a theory… what if Floyd and Jade were killed and replaced cause THESE ARE CLEARLY NOT THE SAME PEOPLE😭😭💔💔😤😓

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

Alright know what here's a little Guild Wars 2 reblog game for everybody; what mounts (if any) do your characters have in their canon, do they have names? Personalities? How'd they meet??

Spill it all below, tell me about all your creatures!!

[coffeefleecy]

Secrets Behind Closed Doors

Pairing: Caleb X MC

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Caleb has never been one for subtlety. He finds that people dancing around a subject or belaboring a conversation by not saying what they mean tends to frustrate him so much that he often finishes their thought for them.

Get to the fuckin’ point, He thinks to himself, hands flexing in agitation by his sides, fingers stretching out then curling back up into his palm as the nail bites into the skin hard enough to leave red crescents.

Caleb says what he wants, does what he wants and casts no unnecessary apologies he won’t mean anyways. That is, unless it comes to you.

Word Count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: smut, scent kink, possessive behavior, masturbation, face-sitting, cunnilingus, dirty talk

Caleb has never been one for subtlety. He finds that people dancing around a subject or belaboring a conversation by not saying what they mean tends to frustrate him so much that he often finishes their thought for them. 

Get to the fuckin’ point, He thinks to himself, hands flexing in agitation by his sides, fingers stretching out then curling back up into his palm as the nail bites into the skin hard enough to leave red crescents.

Caleb says what he wants, does what he wants and casts no unnecessary apologies he won’t mean anyways. That is, unless it comes to you.

You.

Everything about you drives Caleb insane and you are the one person he won’t  - can’t -be upfront with. How could he be? You make him go fucking stupid. He can barely think around you, let alone speak and be entirely honest with every disgusting, depraved thought twisting around in his mind. He has to filter himself around you to spare the both of you.

“Caleb?” Your voice sends shivers up his spine.

“Hm?”

“Did you want to watch that new rom-com with me tonight? I’ve been seeing it everywhere and I’m afraid I’ll get spoiled if I don’t watch it soon!”

He observes you over his cup of coffee and tries not to fixate on the foam that’s gathered by your bottom lip.

“Whatever, I don’t have anything going on tonight.”

He fucking hates rom-coms, but there’s a lot of annoying shit he’d do just see that pretty smile play at your lips. He’d walk barefoot over hot magma just to hear you laugh. Hell, he’d probably take a waterboarding session if it meant you’d drape those gorgeous fucking legs over his lap.

“Thanks,” You beam at him. “Your place?”

Caleb returns your smile and laughs.

“Sure, but you have to bring food this time. I’m getting sick of you stealing all of my groceries.”

It goes unsaid that he’d let you rob him blind and max out all of his credit cards if you wanted to.

“Deal! I’ll bring whatever you want, just send me a text when you get home!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caleb thinks he has time. You are always a little later than you said you’d be and it truthfully never bothers him in spite of his nagging need to be early to everything. The problem is that you’re knocking on his door and calling out for him as he’s in the middle of fucking his fist, desperate to get some relief and stave off the cravings for you as a precaution. Your voice is blood in shark infested waters, sending him into overdrive as he bucks into his hand. 

“Caleb!” 

His name on your lips has him whimpering and forces him to bite into the sleeve of his shirt to keep from alerting you to his activities despite the walls and door between the two of you. He squeezes the base of his cock to the point that the unshed tears of pleasure he’s been holding back begin to trail down his face, frustration and lack of release seizing his entire body. Your knocks get louder and the impatience permeates from your side of the wall until it feels like an actual, tangible weight. 

Caleb’s throat is raw as he snarls and stuffs himself back into his pants, completely unsure of how to proceed. He has to get you to stop knocking and there’s no way he’s going to be able to finish with you beating down his door, so he picks the lesser of two evils and grits his teeth to greet you.

“Finally,” You huff angrily when you’re met with his red face. “Woah, what happened to you?”

“I thought you were going to be another half hour,” Caleb says, ignoring your question. “I just finished working out - I thought I had time to take a shower.”

“Oh, by all means,” you wave your hand nonchalantly as you push past him, arms laden with bags of snacks and drinks. “I’ll just hang out on my phone or something. I don’t mind!”

Caleb’s thankful for your lack of attention to detail, taking your fixation on settling in to adjust himself in his sweats. It would have to be one fucking cold shower.

“I’ll be five minutes,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Just find the movie and we can get started after I get out.”

You hum, more focused on laying out all of the snack choices than sparing a glance in his direction. 

“Sounds good, take your time. I may borrow some clothes, is that okay?”

Caleb winces. Yes. No. God, he wants to see you drowning in his clothes but he’s terrified of what it’s going to do to his already fucked libido.

“Just take what you want, you know where to look.”

~

Caleb’s shower is wholly unsatisfying; the frigid spray of water does wonders for his erection but sharpens his mind and instincts to serrated points and he’s come to the conclusion that nothing can slake his desire for you no matter how much he tries to snuff it out.

The whole process is around five minutes in total, mostly because he wants to maximize his time with you. Caleb carelessly runs a towel through his hair, faint droplets of water still clinging to the tips of some strands in his haste to get to you. The neatly folded stack of fresh clothes he’s placed surreptitiously on the counter calls to him like sirens as the cool air pricks at his skin, gooseflesh decorating his body.

 Being cold is less embarrassing than being hard, he thinks.

 He dons a comfortable pair of loved sweats that have been through the wash maybe a few too many times, no structure and all snugness to the fabric. The shirt he’s selected is sleeveless and the armholes are stretched so wide it fits him more like a poncho. He’s caught you staring at his arms a few times when he’s worn it, more likely in awe of how his workout routine is treating him and less likely that you want to rip it off of him, but he likes to pretend it’s the latter.

Caleb sees you’re perched on his couch and wearing his sweater and faded pajama bottoms when he joins you in the living room and a warm feeling spreads in his chest at the thought of you being so comfortable in his space. His fingertips twitch at his sides, flexing and stretching to give his brain something less dangerous to focus on. He can hear you humming to yourself faintly as you scroll through the options on his screen, your face the portrait of unwavering concentration complete with you worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

He wants to bite it.

“I see you’ve helped yourself to my closet,” Caleb remarks teasingly.

“Huh? Oh, I thought you said it was okay!”

“I did, you know me well enough to know I’m joking. Don’t give me that face,” He adds when your eyebrows furrow in concern.

“Your clothes are just more comfy than mine are,” You pout.

“They look better on you than they do on me,” He concedes, focusing on the television screen to keep himself from fixating on that very true fact.

“I don’t know how true that is, your arms look gigantic in that shirt.”

Pride blooms in the back of his throat with a delightful burn. There’s something in the way you praise him that makes him feel like he’s pleased you - like he’s made the right choice and he’s climbing in the ranks of your favor. 

I did good.

“I gotta keep up the workout routines - how else am I meant to have the energy to hang out with you?”

That earns him a scoff.

“Please, you and I both know that you look forward to this. Kinda lame that your sister is your only friend.”

“You’re not my fucking sister.” Caleb admonishes you with an eye roll. 

“Okay, geez,” You backpedal, pressing the play button on the remote. “I don’t know why it bothers you so much - if you hate me, just say so.”

“I don’t hate you, you’re just not my sister,” Caleb grabs your legs and hauls them over his lap - a position neither of you are strangers to. “Would you rather I hung out with you out of obligation for the sake of some false familial title or would you rather it be of my own free will?”

“Just watch the movie, Caleb,” You relax against the back of the couch and stretch your legs more comfortably across him. “And don’t even think about falling asleep - I’ve got my eyes on you!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caleb can’t make heads or tails of what’s happening on the screen in front of him because you’re absently rubbing your legs together in his lap. He’s going to need a mouthguard around you if he has to grit his teeth anymore; he fears he’s lost quite a bit of surface area over the years. Normally, he grins and bears it, but with how pent up he’s been for the past few days and his precautionary self-love session getting cut short, he’s a little more anxious than usual. 

He doesn’t truly mean to use his evol - he tries not to, if he can help it - but he needs you to stop squirming or he’s going to have bigger problems than you being annoyed with him.

“Caleb!”

“What? Stop movin’ around! You’re jostling me.” Caleb snaps defensively. 

“I’m ‘jostling’ you? You don’t have to use that on me to get me to stop, just ask next time,” You scoff, fighting fruitlessly against his evol. “Caleb, let me go, I’ll just move away.”

“I didn’t want you to move, you’re just… distracting me. You can keep ‘em there, just try to sit a little bit more still.”

Caleb almost expects you to retreat when he releases his hold on you, but you simply shoot him a half-hearted glare and stay put, too comfortable with his hands draping over you to want to move. He must have a look on his face, because you’re surveying him quietly.

“Got something to say?”

“Nothing, you just look a little flushed. Do you think you’re getting sick?”

“No, I -” Caleb is cut off by the cool, relaxing feeling of your hand against his admittedly glistening forehead.

“You feeling okay, Caleb? We can call it early.”

Caleb’s answering smile is tired; lackluster, though you know he would never ask you to leave or take you up on your offer to do so.

“Nah, ‘m fine. Stay. I’ve just had a long day.”

You pull away to lean back against the couch and prop your head up by tucking your palm to cup your jaw. If you notice that Caleb’s head falls slack to chase your hand, you don’t say anything.

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

Caleb’s eyes flash with a slight glint of something you can’t quite place before he turns his attention back to the television.

“I’m fine, really - don’t worry about me. I thought you’ve been wanting to watch this! Pay attention.”

“I am paying attention - it seems like you’re the one that’s distracted. Whatever. Caleb, I’m cold.”

“Want a blanket?”

“Just come closer – you’re like a heating pad.”

Caleb sighs dramatically while he opens his arms for you, silently panicking and begging you to make good on your promise to sit still. He can feel his heart thudding rapidly in his chest and prays you can’t hear it.

“Seriously, you doing okay?” You ask, muffled into his shirt as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Seriously, pipsqueak - I’m fine. Stop buggin’ me and watch your movie.”

Caleb takes the opportunity to pull you closer to him, squeezing his eyes shut as he takes in the scent of your shampoo. He’s always been so sensitive to smells and it kills him that you give off the most intoxicating one. It’s almost funny, he thinks – how primal human beings can be and how little it takes to reduce them to a lesser state; all instinct.

Fuck, does he have to fight every single one of his instincts when he’s around you. He wonders if it’s like that for you, too, but your face is an open book and you’ve never had a thought he hasn’t been able to decipher. It’s torture for him to know he’s the only one suffering, though he’s at least thankful for your ignorance when it comes to his own issues. You make him feel like a fucking creep and sometimes he wonders if he actually might be.

“You’re so cozy, Caleb,” You groan, the sound doing absolutely heinous things for his self-restraint.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“No, I mean it - you’re like a giant teddy bear.”

Your body molds itself to his, sending his thoughts to dangerous places and making him wonder if you’re ever truly aware of how you’re affecting him and just playing dumb. Your track record with guys leads him to believe that you’re just that innocent - he knows, he’s shared a home with you and the walls aren’t exactly thick.

“Gonna give me any room to breathe or are you hoping that I absorb you through osmosis or something? I mean, really - ah -”

Caleb is cut off by your thigh sliding between his legs in what he hopes is an innocent attempt for warmth.

“Oh, sorry - did I hurt you?”

Your naivety is fucking delicious. Caleb swallows the knot in his throat and shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Ignorant to the source of his discomfort, you shrug it off and slip your arms around his waist.

“You’re being weird today.”

“How am I being weird?” Caleb demands, though the irony of his defensive tone isn’t lost on him.

“Just jumpy. Jittery – I don’t know. I know you said you had a long day, but you’re never this tense around me.”

Maybe if you’d just shown up when you said you were going to and let him fucking jerk off in peace, he wouldn’t be having this problem.

“Sorry,” Caleb’s reply is breathy; strained. “It really is just that I’ve had a long day.”

“Don’t be sorry,” You chide. “Just let me know if I can help. I don’t like it when you’re uncomfortable.”

You lean forward to push some hair out of his face and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Your thigh rubs against him even more with the proximity and you’re essentially unknowingly straddling his leg. A sharp, high-pitched whimper bubbles in the back of Caleb’s throat, too sudden for him to suppress it and too loud for you to not have heard it.

“C-Caleb?” You manage after a beat of incredibly uncomfortable silence.

“Don’t,” He manages through gritted teeth.

“N-no, did I hurt you that time? I’m sorry, I -” You scramble to move off of him, but freeze when you feel something rigid twitching between your thighs.

Caleb wraps his arms around you to keep you from squirming and escalating this situation even further, but all the motion does is push him between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath, tremors racking your body at this new feeling. 

“Don’t - don’t fucking move,” Caleb warns desperately, his voice wobbly and breathless. “Just - just give me a second.”

Your eyes narrow, and whether it’s from years of being bossed around or from the intense urges to push him further, you grind down on him. The effect is instantaneous and the sounds that fall from Caleb’s lips will be seared into your brain forever in the form of whines so needy and broken that it sounds like  in agony.

“Don’t make me use my fucking evol on you, you brat,” he spits out, though the words are less like he’s threatening you and more like he’s begging you.

Images of you spread out, forced down by his unwavering gravity while he’s knuckle deep in your tight cunt flood his mind, the dam of his restraint shattering and splintering into dust. His chest heaves as he swallows a gulp of air, desperate for anything to quell the tremors racking through his body at the feeling of you pressed so closely against him. His worn sweatpants are so thin, he can feel the heat between your thighs burning him. You give him no chances to catch himself before he falls and jerkily roll your hips into his.

“What the fuck are you doing, pipsqueak?” 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly, but make no moves to get off of him.

“We can’t come back from this,” Caleb warns shakily. “Once you cross that line, we can’t come back from it.”

“Is this why you’ve been so worked up today?” You demand, though your voice lacks conviction as you grind into him with unpracticed and shaky determination.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“So show me.” 

Caleb’s cock is so painfully hard in his ratty sweats and your breath so close to his neck has him leaking precum. He’s given you so many outs and is running out of willpower rapidly. You take every last one of his nerves and stomp on them, leaving nothing but destruction in your wake as you invade every pore and cell of his body and hold him hostage.

“Please, please,” He begs. “I can’t - I can’t hold back anymore -”

You swallow his desperate and pathetic pleas down with the faintest press of your lips to his, innocent in intent with no thought behind the action. It’s like you’ve flipped a switch in him. A deep, almost unsettling growl rips from the back of his throat and before either of you can stop it, he’s got you splayed out on your back with his knee pushing insistently between your thighs. His lips crash into yours yet again, though his kiss is entirely mask off and undisguised as he forces his tongue into your mouth like he’s worried he doesn’t have enough time to memorize your taste. 

You reciprocate as best as you can with uncertain licks and nips, but Caleb seems almost annoyed when you fight for dominance with the kiss. He grabs your chin between his index finger and thumb and pries your lips open with his tongue, conquering your mouth with the sweet tang of apples and desperation.

“Need it,” he pants into your mouth after breaking the kiss to beg. “Need you, need all of you, please -”

A choked moan wrenches from your lips as Caleb lunges forward to cover your body with his and decorate your neck with evidence of his love. His teeth leave small indents that he laves his tongue over to soothe, comforting you like he’s always so good at doing.

“You can,” You encourage, craning your neck to expose more of it to him. “Feels so good.”

“Please, fuck - let me get a taste, I’ll do anything,” Caleb whines as he grinds his clothed cock into your hip. “Just spread your legs, let me in - no - wait, sit on my face. Please, I’m fucking begging you to sit on my face so I can make you feel so good.”

Caleb sounds drunk; absolutely dizzy with the prospect that he gets to see you like this, let alone touch you. His tone has taken on a light, airy and high-pitched kick, breathless and needy like he can’t get the words out fast enough.

“I’ve - I’ve never done this before,” you pant, face burning bright with the inklings of shame that come with inexperience.

“No one’s ever touched you like this before?” Caleb’s head snaps up and when you see the fire in his eyes, the heat between your legs feels like an inferno.

“Never – never wanted anyone,” You explain, though you’re not sure why you feel like you have to. “No time.”

“You saving yourself for me or something, Pipsqueak?” His words are light and playful on the surface, but you can hear the tension, like he’s going to come undone at any second.

“I -” You can barely speak, his words rooting you to the spot and sending shivers down your spine. “Did you want me to?”

“Can’t just say shit like that,” He groans. “Fuck, are you sure this is okay? Please call me off, please - I really meant it when I said we can’t come back from this - I can’t come back from this.”

“Want you C-Caleb,” You stammer, so overcome with all of these new feelings that you can’t even vocalize what it is that you want. “Please.”

In lieu of a response, Caleb dips forward to kiss you again, savoring your taste and whining into your mouth at the friction between your bodies. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s so hard he’s aching and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s leaking through his sweats at this point, too dizzy with you and the fact that you want him in any capacity to care.

You help him with your - his - sleep pants and clumsily shimmy them down your legs, sucking in a sharp breath as the cold air hits your newly exposed skin. Caleb’s teeth sink into your bottom lip and he covers your mouth with his to swallow your cries of pain and pleasure.

“Please,” Caleb begs as he trails kisses down your jawline. “Please let me taste you - wanna eat you out so badly, please, please -”

“I trust you, b-but if it tastes bad or your grossed out please don’t feel like you have to -”

Caleb scoffs.

“Gonna drink up everything you have to give me until you can’t give me any more,” He slips his hands underneath the sweater you stole from him and yanks it off of you with no preamble, impatient to get to his meal. “Know you taste so fucking good, I just know it…”

Your lust outweighs your confusion at his last statement and instead of questioning it, you thread your fingers through his silky locks and take a mental snapshot of the image of him pressing kisses into your stomach.

Caleb makes a note to pay special attention to your chest the next time he gets a chance – prays that there will be a next time – but he’s far too focused on the scent between your legs that his mouth fills with saliva at the thought of finally getting to taste you.

His fingers tremble as he impatiently paws at your underwear, scowling at them like they’re personally wronging him. Caleb rips them down your thighs and groans as a long strand of your arousal stretches with the soaked fabric.

“ ‘s fucking wet,” He croons, quietly tucking your underwear into the pocket of his sweats as he presses his lips against your entrance. 

His eyes practically roll into the back of his head as he inhales, a shudder racking his entire body in a frigid rush at your potent scent. 

“Smell so fucking good - it’s all mine,” He mutters under his breath, almost as if he hadn’t meant to even speak those words aloud. 

He flattens his tongue against you and licks a heavy stripe up, collecting as much of your wetness as he possibly can. 

“C-Caleb,” You whine. 

“That’s right, say it,” He says proudly before covering your pussy with his tongue, his name on your lips acting like a shot of adrenaline.

You’re so wet that you can’t tell where your arousal stops and Caleb’s saliva begins. His fingernails bite into your ass cheeks, pulling you as close as he can physically be to you, fucking you with his tongue and working his jaw even though it’s screaming in protest from the effort. It’s so messy, you’re almost embarrassed to look at him as he ravages your cunt like he’ll die if he’s pried away. 

“Tastes so fucking good, knew it,” He moans hoarsly, voice watery and high-pitched in a way that makes him sound like he’s crying.

“I c-can’t - I don’t know what’s happening,” You cover your face with your hands as he pulls his tongue out of you and sucks your clit between his lips, the pressure and suction so hard that it almost hurts. “I just -”

“You gonna fucking come for me?” Caleb demands, dividing his attention from devouring you to look up at you.

You hear him practically growl, animalistic and angry, before you feel him prying your hands from your face.

“Fucking look at me, do you understand me?” His beautiful eyes burn into yours, determined and hungry. “Did I say you could cover your face?”

“No, it’s just,” Your voice shakes, wavering slightly as you try to catch your breath. “It’s a little embarrassing - I don’t -”

“Hey, hey,” Caleb’s tone shifts and his gaze softens. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Caleb presses kisses up your stomach, trailing his lips up to your sternum, collarbone, neck and finally your lips. He’s covered in your essence, lips soaked and swollen from his relentless drive to make you come for him. He pries your lips apart with his tongue, flicking it against your bottom lip before sliding it in, forcing you to taste yourself.

“See how good you taste,” He breathes into your mouth. “Could eat you out all fuckin’ day.”

“C-Caleb,” You protest, feeling the dregs of your shame flutter in your stomach. 

“Want you to ride my face,” He continues desperately, body trembling above yours. “Get you nice and wet and let you fucking cover me with it.”

“Wh-Where did you learn to talk like this? I didn’t know you were capable of that!” You half-heartedly swat him with a trembling hand.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” He hisses, the words heavy like a looming threat. “I’ve got shit locked up inside my head that would make you want to run.”

“Tell me,” you encourage him, mind void of any rational thoughts as he sucks scarlet roses into your neck, covering you in marks you have no energy to protest to. “What?”

“You sure you wanna know?”

“Just wanna hear you - wanna hear your voice,” you breathe, trembling when his teeth dig into your throat. 

“Yeah? Wanna hear how badly I want to fucking wreck you? You don’t even know what you’re getting yourself into, pipsqueak.”

The term of endearment he usually refers to you as sounds like venom; sarcastic and mean as he teases and taunts you - like he’s got an inside joke he’s not letting you in on and he’s getting off on bullying you for it.

“Don’t be mean, Caleb,” You whine. 

He pulls away from ravaging your neck and actually fucking laughs, the sound sending thousands of pinpricks embedding themselves into your slick skin, forcing you to tremble and writhe beneath him.

“Don’t play fucking dumb, you and I both know you like it when I’m mean to you,” His grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger to force you to look at him. 

“Caleb -”

“You don’t even know what to do with it, do you?” He coos, patronizing and chock-full of false pity. “So fucking pathetic that you want me to tell you what I want to do with you and you wouldn’t even understand it.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, I - “

He scoffs as he roughly jerks your head to the side, stealing the words from your mouth and examining and admiring the marks he’s branded you with proudly.

“Look at you begging for me without even knowing what you want. Fuck, I love seeing my marks all over you.”

“Not begging,” you huff, the long-standing game between the two of you to break the other persisting even into adulthood. 

“You will,” Caleb promises. “And you’re gonna beg for me to make you cum. I’m not gonna ask again, get that fucking pussy on my face before I make you.”

You’re speechless as he leans back on the couch, the portrait of debauchery with kiss swollen and spit-slick lips, cock straining against his pathetic excuse for sweatpants. His chest rises and falls as though an immeasurable force is pressing against him, breathing labored as he fixes you with a challenging glare, pupils so dilated you’d worry he’s high on something in any other context. 

“I - I don’t know if I can, Caleb I don’t want to suffocate you.”

“I want you to fucking suffocate me, here - I’ll do the work for you,” Caleb snarls, reaching forward to dig his fingers into the backs of your thighs. “Come here.”

You cry out as he yanks your body forward and forces you to straddle his chest. He spares no time, terrified that he’s wasting the nanoseconds that he isn’t touching you as he manhandles you into the perfect position. He’s got you straddling his face, eyes burning in the frenzy your scent drives him to as you drip messily onto his face. Caleb inhales, breathing you in as he digs his fingernails into your thighs to press you as closely as he can to his face. 

His tongue is frantic, probing and searching with no rhyme or reason other than to collect everything you have to give him, You tremble above him, overwhelmed with the feelings as every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, white hot wires licking flames of pleasure everywhere inside you, synapses giving way to delicious electricity.  

When Caleb sucks your puffy clit into his mouth, you shake so violently that you’d be worried about falling if he weren’t fusing you to his mouth. Caleb is whining, loud and unashamed as he drinks you in, his own hips bucking into nothing as he chases the phantom feeling of you on top of him.

“C-Caleb, I can’t -”

Your words bubble and fizz in your throat, dying out as Caleb doubles his efforts to drive you to blissed out silence. 

“Use me,” He pants as he comes up for a momentary breath. “Ride my face, please - I wanna make you feel so good, please just use me.”

“What about -”

The feeling of his tongue probing inside of you silences you entirely, forcing your mouth open in a silent scream. Caleb moves his hands from your thighs to settle at your hips, fingertips digging into them as he moves you like he wants, taking all of the effort so you can just feel. Caleb’s tongue feels impossibly long as he explores parts of you that even you haven’t managed to reach through solitary experimentation. 

“Fuck it,” Caleb grunts, and before you can ask what he means or if he’s okay, you can feel his evol weighing down on you. 

“Just for right now,” Caleb tries to explain, though he’s too wrapped up in freeing his hands to make sense of it to you. 

You don’t have to ask what he means by that, because as soon as he no longer has to anchor you to his face with his hands, he’s got his tongue on your clit and shoving his index and middle fingers inside of you. He’s met with no resistance as your slick gushes out and drenches his hand. Caleb’s tongue flicks at your clit with concentrated and relentless pressure as he pistons his fingers in and out of you, building speed with your every cry and whimper. He can feel you tightening around his digits and by the way you’re trembling, he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Caleb - I can’t; I don’t know what’s happening, I’m -” You’re babbling incoherently, a scared edge to your tone as you surrender to the pleasure and exhaustion.

“Gonna come for me, just let go, be a good girl.”

Caleb’s encouragement and new nickname for you cause something to snap, the sound of his voice and feeling of his tongue and fingers taking your body hostage. You hate when Caleb uses his evol on you to bully you, but the feeling of his command forcing you onto his face as he demands pleasure from you has you sobbing his name. You give into him as that tightly wound coil inside of you snaps, your whole body going limp as your brain short-circuits, black dots fading in and out of your vision.

It barely registers when his evol releases you because as soon as the force is gone, he’s catching you with his arms and maneuvering your trembling body down his own so he can hold you to his chest. 

“Good girl, you did so good for me,” he murmurs, threading his fingers through your hair to soothingly stroke it. “You okay?”

“I’m - I’m okay, what about you?” You manage between deep, shuddering breaths.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But - you didn’t -”

Caleb shifts beneath you and it registers that he’s trying to keep his lower half away away from you. You look back and notice a spreading wet spot at the front of those sweats of his you hate so much.

“I did,” He says sheepishly as you turn back to meet his gaze.  “That was more for me than it was for you. Did I push you too far? Do you feel okay? Fuck - I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t say you’re sorry after that.”

 Your voice is watery and Caleb notices immediately.

“No, no I’m not sorry it happened, I just try so hard around you to keep it all locked in, but I couldn’t. You drive me fucking insane, you know that right? Like you have to know how stupid you make me.”

“That bad, huh?” You joke.

“Worse. Give me a second to catch my breath and then we’ll get cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay – Caleb?”

“Hm?”

“Can I … Um… is there anything I can do for you?”

Caleb laughs, fighting the urge to divulge how badly he wants you to fuck the last couple of decades of frustration out of him.

“I don’t think you wanna open that can of worms tonight, you already can’t move. Just let me take care of you. There is something you can do for me next time, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Just send me a fuckin’ text if you’re gonna show up early!”

[cozymochi]

Hiii I can pls get a totally not for research purposes Q of

Pet peeves: What are your twst OC's pet peeves and which one in the cast accidentally (or not) commit the "crimes"? How will your twst OC deal with that person?

for the snake man of everyone’s dreams?

Nyoka’s major peeve is being disturbed in any capacity.

I can see somebody like Grim bothering him, if only on accident. Be it crashing into him in the midst of a food shenanigan or anything that would cause his peace to be thrown off. Seems like an unfortunate encounter that would happen a lot. Even then, I don’t know if he would do much except be agitated and depending on the circumstance might scheme later as a form of real payback if he reaches a limit.

He’d eat Grim if he didn’t taste terrible. Maybe that Prefect should be doing their job.

Implying that he’s bitten him before lmfao

Optional further clarification yapping under cut.

Technically, within Savanaclaw Nyoka is disturbed almost constantly if he leaves his room. If he’s not needed for some activity or classes he’s usually in his room or somewhere else out of the way.

Majority of Savanaclaw students are pretty hotheaded, so that can be a problem for Nyoka who by nature isn’t confrontational. He’s a cobra beastman, that’s not really their game. He’s not passive per se, but would rather not get his hands dirty. He especially will not want to do so if outnumbered, and lots of students in that dorm do run in packs.

It kind of ends up lending into the perception within that dorm that he’s docile and easy to trample over (literally and figuratively). In a way, sure, but that’d be a surface level read.

He can be pretty vicious, but he mostly saves that for his mouth (in many ways). He has a formal way of speaking but anything he says can be harsh and biting. No pun intended.

So, if he is disturbed at least within the context of his dorm, most of time nothing will happen except now he’s agitated and on the defense.

If he can avoid confrontation, he will. If he can’t and it persists, then the aggressor will get their dues tenfold when they least expect it. Case by case of course. 🫡 Never confront a cobra’s space that’s asking for trouble. He’s in that dorm for a reason. He won’t forget about it.

[fivestaralien]

caddy princess

-> minygu x gn!reader

warnings+”: fluff!!, suggestive, reader is depicted as smaller than mingyu, reader and mingyu can not keep their hands to themselves, many golf references that I could not care less to double check if they made sense or not, pls don't ask me the color of his shirt word count: 1787 notes ִֶָ ࣪˖ mingyu on my mind. lmk what you think of this one!!! reblogs and comments help the most!! I had fun writing for him and tbh I find people that play golf vv attractive but I also think its one of the most BORING sports to watch. its a love hate relationship. anywayyyy, stay safe and be gentle with yourselves<3

//

It’s too early in the morning and your brain is a little fuzzy. You agreed a few days ago to join Mingyu in a game of golf and you were seriously regretting it. You should've double checked the time you’d be going. Though you don’t want to miss the chance to ogle him while he plays. 

 Your eyes follow Mingyu's tall figure as he walks back and forth between the bathroom and bedroom closet. He is rambling about something that happened at work the other day but all you could focus on was the rippling muscles of his back and arms. The golf shirt he throws on hugs his body so well you have no clue how you were going to survive this outing. 

 “.. And then.. hey, are you even listening?” Mingyu pouts after seeing how out of it you look. 

 You hum in acknowledgement but you were still staring at his arms. He rolls his eyes with a smirk, continuing to put his belt on as he walks over to you. You are laying on your side with your head resting on your palm. Your eyes shift up to follow his movements and eventually meet his gaze. 

 “You with me?” Mingyu squats down so you wouldn't strain your neck and rests a hand on your waist. 

 “Yeah sorry, it’s just way too early for you to be looking this attractive.” You mumble shyly, tracing a finger along the contours of his arm muscle. 

 “You’re gonna be a problem today aren't you?” 

 You then squeeze his bicep, “ no idea what you’re talking about.” the corner of your mouth lifts up a little. 

 “We have to leave soon so get up and get dressed honey.” He tells you then kisses the crown of your head. 

 Mingyu has never seen you fawn this hard so obviously over him. Usually it’s the other way around so he was definitely going to be savoring this for a long time. You shove yourself into your pillow, groaning about how you just want to sleep. He laughs, kissing the back of your head before getting up. 

 You follow him into the kitchen after you finish getting dressed and watch from the countertop as he makes snacks for in between holes. He would occasionally bring a few pieces of food up to your mouth for you to eat, which you accept with a smile. When he finished packing it all up you hop off the counter and then help him bring stuff out to the car. He takes to heavier things, like his clubs and a mini cooler filled with ice and water, while you carry the bag of food. 

 Mingyu pulls out of the driveway not long after and the drive to the golf course is peaceful, causing you to go back into that sleepy state. You look over at him, his wrist casually resting on the gearshift, veins branching their way up his forearm from his hand and the hat he put on at the last second leading the focus to his crazy sharp jawline. You barely think as you reach over and run your fingers along the outline of it. 

 “Thank you for coming with me.” Mingyu's voice is still deep from waking up, snapping you from your trance. 

 “Of course,” you squeeze his wrist, “ I love spending time with you and watching you play golf is a huge bonus.” 

 You go back to tracing his veins as his laugh fills the car. Just as you arrive at the course parking lot, the sun peeks over the mountains, casting  various pinks and reds to fill the horizon. You lean on your knees to get a better look and take your phone out to take a picture. 

 “Okay I see why you do this so early. It’s so pretty.” 

 “Seeing you all pouty in the morning is way prettier.” Mingyu leans over the console and kisses your warm cheek. 

 You smile down at your phone to try and hide how much his words affect you but of course he couldn’t let you be shy in peace. He pinches your cheek lovingly while cooing affectionate words in that soft high pitched voice he knows gets you to crumble. 

 “Stop it.” You whine and push him away. 

 “What? Only you are allowed to openly obsess over your partner?” 

 “No.. but.. whatever, shut up.” 

 You turn your head away, face on fire and look back towards the sunrise. Mingyu kisses your cheek a few times then leaves to go into the main building to pay for a golf cart. He opens your door when he comes back and the both of you, after gathering all of your things, begin walking towards where they keep them. 

  Once again you are drooling over his arms. You watch the way his muscles ripple as he lifts his golf bag into the storage compartment attached to the back causing you to swallow hard. Next he lifts the cooler and bag of food into the back seats. The golden sunlight is hitting him perfectly, it takes everything in you not to pounce on him. 

 Mingyu clears his throat, your face flaming hot at getting caught, “don’t.” you warn. 

 He smiles wide and kisses you softly then pats your hip, signalling to get into the golf cart. The first few holes you just sit and watch with casual conversation in between. He is teeing up on the 4th hole when your stomach starts to grumble. You wait until he takes the shot before asking if he was ready for a snack or water. Mingyu nods and tells you which one to get out for him. 

 “Honey, why don’t you hit one?”

 “And completely embarrass myself in front of my hot, insanely talented boyfriend? No thanks.” 

 You bite into your snack. Mingyu grabs your calves after sitting back down, laying them across his thighs and takes his snack and water from your waiting hand. 

 “Would it be more enticing if I said I would help you.” He questions and you tap your chin as if you were contemplating hard.  

 Mingyu continues, “I mean think about it. You wouldn’t really need to do anything,” his fingers begin tracing along your soft skin, " I'd be right behind you, guiding you to hit it right.” 

 Just the thought of his giant arms around you, even if it’s just for a game, had you nodding frantically before he could get another word out. The triumphant smile on his face makes your heart flutter and you lean over a little and kiss him. 

 “Only one hit though.” You tell him after pulling away. 

 You never had an interest to play before so having you finally say yes meant the world to Mingyu. He agrees with the same smile still on his face. You both finish your snacks and then continue down the fairway to where his ball landed. 

 Your eyes fall back to Mingyu's biceps then trail down to the way his hands grip the club as he goes to hit the ball again. If your phone could track the hours you stare at Mingyu like it does screen time, it would malfunction and overheat. Not a second goes by where you aren’t gazing at him in some way. He finished the hole with a birdie and you were making your way to the next one. 

 “Alright baby, you’re up.” Mingyu pats your thigh. 

 He sets up your golf ball and motions for you to come and stand right in front of him. A golf club is placed in your hands as he encases your body with his own. He guides your hands into the right position and leans your upper body forward a bit. You can’t help but swallow hard when Mingyu rests his head on your shoulder, pushing himself closer against your back. 

 “Spread your legs a little bit and bend your elbows like this,” his hands come up just under your elbows to move your arms, “make sure to bend your knees too.” 

 You try your best to follow along with his touch and words but it is all too distracting. Whether he was doing it on purpose or not, you needed to sit down. Your knees nearly give out when his lips graze from your neck up to your ear. 

 “Straighten your back.” He whispers. 

 Your face is on fire as you do it and you don’t even process it when Mingyu raises the club and hits the ball for you, hands pressing yours firmly to stay in position. He leaves a few lingering kisses on your cheek, praising you for a good hit even though you didn’t do a single thing.  As you sit back in the passenger's seat, you do everything except look at Mingyu. 

 The smirk on his face is telling enough that he was enjoying this which only made your blush deepen. Luckily he doesn’t press you to do it again and you continue to watch him play. By the end of the hole you were so hot and bothered you couldn’t talk without choking on your words. 

 Mingyu happily places a hand on your thigh, kneading very sensually as he drives to the next hole. To his surprise you take his hand off and place it back on his lap. When he does it again and you repeat your previous action he can’t help the challenge right in front of him. Instead of trying a third time he rests his arm behind your shoulders on the seat. His fingers trace patterns along your shoulder and the back of your neck making goosebumps scatter across your skin. You lean forward but his hand comes to lightly grasp your shoulder. 

 “Come on honey. Are you scared you won’t be able to stop yourself if I keep touching you?” You almost scoff but he wasn’t wrong so you just turn your head away from him.

 “Can you at least look at me?” He pouts. 

 You let out a big sigh and reluctantly meet his eyes. The smile on his face makes you want to smack it off, knowing he is going to use this situation against you whenever he sees fit. He had stopped the cart a while ago so it didn’t scare you when he took your face in both his hands and kissed you deeply. 

  “Can you be good until we get home?” Mingyu asks, his voice deep.

 “I think I should be asking you that.” You quip back and he laughs against your lips. 

 Mingyu took his sweet time finishing his game and by the last hole you threatened to leave him here if he didn’t hurry up. You couldn’t even make it out of the parking lot.

// main masterlist , find more fics of seventeen here

[daistea]

marriage hcs with mithrun and kabru? im a huge sucker for domestic stuff lol

Ya!!

2,500 words

Dungeon Meshi Spoilers ‼️❗️

no tw I don’t think

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

♡︎ Mithrun ♡︎

Mithrun’s proposal isn’t big. He just slips the ring on your finger and tells you it’s happening.

He wouldn’t care what the wedding is like, just tell him where to be and when. Though if you insist on his opinion he’ll tell you that something simple would be most comfortable.

I wonder if there’s like a formal outfit for the Canaries… Or elven wedding garbs. Idk!

If you have a reception and you force him to dance, then you get to see Mithrun’s nobility training in effect! He can waltz!

He ends up throwing the bouquet because reasons but he just straight up launches it into Pattadol’s face.

Anyway, onto home life. Mithrun actually cleans a lot, just out of habit. So you don’t have a messy husband, yay!

But he doesn’t care much about decorating his surroundings. You’re the one who fixes up the house how you like it.

He teleports around the house but he’s very careful to always know where you are. He often sneaks up on you, not on purpose at first. After a while he starts sneaking up on you because your reactions are funny.

Every good couple finds ways to torment each other. It keeps the romance alive.

Mithrun puts his cold fingers and feet on you in bed. He does it with a straight face but you see the evil intent in his eye…

You reorganize on a regular basis, and sometimes move all the furniture two inches to the left. You do this when he’s gone and honestly he doesn’t notice until he starts running into things without explanation.

Mithrun is a very touchy person with you. And only with you. Nobody else.

He wraps his arms around you from behind a lot. He kisses your neck. He buries his face in your hair. And he’ll do it anywhere, this man does not care who sees.

People new to Melini hear about the fearsome, dangerous, cold Captain of the Canaries. And when they hear he has a spouse they’re like ??oh??

Then they see him cuddling you. His face is blank but he’s holding you tight, closing his eyes as he rests his head on yours. And they wonder if this is the fearsome guy they heard about.

Marriage looks good on Mithrun. He never thought he’d get married, ever. But he craves your company, he wants you around all the time, he wants every inch of your attention. Your affectionate smiles should be only for him. And he has no problem telling you that you’re his and your attention should be on him.

I mean, you’re one of the few desires he has. He’s going to soak up every bit of you, inject you in his bloodstream, graft you into the fabric of his soul. He’s not going to say that, but it’s true.

My guilty pleasure is making Mithrun into an obsessive partner, but that’s honestly just my headcanon/preference and not something I would insist is canon to his character.

Obsessive as in following you around like a lost puppy, always finding some way to touch you, overwhelming attraction, getting a bit irritable when you’re away, being very possessive, etc. But then again, that’s just my preference talking.

At night, he holds you like he thinks you’re about to disappear.

You cast sleep spells to help him rest at night or else he’ll be awake for hours and hours until his body gives out.

Mithrun likes being the little spoon, even if you’re smaller than him. But he also likes being the big spoon sometimes. #switch

You think cooking together will be sweet and fun, right? Wrong. It’s horrible. The first time you try to cook together you just keep bumping into each other, getting in the way, picking up things and setting them down somewhere and forgetting where that was. It gets a bit tense.

You don’t cook together again.

Mithrun actually likes cooking and will probably want to take turns making the food. Except his food is crap at first. Total shit. He’ll learn.

When Mithrun is irritated or mad at you gives you the silent treatment. He’s grumpy. He’ll mutter under his breath a little. Just love on him until he softens up. Wrap your arms around him from behind and harass him a bit.

Speaking of harassment, Mithrun does that all the time. You’ve got some paperwork or whatever that you’re working on? Well he wants your attention. Right now. And he’s going to get it.

You just see him walk into the room with that look in his eye, his pupils focused, his mouth set in a line. And you groan because you know he’s about to do everything in his power to distract you.

That means flopping down like a rag doll in your lap. Or kissing your neck, biting a bit. His hands are going places. He won’t outright say he wants attention, but it’s clear he wants it.

Then the moment you actually give him attention, he gets up and wanders away.

He steals the blankets at night, but fortunately does not spread out much.

I feel like Mithrun would have a bunch of weird hobbies. He’s just throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks. There’s pottery, of course. But that’s kind of messy. He makes really dumb bowls too. Idk, they’re just dumb looking bowls.

He takes up gardening. But one time he didn’t realize he was getting too hot and he kinda collapsed face first into the squash patch. He tasted dirt that day. It was fine.

He tried knitting! He makes a horrible little stuffed pig and sends it to Milsiril. She doesn’t respond with a thank you letter or anything. She hides it in a box in her attic so she doesn’t have to look at it.

Mithrun isn’t concerned with being good at these things, he’s just doing them to do them. King behavior

I think you’d both eventually adopt a pet. And by adopt I mean Mithrun found this dog digging through the trash and brought it home.

You share each other’s clothes a lot. It doesn’t matter how small or big you are, Mithrun is pulling on your sweater and drowning in the scent of you. He also likes seeing you in his clothes! I imagine he wears tall-man clothes half the time tbh, idk I just like Mithrun in baggy flowy tunics that are rolled up at the arms… But elf clothes physically fit him better because he’s so smol.

Generally, your life is peaceful. You might go with him on monster surveys, or help at the noodle shop. You’re a team, you move in sync with each other, able to tell what the other is thinking just from a look.

Often around other people, you and Mithrun silently communicate through passing glances.

He never takes his ring off. Never. He gets grumpy if you take yours off.

Mithrun’s brother likes to visit. I headcanon that his brother has a family by now (UNCLE MITHRUN!!!) and they all love you. (One night he’s putting his niece or nephew to bed and they’re like ‘uncle Mithrun, the hat man doesn’t like you’ and he’s like ..okay. Thank you for letting me know.)

You two have a routine! Mithrun lives by routine anyway, so you quickly follow and do your daily things. It’s not boring though because you’re happy to be doing them together.

Life is calm and he’s content. It’s so much more than he ever thought he’d get. He’s going to savor every second.

♡︎ Kabru ♡︎

Kabru’s proposal is simple and intimate, but he makes sure to do things right. He tells you to meet him at a certain spot and that you’re ’going shopping’ for something. But lol no he’s proposing

Except of course something goes terribly wrong and Kabru is left a stressed out mess and wants to redo the whole thing. But tough luck buddy, you’ve already accepted. He sighs and furrows his brows and smiles, giving you that look that tells the world just how he feels. It’s soft and adoring and so in love.

Kabru is involved in the wedding planning for every step of the way. He’s almost a bit controlling with it.

He knows so many people that the guest list quickly reaches the hundreds.

Eventually Kabru gives up and you two plan to have something small and private instead. Which is a relief, because with something private he won’t feel the need to mask himself the entire time, to play the part.

He’s so! Excited! To see you in your wedding clothes!

He’s actually a bit gushy about it. Like he’s trying to hide his excitement. He puts his hand over his mouth to hide his smile, but his eyes are wide and he’s all riled up.

At the reception you honestly just sit in the corner together and whisper all night. For once he doesn’t intend on using this opportunity to gain information or insight.

Onto home life! Maybe for a tiny bit, you two live in his little room? Just until you get a house.

His landlord teases constantly.

Once you do get a place to stay, he actually doesn’t care about decorating all that much. He’s got stuff though, books and notebooks and random things he’s gathered over the years.

Kabru is a mess. He isn’t gross, but he’s unorganized and kinda just tosses his clothes on the floor. He leaves drawers open, and cabinets open.

He sleeps spread out, limbs everywhere. He drools sometimes. He makes you promise to not tell anyone that ever.

Kabru doesn’t cook. He’ll attempt it for you, though. He’ll try a lot of new things for you. He tries to eat more, to sleep more, and actually take care of himself. He knows you’d like that.

Kabru is pretty social. He keeps you up to date on every little endeavor he has going on. You have a routine of going to this restaurant or tavern frequently and he’ll lean in close to you and whisper about the people.

That guy over there? He’s got some information on this. Kabru’s going to buy him a drink.

This isn’t as effective as it was before Melini became a nation, though, when he was just an adventurer on the island. Because now Kabru is the King’s advisor and people are a little intimidated by him.

This frustrates him. When you get home and sit on the couch, he’ll lay his head in your lap or wrap his arms around your waist and complain. He likes being the advisor, but he doesn’t like how people think he’s intimidating and royal or important.

You visit Kabru at the castle often! Hell, maybe you even live in the castle with him! Idk how that works.

He has a lot of stuffy meetings with diplomats and important people, and you’ll often be on his arm. Galas, parties, dinners. It’s kind of exhausting. But Kabru loves every minute of it. He’s got you next to him, and he’s got the Kahka Brud diplomat tipsy enough to openly discuss the Queen’s affair with a servant. It’s so great.

You also share a lot of knowing looks with Kabru. When Laois does something Laois-y, you just look at each other.

Kabru isn’t much for PDA, he cares about who’s watching and what they think. He’s actually a little paranoid that people might find a way to use you against him. So he’s constantly planting these little ideas in people’s heads, about what might happen if anyone messed with you… It’s more subtle than I’m able to exemplify but you get the point.

Your husband has a room dedicated to his thoughts. His sherlock holmes mind palace.

It’s actually just a dark room where he puts pictures of people on the walls and connects them all with red yarn. You walk in with a lamp and he just flinches and squints at the light. Little freak.

He will talk your ear off, explaining each and every thought he has in his little web. Actually, doing that helps him sort things out and come to realizations!

He likes sitting on the floor with you in his lap, his arms around your waist. Idk he’s just the kind of guy to sit on the floor and stare at the wall in deep thought.

Kabru doesn’t really get mad at you. He gets very concerned if you do something reckless and might look a bit frustrated on the outside, but he generally keeps his cool and speaks respectfully.

He can be a bit snarky though.

Different from most couples, you don’t terrorize each other that much. You might terrorize him, but he doesn’t do that. Kabru doesn’t do pranks or cute little revenge things. Kabru’s idea of terrorizing someone is slowly gaslighting them into insanity over the years. He won’t do that to you, obviously.

He never takes his ring off! He’s hurt if you take yours off.

He dances a lot with you when you’re alone. He’ll come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist and sway a little. He’ll grab your hand and your hip and spin you around the kitchen. There’s no music, he doesn’t need it. He just wants to see you laugh.

If you make horrible crappy food he’ll still eat it. He hesitates to tell you it’s bad. It’s only when you insist on his opinion that he’ll admit it’s shit. (But he does so nicely)

Wear his clothes. Please. Please wear his clothes, it drives him crazy. You’ll be the death of him.

Y’all are weird, you match each others freaks. He adores your quirks and hobbies and is genuinely interested in learning about everything.

Seriously. He wants to know everything. Every thought that passes through your pretty head, every inch of you, every beat of your heart. He explores your body a lot. He worships you.

Kabru never thought he’d get married, actually. Not that he was opposed to the idea, he just wasn’t considering it until he met you. He’s extremely loyal, though, and you’re stuck with him forever. He reminds you of that often.

He keeps a mental list of people who have flirted with you or checked you out. He has his eye on them.

Kabru likes being the little spoon!

He likes bathing with you, washing your hair. It’s just intimate for him.

Your evenings are spent talking about everything and nothing. And he’s not digging for info, he’s just enjoying himself.

He likes to watch you sleep sometimes. Don’t ask why, just let him do his thing.

Milsiril visits often. She’s a relatively chill mother in law, if not a bit clingy. But she won’t just cling to Kabru, she’ll cling to you too (after you prove your worth)

Milsiril unfortunately shows up without warning sometimes, and her timing is horrible. It’s usually when you and Kabru are kissing and your hands are everywhere and you’re being gently laid on the bed and—

Oh there’s elf mom.

He gets embarrassed with her. She tells a lot of stories she thinks are cute. Kabru does not think they’re cute.

Once she leaves there’s a huge sigh of relief.

Kabru speaks other languages to you sometimes, but he refuses to tell you what he’s said.

Life with Kabru is interesting! You’re always busy. You’ve always got something going on. But it’s those moments when you’re in bed together, when your limbs are tangled in the dark, that he treasures the most.

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

Nobody asked me for my opinion on the controversy that dropped today when the Sonic Movie cast pay rate was revealed, which is fair ig since I try to stay positive on this blog. But in case you're wondering, yeah as a certified AFAB™ I'm pissed, but not really specifically at the Sonic crew. Actor pay rates are usually negotiated between agents and the production companies so just like all the other problems with the Sonic movies, this is most likely an issue with Paramount and their patented dumbfuckery. Disclaimer that obviously it could very well be a Sonic crew issue as well, obviously I don't know the inner workings of the entire film production.

Also, if you're mad about this: please be mad about the pay gap that has been going on as long as Hollywood has been alive. This isn't a problem unique to the SCU. I know the phrase "pay gap" is thrown around a whole lot but do you guys actually know how big an issue it is?

Recent percentages are that male and female actors have "a wage difference of about 25 percent," with an estimated difference of $1-2million between star-power men and star-power women.[x][x] Basic Instinct star Sharon Stone said she made $500k to Michael Douglas's $14mil– and when she was asked to be lead in a film being made in ~2022, the lead male, who was "new", was going to be paid $8-9mil, with her salary still at $500k. Last December, Biggest Monopoly In The World Disney was sued by 9,000 women over their pay gap.

This article is from 2019 but brings up some big fucking pay gaps between leads– for instance, Gillian Anderson was offered half of what David Duchovny was for the X-Files reboot as one of the two main fucking characters, Amanda Seyfried has disclosed she made 10% of what her male co-star made on an undisclosed film, Natalie Portman made 1/3 of the salary of Ashton Kutcher in No Strings Attached, and Ellen Pompeo, the titular character of Grey's Anatomy, was paid less than the actor playing her love interest, Patrick Dempsey. In fact, Dempsey was being paid almost double what she was.

However, BIG issue with the 2019 article: it only focuses on what White actors are being paid. Research shows that Black actresses make 57 cents to every dollar white actors make on a good day. Viola Davis, one of the most popular and talented actresses of our generation, has said that black women "get probably a tenth of what a Caucasian woman gets. And I'm number one on the call sheet." Octavia Spencer had to collaborate with Jessica Chastain to make sure they both got paid the same amount of money on a film they both worked on, and revealed that her new salary increased 500% afterwards.

At the end of last year, while promo-ing The Color Purple, Taraji P. Henson broke into tears while talking about how little she's being paid when compared to her white and male contemporaries. And when she talked about the gap, I find it so fucking frustrating that the general audience response was to immediately blame the only Black female producer on the film. I have a million gripes with Oprah Winfrey but TCP cast has said that she herself managed to fix a lot of the problems on set and was nothing but supportive to them. Oh, and there were a lot of problems on set, including a lack of food and dressing space for the main actors. And this is all from celebrity women. Just think about how Hollywood is treating women who don't have the star power to speak up.

Of course this isn't even a problem solo to Hollywood, let alone Paramount, let alone just one movie. And honestly it was probably really sad that when I saw the pay rate for the Sonic 3 cast, I wasn't even surprised, because I've seen worse on bigger projects.

[dalliancekay]

The 'Aziraphale Still Believes in Heaven' Take

Is one that I see so often. Too often. The way many fans (still) say Aziraphale is so naïve, he's never learned anything, he never changes, Metatron just offered him a promotion and he happily jumped on it. Happy to go back to Heaven. Still in their clutches. Leaving Crowley behind. Cos nothing lasts forever. Amirite? Poor long-suffering Crowley. So patient. Goes through so much. Aww. Takes that say that because Crowley never told Aziraphale about the venom in Gabriel's "Shut your stupid mouth and die already", Aziraphale has no idea that Heaven is not the good guys, that he still believes they are on the side of truth and light.

Takes that claim Aziraphale wants Crowley to come to Heaven and be an angel again so they can be happy like in the good old times. Takes that basically say that Aziraphale is stupid. And blind. LISTEN Do you mean this Aziraphale:

Who knew before Crowley did that something is rotten in the state of Denmark, that things are wrong and one can get in a lot of trouble for a thing as minor as a suggestion to improve things. Is this the Aziraphale that would seriously suggest to Crowley, who he was immediately deeply anxious over, to go back to 'good old times'? What good old times? How is Heaven a place of light when:

A bunch of angels comes down to Earth to bully and PUNCH ONE OF THEIR OWN?

Why would he think they are the light when they shame him for being who he is?

And yes, Aziraphale wants to do good. But that's not tied to him being an angel. And it's not a bad thing ffs! Crowley does good as well. Aziraphale might be the only one who knows, but he knows. Maybe getting humans out of the Garden to seek knowledge was always a (certainty) possibility, and maybe not, but it was Aziraphale's decision to arm them.

And She didn't make him Fall for it. And do you remember when:

Aziraphale first openly questioned that Heaven was actually doing what God actually wanted? He had a think after the Flood, didn't he. He did what he thought was right. He trusted Crowley over his fellow angels, with his own sense of rightness. He and Crowley saved the kids that Aziraphale triple checked the Archangels saw no problem in letting die to make things easier. And She didn't make him Fall for it. In Edinburgh:

Az re-evaluated his assumption that grave-robbing is bad and did a full 180 degree turn when he learned it can be spun another way, trying to save the grave-robbing girl AND the possible future lives of children that could be helped via more learning. And when we come to Metatron and his threats, we don't see the full conversation, but don't we see enough? Aziraphale says that he's not interested. Metatron keeps nagging at him. Pushing the symbolic coffee from Coffee or Death at him. Flattering him with obvious untruths. After all, Aziraphale knows what Heaven thinks of him. He tried to reason with Metatron before. Metatron tells him they know how deep his disobedience lies:

Aziraphale is not a fool. He knows this is an offer of come quietly or we will find a way to destroy you and your demon this time. Aziraphale didn't have to hear Metatron's quip of: "For one prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story. For it to happen twice, makes it look like there is some kind of institutional problem." He knows the system is rotten. He knows for a LONG time. Did you see his face when he met Muriel and realised what a lonely sad existence they lead.

AND Crowley doesn't love Aziraphale despite the fact that he's being used to get out of trouble, being made to listen about random things the angel enjoys from symphonies to food and plays, and who continues to believe in goodness and kindness. CROWLEY LOVES AZIRAPAHLE BECAUSE OF THOSE THINGS AND because he sees Aziraphale for what he is, an angel who thinks for himself, changes his mind, angel who is brave, who stands for the right thing, who sacrifices his own happiness for the safety of others, especially the demon he loves. They are the same. They are lonely. They are one of a kind. And they love each other.

Aziraphale wants to stay at home. In the home he built for himself and Crowley. On Earth where he's found so much to love. But he knows it is impossible. As Crowley confesses his love, Aziraphale struggles to stay on his plan. He'll miss Crowley terribly. He wants them to be together. For him, they were an 'us' the whole S2. However tenuously. Fragile existence and all that.

But even this was ripped away from him. And whatever he's planning, he knows he needs to do the first steps on his own. He can't submit Crowley to the torture that being in Heaven is going to be for him, an unwanted, despised angel. He can't make him come. He can only ask him. And Crowley said no.

So he leaves. Furious. And determined. Whether it is to burn the place down or find God and ask Her all the questions to Her face I don't know. But his love will push him through.

And if I see one more simplistic take of the snarky demon is really good isn't he, so that means the stuffy angel is bad (and needs to change to be worthy of the demon) I will curse their dreams with lines about shades of grey. AZIRAPHALE AND CROWLEY ALREADY LOVE EACH OTHER

[pomefioredove]

Hi! This is very very specific, but…I've had a rough start to my day today, kinda relating to the topic of my request…

So I was wondering, would it be alright to request HCs of Jamil, Ruggie, Leona, Floyd and Rollo with a Reader who runs into an emotionally abusive/manipulative parent they haven't seen in a long time? The kind of subtle abuse that's hard to tell (from the inside, at least) is even abuse at all, and makes you doubt yourself a lot. Kinda narcissistic abuse

Kind of a hurt/comfort thing? Like how they'd deal with the bad parent and the Reader opening up a bit about it. Romantic or platonic, either one is good

Feel more than free to ignore if this kind of request isn't your thing: that's totally fine, I understand it's a bit heavy, not to mention very specific, so please do what makes you feel best. I hope you have a good day!

ahhh of course! I relate to this sort of thing a lot (although I don't use terms like narcissistic abuse since abuse is just abuse to me) and I know exactly what you mean. I love hurt/comfort and you're well within my boundaries since the only thing I wouldn't write pertaining to this topic is intimate partner abuse (like with an s/o). so you're perfectly fine! I enjoyed writing this <3

summary: comforting a reader with an abusive parent type of post: short fics characters: jamil, ruggie, leona, floyd, rollo additional info: reader is not specified to be yuu ("shrimpy" is used as a nickname during floyd's part tho), reader is gender neutral, food mention (ruggie's part), actual interaction w the parent happens during leona and rollo's parts, mentions/descriptions of emotional abuse, although reader is kinda vague about it

Jamil Viper

Jamil knows what it's like to feel stuck.

That's really all he has to know when he recognizes that look on your face.

Perhaps you usually wear your heart on your sleeves, or perhaps you're better at keeping your emotions to yourself, like him, but either way he can tell something is very wrong the second he sees you.

It's a bit strange, isn't it?

Surrounded by people in the cafeteria and yet no one seems to notice the shadow cast over you.

He tries to talk himself out of it for the rest of the day. He has enough on his plate as it is, and it's not his problem. He's Kalim's keeper, not yours.

But that sense of unease doesn't go away.

He drags himself out of bed and somehow finds himself at your door in the dead of night.

And even though it takes you a moment to answer, he can tell you were already awake.

"Here," he says, handing you a warm meal in a container. "I noticed you didn't eat today. We had leftovers."

You don't feel very much like eating, but you accept the gift, anyway. It smells amazing. His cooking always does.

"Thank you," you mumble.

You can't think of anything else to say.

"Are you... well, Kalim sent me to ask if you're feeling unwell," he lies through his teeth.

"I'm fine,"

Another lie, this time of your behalf, which annoys him ever-so-slightly.

"You're clearly not. Are you sick?" the question is vague enough, said in such a way that leaves you with the impression that he wasn't exactly referring to a physical illness.

"I've... had a rough day,"

Jamil is quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. And then: "Do you mind if I come in?"

He's always so careful with his words that such a direct (yet polite) request almost catches you off guard. You step to the side, letting him in your room.

"I don't mean to pry. I know it's not my place," he says, watching you close the door. "But... Kalim is worried. Yes."

You shake your head. "It's fine. I'll get over it,"

It.

What did "it" mean? Surely this couldn't just be a lousy day.

"Did something happen?"

You hesitate.

"Have you ever... ran into someone who made your life miserable? That you thought you moved on from... and it starts to feel like you're stuck in that place all over again?"

Of course. Of course he knows what that feels like.

He has to live through that exact experience every day, without even being able to move on.

But he can't just say that. And this is about you, after all.

"I'm familiar with the feeling. I suppose that's what's ruined your day, then?"

"That's one way to put it," you sigh, sitting at the edge of your bed. "Sometimes it feels like all the progress I've made is just... null. Like I'll never really move on."

He hates how much he's relating to you. How much you're affecting him, now, too.

He follows you to the bed and sits beside you.

"Someday, though, you will. It may feel hopeless now, but... you won't stay stuck forever,"

Unlike me, he thinks.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't be. But you don't strike me as someone to give up after hardship,"

Like me.

You're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering what he told you. And then you hug him.

A nice, soft hug. Not abrasive or sudden like the ones Kalim gives. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Thank you, Jamil,"

He hugs back. "Of course,"

Ruggie Bucchi

It was almost painful, watching you fumble with your wallet like that.

You couldn't seem to get the proper amount out, shaking like a leaf and apologizing profusely. Sam keeps telling you it's okay, but the line forming behind you is starting to grow restless.

Ruggie included.

He has places to be, after all, and he's got two whole crates of energy drinks to lug back to Savanaclaw.

He has half a mind to ask what the holdup is.

And so, he peers over your shoulder, ready to- oh, no. You're crying.

Damn it. Why can't things ever be easy for him?

He can't even chew someone out for taking up all his precious time without being thrown a curveball. And now he feels bad.

Sigh.

"Hey, I got this," he says, setting his heavy crates down on the counter and flashing a card.

Your eyes widen. "Oh, no, Ruggie, you don't have to-"

"Relax, it's Leona's money, not mine," he offers a grin, ignoring the tears trailing down your face. "He won't even notice it's missing."

The line behind you two breathes a collective sigh of relief (much to your embarrassment) and Ruggie shoots them a glare.

"I... I still can't accept this-" you start, before he quickly shushes you.

"Hey, if you wanna make it up to me, you can help me carry these things. I'll call it even,"

You're silent for a moment as Sam finishes ringing you both up, and then you take a crate. As quiet as ever. It's unnerving.

You're walking back to the Hall of Mirrors when Ruggie breaks that silence by bringing up your purchase. "So, what's up with the afternoon snack? Not that I'm judging- I'm jealous. I skipped lunch, shishishi,"

"Oh, it's nothing," you mutter. "Comfort food, I guess."

The concept of comfort food is extremely appealing to him. "Huh. Long day?"

"Something like that... Why'd you skip lunch?"

Trying to change the conversation topic? Clever. But he'll bite, anyway.

"Leona forgot some of his class stuff, so I had 'ta run and get it. Too bad he forgot where he left it... I was all over campus,"

"Did you find it?"

"Eventually. Or else I'd be busy getting my neck wrung instead of 'bein here with you,"

You nod, and the conversation swiftly dies.

After another awkward beat, he clears his throat. "So you... you wanna talk about it, or something?"

"What?"

"You know, your... your day," he mutters, shrugging. He's desperately trying to remember all of the things his grandma did for him when he was upset as a child. "Talking about it might... make 'ya feel better, y'know?"

You're quiet again, and for a moment Ruggie is worried he said something to offend you.

Then, much to his relief, your voice picks up. "I ran into someone today,"

"What? Like someone was giving you trouble?"

"No, not a student. Someone I don't see very much anymore. Um... I guess it just threw me off,"

He tilts his head to the side. "Why?"

"I don't... well, we don't get along very much. Something about them just makes me feel... very... small. Insignificant,"

You don't ask if he understands what you mean, but he does. Not that he'd ever admit that so openly to you at a time like this, but being small and insignificant is basically his job.

And as much as he likes the perks, he can imagine how rough it would be to deal with that and not get to use a bottomless credit card whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He struggles to respond for a moment.

"That's rough,"

Definitely not the sympathetic response he was going for. At least you don't seem to mind.

"I-I mean, sometimes we have to act small to survive. It's a part of life, 'ya know? But that doesn't mean you are small. Just surviving on its own is an accomplishment," he recovers from his earlier blunder, trying to smile. "You should be proud of yourself, if anything."

"That's..." you say. "That's one way of looking at it."

He sighs. "I'm not expressing myself very well, am I? What I'm trying to say is that you're not small or insignificant, and living life feeling like you are is a survival tactic at best,"

The both of you stop in front of Savanaclaw, and he offers another grin.

"And if you ever wanna talk about this stuff... well, I'm around... And you can come inside now, if you want. I could definitely find more stuff to carry!"

Leona Kingscholar

Leona Kingscholar is very, very much enjoying parent weekend alone, thank you.

Of course his folks don't want to attend a school event for their disappointment of a second son. Why would they care? And on Cheka's birthday weekend, no less...

But that didn't bother him. Not at all.

As long as he slept through the weekend without being bothered by any happy-go-lucky nuclear family units, he'd live.

That plan lasts about five hours.

"You'd be better off doing something more useful with your time. Sports, or science, or... something that might help your future. But if you're so sure... I suppose it's better to cut our losses now than put any more faith in you. You just can never decide, can you?"

That voice. Unfamiliar, but drawling, laced with poison. Aggravating enough to stir Leona from his nap in the botanical gardens.

And it's getting closer.

"I just don't understand. Why get accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the world just to spend your time goofing off?" a long sigh. "But as long as you're happy... we just want what's best for you."

Leona grumbles, turning over and trying to drift back to sleep.

"I'm trying,"

This voice is different. No- he recognizes it. It's yours.

"Are you? You know I know what's best for you, right?"

Sevens. This is your parent speaking to you? No wonder you've been acting all jittery lately.

He sits up, giving up on his nap, and continues listening in.

"I know," you say. "I really am trying, though."

"Did I say you weren't? Don't speak for me,"

This is getting ugly. Leona stands, stepping out of the shrubbery and clearing his throat behind the two of you.

You're the first to turn. "Oh- Leona! Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you,"

"You're fine," he snaps, sharp eyes turning to your parent beside you. "Who's this, then?"

"This is-"

"Their parent," they go ahead and introduce themselves, cutting you off as if you weren't speaking at all. Like you're a piece of furniture hanging in the background. He's not a fan.

"Really? From the way you were talking, I would have guessed that you were their coach. Or boss,"

Your eyes dart between the two. "Leona-"

"You're fine," he reaffirms. "I was just looking for you, anyway. We really have to talk."

You pause, raising an eyebrow. He? Wants to talk to you? Now?

"Is it important?" your parent asks. The question is directed at you, although he answers.

"Very. I was just coming to ask you, very politely, I might add, to reconsider my offer,"

"Your... offer...?"

Your parent looks down at you. "What's he talking about?"

"Can't blame you for forgetting. I'm sure you're busy with all your... school... things. But I do have to ask you to rejoin the spelldrive club. We're in shambles without you,"

He gives you a certain look, one that clearly reads "Go along with it."

Leona Kingscholar offering an olive branch to someone is a rare occurrence. So you take it.

"Oh! Right, I have been busy with school. I've been meaning to get back to you..."

Your parent looks between the two of you with just the faintest hint of confusion, and then frustration. "You've been playing spelldrive? When was I going to hear about this?"

"They haven't been playing with us," Leona says, a small smirk already forming. "They're the team manager. They're way too smart to be out on the field- no, they're running the team, they're organizing everything, their strategy is like nothing we've ever seen. If only they were in Savanaclaw, we might have a chance at winning one of these years."

"Uhhh..." you start, looking between your parent and the oddly friendly and receptive clone that's replaced Leona. "...Yeah, right."

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we really have to discuss official club matters," he says, shooing away your parent until they eventually give in and leave.

As soon as they're out the door, you turn to him. "What w-"

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Stunned would be an understatement. "I'm fine,"

"Really? Cause you're looking at me like a gazelle caught in headlights,"

"I-I guess it's just been hard... having them here,"

Leona nods, closing his eyes as he thinks to himself. Then, he sighs.

"Yeah. I get that. Come on, then,"

You raise an eyebrow as he starts off in the opposite direction. "What? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet and warm to nap. Being around that person sucked all the energy right out of me, I can't imagine how exhausted you feel,"

He turns to look over his shoulder with a smile. "With any luck, we'll avoid them for the rest of the weekend,"

Floyd Leech

Of course, he can tell something's up right away.

Well... maybe it takes him a little while to tune into the conversation, but once he does, he notices you've been... awfully quiet throughout it.

His favorite little shrimpy? All sad? Moping around like a kicked puppy?

Now this catches his attention.

"Bored?" he asks. It's his first guess.

"Hm?" you ask, looking back at him. "No, I'm fine."

"But you're not,"

"Okay, I'm a little distracted,"

Now that, he can understand. But there's still something very off about the whole thing that he can't quite put his finger on.

"You're not telling me something," he states, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

You raise an eyebrow. "...And?"

"And I wanna know. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me,"

Your thought process is probably ranging somewhere between "oh, no," and "oh NO," by now.

"I sweaaar, it's nothing," you insist. "I just had a bad day, okay?"

"Why?"

There's no turning back now. He's invested, and until he loses interest, you're stuck here.

"It was... just... long. Can I go now? I have things to do,"

He frowns, and stands, and then puts you in a headlock. "Alright, where're we 'goin?"

"FLOYD!"

He drags you along with him, remembering not to be too rough as he takes you from place to place on his dailies. You begrudgingly learn to accept it.

When you walk back into the Mostro Lounge, Azul and Jade don't even bat an eye.

"You're thirty minutes late- ah, why do I bother?" Azul says, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. He only looks up when he catches a glimpse of you. "Oh. Hello, there."

You wave half-heartedly. "Can I get some help?"

"Floyd. What is the meaning of this?" he asks.

Floyd pouts. "There's 'somethin wrong with them and they won't tell me what,"

"Are they ill?"

You lower your eyes at the two as they speak like you're not even there. "Hello?"

"Nah, they feel fine. They're all mopey, though,"

Azul hums to himself, lost in thought. And then: "Well, figure out what it is, and get to work, if you please,"

"Azul!" you shout. He ignores you.

Floyd drags you back outside the office and sits down with you at one of the tables, waving to concerned lounge-goers as they pass by.

"Now will you tell me?"

"Geez, alright, alright. I give up, you win," you sigh. "I... well, my parent was here earlier. At school. And we talked, and they... said some not-very-nice things to me. That's why I've been upset, okay?"

Floyd's smile immediately drops. "I win? But that's not a very good prize,"

"Tell me about it,"

"Why would anyone be mean to you, anyway? You're the best shrimpy I know!"

You avert your eyes. "It wasn't... mean... per se. Just... not nice,"

"Sounds mean to me," he mutters. "I don't get it."

"Well, sometimes these things just... don't make sense. It's my fault, anyway," you sigh.

His gaze sharpens at that. "'An who told you that? You didn't do anything! I'm starting to really dislike this parent of yours,"

His sudden mood swing doesn't phase you, but it does lift your spirits... just the tiniest bit. Even if you wouldn't admit that to yourself. "Hey, it's fine. I'm over it,"

"You sure you don't want me to squeeze 'em?"

"Heh. No, that's okay. I would like you to let me go, though,"

His eyes widen at the sudden realization he still has you in a headlock and he quickly releases you.

You sit up, stretching and rubbing the back of your neck. "Thanks,"

"My arm was starting to hurt, anyway..." he thinks for a moment, looking back to the office door. "Ya think I can use that to get out of working? I wanna spend more quality time with my favorite shrimpy. You could use it!"

You look to the door and shrug. "Hey, worth a try, right?"

Rollo Flamme

Out of all the things to ruin the day, of course it had to be your parent.

The disappointment between the two of you was palpable. And even though it was only a brief encounter, it was enough to sour the rest of the afternoon for the both of you.

The first thing Rollo noticed, of course, was the manner in which they carried themselves. As an authoritative, important figure, puffing out their chest and towering over you. What gave them the right...?

They were not a leader, nor a public figure, nor anyone of interest, if your earlier mentions of them gave him any idea. Nothing but an adult who spoke to the both of you as if you were tiny children.

He loathed being talked down to.

Perhaps he should have said something sooner than he did, and perhaps he should have said something more than the interruption he used to excuse you from the conversation.

And now you're just quiet.

"Are you well?" he asks, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

You shrug.

"I apologize for not speaking on your behalf sooner. I did not want to be rude,"

No response at all.

Your silence was driving him mad. He couldn't get a good read on what you were feeling when you kept looking away like that.

"If you'd like to return home early, I would understand and escort you promptly,"

"No,"

A response. Not a good one, but a response nonetheless.

"May I ask you a question?" though he doesn't really wait for your permission to go on. "Why do they speak to you like that?"

That comment seems to jolt you, and you turn to look at him with wide eyes. "What? Speak to me like what?"

He struggles for the right words.

How could he describe it? It was so... odd. The words they spoke to you didn't sound cruel, but there was something sinister lurking beneath them. And not even in the typical "polite for the sake of it" sense.

Each response they gave was laced with a sort of venom that seemed to sting you. You had grown quiet, distant, as if you weren't really there at all.

Of course he was familiar with such tactics. He could weave his own words with ease. But you had done nothing wrong- you were guiltless. Why were you being punished?

He couldn't quite come up with an answer.

"You seemed uncomfortable," he finally says, looking away again. "I apologize for such an experience happening to you under my watch."

"It's not your fault,"

"It certainly isn't. And it's not yours, either,"

A blanket of silence falls over the two of you until he speaks again.

"You have nothing to feel bad about," he reaffirms.

Another pause.

"And I don't mean to intrude. But if you ever need my assistance, you know where to find me,"

[yuri-is-online]

Hey, Yuri, do you think Yuu would ever run the risk of being put in danger by having a romantic relationship with any of the more high-profile members of the cast? I mean, we’ve got royalty, nobility, celebrities, and the very wealthy attending this school. I’ve just been rotating my brain about how these relationships would work out and Yuu is a pretty vulnerable target without NRC’s security. - 🦐

Hmmmmmm. I have a bunch of thoughts about this actually... I tried ranking them from least to most dangerous if that makes sense? But don't read too deeply into the bullet point placements they were mostly just a stream of consciousness thing.

Not that Risky (surprisingly)

Leona- we don't really have details about his brother's marriage, but I don't think his family has been shown to be overly keen on forming alliances with outside countries, the Savannah seems more concerned with itself. I don't think his family would be too fussed with his partner being a magicless person from outerspace, if anything this might be seen as a plus to the councilors that are always mocking Leona behind his back as his partner's lack of royal blood makes him even less fit for the throne. Not to mention Leona himself is more than enough to protect Yuu, he's the only royal at the school without a proper retainer (which you could argue is because no one at home likes him) but I doubt his family would let him do that if he was genuinely in danger.

Rook- he's Rook. His family does sound rather sweet from the very very very little we know about him (he also seems like he was kind of sheltered as a kid, something I should chew on sometime) so I doubt they would allow anything too bad to happen to Yuu.

Vil- his main issue is his contract, the Japanese Idol industry is cut throat and often sees things like bans on relationships as part of the contract. Vil doesn't want to risk his career or reputation, he mentions that he himself is a brand and I can't see him wanting to put that pressure on Yuu if they're not up for it. But... there are also celebrities who have really private personal lives and I sort of get the sense Vil is like that? And I don't think he would be too bothered if Yuu didn't want to be super public, it would certainly make it easier to keep you safe.

Idia- S.T.Y.X. might be a gloomy place but no one knows where it is

Medium Danger (danger is real but can be managed)

Jade and Floyd- we don't actually know what their family does, just that it's probably sketchy and that Mama Leech calls them every day, taught them self defense, and just generally seems to worry about them a lot. The danger is very real under the sea, but I also sort of get the sense that messing with the Leech family is skipping the fuck around and going straight to find out.

Azul- his business is going to make him enemies sooner or later, but at least during school Yuu should be more or less safe. Azul's able to keep on top of the students who mean Yuu harm, and Yuu is able to politely ignore their boyfriend's business (or maybe they have a knack for helping?) When you get older I can see Azul's need for a security team expanding, but he'll have money to get the best.

Riddle- ok so. I don't think his mom would try to kill you. But god she would be such a toxic person to manage. I'm actually working on a (very old) request atm that involves discussing what Riddle's mom might do if she finds Riddle with a partner instead of his studies (which I assume she's paying for) especially during his internship. She'd go full scorched earth and get very confused when Yuu doesn't back off like Trey did.

Huston We Have a Problem

Kalim- the amount of assassination attempts my poor boy has already canonically endured... I imagine there are probably going to be more in his future. I can see Yuu needing their own retainer (which could be a fun concept for an oc) to protect them and test their food. When Grim becomes a great mage I'm sure he could help with that actually, wouldn't that be cute?!

MALLEUS- acceptance of humans is virtually non existence in Briar Valley AND his mother hated humans so much she "blessed" her child to only be loved by fae. We don't actually know how the senate works but I imagine they would lose their ever loving shit if Malleus brought home a human as a friend and now he wants to make them his spouse? No. They say no. Time to show them what an absolute monarchy means I guess.

Assuming Yuu isn't in a relationship with Malleus I could see their friendship actually sort of being a boon to them, especially if Yuu was with Kalim or Azul. Pissing of the merchants is one thing, but the King of the Abyss? No thank you, they'll just take their losses and go.

[wardenparker]

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 2

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When an accident of fate throws Javi G into the path of his soulmate, his instinct is to dive in head first. Adjusting to life as the fated partner of someone you barely know is going to be harder than either of you suspect, but anything worth having is worth working for. Isn't it?

(This story is heavily inspired by the lovely house museums that I work in every day and the fantastic few months that HBO was using our houses to film a TV show in fall! I spent each day on that set in wonder and I can't wait to share the experience with all of you through this story.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas.* More fluff and sweetness. Adorable and awkward flirting. Workplace romance, technically? Clothing/trying on clothing. Summary: The first day of the movie crew's work is here, and no one is prepared for the whirlwind that this day will bring -- not even you and Javi. Notes: We started off strong with a big ol' error last week guys! Sorry about that. But thank you to those folx who brought it to my attention, you're simply the best readers out there. The start date of ch1 is now fixed and dates are fixed across the board. 🧡 This week enjoy a photo of the music room at The Breakers -- the house that inspired or fictional Hazelwood House.

Friday, April 4, 2025

“Javi, you don’t want to meet with the cast?”

He pauses, looking out of the front window of the little cottage at the wooden stakes marked off in the barren ground. Cleared and ready to be built and now lying abandoned. There didn’t seem to be much need to continue building a house when the woman who he was building it for had left. “They don’t need me at the read through.” He tells his agent, knowing that she had pushed for him to be on set and involved in every aspect of the filming, giving him more creative control. He appreciated it, but he was more excited about where the movie was being filmed than who was in it.

The thing is, Sherry knows him. She knows that there has to be a reason he pushed for the specific shooting location that inspired the script. She knows there's some girl there that he won't talk about – he'd showed up moon eyed to a meeting one day after working on the script and there had been something about it that screamed infatuation. Which is why she has no problem at all pulling the ace out from her proverbial sleeve.

"I would have thought you would want to see the house again." She hums. "Oh well. I'll let them know you're not coming and I'll cancel the car from the studio."

“The meeting is at the house?” He had assumed it was the studio read through. Not at the house. She hums and he starts to panic. “No! No, um, on second thought, I should see who is going to be playing my characters.”

Ever the professional, Sherry keeps her smile polite and betrays no hint of victory, despite the fact that she barely had to fight at all. "The director wanted the cast to be able to look around the house and grounds before the furniture gets swapped out for set pieces." She explains easily.

“Is the staff going to be there?” He asks eagerly. “To answer any questions for the cast? I don’t know a lot about the history, I mean. It would be good, you know, to have them there.” The idea of seeing you again has him already walking into his bathroom to get ready, needing a shower.

"As I understand it, a few of the docents will be there today." So that's what it is. One of the girls from the museum staff. "You have half an hour until the car gets here, Javi," she calls after him, grinning as he immediately hops into high gear.

Javi grins as he starts to rush through his shower. It’s ridiculous how excited he is by the idea of just seeing you again. Especially since he can’t recall ever seeing or hearing your name. He just knows that his entire mood brightens when he thinks about the few times that he’s interacted with you.

She hums again, pleased this time, and sits down in the living room of Javi's little house to wait. She has work she can do on her laptop in the meantime and sends a text off to the production assistant in charge of corralling the creative team for the movie, confirming that Javi will be there. Now she just needs to find out who this girl is.

Towel wrapped around his waist; he hurries into the bedroom closet to pick out an outfit. Wanting to strike the right chord and look good when he arrives.

Sherry only has to hurry him along once, and he's tucked into the studio car right on time and sent off to Santa Barbara. She doesn't have to babysit him there, she knows he'll do his work, but it's good that she stayed long enough to get him in the car. A day of work and whatever girl is in that house will do Javi a world of good.

In the car, Javi fiddles with his phone, triple checking the time and discreetly turning on the camera to check his appearance. He had made sure not to put on too much cologne, but he had completely forgot to check his hair. Even if it is shorter than he had worn it before.

He fidgets all the way to the museum, and the anticipation settles over him like the buzz of electricity threatening to shock him at any moment. The first thing he does when he walks in the front door is look to the front desk, but it isn't who he's looking for. He vaguely recognizes the young woman though, and flounders for a moment to remember her name. It's the girl who had been with you that night just before Christmas. The one who suggested you take your break with him.

“Hi.” He flashes smile at the woman. “I’m—”

“I’m so sorry sir.” Moira hates that the mystery man who managed to make you float on air arrived today of all days. “The house is closed for a private event.” She tilts her head sympathetically and walks around the desk to usher him outside.

“No, I just wished to see—”

“We will we be closed for the next four months.” She has dealt with difficult people all day. Insisting their little tour wouldn’t interrupt anything and she doesn’t want to have to tell you this guy ended up being a jackass.

“No, you don’t understand—”

“Javi!” He spins around when his name is called from deeper inside the house, turning to see the producer of the film, smiling broadly as he rushes forward.

“Scott.” He’s grateful that the other man had shown up when he did, about to be booted out on his ass by the girl.

"Javi?" Moira quickly moves back to the desk to look at the clipboard that she was given by the producer now striding into the foyer. Glancing down and down it, her jaw drops open a little before she lights up with glee. "Javier Gutierrez?" She asks, looking up at the producer.

"Our writer." Scott affirms. "We almost started without you, Jav. C'mon in. We're all in the ballroom."

“Sorry.” He ducks his head in apology and his eyes shift over to Moira. He nods quickly, not wanting her to think he was upset with her before he follows Scott. “The traffic was heavier than the driver anticipated.” He explains as they walk down the hall.

"Not to worry. But it's good you're here. You know how changes go." Scott hustles them along a hallway and through the open pocket doors into a ballroom that would fit an entire Olympic swimming pool. There are tables set up on one end so the cast can all face each other during the read, with extra seats for key members of the production team. On the other end of the ballroom, two production assistants are setting up a makeshift catering table with someone sitting in a chair at the far end.

He doesn’t feel nervous when he sees the famous faces that will be bringing the script to life. He smiles and waves to each one of them, happy that such a talented group has been chosen by the production team and the director. It’s going to be amazing, he can feel it. No, he gets nervous when he sees you sitting in a chair away from the tables, looking just as shocked to see him. Freezing for a second before he gives the most awkward wave of his life and wants to kick himself for being so ridiculous.

OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygod—

You almost short circuit, sitting there in that chair with your legs crossed and a book in your lap. Your jaw drops open in surprise while the rest of you lights up, returning his sweet, shy wave with a little one of your own.

Somehow you hadn’t even considered the possibility that a writer would be on set for the filming of their movie, although in retrospect of course they would. You’re just so stunned that it’s him that you can barely think.

She’s here. That’s the thought that flutters through his mind until Scott touches his arm and breaks the spell that seems to have possessed him. Pointing him to a chair and he sits down, twisting his head to look back at you one more time to confirm that it’s you and not his overactive imagination playing tricks on him.

He catches you looking and you don’t even have the presence of mind to do anything but be mildly embarrassed and giddy that he’s actually here. That for the next four months, the chances of seeing him aren’t just increased but high. Is it a silly crush? Absolutely. But there’s nothing wrong with that in the least.

Javi tries to focus, but he catches himself wondering if you are listening. If you are happy that he will be here for the next four months.

He barely manages to mark comments during the read. His mind is forty feet in back of him sitting next to that folding table. It’s wrapped up in the navy blue dress and brown leather riding-style boots you have on today. He is utterly distracted beyond repair.

When the reading is finished with there is chatter at the table, a speech from the director, another from a different producer, and then one from the museum’s head curator.

You manage to hear most of what your boss says, straining a little only at times because of the size of the room, but the acoustics are good enough. She’s telling the cast and production crew that they’re going to be split into three groups to be led around the house by herself and the two docents here today. And then she excuses herself to bring Moira in while the whole cast breaks for something to eat before their tours.

Immediately Javi turns towards you and makes a beeline towards the chair where you are sitting. Or were sitting, now standing up and brushing down the front of your dress in an adorably nervous way. “Hi.” He rushes out when he gets within three feet of you.

“Hi.” The answering chirp is just as bright and excited as his is. You can’t help it. “I—I had no idea you’d be here.”

“I- I wrote the movie.” He’s not bragging, not really. He’s just stumbling for something to say without sounding like an idiot. “My agent, she insists that I be involved with the production. So that I can keep creative influence over the final product.” The success of the three movies he’s written so far has all but guaranteed that he gets what he asks for and she makes sure he does.

“You wrote a movie that takes place here?” Obviously he did, but you’re still stunned enough to be fumbled to connect all of the dots necessary to sound like an intelligent person. “Is that…I mean…it has to be, doesn’t it? Why you came back to visit the house? It really spoke to you.”

“That’s part of it.” Not all of it of course. The house is beautiful and did spark his interests, but that’s not the entire reason he kept coming back.

“Only part?” You can’t help feel yourself hoping. That dangerous, seductive, riotous feeling that takes wing in the hollow of your chest. That part of you dreams he’s thought about you a mere fraction as much as you’ve thought about him.

“I came back several other times.” He admits bashfully. “You were not here, I must assume you were off.”

“You…looked for me?” And just like that, hope’s wings unfurl into something so bold and beautiful that you almost erupt into disbelieving, giddy giggles.

“I liked our conversations.” He’s worried that it might have been improper until you start beaming at him. Making him smile in response.

“I did too.” It’s a terrible understatement, but it’s true.

“You did?” He brightens slightly, licking his bottom lip nervously. “I was worried that I was bothering you.” He admits with a laugh.

“Not at all.” In fact, the warmth in your cheeks at that simple confession runs all the way down your neck and blossoms in your chest. “I was afraid that I was bothering you.”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head vigorously. “I was disappointed to learn I couldn’t have a one-on-one tour.” He admits. “I asked once, when you were off, hoping to get you and you weren’t there anyway.” He can’t help but laugh at himself for that and shrugs.

“I’m certain we could manage one during filming, though things will be moved around. Our furniture and collections items are going into storage starting tomorrow.” It will be a very busy work day for your conservation and collections staff along with the moving company that has been hired, but the docents have the weekend off. You’ve planned a very busy weekend of sitting around and doing nothing at all.

He moves towards the tables that are ladened down with food and picks up a plate to hand to you. “I know, but the furniture will be replicas of the original furniture.” He had been specific about certain pieces in the script. “The set designer loved the originals.”

“Really?” Surely that must have cost a fortune, and it shocks you that he would have gone through so much work. “Is that why they want the cast and crew to see the set up of the house today?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I gave a specific tone for this movie.” He admits, smiling as he reaches for a mini croissant chicken salad. “Do you like these?” He offers, holding it out to you. “Craft services is really good.”

“I love chicken salad. Thank you.” Not to mention you’ll try just about anything once, but he’s hit on a favorite immediately. He sets two of the small sandwiches on your plate beside the scone you had already selected. “So you…write the film after visiting? Or did the house happen to fit the story that you wanted to tell?”

“I was starting the script.” He admits. “I was stuck on how I wanted it to be set and the house was mentioned. So I decided to come see it.” He chooses a little egg tart and hums. “That first visit is where you talked about the mosaic tiles. I knew then I wanted the movie set here.”

“Because of the tiles?” You ask, amused at the thought. He had been so entranced by the detail that you almost aren’t surprised.

“It’s is so specific.” He defends. “That had to be a decision that was made by the owners, the designers. I can’t imagine the builder caring if the tiles were the same marble.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” you remind him with a gentle laugh. “I wish the family had kept more records about the design choices, but how could Mrs. Hollingsworth have known her house would become a museum?”

“It would be interesting to see.” He agrees, scooping some of the seafood salad onto his plate.

“The great-grandchildren, the ones that are still living, are notoriously hands off.” You explain as you go down the line together, filling your plates with all of the delicious looking offerings that catering has provided. “And their children have no connection to the house whatsoever. So whatever information we’re ever going to have…we pretty much already have it.”

“That’s sad.” He frowns slightly, remember his own big beautiful house that would be forgotten. It had been seized by the police when Lucas has been arrested.

“Perhaps we’ll do some digging in the archives one day or find something new in a trap door of the attic.” You hope you will, anyway. The more information the better. “Who knows?”

The two of you make your way through the line to the drinks and he picks up a strawberry lime soda. “Do you want to talk while we eat?” He asks. “Or do you have to meet with your boss?”

“No, I—I’d rather stay and talk to you.” It seems like a very forward thing to say, but you pick out a can of sparkling lemonade from the cooler and practically beam. “My boss will let me know who is in my tour group after lunch.”

“Then we should sit down.” He guides you over to table to sit, finding the leads of the film already sitting.

Sitting down to a casual lunch with movie stars was not something you had on your Bingo card for your life. Not really. Living in Southern California didn’t guarantee a damn thing and you certainly haven’t done any kind of acting since high school drama club. The best you can do is a polite if awkward smile as you sit down in the chair that is being held out for you and hope that small talk trends toward the house. That you can talk about.

“Javi, I am sooooo thrilled to work on this.” The lead actress, Tamara Wilson, has an impressive range from what he has seen in the audition clips. “The script is amazing.”

He sits down and ducks his head slightly. “Thank you.”

“It’s such character-focused story telling.” The younger of the two male leads, Jason Grant, is a relative newcomer but fought to get this role and he’s excited for it. “The research you did is incredible.”

He chuckles. “It was interesting.” He shoots you a glance. “The house is part of the focus of the film.” He explains since you haven’t read the script. “A character on her own.”

“She’s a very worthy to house to include.” A glowing part of you warms from the toes up at the idea that any of this might be because you talked to him about the house, and you don’t mind admitting that to yourself at all. “I’ll do my very best, we all will, to answer any question you all have about the house and the family here. I know the family in your movie will be different, but we’ll do so glad to answer any questions we possibly can.”

“Are there any secret passages?” Tamara asks, leaning in with the gleam of excitement in her eyes.

“Several.” You assure her with a grin. “I’ll show you when we walk around. The staff made their way through the house invisibly to make it like the place operated by magic alone.”

“That is amazing.” She gushes, looking around to try to figure out where an opening would be in this room. “Imagine the secrets they must have overheard.”

"Any time someone in a costume drama jokes that 'the maids know everything', it's not really a joke." Eating as you chat makes it feel slightly less daunting, especially with Javier sitting beside you looking like he's hanging on your every word. "Domestic staff knew everything about the people they worked for. And were usually privy to secrets that the family were keeping from each other, on top of it all."

“So you would want to make sure your staff was loyal to you.” She nods seriously and looks over past Jason to Alexander as he joins the four of you at the table. “Or in this case - you.” She snorts and rolls her eyes playfully.

"Me?" Alex points to himself, eyebrows raised, and sets his plate down beside the binder holding his script. "What did I do?"

Alex is objectively beautiful, even Javier can admit that as he glances over at the man that magazines call a ‘heartthrob’. It is rumored that he will be the next year’s Sexiest Man Alive and better yet, he’s a beautiful soul. Jason chuckles. “You have to make sure all the staff are loyal to you.” He explains and points at you. “Starting with her.”

"Oh," you fluster, clearing your throat gently and looking unintentionally bashful. "I'm afraid my loyalties are already spoken for. No hard feelings, gentlemen." It's a ludicrous thing to say to one of the biggest movie stars in Hollywood and a tv actor you've swooned over with Moira, but...it's true. And there's just no way to deny it.

“Well, damn.” Even though he’s just now getting involved with the conversation, Alex is nothing if not willing to tease and joke around with his casemates. “Way to break a man’s heart before introductions.” He reaches out his hand. “Alex Powell.” He introduces himself, giving that characteristic smile that has ladies normally swooning. “Sure I can’t change your mind?”

"As much as I appreciate the offer, Mr. Powell -- and it's very nice to meet you by the way -- I'm afraid not." You can think of at least a half dozen friends off the top of your head who would be screaming to shake Alexander Powell's hand right now, but you find yourself oddly impartial to him in this moment. Obviously he's handsome, but the man sitting to your right, with his gorgeous curls and bright brown eyes, has already laid every possible claim over your affections.

“Damn.” His eyes slide to your side and he notices the way Javi Gutierrez, the entire reason he signed on to the project, looks downright relieved at your answer. “Then you and I are going to be friends.” He decides, sending you a wink.

******

When the lunch break finishes, everyone clears away their dishes into the bins provided by the catering staff, and the museum's head curator steps up to the front of the group. "We'll split into three tour groups," she announces pleasantly, her characteristic smile broad across her face. "Group A will be the technical crew and production assistants. Group B will be the costumers, hair and make-up department, and Second Team actors. Group C will be First Team actors and production crew."

She looks out on the sea of assembled people, as the crew that were not on site for the read through all arrived during lunch time. "Group A will be with me, Group B with our docent Moira," she points to the north side of the ballroom and Moira waves. And then Leslie points in your direction, telling Group C that they will be taking their tour with you.

Javi lights up, hoping that he would be put with you, although he never would have protested. Whatever is happening between you both is fragile and this is your job. Calling attention to your boss is never a good thing, at least he would never willingly admit anything to Lucas before. Protecting that glowing feeling in his chest as he steps towards you.

"We keep getting lucky," you murmur, barely loud enough for him to hear as you smother a smile.

“I wonder if your boss decided to do that on purpose.” Biting his lip, he glances over at the older woman. “She is the one I spoke to about a private tour.”

“Maybe.” But you can’t say you mind. Not even a little bit. “Leslie is incredibly sweet. I can see her doing that. She’ll always do what she can to make people happy.”

“It won’t make you uncomfortable for me to be on the tour?” He doesn’t think that it will make you feel that way, but he wants to be sure. He knows he can be a little….intense at times.

“Why would I be uncomfortable with that?” If you’re being honest with yourself, you’d be a little jealous if he went on someone else’s tour. It’s just the crush talking, surely, but you feel connected to him. Like he would just wander away carrying a piece of you if he went with anyone else.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs and grins as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Maybe I am being too bold?” He offers. “I can be over eager sometimes.”

"To be fair..." Having him talk of being bold makes you feel the same way. "You haven't actually said anything forward at all."

He realizes that you are right, but the way you say it makes his smile widen, reaching his eyes. “Perhaps you would like me to?” He asks, only to have Scott come up and clap him on the back.

“Tour time!” He grunts happily. “Javi, make sure to point out to Alex and Tamara where their clandestine scenes will be.”

You don't know the man from a hole in the wall but you are instantly frustrated with this producer. His timing was perfectly horrible and you nearly deflate at not being able to answer Javier right away. The best you can do right now is catch his eye as the group starts to assemble around you and mouth, 'Yes' with a nod of your head. Yes, you absolutely do want him to be bold. To make a move. To actually like you as much as you like him.

Javi tucks his hands deeper into his pockets and hangs back slightly so he can have a moment to celebrate. He hurries to catch up and is eager to hear everything you have to say.

All three tours start in different areas of the house. You walk the cast and main production crew through each room, talking to them about the architecture of the house, the use of each room, and the family that lived here. You show them the servant’s passages and answer as many questions as they have about the everyday workings of big houses and upper class families and large domestic staffs of the Gilded Age.

At one point, Tamara laughs in disbelief at the sheer breadth of the knowledge you have accumulated. “How did you get to be such an expert?” She asks, genuinely interested as she pokes around the dressing room attached to Mrs. Hollingworth’s bedroom on the second floor.

“They say it takes ten thousand hours to be an expert in something,” you shrug your shoulders. “I ended up studying history in college, put my focus on domestic history and the culture of families in the Victorian and Gilded eras, and then I’ve worked in house museums. So…maybe five years ago? Would be when those ten thousand hours were fulfilled?”

“Wow.” Javi is suitably impressed. “That is amazing. I think that I have only become an expert in movies.” He snorts. “Watching them, not making them. Not yet.”

“Do we have an on set historical consultant?” Alex asks Scott, turning to the producer with a flourish of his hands in your direction. “I mean we have one, but can we make her official?”

Javi nods in agreement when Scott glances towards him. “It would be good to have her on set. Help them with any needed facts and I could use her for potential re-writes.”

“Oh, I couldn’t— I—”

“Done.” Scott nods. “Save me having to hunt down resources for you, so I’m all for it.” He gives you the same too-pleased smirk and insincere wink that you’ve seen him give nearly everyone else. “Welcome to Hollywood, kid.”

Alex chuckles, moving over to you and slinging his arm around your shoulder. "Buckle up." He warns, jostling you playfully. "We will pick your brain clean. I want to make sure we get this on the radar for awards."

“Oh, but that…that’s down to all of you. Not to me.” Your mind is spinning but not at all in a bad way. It all feels like the most fantastic dream. “You’re going to help.” Tamara promises, confident and bubbling over with excitement. “And when we get those red carpet invitations, one of us will bring you as our date. You’ll have a blast.”

Javi's eyes widen, surprised by the idea coming from the lead actress but he doesn't deny that. Hoping that he wouldn't have to watch you walk the carpet with someone else. That would be his luck.

“That’s a very generous offer.” One that flusters you immeasurably, and you shuffle your booted feet in place. “I’m very excited to help, just nervous. That’s all.”

“Don’t be nervous.” Jason huffs, smiling at you and tugging Tamara close to his side. They have previous worked together on a small project and are happy to be reunited again. “We are just as normal as you are. We just have a job that is….public.” He chuckles.

“Let’s take a little break before we talk about Monday’s scenes.” Always working, Scott wipes his hands on each other and looks around. “Coffee.” He decides, heading off toward the catering table.

"Javier, I have a few questions about the script." Tamara poses, tilting her head as she looks towards Javi. "Would you mind chatting about it for a few minutes?"

His eyes float to you hesitantly, but you just smile. “I need to check in with my boss and let her know about the…the very generous consultant offer. Come and find me when you’re done?”

"I will." He nods, not even noticing the raised brows and shared smiles the actors share. Both of you are laying claim to each other and it's honestly interesting to watch.

Your heart is pounding as you make your way back over to Leslie and Moira, feeling like you're about to deliver terrible news when it probably won't change much of anything. Several of the other docents had taken the spring off rather than work on the movie set, and the ones who did want to be there for the film had had to fight for shifts.

"So how did your tour go?" Leslie asks, a small smirking smacks of smugness on her face. She had wondered if the writer of the script had a little crush on you when she finally put two and two together today. He was the same man who had been obviously looking for you when he asked about a personalized tour, describing you to a T.

"It was good." If you were glowing any more, you would be a lamppost. You're sure of that. But you can't help it in the least. "It was really great. Everyone is super nice."

"Especially your writer?" Moira asks with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face.

"What is his name?" Leslie asks, wondering if the two of you had actually had a conversation that is more than just longing glances and flirtatious banter. Both of you seem smitten, almost like you are soulmates.

"Javier." Even saying his name lights you up a little more, but you correct yourself a moment later. "Javi."

"Javi." She hums, nodding. "He looks like a Javi." She admits with a grin. "I didn't know if you had a stalker when he came in a few months ago and asked for you. Didn't know your name, but described you."

"We hadn't gone so far as to exchange names until today," you admit, practically biting your lip to keep your grin from growing even wider. "We had met twice before. He came in several times when he was writing the film, apparently."

"I knew that he had come in several times. I remember seeing him. Honestly? I was hoping he wasn't creepy, especially when I thought he kept coming back to look for you. I didn't let you know in case. I didn't let him know your schedule." In hindsight, she should have told you, but she is kind of a momma bear towards her docents. Protective.

"We appreciate that you take care of us, believe me." From time to time there are creepy guests who make the docents and other staff uncomfortable, so it's good that Leslie always keeps an eye out. The well-dressed Midwestern blonde looks unassuming but packs a wallop when she's displeased. "But Javi is very sweet. He's..." A dreamy sigh settles in your chest and you break out laughing. "I'm horribly smitten, guys. I'm sorry. I can't even pretend otherwise."

Moira's brows shoot up. "I knew you had a crush, but this— giirrrrrrl." She tilts her head. "You're acting like that man is your soulmate."

"Oh no." Another laugh escapes you, but this one isn't as big or full. "I don't think I could get that lucky."

“You don’t?” She scoffs doubtfully but she doesn’t press. Even if you don’t have shared scars with this man, it’s the most interested you’ve been with anyone in a long time. “Although I’m really fucking jealous that you got to breathe the same air as Alex Powell.”

"Actually, um...come to that." Looking apologetically between Moira and Leslie, you face your boss with the bravest and most simultaneously plaintive expression you can muster. "The production team has...invited me to fill a position." One which you can't understand why Leslie herself isn't filling, but maybe they asked her and she had to say no to...you know...run the museum. "They've asked me to be their on set historical consultant."

Leslie bites her lip, honestly amused that you are looking surprised by that offer. You are one of the most knowledgeable docents she has, probably that she’s ever had. “What do you think about that?” She asks seriously. “That could mean wildly different working hours.” She reminds you. “There’s going to be a lot of night filming.”

"I don't mind a change of hours. I mean...when am I ever going to get another chance to be on a movie set?" Still, you're twisting your fingers around each other nervously and wringing your hands. "I'd like to accept, if it's alright with you? I mean, you're my boss and in no way do I want to leave the museum. Tours are on hiatus until filming is finished anyhow, and if I take a leave of absence then you could give more docents hours being set supervisors." It was the job of the docents on set to watch over the house and protect it during filming. To basically be bodyguards for the house and always keep a watchful eye on things.

“I think that you would still be able to keep your hours here.” She says after a moment. “But it wouldn’t include overtime. Just your normal work week.” She shrugs. “Have they discussed pay?”

"Not yet. I assume I'll have to meet with someone from the studio and sign whatever contract they use for consultants." Not that you have any idea what any of that will mean, but you're eager to find out.

Moira, for her part, grins and hugs you to her side. "Fancy job and a fancy guy. Look at you!"

“That means that I will need you to step up as head docent.” Leslie reminds Moira with a smile. “Do you have any problem with that?”

“I will do my best to live up to it.” Moira agrees, though she knows she doesn’t have as much experience as you. Though she has worked at Hazelwood longer, you’ve been in museum work in general for more time and have a stronger academic background than she does. But she also knows that if Leslie thinks she can do it, then she shouldn’t be second guessing her own abilities.

"You will do wonderfully." She has faith in that, although she knows that she will also be around. She's protective of the house and interested in the movie that is being filmed here.

“It sounds like we’re all going to have a hell of a spring and summer on our hands.” You observe, eliciting laughs from the other two women.

Javi is discussing the script with Tamara and Scott when you walk back over. Listening to the actress seriously and contemplating her ideas. “Why don’t I write the pages, and you can see if it fits the character?” He asks, willing to take the changes and see. “Run through both and see which one you like better?” That is directed towards Scott, who knows what the director is looking for.

“If we can get it done over the weekend, we’ll test it.” Scott agrees. “Sally will be in tomorrow, she had one more producers she was meeting with today.” He checks his watch, checks his phone, and in the process of moving around spots you. “Do I need to talk to your boss for you?” He asks, seeing that you look nervous.

“Oh! No. It’s all set. Whatever contract you need me to sign, I’ll look over when it’s ready. But Leslie has no problem with the arrangement.”

“Good.” Javi knows the production will be fair. One of the reasons he was excited to work with this studio is because they have a good reputation.

“Good.” Scott agrees, clapping you in the shoulder and going off in the opposite direction.

Javi sees the confusion on your face and laughs. "Don't worry." He assures you. "There will be a contract brought around to you. It will be fair."

Javi is sitting beside Tamara, one leg crossed over the other and looking like the most relaxed and picturesque god of a man you’ve ever seen in your life. It’s not the contract that has you confused in this moment, it’s wondering how you got so lucky that he could actually be interested in you.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Tamara offers, flashing you a wink and a grin as she gets up to scoot away.

Javi smiles happily as you slide into the seat that Tamara vacates. Happy that you are going to be on set for the duration. He knows that he will be here too, already asking if he could have a space to set up his equipment instead of working from home like he had originally anticipated. "Are you happy to be asked to work on the movie?" He asks curiously. "You will be listed in the credits."

“It’s all a little surreal,” you admit, perched on the edge of the chair like you’re afraid it might get swept out from under you at any second. “I always dreamed about working in Hollywood. I mean who doesn’t at some point? But I never thought it would actually happen.”

“Honestly? Same.” He laughs quietly. “I had dreams, but with my family….” He frowns slightly and shrugs it off. “It was not possible until a few years ago. I was just obsessed with film. Movies. The magic and wonder of it all.”

“I’m sorry your family wasn’t supportive.” You shift in your seat to face him better and feel your heart leap up into your throat almost instantly. You could have sworn you saw the flicker of something above the line of his loafer but it can’t be.

He’s always uncomfortable when talking about his family. Shifting slightly in his seat and moving his ankle to rest on his knee. “That is the past.” He offers with a small smile. “I look towards the future.”

“I—I’m—I’m really sorry, but…” With your pulse pounding blood so loudly in your ears that it has drowned out your thoughts. “Your ankle—?” Clear as day now, the vertical scar on the inside of his ankle that curves ever so slightly at the top like a Shepard’s crook is exposed for anyone to see.

It can’t be. Can it?

He frowns for a second before he follows your eyes to his leg and he nods. “Oh.” It’s an old scar, not red or angry. Just a silvery distortion of his skin. “Old injury.” He explains. “I fell out of an olive tree when I was younger.” He was pushed out, by Lucas, but he doesn’t talk about that. “The old iron fencing around the base wasn’t kind.” He adds, lifting his pant leg so you can see it properly.

The strangled sort of hiccupping sound you make is barely smothered by your hand flying to your lips, but the water rising up in your eyes can't be disguised. "A-and...and...how long ago was that?" It's impossible, and yet here it is right in front of you. A mark you know as well as you know any other shape in the world.

Javi told his head curiously, surprised by your reaction to his scar. “About twenty years ago.” He murmurs cautiously. “I was old enough to know better. Why?”

"I—" You could explain. You could. But words have utterly failed you in this moment. This moment that has you reaching to unzip your right boot and pull your sock away from your ankle to expose the very same shepherd’s crook scar on your own skin.

Javi’s confused smile quickly slides into a frown. Tugging his lips down as his eyes widen. Shock making his mouth hang open and he slides out of his seat to his knees in front of your leg. Looking up at you for a moment to confirm you aren’t playing a prank on him. Then looking down and slowly reaching for your ankle to rub his thumb over the scar that matches his. He doesn’t care about the short, stubbly leg hair where you obviously haven’t shaved in a few days. Too entranced by the rippled skin that is smoother than his own since your skin wasn’t ripped open but matches his in every way. “You-“ His eyes light up and he exhales roughly. “You are my soulmate.”

"Do you..." Dry sobs stick in your throat, but the ecstatic warmth of his touch to your skin is its own answer. "Do you...have a tattoo of a blue morpho butterfly on your ribcage?"

He lets go of your ankle and starts to pull his button up shirt out of the waistband of his pants. Pulling it up to expose his right side. The perfect little butterfly at the top of his ribcage showing against his skin.

The whole rest of the room has gone silent around you, but neither you or Javi has noticed in the least. The whole rest of the world might have ceased to exist and you would never have known the difference. "This is unbelievable..." you breathe, reaching out to touch his skin with the same reverence and gentle care than he caressed your ankle.

“You- you - when did you get this?” He asks seriously, voice barely above a whisper.

"Eight years ago." Please let it be true, please let it be true...

He nods, his smile starting to stretch his face. “May, right?”

"Right." All at once the water spills over, two tears streaking down your cheeks. "Oh my god..."

“I cannot believe it.” He gasps, reaching for your cheek and wiping away your tears before he frowns. “Unless….you don’t like that?” He asks, wondering why you are crying.

"Like it?" A disbelieving laugh blows the entire thought away and you take his hand in yours. "I'm overjoyed."

“Fantastic.” He allows himself to be happy. To show it on his face and he beams. “That’s fantastic.”

“Can I…” It all sort of washes over you in a wave of too many things to parcel them all out from each other. “Can I…Give you a hug or something? I don’t even know what comes next. I just…I can’t believe it.”

“I want to kiss you.” He confesses. Now understanding why he was so drawn to you. You were like the flame to his moth. He couldn’t resist your pull.

"Thank god," you almost burst out laughing, barely containing the sound. "I wasn't sure if that was too much to ask for."

It’s like a scene in a movie, you are still laughing as he cups your head in his hands and lunges forward. Kissing you with joy and elation, groaning immediately when your lips touch his.

It isn't as though you've never been kissed. Kissed well, even. But this leaves every other good kiss so far behind that the trail of dust would stretch for miles. The warmth and welcome of him is all consuming, to the point that you nearly slide out of your seat just to get closer to him and sink farther into the kiss.

He loses all concept of time, of space, as he kisses you. Everything has faded into the background or completely disappears. Wondering at how right this feels.

It’s only when you come out of it — breaking the kiss for air and barely open your eyes to be able to look your soulmate in the face again — that you realize that everyone else in the room has erupted into whistles, cheers, and applause.

Javi starts to blush, looking around the room sheepishly and then back at you. Starting to giggle and he leans in to kiss you again. “My soulmate.”

"My soulmate." The word sounds so incredible breathed against his lips.

“Let’s get married.” Javi blurts out impulsively, grinning at you.

The rush of your heartbeat rockets through the roof, but you cling to him and some sort of ecstatic, nearly crazed laugh crosses your lips. "Yes." No hesitation. No worries. No second guessing. Just the absolute certainty that this is meant to be.

“Yes?” He is almost in disbelief and then you nod, cupping his face and kissing him back. “Yes!” He shouts and leaps up to drag you up and spin you around the room. “We are getting married!”

Gasps and more applause are the least of it, as it seems that everyone in the ballroom crushes in around the both of you in a flurry of excitement. Questions come from all angles, but you can barely hear them. can barely process any of it. It's a whole world just swirling around you when all that matters is him.

It’s only the sound of others cheering that brings him back down to reality. Making him turn and look at the cast, crew and production team clapping and grinning. He gives an embarrassed chuckle and turns back to you, his forehead pressed against yours. “We have made a scene.” He hums, smiling.

“I don’t mind,” you tell him, still giggling softly in his arms. “Not at all.”

“You don’t?” That makes him chuckle happily. “That’s good.”

Moira and Leslie are practically in giggling tears to your left, ready to swoop in and hug you into oblivion and Tamara looks like she’s ready to cry too.

“What?” She huffs when Jason prods her. “It’s so romantic!”

“Romantic, yes.” He rolls his eyes, “but what are we going to doooooo about it?” He’s secretly a big softie. “That means the walk through is done for the day. They are going to go get married.”

“So? I don’t mind ending early so soulmates can go get married.” In fact she’s positively gooey over the idea for about three seconds until she remembers herself. “Oh! Oh!! I can marry you!” Tamara crows, all but clapping with joy. “If you want me to, I mean! I got certified last year for my cousin.”

“Now that is an idea.” Leslie agrees with a growing smile. “We have almost everything we need right here.”

Javi knows that he would give you anything when you turn those wide, hopeful eyes on him. “Do you want to get married here?” He asks. “I don’t mind.”

“Is that okay with you?” If you’re being honest, you’ve dreamt of having your wedding here for just as long as you’ve worked at Hazelwood, but you would understand if he had something else in mind. “It’s fitting, really, isn’t it? Since we met here.”

"It is perfect." He would do anything to keep that look of absolute happiness on your face. "It will be part of our story, woven into the fabric of our lives."

“Do you really want to do it now?” The idea is so wonderfully romantic that you almost sigh. “Like tonight?”

His eyes shift back towards Leslie. "Can we make it happen?" He asks her. "Small, beautiful. Involving anyone and everyone who wants to participate?" He knows he doesn't have family and you've not mentioned any, so it is almost fitting that your friends and work family be involved. The cast and crew almost look giddy at the idea of contributing.

“Absolutely.” She kinds around at all the eager faces. “We have plenty of hands to help. You two go and get yourselves ready. Whatever you two need personally. We’ll take care of food, music, decorations, and everything else.” Your boss glances at her watch and flashes you a smile. It’s just the middle of the afternoon now, giving everyone plenty of time. “How does a seven o’clock wedding sound?”

“Does that work?” He asks you, not sure what you would want to happen before this wedding. “I will need to get you rings.”

“You need a ring too,” you remind him, with that glowing smile still in tact on your face. “We would need to find a boutique, I guess? It’s not like I have a wedding dress hanging around in my closet.” Some girls do. Dresses passed down from generation to generation. You’re not that lucky, unfortunately, and even if you were in better terms with your family…they’re all on the east coast anyway.

“A dress, yes, yes.” He nods enthusiastically and then he frowns. “I- the studio car brought me.” He looks over at Scott, who grins. “I think we can make some arrangements.” He offers, walking over with the director. “What do you think about filming some of this? Obviously we wouldn’t announce it now, but think of the press when the film is being released!” He practically has hearts in his eyes over the prospect.

The thought almost stuns you, but within seconds you’re shrugging your shoulders and looking up at Javi. “I don’t mind, if you don’t. It would be nice to have footage of the wedding.” Of marrying your soulmate.

“Javi?” His brows raise as he looks over at him. “Imagine the press junket. The curiosity ticket sales. People will flock to watch a movie that brought soulmates together.” Javi chuckles and nods. “Fine, but we get a copy of all of the film and we approve when it’s released and what is shown.”

“Deal.” Scott offers his hand to seal it, and is practically giddy when Javi shakes it.

“Do you have anyone you want to call?” You ask him quietly. “A friend you would want to stand up for you? Or family nearby?”

“I do have some friends.” He admits with a grin. “What about you?”

“She’s already here.” And standing maybe four feet away, at that. You look over to Moira with a grin. “You’re up for being a whirlwind maid of honor, right?”

“Of course!” Moira squeals and Alex grins as he slides up beside you.

“Why don’t you let me walk you down the aisle?” His eyes are serious, even when his tone and grin are silly. “It would be an honor to serve.”

Matching his playfully nonchalant expression, you shrug your shoulders as if you’re not sure. “I dunno, my man. That’s a big ask. I’m gonna expect you to have my back and be ready to step up when shit hits the fan. That sound doable?” The fact is, you don’t really know how your Mom would feel if she were here, or your brother, and your father died when you were just a teenager. So an offer from a new friend is as good as any other you’re going to get.

His brows pull together and he purses his lips seriously. “Absolutely.” He huffs, nodding. “I’m here for at the fan hitting shit.”

“Then I guess we’re gonna go for a walk together tonight.” It’s just about the most casual way you could ever decide such an important thing, but there is something almost brotherly about the way he’s warmed up to you. Once he knew you weren’t going to fall at his feet, he seemed to instantly decide you are his friend.

“Awesome.” He perks up and throws his arm around you. “I’ve got a suit in my car.” He winks at Javi playfully. “Never know when I’m going to meet my soulmate.” He jokes, knowing full well it’s just that he had picked up his dry cleaning and his agent always wants him to have dress clothes on hand in case. Just in case.

“For your sake, I hope they turn out to be a very energetic person,” you tease, but being your attention back to Javi quickly. “We have a lot to do in just as couple of hours.”

“You two go, get all the stuff you need and we will be waiting.” Alex unwraps his arm from around you as Jason comes up and shrugs. “While I can’t do much – what’s your favorite flowers?” He asks.

Flowers sounds like a hell of a lot to you, and you look to Javi for confirmation. "I don't mind what they are, but I think they should be white. Right?"

“Whatever color you want.” Javi tells you indulgently. “It doesn’t have to be white.”

"Really?" That surprises you, and you feel like you have to check with him before you actually give a real answer.

“Do you want the flowers to be white?” He asks, frowning slightly as he wonders if he has misspoken. “It is beautiful. But colors are beautiful as well if you want a bright arrangement.”

"I actually really like Gerber Daisies..." A flower you were always told was childish and unserious. How can a flower have a maturity level? "The big, colorful ones? I think they're beautiful."

“Then you should have Gerber Daisies.” He can’t call them to mind right away, but he is sure they are stunning. “Jason?” He looks over to him. “Can you find her the most beautiful Gerber daisies?”

"On it." He promises. It's not a well-known fact, since little about him is well known at all, but he grew up in and around his parents' florist business. He can definitely do a daisy wedding bouquet. "It'll be beautiful."

“Does that work for you?” Javi asks as he looks back at you in complete adoration.

"Absolutely." Honestly, the fact that everyone is pitching in so quickly and willingly is magical on its own. Everything else is a beautiful bonus.

“Good.” He grasps your hands and brings them up to his lips to kiss the back of them. “Shall we go? Get what we need?”

You and Javi head out of the museum – thanking Scott for the offer of a ride, but you have your car. This is something that you want to be able to do in private, and for you that means time that is only spent between you and your soulmate.

It might not be a flashy car, but she's gotten you through thick and thin, so when you climb in beside him you let out a contented little hum. "There's a soulmate boutique in downtown. They say they have everything a couple needs but...maybe you have someplace in mind that you would rather go? It's your call." Though it calls itself a boutique, the place is more like an emporium. Couples who want to get married quickly aren't looking to run all over the place to get what they need, so it's more or less a one-stop shop for wedding wear.

“Call.” His eyes widen and he pulls out his phone. “Yes, that’s fine. I need to make a call. See if they are in L.A.” He looks over at you and grins. “My good friend. I want him to come.”

"You do that, I'll drive," you laugh, turning the key in the ignition and heading out of the museum parking lot.

“Thank you.” He quickly pulls up his contacts and selects Nick’s number. “Hopefully he isn’t filming somewhere.”

The line rings three times before it connects, and Olivia Cage's smooth, musical voice comes over the line. "Hello Javi!"

“Olivia!” He lights up when he hears her voice and he shifts in the passenger seat. “Please tell me you and Nick are in L.A.?” He begs, immediately launching into the reason for his call.

"Javi! Javi! Slow down, sweetheart." She laughs when he immediately starts talking to quickly for her to keep up with. "Nick and Addy are just watching a movie in the living room, let me hand the phone over."

There is a little commotion on the other end of the line, but after a few seconds, Nick's voice comes over loud and clear. "Javi! We're at home tonight. Did you want to get together?"

“Could you be at Hazelwood Park in Santa Barbara by seven tonight?” Javi asks Nick, beaming through the phone. “I’m getting married.”

"You're get—you're getting married?!" Nick practically shouts on the other end of the line, and you laugh beside him with equal joy. "How?" Nick breathes. "Who? And of course we'll be there!"

“Well, I think the normal way.” He huffs out a laugh and almost looks like he will tear up for a second when he looks over at you as you drive. “My soulmate, Nick. I met my soulmate today. Not today. I’ve actually met her several times before but we— she has my scar. And I have her tattoo.” He rambles, knowing Nick will follow easily, they had spent far too much time together for him not to.

"The girl with the butterfly tattoo!" Nick howls with glee. He's seen that butterfly a hundred times -- whenever they go swimming – and knows how badly Javi has wanted to meet his soulmate. The instinct to love without restriction is at the heart of who Javi is. "Absolutely. Absolutely we'll be there. How can we help?"

“Just be there!” He laughs. “We are getting our rings and a dress for her now. The house should be set by the time we get back. They are filming my movie there.” He explains. “The cast and crew are going to be there too.”

"Do you need me to swing by your place and bring you a suit?" Nick offers, knowing Javi has a few particular pieces left in his wardrobe that he dearly loves.

Javi bites his lip and looks over at you. “Do you mind?” He asks you. “I have a suit that would be perfect.”

"Just tell me which one, buddy." Nick already has a key to Javi's house and knows his alarm code, so it's just a matter of swinging by. The place may technically be unfinished, but he's spent more time there than anyone besides Javi himself.

He looks over at you. “The royal blue Armani.” He decides. “Ferragamo loafers and the Givenchy cufflinks.”

It sounds extremely fancy and extremely expensive, and you hope that this boutique has something even half as spectacular for you so you can match him. Headed down the backroads into downtown, you reach for Javi's hand as you drive and give it a squeeze.

Nick assures him that he will get everything Javi needs and he’s quickly hanging up the phone. “That’s alright, right? Royal blue?” He asks, hoping he didn’t mess up.

"It sounds beautiful," you promise him.

“Shit.” He frowns. “I forgot to tell him to get a belt.”

"Don't worry," you urge him. "If that's the only thing we forget tonight, I think we'll be in excellent shape. But if it bothers you, I'm sure we can get one at the boutique. It won't be half as nice as the rest of your suit, but it will do the trick."

“You must pick out any dress you want.” His eyes light up happily. “So they have rings there? At this boutique?”

"Supposedly there is a jewelry department, a dress one, one for suits, all of it." You glance over at him while you drive, heart fluttering when you get a look at his perfect curls and sharp jaw. "One of the other docents went there when she met her soulmate last year."

“That is good.” Javi agrees easily, reaching for your hand and wishing it was your left. That one is firmly on the steering wheel. “If you do not like the rings there, we will find one you do like.” He promises. “I want you to love your rings.”

“I’m not picky,” you assure him, steering the car through the winding streets. “It’s more important to me that they come from you than what they are. So I’m sure we’ll be able to find something we both like.”

“You should be picky.” He frowns. “I hope you are wearing them for years. Until they are upgraded.”

“The only way I’m taking one of those rings off for more than a cleaning is if it’s getting passed on to our grandchild,” you tell him with absolute certainty. Your eyes flick back to the road as you move over a lane, the enormous boutique building is coming up on the right. “But I don’t think it will be hard to find something I love.”

“Grandchild.” He whispers the word, eyes bright at the mere mention of something so fantastical that he hadn’t been able to imagine it before now.

“Too soon?” You cringe slightly, wondering if talking about a family is the line that shouldn’t be crossed yet despite the fact that this is your soulmate and you’re on your way to buy things for your wedding.

“No.” He practically yelps the word and twists in his seat to vigorously shake his head. “I want kids.” He promises. “Lots of kids. I mean- as many as you want to have.” He amends and looks nervous, like you might shut down the idea completely if he doesn’t say what you want.

Carefully turning the car into the building’s lot and putting it in park, you take both of Javi’s hands and offer him the absolute softest smile you are capable of conjuring in this moment. Who hurt this poor, sweet puppy dog of a man that he looks so afraid to talk to you?

“I want a big family too,” you promise him. “But if we ever disagree on what we want, or I get too excited and jump ahead on something that you’re not comfortable with, I need you to tell me, okay handsome? And I’ll tell you, too.”

“Yes.” He agrees quickly, relaxing because of your soft touch. It’s already soothing to him. “I have to confess…” he bites his lip. “I have had relationships before.” He confesses, hoping that you will not judge him too harshly for that.

“I have too.” A lot of people don’t. Preferring to wait for their soulmate. But you had been worried on that point. “I…didn’t want to meet you one day and know nothing.”

Something dark flashes in Javi’s eyes. Desire and want, twisted with the kind of possessiveness that springs out of love. “That’s good.” He rasps out, his tongue wetting his bottom lip.

The change in his expression is fast enough that you miss it when you glance away for just a half a second to undo your seatbelt, but you lean back over again to kiss his cheek right after. “Let’s go inside?”

“Of course.” He smiles as he nods, squeezing your hand and hating to let it go when he has to unclip his own seatbelt and get out of the car. He will have to get you a new one, right away. Missing the garage that had been full of sporty, flashy cars for a moment, he waits for you to walk around to him since he is closer to the shop door.

Your hand slips into his again with ease, and the beat that your heart skips is made up for when you both hurry inside the building, eager to start getting ready for the night.

“I have never been in a soulmate boutique.” Javi confesses as he reaches forward to open the door for you. “You will have to show me where to go.”

“I can help with that.” A friendly woman with a blonde bob at the reception desk in the front of the store waves you both over. “My name is Cindy. How can I help you today?”

“Hello, Cindy.” Javi holds your hand proudly and guides you over to the desk. “This gorgeous creature is my soulmate and we are getting married today.”

"Well, congratulations." She smiles broadly, as though that isn't a sentence she hears once at day at bare minimum. "We can help with as much or as little as you need. Everything from rings to the dress to a suit, flowers, we can even book you in at the soulmate chapel in the Arts District."

"We have a venue and flowers," you tell her, feeling like you're vibrating beside Javi as you hold his hand. "And he has a suit. We'll both need rings and I need a dress."

"We can absolutely do that for you." Emerging from behind the desk, Cindy beckons for the two of you to follow her around a corner into the belly of the boutique. "Come right this way and we'll start with rings."

“Wait.” Javi pulls short, tugging on your arm. “When you pick your dress, should I see it?” He asks seriously. “I thought Americans believe it’s bad luck?”

"Some do." Though you shrug one shoulder. "I don't mind, though. If you don't."

He blinks in surprise and then smiles, lunging forwards to kiss your lips. “Yes. I want to see.” He admits with a grin. “I want to see all the dresses you could choose and see why you pick the one you do.”

"And I want your opinion," you tell him honestly. Every time he kisses you, you feel like you're melting, so the gooey smile on your face is pretty appropriate right now. "I want to know which one you like best, too."

“I would probably say buy them all.” He chuckles. “Wear one every year on our anniversary. Which will be today.” He beams again as he realizes that.

"Valentine's Day is the day we met." The reminder is sweet, soothing the ache of every lonely Valentine's past with the thought, and the two of you walk on together easily. The jewelry section of the store is immense, with a half dozen display cases full of beautifully glinting rings in all sizes, shapes, and styles.

“There are so many.” Javi chokes out, looking around the large, very brilliantly lit display cases. Every diamond sparkles and he knows you will find something you love. “We have a variety of options and price points.” She tells you both discreetly.

"My taste is fairly simple," you promise. He did offer to pay for everything, but you have no intention of going crazy. "And it doesn't have to be a diamond. There are plenty of beautiful stones."

He looks positively offended over that. “Did you know that diamonds are only the fifth most expensive gemstone per carat?” He asks you. “What is your favorite color?”

"It sounds silly." Another shrug, but at least you don't feel silly about this saleswoman seeing the two of you getting to know each other. She must certainly see couples getting married who have known each other far less. "But I like silver a lot."

“Silver.” He frowns slightly and tilts his head. “Would you like your setting to be silver?” He asks seriously.

"It doesn't have to be so serious, Javi," you assure him, smiling softly because this man just does that to you. You feel soft around him every second. "If you like yellow gold better, your ring doesn't have to match mine."

“I just want you to have exactly what you want.” Too often he had been accused of being too cheery and now you are telling him that he’s too serious. “I want to match your ring.”

"Is white gold, or silver, or what have you...is that okay with you?"

“Any of it.” He shrugs. His pinky ring is gold, but he will be fine with that. It’s on his right hand anyway.

"Then let's take a look." There are no shortage of choices, so who knows what you'll find. But you gravitate toward the nearest case with ease.

The two of you debate size, shape, gemstones. Laughing together as Javi points out one ring that is particularly hideous and at least you can both agree on that one to be marked off the list. Javi wishes for you to have something large and flashy and you want something more subdued.

It takes quite a bit of back and forth before you at least nail down a design. Three stone rings seem to be both of your favorite, and after a little more debating back and forth, Cindy disappears to another case on the other side of the jewelry section and comes back with a few options that have impressive center stones with dainty accents. It's the style of the design that you favor with slightly larger stones like Javi prefers. "They're not the biggest stones we have," she cautions, not wanting you to feel overwhelmed. "But they are stand out in terms of cut and quality. Very eye-catching."

“What do you think?” Javi wants you to love your rings, but he also wants to make sure that no one thinks that he is a pauper. It’s egotistical, but it’s the truth.

"They're still quite big." That isn't up for debate, but Javi seems to be quite certain that the cost is not an issue, and has barely looked at price tags so far. A conversation about his net worth is going to have to happen at some point because he's very clearly in a different tax bracket than you are, but that's for later. "The pear-shaped and the princess cut are the prettiest, I think...which do you like?"

“Whichever you want.” He would have chosen the emerald cut, but he would rather you have the choice. “I promise, I will not be upset.”

"Can I try on the pear?" Trying it on makes it seem to much more real, and Cindy hands you the ring carefully from its velvet stand.

"This will work with any band that you like, the setting is nicely elevated to compliment almost any choice." She tells you, but you barely hear it. it's like magic happens as that ring slides onto your finger, and you gasp quietly under your breath.

It’s perfect. Javi stares at the ring on your finger. The shape of the ring making your hand look even more elegant. The stone is not so overpowering that it looks like you are a child playing dress up with your mother’s rings. “Sweetheart?”

"I love it..." you breathe, hardly able to believe it's so perfect, and you look up at him with watery eyes. "The same way I love hearing you call me sweetheart."

He melts. His face softening into something akin to pure wonder as he looks down at the ring on your finger and he kneels down to one knee in front of you. “This is the one?” He asks softly, holding your hand and looking up at you. “Just like you are my one?”

“It’s perfect. Like you’re perfect.” Having a deeply romantic soulmate was always something you had wished for, but the way Javi seems to wear his heart of his sleeve is so much more than you ever could have hoped for.

He surges back to his feet to press his lips to yours. Ecstatic that this is happening. His soulmate.

Cindy only smiles, waiting for the moment to be enjoyed, before she begins to bring out bands for both of you. They rang from elaborate to simple, but she has a feeling this gentleman will prefer the elaborate.

“You should have this one.” Javi points to a band that is a solid circle of Princess cut diamonds to make up the surface. “Since you liked the princess cut solitaire too.”

"It's stunning." His flare for showy rings is very apparent, but in the moment you're so swept up that you forget to care. The gorgeous rings will be well loved and well cared for and that is what matters to you. "Do you want something ornate as well? Carved, or even with a diamond of your own?"

“What about this one?” He asks, pointing to a matching men’s ring. The circle of Princess cut diamonds is surrounded by the thick white gold band on either side.

The channel-set stones wink and shimmer in the bright store lighting, as if to say that completely agree with his choice. "A matching set," you agree with a nod.

It is a beautiful ring, but anything you choose he would be happy to wear. “Then I think that we have found our rings.” He picks it up and slides it on his finger to see how it fits and practically giggles with excitement when he sees a wedding band on his hand.

"I'll box these pieces up for you." Cindy offers, but pauses before gathering up the three-stone ring. "Unless you'd prefer to present your soulmate with her engagement ring now?" She offers, looking to Javi. She can easily just remove the tag and add it to the growing total. "I can retrieve the ring in her size from the case for you."

“Yes.” Javi decides instantly, beaming at you. “I want her to wear it out of the boutique.”

"Just one moment." She thought he might feel that way, and she disappears just only long enough to polish the ring and clip off the tag before bringing it back to him in its velvet box to be presented to you however he chooses. "I'll go and let the dress department know to expect you. Just move into the next room when you're ready," she tells you both with a sunny smile.

“I wish that there was something more romantic about this.” Javi confesses. “Imagine you are at your bench, sweetheart.” He decides, grinning at you. “Waves crashing all around you and the smell of the ocean hovering.”

"It's our bench now." It had been, to you, since that day before Christmas. You had spent too much time sitting there and thinking of him. Thinking of that day. Wondering if you would ever see him again.

“Our bench.” He agrees, beaming at you again as he guides you over to a bench that is not your bench, but it will substitute just fine. “Close your eyes.” He begs when he has you sat down.

You comply without hesitation, sitting up straight on the small bench with your hands on your knees. Life with Javi seems like it will have a certain flair for the dramatic – or at least special occasions will.

He’s sinking down to a knee again. This time with tears starting to form in his own eyes. This isn’t a movie. This is real life and it seems like he is finally getting his happily ever after. Murmuring your name softly, he smiles. “You are my soulmate.” He whispers. “The other half of my very existence. I have waited and wondered and dreamed about you my entire life and now you are here.” He swallows harshly as your eyes twitch. He opens the ring box and takes your hand. “I can’t live another day without you being my wife. Marry me. Marry me and make me complete.”

His voice is slightly choked, filled with emotion, and the tears that press against the back of your own eyes just from hearing it would surely be spilling over if your eyes were opening now. But since you've been instructed to keep them shut, you lean forward with your hands out and find his broad shoulders -- the pathway that bring your hands up to cup his cheeks. "The sooner the better," you promise him, with such a broad smile that even your soft promise comes out on a giddy giggle. "Now can I open my eyes to kiss you or are you going to come to me?"

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He had halfway expected you to open them when he asked the question, not expecting you to wait for his cue. “Open your eyes sweetheart.”

They are only open for a half second. Just long enough to lean all the way over to kiss him. But it's enough. It's all you need. It's all you need to be able to embrace this moment fully (and tearfully) with your soulmate as he slides your new engagement ring onto your finger just hours before you plan on marrying.

Javi sinks into the kiss, gathering you close and sighing against your lips happily until a discreet cough breaks through the fuzzy haze of love. “Pardon me.” Cindy smiles when he looks over at him. “The girls are pulling a number of dresses for you to try on.” She tells you.

“Thank you.” You’re not going to be embarrassed at all about the kiss. Not when you feel like you’ve waited three lifetimes to find this kind of joy and anticipation for the future.

Javi rubs his thumb over the ring happily and stands, pulling you up gently. “Time to pick out your dress.”

The girls as Cindy calls them, are two very sweet young women just a touch younger than you that run the dress department in this store. One blonde and one redhead, they are surrounded by a seeming sea of plush fabrics when you and Javi walk over together.

Javi’s eyes widen and he looks around in shock at all the styles, materials, laces. It’s so much that he wouldn’t have a clue where to begin.

"I think we're both a little spoiled for choice," you tell them, feeling very much like you agree with the awestruck and overwhelmed look on Javi's face. "Where would you recommend that we start?"

The girls are quick to start bringing out dresses to get a a sense of your style and preferences so they can match you up with the perfect dress.

Several are too revealing for you taste, and some are far too complicated in their designs. You're not looking to wear architecture on your wedding night, you want to be able to move. "Is there a such thing as a traditional dress without a train?" You ask, instantly feeling like you must be the pickiest person in the world for even asking. "I—I like to dance, that's all. And trains always look silly to me when they're bustled."

“No train.” Javi can agree with that and when you give him a questioning look, he nods in agreement. “I want you to have exactly what you want.”

"Does 'traditional' mean you're looking for a larger dress?" The chipper blonde asks, looking between both you and Javi. It's clear you're making the decision together. "Like a ballgown? Something with that princess feel?"

“She is a princess.” Javi immediately jumps into the idea feet first. “Better than any Disney character mister Walt Disney could think of himself.”

He loves it so much that you don't even consider not trying one on. "Let's see what a ballgown looks like." You agree, indicating one with a sweetheart neckline and lots of intricate lace that is hanging on the back of a dressing room door.

“You don’t have to pick something you think I will like.” He promises as they start to take dresses away and rush off to pull more. “This is your dress. I want you to feel as beautiful as you are.”

"I've never worn a ballgown." You bend down to lay a kiss on his lips before getting up to go into the dressing room. "It can't hurt to find out."

“You might hate it.” He snorts in amusement. “But it does fit the theme of the house.”

"I guess we're about to find out." Flashing him a broad smile, you disappear into the dressing room to tackle that great big, beautiful dress and see how it feels. It takes several minutes of finesse and manuevering with the help of one of the girls, but when you emerge you carefully school your reaction so you can see what Javi thinks first. The big bell of the gown's skirt is lighter than you expected but it has a seriously satisfying swish and you really do feel like fairy tale royalty.

“Magnificent.” Javi murmurs in awe, freezing mid turn as he stares at you. “You look- like a princess.”

“It’s huge.” Barely able to contain a giggle as your eyes widen, the mirror in front of you contains an image you barely recognize…but in the best way possible. It’s the version of you that you used to dream about. Fairy tales and all. So when you turn to look at Javi again, you’re almost as awestruck as he is. “It’s almost perfect.”

“Almost?” He tilts his head to the side and frowns as he looks over the dress again. “What is it missing?”

“It’s…a bit large.” You laugh, swinging your hips a little so the skirt imitates a large bell. “I feel a bit like I ought to be hung in a church in this thing.”

“So a smaller version of the skirt?” He asks. “Or do you want a form fitting dress?”

“Just a small ballgown, I think?” The question really goes to the two women helping you, but they are already moving to sort through what they have brought out. One has a halter and too-low neckline. One is encrusted with beading and jewels. One has large, poofy, sheer sleeves. None of them are quite right, but you try on a simple taffeta version of the silhouette. Just plain and simple. And that is nearly perfect.

Simple is generally how you like things, and this excursion into wedding dresses seems to prove it to you, but when you go out to show Javi, you can tell right away that he feels the same way you do. There is something missing.

“What about ivory?” The dresses have been separated by color and none of the ivory dresses have been chosen. “Or do you want pure white?” He wonders if it is a faux pas or if it’s just preference.

“Ivory could be good.” For that matter, it doesn’t have to be white for you to love it. But that is the easiest option.

“I have just the one.” The round-faced redhead promises, ushering you back into the dressing room. “Not too poofy, no train, fit for a queen.”

Javi stares at the display of accessories, biting his lip as he sees a tiara and he knows he wants you to wear one. It would be perfect. His princess.

There is a great deal of rustling and laughter and excited chatter coming from the dressing room, and when you emerge you’re wearing possibly the single most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen in real life — let alone most beautiful thing you have ever worn.

The silk jacquard fabric is luxurious and detailed without being extravagant or ostentatious. The simple corset bodice and Basque waist make you look as elegant as royalty. It has a full skirt for that princess affect but it isn’t so big that it makes it difficult to move, and best of all it feels right.

“What do you think?” You ask Javi, but frankly you’re dabbing away tears and it’s obvious how much you love the dress. This is your wedding dress.

The moment he sees the softness in your eyes, he knows you’ve fallen in love with it. You look like a scene from a movie. The big reveal of the princess at the top of the stairs where everyone turns and gaps in amazement and the prince at the bottom thanks his lucky stars that you are his. Which is what Javi is doing right now. The tiara in his hand, carefully removed from the display case, seems to perfectly match and he smiles. “It’s only missing this, princesa.”

The headpiece is made up of stars like something out of a painting you once saw in a history book, and it feels like such a silly thing to bend your head so he can set it in your hair (thank goodness you’re having a good hair day!) but it feels perfect. It feels extraordinary. And standing next to him is the first time you’ve truly felt extraordinary in your entire life.

You steal his breath when he steps back and looks at you. Tears instantly forming in his eyes and his chin trembles because he is so overwhelmed that this beautiful creature is his soulmate. It’s such a pure moment that not even his anxiety or self doubt could break through the euphoria.

“I hope those are good tears,” you half-chuckle through your own.

“The best.” He manages to choke out before reaching for your hands. “This is it, no? This is the one?” He turns you so you can look in the mirror at your reflection with the tiara on.

“I think this is it.” It’s so much more than you would have thought you wanted. It’s eye-catching and irrevocably meant to be the center of attention. But with him, you somehow don’t mind so much. As if having Javi there at your side was the piece you needed to keep you grounded and safe all along

"It is perfect." He promises, honestly believing that he will look underdressed beside you. "You are perfect." He amends with an indulgent smile before he nods. "We will take it." He announces to the sales girls. "But you need shoes underneath." His eyes light up mischievously. "What about those wedding sneakers I always see in movies?"

“Sneakers?” After all the bling and excess he’s picked out, your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Like…tennis shoes?”

He laughs at your surprise. "High heels hurt, no?" He asks. "Tiaras and tennis shoes, you could start a trend!"

The easy, joyous laugh you share is so sweet and so unrestrained that it has to be punctuated with another kiss. “Would you find it odd if I said I like high heels?” You ask after. “I’ve been wearing them for work and things for a long time and I don’t mind them too much anymore. And they always look so beautiful.”

"Then you must find the most beautiful high heels to go with your dress." He insists indulgently. "Do you have a favorite brand? Louboutin? Manolo Blahnik? Bottega Veneta?"

Ahha. There it is. You think, as he starts listing off designers you could never afford in your wildest dreams. “I just…get the most comfortable heels off the clearance rack at DSW.”

"Comfortable." He understands that but he huffs slightly. "Get whatever shoes you love best." He urges you. "The price doesn't matter."

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.” The best you can do is appeal to the two girls, and to Cindy, who has walked up to check on you in the meantime. “The only thing is…I always thought…you know how some brides wear blue shoes as their something blue? I always liked that idea.”

“Then I have the perfect pair.” Cindy gushes. “They are a pair I have lusted after forever.”

You give her your shoe size and she disappears into the shoe department to dig up her dream heel. In just a few minutes she returns to the pair of you with two boxes in hand. “They’re a little bit iconic,” she says sheepishly, opening up the top box. “These are the Carrie Bradshaw heels. Gorgeous even without the Sex and the City reference, but that sort of makes it fun in my opinion. They come in a royal blue and a light shade of sky.”

Javi recognizes the brand and he tilts his head as she opens them up. They are both gorgeous and he wonders if you will go for the bolder blue or keep it subtle under your dress. You might not even like the shoes at all.

"They're...gorgeous." The awestruck look on your face doesn't quite match your reaction to your dress, but it certainly is one that is both impressed and surprised. "Is this sort of what you had in mind?" You ask him, looking between the two shades of blue and the soft, wide brown eyes of your soulmate.

"This is deep blue, like the ocean when you look out over the cliffs." He muses as he touches on of the edge of one of the shoes. "This one..." he moves over to the light blue one. "It looks like a – a – I don't know..." He admits with a smile, looking back at you. "Which one do you like?"

"Well, when you put it like that." You touch the edge of the box holding the deeper blue shoes with your fingertips. "It has to be the ocean, doesn't it?"

“I think so, but….” He shrugs. “I don’t want you to just choose what you think I want.”

In the end, you try both pairs and decide on the lighter blue as a compliment to the inviting ivory of the dress. Star earrings are found that compliment the tiara Javi picked out, and it is all carefully packed up to be piled up in the trunk of you car and driven back to Hazelwood.

"Is there anything else you need?" You ask him when you climb back into the car together. There cant possibly be a single thing left you need, but you don't know what he could be missing aside from the suit that his friend is bringing for him.

“I think that we have everything.” He chews his lip and smiles at you. “Since it’s last minute, I asked if craft services could cater again.” He tells you, having looped the production team in on the text messages and Scott had talked to them and reported back that they had happily agreed. “It’s going to be mostly finger foods? Is that okay?”

"It could be nothing at all in a little soulmate chapel in the middle of nowhere and it would still be perfect," you promise him. "I only care that it's you."

“Then let’s go get married, sweetheart.” Javi beams as you start the car, ready to do just that.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

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[jimblejamblewritings]

starlight moonlight sunlight — blurb eight

Title: Friendship Breakups and Shitty New Beginnings

Pairing: ex!Remus x reader, Remus x Sirius, eventual poly!Wolfstar x reader

Warnings: catching a partner cheating, angst, hurt no comfort, friendship breakup

blurb series navigation here | previous blurb here

Sirius practically dragged Remus to the kitchen, closing all the doors leading into the room and casting several spells. 

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to do that. It was just because I kissed you and I was just going through the motions and ended up k— Merlin, Rem, I’m sorry. Seriously, I’m s—” 

“Hey.” Remus grabbed his shoulders. “I���m not mad at you.” 

“You’re not?” 

“This night has been a lot for all of us. You were just trying to get through it by coasting. It’s okay.” 

“Thank you,” Sirius sighed. 

Remus shook his head and squeezed Sirius tightly. They both began to fix food in silence. Sirius set a kettle on the stove for hot water. He was going to make you a hot chocolate and Remus a tea. The grating of the knife in Remus’ hand going through a large baguette started to grate on him. He ran a hand through his hair again. 

“Moons, can I talk to you?” 

Remus nodded. “What’s up? I, uh, think I need to talk to you as well.” 

“On three?” 

“1…2…” 

“I think I still like Y/N.” “I think I like women.” 

Both men blinked at each other. 

“Huh?” “What?” 

Remus took the kettle off just as it started whistling. “You go first. You like women. Did you find out because of kissing Y/N?” 

Sirius groaned. “Can I just say yes and we ignore this.” 

“So you’ve been thinking about this before the kiss?” 

“You saw her at the ball yesterday and she’s always dressed nicely when we’re at band practice. I don’t know. She’s actually pretty cute and not in the I recognize women’s attractiveness because they usually put in so much effort to look nice sort of way. Like in the I could suck his face off kind of way but he’s a her. And her is Y/N.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay? That’s it? We’re good?”

Remus stuck a mug in Sirius’ hand. “I think you need the chamomile more than me. Sweetheart, in what world would I judge you for liking men and women when I like men and women?” 

“Yeah, but I’ve always liked only men. I came out as gay in third year and didn’t exactly look back once.” 

“So, you’re a late bloomer in your self-discovery,” he said with a shrug. “I just told you I still like my ex. I think that might be a bigger problem.” 

“Let’s just get this over with, we can’t stay in the kitchen forever.” 

They came back with a tray of food, only to be greeted to an empty room.

“Where did she go?” 

Both boys screamed when a hand stretched out from the pile of flowers on the bed. Your entire body materialized moments later. 

“Could you always do that?!” 

You grimaced, covering your ears and tucking your chin into your chest. “Too loud.” 

“Sorry,” they whispered. 

You stood up before they could set the tray down fully. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” 

“Y/N.” 

“I feel humiliated, Remus.” Your voice was eerily calm. “Did you think I was never going to find out?” 

“I wasn’t trying to hu—” 

“Please call everyone into the living room for me.” You walked downstairs and simply waited. 

Everyone was confused about why they needed to have a meeting at 1 am until they saw you standing in the middle of the room while Remus and Sirius were sitting down on the couch with their tails tucked between their legs. Tentatively, they sat down. You sprung on them the moment Mary’s butt hit the final seat. The other flinched at the sudden cloud of flower petals Sirius and Remus had already gotten used to. 

“Did you all know? Was I the only one too stupid to see Remus and him were a couple, still a couple when he was pretending?” 

Lily shook her head. “You’re not stupid we were the on—” 

“Please just answer the question.” 

“Yes. We made the plan with them on the train when you were in the observation car and the bathroom.” 

Sirius held his breath, flinching prematurely at the look on your face. For once, he’d deserve the yelling. He’ll take it with a brave face. 

“Y’all aren’t shit.” 

“I know. I’m sorry and I know everyone else would be as well.” 

“Honestly.” You wiped away hot tears. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you. I don’t know if we can be friends. I hate you so much right now.” 

“Y/N.”

“Even you, Dora?” 

Her silence was deafening. You summoned the bakery keys and gave them to her. She pleaded with you not to do it to just stay or continue bakery work but you shook your head. 

“I was accepted for a job at a bookstore in Diagon Alley. I’m going to take it. Do whatever you want with the place, you have all the recipes if you want to keep it running. I thought y’all were my friends.” 

With that you stormed out of James’s house, short and stubby cacti trailing behind you to prevent the other from following, and apparated to Hogsmeade. It was a short but very angry trudge up to the castle, plants still springing up all around you. All you wanted was your family and friends from Ilvermorny but without them or a way to contact them, you were more upset.

Unfortunately Hogwarts, and the students and faculty still there, got a first class experience at what that emotion looked like. Snapdragon bushes kept attacking the place and cacti kept needing to be blasted back. You ate breakfast the next morning with a scowl over your holiday pancakes that the elves made into specific shapes. Why did they make them all flower shaped? You were expecting Christmas trees or something. 

You looked up when a shadow blocked you. Snape was scowling. 

“Do everyone a favor and control whatever freak nymph thing you have going on. We’re sick of sitting on pinecones because of whatever problems you have.” 

Looking around, you realized the disaster that was the Great Hall. All you could do was stare wide eyed at the scene. Faculty looked at you apologetically. Students looked at you angrily or with mistrusting glances. You weren’t sure which was worse. You didn’t stick around to find out either.

| next blurb here |

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[delopsia]

Cinnamon, Coffee & Vanilla | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 12,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Bob, omega! Reader. Physical altercations, implied abuse/mistreatment & trauma from the Navy, a little blood, brief food mentions, handjobs, mating cycles, first ruts, knotting, unprotected sex, a (slight) open ending, and a weak traitor plot woven between the lines. Brief Summary: You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing.

Wind howls around the corner, rain pattering against the window with soft thunks that dance and twist down the hallway like their own little melody. You haven't got the slightest idea where your feet are falling, barely guided by the pale blue light that peeks out from the kitchen and out into the hallway.

Turning the light on is a viable option; the switch should be somewhere on your right, but your arm is too heavy to lift, dangling limp at your side as you amble down the hall.

There are some things that you can't bring yourself to do this late in the night. Not when this is the first time you've seen these walls since you left this morning, skipping off into the sunrise, naively believing that you'd get to come home at a normal time.

Lightning flickers so brightly that, for a moment, you think the kitchen light has turned on by itself. But it's gone just as quickly as it appeared, thunder rattling the picture hanging on the wall as you drift past.

The kitchen isn't that much better. It seems that being closer to the window doesn't do all that much in regards to lighting because...you can't see a damn thing. All you know is that you're surrounded by vaguely shaped splotches, all varying shades of black. Some of them are familiar: the round blob that is the clock on the wall, the rug, the step stool, the dining table, the foot sticking out from underneath it...

Your eyes narrow. Squinting as if that can possibly brighten the room.

"Bobby?" Because there should only be one other pair of feet in this apartment. 

"Hm?" It's faint, but you recognize that hum all the same. 

Your weary knees creak as you crouch down, peering below the table. Light leaks out from a crack in the curtains, casting across a familiar mop of hair. His eyes squint back at you, unfocused and blurry, without the assistance of his glasses. 

"What are you doing?" Your head tilts to the side, trying your best to shake an idea out of your brain. 

"Dunno," Bob raises his hand, watching intently as he knocks his knuckles against the wood above his head, "trying to figure out what omegas get out of this."

You're...not following. "I've never gotten under the table."

"You said you like small, dark spaces." His shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "This is the only place I could fit."

"Well..." pausing, you shrug the backpack off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a resounding thunk. The neighbors downstairs probably heard that, but it's not your problem right now. "Is it striking any instincts for you?"

A chuckle rumbles out of him. "Not a damn thing."

But he's not making the slightest effort to come out from under there. Content to rest with his back against one of the table legs, like it's the best spot in the house. If the sun were still out, and your eyes weren't halfway closed, then you'd probably have a lot more questions for him, but fuck if questions are the last thing you want to think of right now.

Your palms flatten against the floor, left knee chirping as you begin to crawl under the table with him. Another motion, and it pops, the remnants of a nagging ejection injury. It's usually an easily missable sound, but in this quiet little kitchen, it might as well be as loud as the thunder.

"Was that your knee?" Bob asks it as if he doesn't already know the answer, his hand darting out as you settle next to him. His palm is hot against your bare skin, thick fingers squeezing around the joint like he thinks that a bit of pressure will heal the old fracture. 

You wish it was that simple.

"Yeah," your head falls against his shoulder, unable to keep it up any longer. "I should bill Maverick for the surgery."

As if they'd even give you enough time off to heal. The consequence of being the best of the best: your free time vanishes because everyone on planet Earth needs you. 

Bob's head comes to rest against yours, a subtle weight that seems to quiet your thoughts in an instant. No worries about getting into bed before six-thirty rolls around, what you'll pack for your rushed lunch tomorrow, and whether or not you'll come home from this mission alive. All you can do is breathe and watch as Bob reaches for your weary hand, squeezing it gently.

His wrist shakes, and you don't need to ask to know that it's been caused by another one of those full-body tremors. One of the side effects of being taken off navy regulation suppressants for the first time in over a decade, left to suffer the consequences of a body that has never learned to regulate its own hormones. 

Slow, you tilt your head, nuzzling into the soft fat of his cheek. Squishy. "Anything change for you yet?"

"I can smell your scent now," you can feel the flex of muscle as he smiles, peeking at you through the corner of his eye, "but...nah, I think that's about it."

You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing. Still the same vanilla shampoo and faded woodsy cologne.

"What do I smell like?" Asking after a moment.

"Somethin' like..." All of a sudden, the tip of his nose finds the shell of your ear. His fingers dance across your sensitive thighs, tickling. 

"Hey!" You squeal. 

A kiss presses to your cheek. "Sugar." Kiss. "'n fresh laundry." Another kiss.

Your noses bump together. It's too dark to see, but you know there's a shade of cherry dusting across his cheeks as he pulls you into him, mouths colliding like galaxies, merging into one. 

There is no end to your exhaustion—simply an intermission. 

Your feet fall so heavily that it sounds as if you're stomping down this empty hall. Boots pounding against the floor with heavy thump, thump thumps that pale in comparison to the voice that booms above all. It's so loud that you can hardly understand a single word, and you're making no effort to try and decipher it.

The hand on your bicep tugs, forcing you forward. A voice in the back of your head sparks to lie; they shouldn't be hauling you around like a mutt on a leash, but you can't bring yourself to say a damn thing. Not when your throat is already raw from shouting, voice run ragged in a desperate attempt to convince Cyclone that you're not the person he's accusing you of being. 

What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty, anyway?

"I cannot fucking believe this!" Maverick's voice crystallizes as you round the corner, feet flailing beneath you as you're thrust into the room. 

Weary heads turn your way. Jake. Natasha. Rueben. Mickey. Bob. Javy. Billy. Brigham. Callie. And you know the names of the remainders, but their names just aren't coming to you right now. But one glance is all it takes to realize that they must have pulled all of you all at once; they look just as miserable as you feel.

"The Navy trusted you!" Spit flies out of Maverick's mouth. "I trusted you!"

He turns, hands combing through his hair as if to try and soothe himself. It doesn't work. It never works. "I paraded you as the best goddamn pilots the Navy has seen this decade, and you make a fucking fool of me!"

Bob's head tilts, muttering something to Jake that you can't quite hear. Whatever it is, it's enough to have Jake nodding his head and leaning over to Javy. 

"I give you my best and how do you repay me?" Mav doesn't seem to hear them, too red in the face to think about anything other than this. Betrayal. A figurative knife in the back. "By running off and becoming an insider for the goddamn enemy!" 

His arm swipes across a shelf. Porcelain figures and glass frames fly in your direction. Shattering on the ground into a million and one pieces. Damn near invisible on this white floor, presence merely indicated by the glisten of the shards in the light. But he's not done. A potted plant strikes the wall, exploding like a firework. 

"God, so help me," spinning around, Mav jabs his finger in your face, "if I find out which of you fucking did this—"

"For godsakes, Mav!" Bradley's voice is loud in your right ear. Every bit as strained as yours is.  Cracking in the middle. A husk of its usual sound. 

Just as quickly as he's turned to face you, Maverick is moving again. Storming across the room. Turning. Pacing back to you and Bradley like a mad dog, thirsty for someone's blood. 

"How are you so damn sure it was us?" Bradley continues, throwing his hands up. He's so close that his nails scratch your elbow on their way past. You hardly feel a thing. "We weren't the only ones who knew this shit!" 

A hand appears on your shoulder. Warm, a thumb swiping back and forth in such a familiar manner that you don't need to look to know who it is. Bobby. His slight nudge is enough to get you to follow him, slinking toward the back of the room. Walking backwards has never been your talent, but somehow, you don't bump into anything.

What's he trying to do?

"You and your team are the only pilots who knew the information that made its way across enemy lines," there's a sudden calmness to Maverick's tone that wasn't there before. You don't like it, not one bit. "And now you've cost us an entire goddamn mission."

Boots stomp across the tile. Louder. Closer.

 "And not one of you is fucking leaving!" And all of a sudden, Maverick is nose to nose with Bobby. "Not until someone starts talking!" 

Bob's mouth opens, but for a moment, nothing but air escapes. "You can't lock us in here." 

Jake's head nods. So does Javy's. Silent agreement. 

Mav shoves Bob's shoulders. Knocking him against the wall. "Yes, I goddamn can."

Bob's lip curls. Canines uncharacteristically flash in the light with the same glisten and sharpness as the glass scattered across the tile. 

Maverick strikes him. 

You don't even see him reeling back. You blink, and his fist is crashing into Bob's glasses. The frames fracture, falling to the floor with a clatter. 

Someone gasps. Mav falls backward, hand shielding the side of his head. A boot finds his jaw. Hands grab hold of his hair. A flurry of bodies dart between. Someone's got Mav by the collar, and Bob—

Bob growls. 

Held back by Jake and Bradley. Teeth bared. Blood pouring from the corner of his mouth. Shoving against Jake and Bradley's hold. And he's strong, but he's not stronger than both alpha and omega combined. You hardly feel your feet moving, bending to scoop the fractured frames off the floor. 

"What's gotten into you?" Natasha shouts. Somewhere off on your left. "Both of you!" 

Her shoulder clocks yours. 

You spin on your heels. 

She's nose to nose with you. "Get your roommate under control," she hisses under her breath. For a moment, her gaze darts to Maverick, eyes so wide that you fear she may never close them again. Then, back to you. "If this goes south—"

"I know." Your hands find each other at the same time. Squeezing once. Twice. Four times. She's got this handled. "I'll get Bobby sorted."

"By safe," she's stepping away, already beginning to shout something that you don't quite catch.

By the time you turn around, Bob is gone. 

For someone who usually operates at a turtles pace, Bob sure does move quickly when he wants to. Jake tells you that he caught a glimpse of him leaving the locker room, and by the time you get outside, his truck is missing from its usual place beneath the old maple tree in the back corner of the lot.

"Do you think he's realized that he can't read the road signs?" Javy wonders aloud as you walk toward your vehicles. Always parked next to each other. He's the only one you trust not to ding your car with his door, and vice versa.

You're still waiting on Mickey to pay for that giant scratch he gifted you this past Christmas. 

"He's probably wearing the set with the tinted lenses," you chirp, adjusting the bag weighing on your weary shoulders. "I think he usually keeps them in the center console." That's where you last saw them, at least.

Javy nods his head like he's agreeing with your train of thought.  "Well, if I see a black truck swerving in and out of lanes, I'll give you a heads up."

The front of your boot thunks against the curb. Your weight falls forward. But your footing recovers just as quickly as you lost it. Javy's already grabbing your shoulder, holding you steady. 

You might be too tired to be driving. But what other choice do you have other than to call a car and pay the fine when your car gets towed overnight? 

"Maybe we should check for him around Mav's place," the sound of Reuben's voice is the only reason why you remember that he's walking behind you, "might be looking for a round two. No referees this time."

Your hand darts into your pocket, pressing a button on your key fob. A second passes, and the locks in your car doors audibly open. "Well, if he's not home, I'll sound the alarm," 

"Y'all make it home safe!" Jake's voice echoes across the lot.

"Text the group chat, or you'll find me at your front door!" Natasha picks up right where he left off, her phone shaking in the air as she yells. "That means you, Bradshaw!"

Bradley's horn honks. "It was one time!"

It's not until you get situated in the driver's seat and are combing through your music, looking for something decent to listen to, that your phone dings with a singular message. 

Bob: Made it home 👍 12:47 AM

With everyone leaving at the same time, it's not difficult to find yourself falling into a loose line as you all make your way off base. A symphony of honks soar through the air once you've crossed onto city-owned pavement, some dumb little routine that sparked from Jake's incessant need to remind you all that he's here before you can possibly begin to forget.

This place is so far out that for a good three miles, the only vehicles on the road belong to your little group, following the slightly too-fast lead of Mickey's project car until the street guides you into town. Jake and Bradley take a left at the red light. Natasha cruises off onto the upcoming exit. Mickey and Rueben turn off into the parking lot of a sandwich shop; Javy tails you until you enter a roundabout. 

And all of a sudden, you're by yourself. 

It's almost strange, actually. You've grown so used to Bobby's headlights reflecting in your rearview mirror that without them, the road feels impossibly dark. Not another person on this Earth but you. 

The sight of his truck parked in its spot is just as foreign, and once parked, you catch yourself trying to wait for him to pull in next to you. But there is no smiling WSO to accompany you on the walk into the apartment complex. No giggling as he tries to beat you to the elevator doors. It's just you and your overfilled backpack. 

All that, only for the apartment to be dark when you open the door. 

"Bobby?" You call out, trudging into the darkness. No response. Blindly, your hand feels along the wall, seeking the switch.

A whine jumps out of your throat. Light does nothing to reveal him, but his backpack rests in its usual spot beside the door, those tinted glasses sit on the arm of the couch, and his work shoes rest in the place of the beat-up pair reserved for the gym.

Is he not tired? 

Evidently, you aren't either because somehow you've got the energy to slip into a softer pair of shoes and head back out of the apartment. Eyes half-lidded, barely paying attention to your surroundings as you make your way down the hallway. 

There's absolutely zero reason for you to be doing this. It's not as if Bob is never going to come home again, but something has got you hunting him down like a bloodhound on a trail. Frozen images flicker through your head, like flipping through a picture book. 

The drop of his smile when Cyclone made his accusations that someone is leaking information to the enemy. How tired those usually bright eyes were when you were finally hauled out of the office. The flashing of fangs, the fist connecting with the side of Mav's head. You don't understand. You've seen him riled up a number of times, but this...

This is new. 

You suppose that you can't blame him; you acted similarly when they finally took you off those suppressants. Too many unbalanced hormones, all at once, thrown in the deep end with no idea how to swim. 

You hear him before you've even stepped off of the basement stairs—the soft patter of fists against leather echoing throughout the stairwell like a beacon. Heat greets you like a slap in the face, enveloping you as if you've just walked into a sauna. It's always so damn hot down here; you don't know how Bobby can stand working out in it. 

The door to the bottom of the stairwell is missing, seamlessly opening up to the gym. Treadmills, a long rack of weights, specialty machines you've already forgotten the names of; the mini fridge in the corner is still broken, and whoever left their neon yellow yoga mat has yet to come back for the poor thing. 

It's so big that at first, you don't notice him. But then you do, and...

Shit. Has Bob always looked like that?

It's got to be a trick that the lighting is playing on your eyes, set off by the sweat that pours off his body like a waterfall. Dripping down the swell of his chest, running loose across a toned stomach, only makes it that much more obvious when his abdomen flexes. There's no way that he's fully awake, but his feet are alive beneath him, dancing left and right as if this old punching bag might start punching back.

You've seen this sight more times than you count, have followed him down here for the sole purpose of drooling over his swollen biceps, but this...this is different. Something has changed, and you can't pinpoint what that is. 

The strike of his fists might be more aggressive than you remember them being, but maybe the exhaustion slowing your senses is causing you to misjudge. His upper lip twitches up, breathing hard through his nose. It's the only other sound in the room. Too shy to allow himself to make much noise, for fear of hearing his own grunts. 

There's a foreign scent in the air. Something hidden beneath the stench of sweat and the indescribable sourness that comes with a poorly maintained gym. Your brows furrow. It reminds you of...a kitchen. Fresh. Warm. Kind of like...the pot of black coffee that he brews every morning. Wrapped around a cluster of cinnamon and vanilla, like a hand-crafted candle. 

Is that...?

All of a sudden, the gym falls quiet, his fists frozen at his sides, the punching bag still swaying from his final strike. From across the room, his eyes lock with yours, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed, unkempt in an almost endearing fashion. 

 Oh, his poor eye. Mottled with red and darkening purple, swollen around the corner, just enough to be noticeable when compared to his right one. The split in his lip doesn't look that much better, a visible scab resting in the corner. 

Something in your lower belly twists. A shiver wracks down your spine. 

Bob doesn't say anything, and you don't either. Frozen into silence. 

Coming here may have been a mistake. Shit. Why did it never occur to you that he probably came down here because he wanted to be left alone? Why else would he be down here at one in the morning?

"I...I'm sorry," Bob's voice breaks through your thoughts like sunshine peeking through storm clouds, warm enough to melt away the words fluttering about your head, "I almost blew—"

"Mav had it coming." Cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. You were never upset about that to begin with. 

Again, it's quiet. Hesitant, Bob steps forward, then pauses, looking back toward the swaying punching bag, then back to you. Then, one foot falls in front of the other, head hanging low as he crosses the room. A small part of you wishes that he would have stayed right where he was because that little voice in your head stirs to life the moment that he's within an arm's length of you.

Touch his chest. Touch his chest. Touch his chest.

You're no better than an omega in heat. 

"'s my face look that bad?" A chuckle rumbles out of him, blindly pawing at his bruised cheek with the side of his hand. 

Blink. "Huh?"

"You're looking at me kinda funny," he says it like there's absolutely nothing different here. As if today is just another average day. Same old, same old. 

"You really haven't figured it out, have you?" It's more of an observation than a question. Even through your half-open eyes, it's not hard to tell that he hasn't put two and two together. 

He reaches to scratch at the back of his neck. "...no?"

Ugh.

"Flashing your teeth, sudden aggression..." You're starting out slow, listing your evidence out bit by bit, but he's not reacting to a word you've said, "developing a scent..."

A scent is an understatement. He smells like a goddamn bakery.

A beat passes, and then, slowly, his shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "I'm not following."

For a guy with glasses, Robert Floyd can be really fucking dense sometimes. 

If you were more awake, then maybe you'd put more effort into spelling this out for him, but a king-size mattress on the ninth floor is calling your name, and you're running low on willpower. Your brow furrows, swallowing hard. It's been a minute since you last tried to do this, but if you dig deep and focus on flexing your throat...

A chirp bursts out of you. Sharp. High pitched. 

Jake did a piss poor job of explaining what that noise does to an alpha, but he must be right about one thing. Bob stiffens. Holding onto his breath, his wide eyes flickering up and down your body. 

His eyelashes flutter. "Oh." 

You're fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Alphas. 

Of course, that's what he would wind up being. 

It seems that you can only fight one battle at a time because your hands are on the move. Palms skittering up the sides of his waist on a one-way track to his chest. He's on fire, burning so hot that the feel of his skin alone is enough to have you feeling light-headed. There's no reason for you to be embarrassed by it, but you find yourself masking your intentions by using him to remain steady as you lean in. 

His scent glands have only just begun to awaken, producing so little oil that your scent almost wipes his out entirely, but it's there, and it's real, and it's so...him. Hands appear on your waist, drawing you in, his sweaty body pressing against your uniform. Slow, his head moves against yours, temples brushing against each other once more.

"'m I doing it right?" He asks, breath tickling your ear. 

"You're getting the hang of it," your confirmation doesn't amount to a whole lot. He knows that as well as you do. You're only slightly better than he is, too far removed from the instinct that resides in your DNA to make much connection with it. 

Even so, that doesn't stop him from following your lead. Letting your hand curl around his jaw, guiding him to nuzzle against you in a sloppy, unpracticed fashion that just feels right. A noise lurches out of him, a low, rumbling thing that sounds like the beginnings of a purr. 

Lips appear on the corner of your ear. Breaking your attempt at scenting in favor of kissing along the side of your cheek, each one growing closer and closer until his lips finally meet yours. Soft, melding with yours in a dance that you know like the back of your hand. 

This is something that the Navy can never take from you. The weightlessness that settles into your joints, the way your head goes completely and utterly quiet when you kiss him. He molds against you like he's been built just for this, the soft jabs of his prickly chin drawing you into him like a moth to a flame. 

You can feel the flex of muscle in his arms as they curl around you, strong and burning and so, so familiar. The fresh, warm scent that greets your nose is new and yet so undeniably him; you've only known it for a few minutes, but you can't wait to spend a lifetime wrapped up in it. In him, and his soft hums and the dizziness that he puts in your head. 

It's the voices in the stairwell that break you apart, but it's the deepest craving of your soft, cozy bed that has you both tumbling up each and every step. Shoulders bump together as your weary legs carry you to that familiar apartment door, not quite awake enough to maintain any sense of balance. 

"I can't believe you never put it together," you find yourself saying as you meander down the hallway. Whoever decided that the elevator should stop on the first floor and not the basement should be fired. 

"Well...I sort of already did," Bobby pauses, squinting at the buttons, "I just didn't..." he trails off, too focused to finish his sentence.

"Uhuh, sure," Your hand darts out, pressing the correct one.  "What other symptom could I have possibly missed?" 

"A knot."

Saliva catches in your throat. "Huh?"

The elevator dings, evidently just as surprised as you are. A moment passes, and the door slides open. It's empty, thank god. No prying ears to overhear what is about to come out of your partner's mouth. 

"I'm just as surprised as you are," his hand squeezes yours, obediently following along as you walk into the elevator. There's no use in him trying to do anything else. Not when he can't see. "It's not...you know, all the way there yet, but it's either that or an unfortunately placed tumor."

Almost automatically, you press one of the buttons, not even entirely sure if it's the correct one or not. Guess you'll find out when the doors reopen because this cheap old contraption gives no indication as to what the hell you just did. Are you going to the ninth floor or the third? Only the elevator knows.

Bob's weight sways from foot to foot, and in the thin sliver of mirror in the corner, you can see the overhead light glistening against his sweaty chest. There's that twitch in your lower belly again, thighs pressing together on their own as if to keep something at bay. Maybe there would be something if your head weren't so...empty. 

"Nobody ever warned me about how sore it'll be when it's coming in," Bob's words are stretched around a yawn, quickly chased by a second one.

Almost simultaneously, your mouth pries itself open, yawning, too. "That bad?"

"You have no idea," his laugh bounces off the metal walls, ringing in your ears; it's the kind of thing that might put you to sleep right here and now. "I forgot about it while I was in the shower this morning and about hit the floor."

With another ding, the doors slide open, and as it turns out, you did pick the correct floor. The next thing you know, you're stumbling into the apartment together; your phone rests on the couch, screen flickering to life with a text. Right. 

You: Made it home! 2:12 AM

Almost instantly, a new message appears on your screen.

Rueben: Is Rob home, or should I send the search team to Mav's house? 2:12 AM

Bob: 🙄 2:15 AM

Something about that text has both of your phones buzzing away with a flurry of texts as if some kind of floodgate has been opened. Bob entertains it, but you're too focused on gathering clothes and towels, dumping them in an unceremonious pile on the bathroom sink. 

Where your belongings end, and his begin can be figured out when you're out of the shower. For now, all you're focused on is turning on the water and pulling this stuffy uniform off your body before it becomes permanently stuck there.

 "Do we have work in the morning?" You find yourself croaking as you test the water. Still a little chilly. 

Lips appear on the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. "We don't work on Sundays, remember?"

"I don't even remember what day it is." Oh how you wish that you were exaggerating. At some point in the week, you've just quit looking at the calendar and let your overfilled schedule swallow you whole.

There's no reason for him to guide you into the shower; hell, it's a walk-in, but he does it anyway. One hand on your waist, moving at the same slow pace until you're standing under a warm stream of water. Your eyes are already trying to drift shut, fighting against you as you try to keep them open.

Defiant, they drift down between Bob's legs as he reaches to grab a bottle off the shelf. There's a soft swell to the base of his cock that wasn't there before; skin stretched tau, not quite adjusted to this sudden change he's been hit with. Whether or not he catches you staring, you don't really care.

Moving is the last thing that you want to be doing. Your shower gel is only an arm's length away, but it might as well be a mile, and once you finally grab it, it's almost too heavy to hang onto. Somehow, though...somehow, you manage. You think you do, at least; you catch the familiar scent from the soap, and you certainly remember washing the bubbles off, so you must have washed something.

You're staring at your reflection in the foggy mirror when a cold wipe presses to the side of your neck, rubbing at the scent gland there. Funny, you'd almost forgotten about that. But now that it's been brought back to the forefront of your mind, you can't help but pluck one from its container. 

The corner of Bob's lip lifts, obediently tilting his head to expose his neck for you. A few little swipes are all that it takes to unveil a scar atop the scent gland there. Faded white with age and almost blending in with his pale neck. For something that could cost you both your jobs, it's quite small.

"We're lucky Mav didn't see these," you mutter, thumb swiping over top of it. The gland is still dry, hasn't figured out how to produce that thin sheen of oil yet. 

Maybe it never will.

Bob's frown is something that you find yourself having to kiss away, can't stand the sight of such a thing. And that's really...that's the last thing that you remember doing. Standing in the bathroom, feeling his arms snake around you, as you kiss his lips until they lift with a smile one more. 

What you do know is that somehow, you get into bed because the next time you open your eyes, you're snuggled into the sheets. Sunlight peeks through a crack in the curtains, casting a horribly bright light into this otherwise dark little bedroom, all too visible behind your closed eyelids. 

Defiant, you roll over. 

If you don't acknowledge it, it's not there. 

Guided by habit, your arm darts out from your side, sliding across Bob's warm belly. His hand settles around your wrist, squeezing gently as if to test and see if you're really there. Through the haze of sleep still lingering in your head, you think you can feel him moving, hips wriggling back and forth against the mattress, unable to keep still.

It takes a moment to find your voice. "What's wrong?"

"It's..." fuck, you forgot how deep his voice can get in the mornings, it's the kind of thing that can put thunder to shame. "It's nothing."

The room is darker than you expected it to be, nothing but that little sliver of light to illuminate the whole place, stretching across the bed and up onto the wall. 

"Well, it's got to be something," gliding your palm up and down his belly in that lazy sort of fashion that always makes him sigh.

His mouth opens, then snaps shut just as quickly, afraid of the words that rest on his tongue.  "'m hard," he croaks, and then, before too much silence can build in between sentences, "which wouldn't...which wouldn't be a problem, but that stupid...that stupid knot hurts." 

Oh, and his cheeks are on fucking fire, red as they can possibly get. All these years, and yet he's still so shy about these topics. It's cute. Even if part of his face is decorated in a frightening mixture of red and purple, only just beginning to recover from yesterday's events. 

You're only just beginning to blink away the blurriness resting in the corners of your eyes, but there's already a lightbulb going off in your otherwise foggy head. So bright that you can feel it lighting up your features, eyes brightening, smile sprawling across your face.

Bobby clocks it before you can even begin to formulate words. "I suppose you have an idea."

"When do I not?" Your weary arms help to push yourself up, lazily swinging a leg over his waist. 

The sheets jostle, pooling around your hips, a chill nipping at your skin. But alphas run pretty warm, and Bobby was already a furnace, to begin with, downright burning against you like a flickering campfire. 

Your plan isn't that unpredictable. It's so easy to figure out that Bob is already leaning up, elbows settling on either side of himself as he meets you halfway. Teeth knock together, lips crashing with so little grace that you distantly wonder if you're at the start of your relationship again—just two fools who don't know how to navigate around each other's bodies. 

But you do know. 

Only several years spent together could teach you that he'll shudder when your nails trace down his chest, gasping into the kiss when they drift across his nipples. Always has been sensitive here, even if he struggles to admit it. 

Biology suggests that you won't get away with it, but history assures that putting your hands on his shoulders and forcing him onto his back will be rewarded with perfect compliance. Instinct be damned, he's putty in your hands. Blinking up at you with those big, unfocused eyes, like a lamb caught in the hungry gaze of a wolf. 

You just can't help yourself. Mouth finding the soft underside of his jaw, where a little bit of stubble has managed to make itself known, scraping against your nose as you drift past. His hands splay out on your hips, his only attempt at reigning you in as you kiss down his neck. Soft little pecks that can't last any longer than a second or two, lest you get carried away and leave a mark that your superiors may spot. 

One of these days, you're going to childishly mottle his neck with marks. Make everyone understand that the cute WSO is yours, nobody else's. Alpha or not. 

"Don't tell me..." his chest heaves as you make your way across it, peppering every little freckle with attention, "don't tell me you're..."

"I'll be gentle," peeking up at him through your lashes, blindly following the hard valley of his sternum. Down, down down to the start of his upper belly, soft and squishing beneath your kiss. Here, you can pause, sucking gently at a patch of pale skin.

A hand slides up your back, settling into the space between your shoulders, just resting there. "Ain't worried 'bout that," his words come out breathy, not quite focused on what he's trying to say. 

You've already got a little red spot forming. Then a second, and a third, before you've reached the treacherous territory of where his shirt may unexpectedly ride up. Being visible in the locker room is one thing, but if he reaches to grab something while wearing that little black regulation t-shirt...

"Do you want me to stop?" Pausing in your tracks. 

"Nuh uh," his head shakes back and forth, then, hesitantly, "'s just...new." 

Your knee pops as you scoot further down his legs, fingers hooking under the thick elastic of his boxers. Obedient, his hips lift, letting you slide the fabric down his thighs. But you're a little too close, forcing him to pull his knees to his chest in order to get it safely past his ankles.

Fuck, he really does have a knot. Properly swollen at the base now, the skin stretched tight and flushed a dark shade of red, not quite adjusted to this sudden change. At least at sixteen, your body encounters these things over time, gradually increasing in intensity. But he's a decade older and up the creek without a paddle. 

"Well, if you could handle me on my first heat," carefully taking his length into your hand, feeling the weight of it, "then this should be a walk in the park, right?"

Bob's head tilts to the side, gaze fixated on what you're doing. "'s easier when I ain't the one changing." 

Fair point.

Maybe you would have more to add if you weren't too busy settling between his legs. In hindsight, you should have detailed your plan a little bit more because now that you're here, you're not entirely sure what to do. Start at the base? The tip? Somewhere in the middle? What do you usually do here? 

Your tongue darts out, running over the swell of his knot. Just one little lick and—

"Oh."

A spring squeals as his hips writhe against the mattress, suddenly full of life. 

Curious, your tongue pokes out once more, gliding across it slower this time. A whine cuts through the morning air, rising to chase your touch. Greedy. Like he hasn't been touched in forever. 

"Do that..." sucking in a desperate gulp of air, "do that again." 

You don't need any more encouragement; already beginning to fall into some kind of rhythm. Lazily mouthing at his delicate knot, all lips and tongue, like you're playing with a lollipop and not the base of his twitching cock. So simple and yet he throws his head back and whines, content with this and this alone. 

"Lube," speaking against him, if only to see the shiver that ripples up his spine. 

His hand audibly pats around the bed, feeling around until he makes his way onto the bedside table. A beat passes, and the bottle appears next to you. Thank god for being lazy; otherwise, he would have had to move and dig into the drawer. 

This is something you know. Leaning back to pour it directly onto him, savoring that little hiss at the chill. Maybe you're a bit too generous with it, thick globs of it running down him like some kind of waterfall, but it's too early in the day to be worrying about such a thing. 

All you care about is getting your hand around him, feeling that familiar girth beneath your fingers as you give him an experimental stroke. How his back rises up off the bed once more, his hand reaching to grab a handful of the pillow, anything to keep himself from pawing at your arm. 

"Feel good?" Your wrist twists. His thighs squeeze around you.

Dumbly, he nods. "Uhuh." 

It's not enough for you, and so you're already opening your mouth with another question. "Can you use your words for me?"

But that pretty head shakes back and forth, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "N-no." 

He's cracking. Hand flying away from the pillow, making a little grabbing motion until you offer him your unoccupied one. Always has to be holding your hand. Always. Even if it's when your other hand is lazily gliding up and down his weeping cock, working at its own comfortable pace.

Swift, your thumb darts out, massaging circles around his enflamed tip. 

You don't know what's louder, the squelch of lube or the cry that rips out of him, muffled a little too late. This is so new. He's so much louder, reacting to every little thing as if it's the first time all over again.

"Up—mmh!" Bobby's eyes squeeze shut, then flutter open again, panting hard. "Up here." 

If this was his first time requesting such a thing, you wouldn't know what he's talking about, but it has almost become second nature at this point. For a moment, you let go of him, needing both hands as you crawl back into your place beside him. He rolls onto his side, already beginning to reach for you before you can even settle in. 

"This better?" You chirp. He's nodding before you can finish your question.

The change in angle makes it so much easier to stroke him, following your own undisclosed rhythm, feeling the way he twitches under your touch, sensitive to all hell. But you're already growing distracted, letting go of him once more, lightly tracing your fingers over that newly formed bulb at his base. 

"That..." his thighs squeeze together, whimpering high in his throat. "That..."

In the back of your mind, you wonder if the neighbors can hear this. The unusually loud noises that just keep tumbling off his pretty tongue, so beautifully overwhelmed with the newness of all this. Glassy-eyed and pink in the cheeks, reaching out to hang onto your wrist as your fingers wrap around his cock once more, if only to keep himself grounded.

Maybe he's worried about being overheard because he's craning his neck, lips crashing together with the same clumsiness as before. Your tongue darts out, wrapping with his for a fleeting moment, wet and messy and certainly getting saliva on the pillow below. 

Again, your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, running back and forth across his slit. His body jerks, gasping into your mouth so sharply that it startles you. 

"Talk to me, Bob," you've got to quit using that phrase outside of the workplace, but it just works so well on him. 

"Feels, feels, aha—!" If he sounded this pretty in the backseat of a jet, you probably wouldn't have a license anymore. "Feels good!"

Vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee kiss your senses with all the strength and intensity of a roaring freight train. The scarred gland on the side of his neck glistens, finally producing that intoxicatingly warm scent. So strong that it makes your head spin, senses downright swimming in it.

"I want...I'm gonna..." Bob's eyes scrunch shut, his foot kicking at the sheets like he can possibly keep it at bay if he fights hard enough. 

But you're not slowing down.

"That's okay," squeezing him a little tighter, twisting your wrist in a fashion that makes his knees knock into each other. Close. So, so close. "Cum for me, Bobby." 

And he does. Twitching in your hand one, two, three times before that first rope of cum paints your palm with white. Fuck, and it just keeps coming, knot swelling impossibly wide, pulsing with every spurt, until your entire hand is fucking dripping. 

You've never seen so much of it. Not from him. 

On their own, your fingers dip down, delicately rubbing at his expanded knot; it throbs under your touch, his thighs snapping together on impulse. The greedy voice in your head wonders what it would be like to feel that inside of you, locking your bodies together, cum flooding your pussy until you can't possibly take another drop from him.

"Feels..." he's fighting for a proper breath, eyes rolling, "feels so different."

"Is that a good thing?" You hum, drawing your hand away before that nonexistent refractory period of his can raise its ugly head and drag you in for a round two. 

Weary, his head nods, but you're not entirely sure that he realizes he's doing it. "Uhuh."

You don't know if he's just not awake or if it's something about the alpha thing, but he hardly has his eyes open, lying next to you like a lazy puppy. His belly and your hand are a downright mess, drenched in an obscene mixture of cum, saliva, and lube, and more just keeps spilling out of him. 

A shower is the only thing that can clean this mess up, but it's too late for that. He's already wriggling an arm around you, his head nuzzling beneath your chin, and moving is suddenly impossible. 

If he's not worried about it, then you suppose that you aren't either. 

It takes twenty minutes for his knot to go down, disappearing entirely as if it were never there, to begin with. It takes an hour to get out of bed and another one for your impromptu bubble bath to end, only for you to crash on the couch like a pair of sleep-deprived teenagers. 

What else are you meant to do on your day off? Something productive? 

You'd known this day was coming, but Christ, you didn't expect it to arrive this soon.

A gray building with gray floors and even grayer walls. The definition of boring and exactly where you're supposed to spend the next several hours rotting away in a meeting. The plastic chairs, the doors, and the pen that the lady sitting at the front desk taps her cheek with are all the same, dull monochrome. 

It's such a severe lack of color that it makes the fading on Bob's cheek appear brighter. Fresher. Like he walked out of the fight ten minutes ago and not three days. There's no uniform, but Jake's red t-shirt is almost offensively vivid, persistently resting in your peripheral, no matter which direction you turn your head.

All of a sudden, the unnamed girl stands, darting into another room without a word.

"Sure can't wait for this to be over," Bradley mutters almost as soon as the door slams closed. 

Jake shifts his weight, bumping their shoulders together. Hard enough to make Bradley sway with the impact. "Worried you can't take the heat?"

"Are you projecting?" Bradley hums, hardly even reacting to the second attempt to shove him.

There's a response there that you don't quite catch about something back at home. But before you can decipher those whispered words, your eavesdropping is cut short by a weight appearing on your own shoulder. The burning press of Bob's nose against your neck, shamelessly burying into you. 

"Bobby?" You chirp, craning your neck to try and get a better look at him. No dice. 

He doesn't move. "Mmm?" 

Rueben's head swivels in your direction. Nose wrinkling. 

...did you forget to take a shower? What's he looking at you like that for? 

All of a sudden, Bob's feet stumble. Weight falling atop your back as he tries to regain his footing, so damn heavy that he's got you wobbling right along with him. A strangled noise rumbles out of him, riding on the coattails of his breath.

"Robert?" Because he's not answering to your nicknames. "Do you feel okay?"

"My head is..." his words vibrate into your collar, arms wrapping around you as if to use you as a pillar, "spinning." 

"You're not gonna get sick on us again, are you?" Nat has suddenly appeared on your left, brows knitted together. 

Between the lingering glances from Rueben and the sudden end to Jake and Bradley's conversation, it's suddenly far too quiet in this little room. A second drags by. Then a second, and a third. Your only indication that Bob is even awake is the brushing of his eyelashes against your skin.

Just as you're beginning to think he doesn't have a response, he opens his mouth.

"'s not that kinda spinning," he mumbles, hardly even loud enough to reach your ears. 

Surely, it can't be something that he ate; you two have shared the same meals all week. If he's feeling off, then you should be, too. It's certainly not allergy season, and as far as you could tell, he was perfectly fine on the drive over here. 

So what gives? What could have possibly changed in the span of a few minutes?

The unnamed woman stumbles back into the room, her heels clicking with every little step that she takes. Something comes out of her mouth, but the grumbling noise that rumbles out of Bob covers it up entirely. It must be a request to follow her because all at once, everyone around you begins to move, filing through the same door that she just came from.

Bob's arms loosen from around you, and he's straightening up, all things that should make him appear better, but...he looks worse. Pale in the face, shoulders appearing to slouch in on themselves as he walks next to you. He's moving, though, feet falling in perfect tandem with yours, following the crowd down the corridor and around a corner. 

The group comes to a sudden halt.

Bob's shoe squeaks against the floor. His shoulder hits the wall, his head rolling like it's too heavy to hold up. Eyelashes flutter, his chest rising with a breath so shaky that you can see him quiver with it. 

Something's wrong.

"Bobby?" You start to reach for him, but Rueben's quicker than you, settling a sturdy hand on the back of Bob's shoulder, trying to draw him away from the drywall before he can accidentally put a hole in it. 

Abnormally short fangs flash. Something akin to a growl rips out of Bob's throat. Heat rushes between your legs. 

His face drops. Eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's nothing personal," Rueben's already backing up, his palms facing the ceiling. The closest thing he can get to waving a white flag. "I get it." 

You don't believe what you're seeing. Smelling, even. It's way too soon for this, but...

He's starting his rut. 

"Is everything okay?" The girl from before is asking; you wish you could remember her name, but reading her nametag is the last thing you're doing right now.

Bradley's shoulder nudges against yours, his head hanging low as if to shield out the rest of the group. "Get him home," he whispers. Firm. "I'll cover from here."

Your attention flickers to Bob, then to the rest of the group. "You're sure?"

All it takes is a look. Unwavering, jaw stiff, commanding all the authority that he can possibly muster. Omega or not, he's not one to be argued with. 

Bob's shoulders shudder. Sweat is already beginning to bead at his forehead; lips parted, breathing through his mouth. 

You don't need any more convincing, already beginning to take him by the wrist. There isn't the slightest bit of resistance, falling into step with you without any ounce of convincing. Whether or not he's actually comprehending what's going on, you're not sure, but he knows enough to not try and let go of you.

Taking the keys from him is the hardest part, trapped in the front pocket of his jeans, right next to the growing tent in the fabric, downright begging for your attention.

"Feels...weird," he grumbles, foot missing on his first attempt to climb into the truck. The second is a little more successful, almost trembling as he pulls himself up into the seat. 

"I know," if it's anything like what your first heat felt like, then you've got a pretty good guess of what he's going through. Heat flashes, loss of coordination, nausea, the overwhelming need to orgasm damn near eating you alive.

In fact, you think that's exactly what he's going through. Grumbling with every turn you take, slouched against the corner of the seat, his head against the glass. There's a tremble in his hands that wasn't there before, knee bouncing up and down, unable to slow itself even for a second.

There are more signs that you would likely notice if you weren't so focused on the road ahead. You've only driven this truck a handful of times; the turn signal is in a different place, the view of the road is different, and it doesn't quite take turns as sharply as your car does.

But he's quiet. Uniquely so, as if he's lost in his own head. Doesn't make a comment on how you pull his truck into its spot rather than backing it in, only grumbling when you don't immediately give him your hand during the walk toward the apartment complex. 

His chin falls onto your shoulder the moment the elevator doors close. 

"Still feeling weird?" You ask, attention flicking to the mirror.

He whines, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, arms wrapping around your waist. A familiar hardness shamelessly grinds into the curve of your ass. Even the thick material of his jeans can't stop you from feeling the way he twitches, desperate for something. Anything.

Warmth rushes down into your thighs. Knees knocking together as they clamp shut, helpless to do anything but wriggle against him. His shaky exhale tickles your ear. 

Something clangs overhead, but you can hardly pay it any mind. The elevator could be falling, and you still can't bring yourself to care. Too focused on twisting in his hold, bodies so close that your noses crash together. 

Bob looks no better than he did while you were in the truck. Skin so clammy that he glistens in the overhead light, not quite pouring with sweat but if you give him a few minutes, that story may change. 

The elevator doors open with a squeal. You move toward them. He doesn't budge. 

"Bobby?" Your head tilts. 

His eyes dart toward something in the hallway. You follow his gaze, but not a damn thing is there. Nothing but the same old gray carpet, dusty, decorative table, and the welcome rug sitting outside your neighbor's door. 

Your alpha neighbor. 

"Bobby, it's your instincts running wild," your attempt at diffusing fails to evoke the slightest reaction, "nobody is going to hurt us." 

He doesn't seem to believe you. Still staring off into the hallway as if his greatest enemy is about to slink around the corner at any given moment.

You reach over his shoulder, fingertips brushing over the back of his neck. Scarred and battered from all those scruffings during basic and every other time a superior thought they caught a glimpse of defiance. Delicate, you pinch the soft skin there, but his shoulders don't loosen like they should. No, they stiffen. 

His chest swells with a sharp inhale. 

"It's okay," whispering, as gently as you can, "it's just me." 

Hesitant, he takes a step forward. Obediently following your lead, those big blue eyes flickering back and forth across the hall as you walk down it. The apartment door is only a few steps away, off in the corner of the building, but it must take a minute or two to get him there. He's just sane enough not to fret when you let him go in exchange for digging the keys out of your pocket.

The door opens, and it's as if an invisible string snaps.

Kisses appear on the side of your neck. Crowding you through the threshold, the door slamming closed the moment you're through it. The apartment is at the same temperature it's always been at, and yet it's too damn hot in here. Feels as if you're walking into a burning room, but instead of flames licking at your skin, it's Bob's hands. Darting under your shirt, desperate to feel more of you.

"I..." Bob's voice dies in his throat. Rumbling against your nape. "I..." 

It's too easy, letting him pull that thin piece of material over your head, your back finding its way up against the wall. The meeting, your friends, the buzzing of your cell phone in your back pocket, none of it matters. Only the press of Bob's lips against yours, how his body slots against yours, built for this and this alone.

He's everywhere. His lips are crashing into yours, and his hands are creeping up your naked back, and the bulge in his jeans is pressing against your hip, and, and—

It's so much. 

Fuck, it's so much. 

"Bob," you find yourself gasping, aimlessly uttering his name as if it can quench the fire beneath your skin. "Bobby..."

He whines at that. Rumbling against your mouth and down your spine, rattling through you like a shockwave. Your fists gather the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. Deeper. Draws a surprised groan right out of his throat, caught off guard but making no move to stop you. 

His hips roll into yours once more, all too eager for something, anything. Your thigh slots between his, pushing up just enough and...

"Shit," he's swearing under his breath, so quiet that you hardly hear it. 

Your impatient hands tug at his shirt. The kiss only breaks long enough for you to yank it over his head, taking his glasses with it. They the floor with a painful clatter. 

He makes no effort to retrieve them.

Neither can you because he's back in your space within an instant, his lips stealing your breath away as if it has belonged to him all along. He tastes like coffee and the honey biscuit he scarfed down on the way to the meeting, so warm and sweet that it's like kissing a bakery instead of a man. 

It ought to drown you. Flooding your senses like some kind of pleasant assault swirls your thoughts and delves deep into your belly, disturbing the butterflies there and setting you alight. This is...this is new. He's always made you weak in the knee, but you don't recall them nearly buckling from his scent alone, only held up by the strong arms looped around you.

Something in your lower stomach clenches. So upset over the overwhelming sensation of being empty that it begins to cramp, a wave of slick rushing to ease the ache. 

Bob's moving, and it's all you can do to throw your arms over his shoulders and hang on. Following blindly as he backs you through the bedroom door, feet stumbling blindly. Back, back, back, guided by the pressure of his hands and the bump of his chest against yours.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, crumpling out from beneath you.

Your ass hits the bed. Vision swimming as you try to regain focus. 

That soft belly is right in front of you. Pale and dusted with freckles, the thin layer of fat concealing the muscle that lurks beneath. You just can't help yourself, greedily leaning in and kissing a fading hickey. One of your hands finds its way to the tent in his jeans, pressing softly. 

Bob sucks in a breath. Jerking. "Hurts." 

"I'm gonna take care of you," you say it as if you've got yourself together. You don't. "I promise."

The button to his jeans pops open without the slightest resistance, zipper racing down the tracks at a record pace. He's too quick to help. Hands colliding with yours as you both yank at the hem of them, pulling his pants and his boxers down in one go, sloppy as it might be. His cock springs free without warning, the flushed tip nearly hitting your cheek as you try to help him pull the fabric past his thighs.

Once they're past his knees, you can no longer reach them.

Your eyes dart to the bottle of lube sitting on the bedside table. With the heat between your legs, you're almost certain that you won't need it, but you're squirming across the bed anyway, rolling onto your belly, arm outstretched, reaching for it. Your fingers wiggle, catching on the side. The bottle spins across the table, right into your grasp.

Hands appear on your hips, dipping beneath your waistband.

"Hey!" You squeal, but it's too late. He's already tugging your pants down, too, pulling you across the sheets in the process. Your phone pops out of the pocket, landing next to you.

"Sorry," but those half-lidded eyes and his lazy grin imply that he's definitely not sorry, already hovering over top of you. There's barely enough room for you to roll onto your back, caged between his shivering arms. 

Funny, you'd always presumed alphas to fall under the same old, aggressive stereotype once their rut started, but this one...he's anything but. Pink in the face, pressing soft kisses against your cheek, almost entirely himself. 

Whether or not he hears you uncapping the lube, you don't know, but he doesn't react to it in the slightest. 

"Ah—!" He does react when your dripping hand wraps around his heavy cock, spreading cold lubricant across him without so much as a warning.

His knot is hardly there, nothing but a slight bump at his base, as it should have been this whole time. You reckon that something about his rut finally kicked his hormones into gear. 

Your hand is hardly doing anything special. Simple strokes to spread the sticky substance across him, thumb swiping over his head once, twice, drawing little whimpers past his lips with every motion. Sensitive and so wrapped up in the feeling that he doesn't realize that you're surging up off the bed. Pushing him over, your leg swinging out to straddle his hips. 

Those wide eyes draw a giggle out of you. "Dummy." 

It's so easy, reaching between your thighs and taking hold of his weeping cock, guiding it up until his tip slips through your folds, nudging against your clit and all. Ugh, you've missed this feeling.

"You're..." Bob sucks in a trembling breath, eyes flickering from your face to the sight of his cock nuzzled against your cunt. "You're sure?"

"Are you?" Mirroring him. You've already made your intentions loud and clear. 

He nods before he can find his voice. "Uhuh."

"Then so am I," and before either of you can begin to conjure up a response, you're sinking down on him.

A sudden pressure appears at your entrance, an ache already arising from your severe lack of interest in stretching yourself for him. It's a dizzying kind of burn that has your body shuddering, taking his cock head in with a soft 'pop' that ought to make your heart stop. 

"Jesus," Bob's hands fly up to your hips, squeezing tight, "fuck." 

There's just something about hearing him swear that gets your head spinning, fighting to keep your body upright as you take him inch by delirious inch. Not obscenely thick, but enough to already be rubbing against those little hidden nerves. It's not fair. He has no right to have your thighs tremoring before you've even taken him halfway.

Your hands fall forward, bracing yourself against his heaving chest. The feeling of the pitter-patter of his heart beneath your palms isn't doing much to help you either, beating at his chest like a caged animal.

Coffee and cinnamon strike your nose with the intensity of a freight train, tearing through your head so quickly that everything becomes muffled, wrapped up in your own little world. A little place where Bobby is your only concern, with his oddly sweet scent and soft blue eyes that threaten to drown you if you gaze too closely.

But your ass is settling into his lap, and you're too damn full to remain up in your head much longer. Fuck, you can't breathe. Lungs tight as if you've run out of room, forced to pant for air that you can't possibly hang onto. 

Already, Bob's hips roll up, unable to keep himself from squirming beneath you. His hands roam up your sides, idly touching, as if to make sure that you're really here. That you're not a figment of his rut-clouded mind.

"So pretty," he babbles, sounds absolutely awe-struck, "you're so pretty." 

"You're just saying that because I'm riding you," teasing, a little smile emerging onto your face as you draw yourself up.

"No, I'm—mmh!" His head falls backward, thunking against the pillow.

This...this is something. You've hardly even drawn yourself up an inch, and he's already whining about it, his hands squeezing your sides once more, hanging on tight as you sink back down on him. 

It's on the second attempt that your breath hitches, stars sparkling in your vision as he rubs against a particular bundle of nerves. An experience nearly identical to any of the other times his cock has been in you, but something...something is different here. You don't recall feeling a sudden gush of slick, reacting to an extreme. 

He should have quit taking those suppressants sooner.

You're drawing yourself up quicker now, clinging to his chest as you try to find your pace. Something quick enough to get what you want but shallow enough to avoid wearing yourself out before you've even gotten close. But it's so hard to remain rational when he's downright nailing that little spot, cock head kissing it over and over and over. 

Bobby's hips jump up once more, meeting you halfway. His whine intertwines with yours, dancing about the room and through the walls. You hope the neighbors aren't home because you don't have the strength to quiet him down. Not when he sounds so pretty. 

"Darlin'," his head rolls back and forth, blinking rapidly, "darlin', I..." 

A beat passes. He doesn't finish that thought.

"Hm?" Fighting to keep your eyes open, "talk to me, Bob." 

You're using workplace phrases in the bedroom again.

But his eyes only scrunch shut. So tight that his nose wrinkles with it. "I don't know."

On its own volition, your hand darts out; he meets you halfway, fingers lacing together as you push them onto the bed. It's a motion that forces you to lean forward, such a subtle change in angle, but—

"There," you blurt it as if you're not the one in charge here. Heat rushes up your belly, burning high into your throat, smoke clouding your vision. 

You're babbling something, but you just can't hear it. Control crumbling like a house of cards, impossible to rebuild as your hips quicken, chasing the delicious pressure of his cock against your nerves. Cunt clenching around him like a vice, every little motion punctuated by an obscenely wet noise that you're only vaguely aware of. 

It's a sudden growl that rips you back into reality. Bobby's short fangs sink into his shivering bottom lip, pretty blue eyes glassy as he bats his lashes up at you. 

"Huh?" Freezing in your tracks. Is there something...did you do something that he doesn't like? 

He's pushing himself up, suddenly all too close. "Wanna roll over." 

The room is spinning before you can even realize what he's just said. Back hitting the soft mattress, a familiar weight settling atop your chest. Arms brace on either side of your head, already finding his favorite position.

Your newly empty hand darts up. Grasping at his wrist until your fingers lace together once more, his weight pinning them into the sheets. You haven't the slightest clue how he stayed inside of you, but he's already beginning to move, and your shaking legs are coiling behind him, and—

"There!" It rips out of you so suddenly that you think you sound akin to a wounded animal. Little shocks jump up your core, pussy fluttering around him. "There, there..."

His hips move a little harder, properly jostling you beneath him, rubbing into those little nerves once more. "Jus' like this?"

All you can do is nod, tongue limp in your mouth. 

Bob's leaning closer, his nose nuzzling against yours, hardly an inch of space left between your heaving bodies. The slight swell of his knot catches on your entrance, such a sudden thing that it rips the air out of your lungs, fighting to keep your legs hitched around his waist. All it's doing is drawing him up against where you crave his touch most, growing impossibly wet from the feel of his knot alone.

A stray squeezes out from the corner of his eye, rolling down his cheek and leaping down to hit your nose. His lips crash into yours before you can begin to ask about it. A soft intertwining that makes your thoughts swirl together until they've blended into a constant, incessant murmuring. Bob. Bob. Bob. 

"Bobby?" It slips out before you've realized it, and if your voice itself could echo a word, you have no doubt that a hundred incantations of his name would be tumbling out your parted lips.

His whine cuts through the air. 

"Feels good," he gasps, speaking against your lips, making no effort to pull away any more than he has to. "Feels...it's so—mmh." 

There's no possible way to keep himself quiet, his whimpers so distracting that you hardly notice the ones coming out of your own mouth. Your unoccupied hand rises, shaking with the heavy thump of your heart as it settles against his cheek.

As if it's come alive, your back twitches up off the bed, legs squeezing around his bony hips, a wildfire rushing across your skin. Head swimming with the noise that is Bob Floyd and the incessant nudge of his growing knot rubbing against that sweet little spot. It's so new and it's so much, and, and it's got spots decorating your vision. Patches of black fading in and out, like you're about to faint.

His knot catches on its way out of you. So big that it doesn't slip back in on the next pass, merely pressing into your pussy once, twice, three times. 

You don't feel it coming. 

One moment you're fine, and the next, your eyes are rolling, cumming without warning, as his knot finally pops inside of you. Quaking with the force of it, ears ringing so loud that you can hardly hear Bob's cry as he cums inside of you. Knot swelling to its full size, locking your bodies together, his cum flooding your spasming cunt, with nowhere for it to escape. 

You're only distantly aware of your back hitting the bed once more, legs slipping out from around him to fall at his sides instead. There are teeth sinking into your shoulder, and your heart is pounding against your chest, lungs burning for a breath you've gone too long without.

The first inhale grounds you. Brings you down from the ceiling and back into his arms. 

The second rips every ounce of strength from your body. All too limp beneath Bobby and his crushing weight that has long since settled on top of you. 

"I love you," his words are jumbled together, so unintelligible that you hardly realize what he's saying. 

It must take a minute or two for you to squeeze his sweaty hand, still linked with yours. "I love you too." 

There's no way that you'll be separating any time soon, not with his knot pulsing inside of your poor pussy, stretched to a limit you didn't know you had. Even when his phone dings from the other room, there's nothing he can do about it. How cruel nature is, forcing you to lie here and accept his snuggling advances. Barbaric, even.

"This..." Bob hums, kissing at your jaw, "feels so damn weird."

Idle, your arm loops around his shoulders, hand greedily delving into his hair. "Tell me about it. If you cum any more, I think I might pop." 

Your giggles melt into yawns; whoever said that sex was a quick and easy thing clearly wasn't doing it right. The moment that Bob gets his head comfortable, his nose nuzzled beneath your ear, you know that you've lost him. Frankly, you're not far from it, either, already beginning to fight back another yawn. 

But your brain isn't on the same page because while your body is already sinking further into the bed, growing heavier by the second, your thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Maverick. The prescription suppressants sitting on the dresser, waiting for the day that the Navy requires you to start taking them again, for the sake of efficiency and making the job easier for all parties.

You don't understand it. 

Why does the Navy prioritize scrubbing you of alpha, beta, and omega statuses? What's the point of soap designed to strip your scent glands when all it does is make you so much more sensitive to the variety of scents out there? Was the endless scruffing from your superiors really meant to 'build character'? Or was it just a bunch of insecure superiors desperate to make themselves feel in charge?

Bobby should have known whether he was alpha, omega, or beta over ten years ago. Why is it that you and he have been medicated to high hell while Maverick has walked around for the better half of thirty years without being given a single fucking pill to take? He's exactly what the Navy preaches about; a hot-headed, cocky alpha who gets so invested in instinct that he hurts his team.

God, fuck, his fangs aren't even formed properly. Short and stunted from the lack of hormones, not an ounce of threat to them, no matter how many times he may try to flash them. 

Your eyes dart to your cell phone, resting on the unoccupied side of the bed. 

It's barely within reach, but it's nothing that a little stretching won't resolve. Heavy in your hand as you type in the passcode and navigate toward an app, resting in the far right corner. The screen turns black. 

A beat passes. 

Then, a second.

And a third. 

The camera opens, little squares dancing across the screen as it scans your irises. A microphone crosses the screen. Your name tumbles off your tongue.

Finally, it opens. A crudely built messenger app, a myriad of texts flooding in as it loads. Wire transfers. Messages about the mission. Information that the Navy never thought would leave your lips. Names. Javy. Natasha. Jake. Rueben. Bob. Mickey. Three other familiar names that you cannot be bothered to read. All you care about is finding a contact by the name of Admin, and pressing the call button. 

As the dial tone sounds, Bob's head lifts, sleepy eyes flickering up to meet with yours. Doesn't need to look at the phone to understand what you're doing. It's a call he made when Admiral Cain left a mark on your wrist. The same number Bradley dialed when Cyclone started that brawl with Jake. 

Bob's just beginning to settle back into the crook of your neck when someone picks up. 

"Who hit him?" 

You know that voice. You know what happened the last time you called. But for once in your life, you've forgotten how to feel hesitant about the words that are about to leave your mouth. 

"They call him Maverick."

[twilght-talks]

An Over-the-Top Valentine - Kang Dae Ho

Project Valentines Day - 5#

Warnings: nothing!

Kang Dae-Ho wasn’t the type to let any occasion go by without making it special—especially Valentine’s Day. He’d never been one for the quiet, simple approach. No, when it came to you, he wanted to go all out.

But the problem? Dae-Ho didn’t have a fortune to spend. Instead, he had creativity, determination, and a whole lot of love that he was willing to show you. And that, he figured, would be more than enough.

You were caught off guard when he knocked on your door, looking uncharacteristically put together in a crisp shirt and dark jeans, holding a small but beautifully wrapped box. “For you,” he said with a grin, clearly proud of himself.

“What’s this?” you asked, accepting the gift with a curious smile.

“Something special for my favorite person.” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Trust me, it’s gonna be a night you’ll never forget.”

You laughed, a little skeptical, but intrigued all the same.

The evening started with something simple but thoughtful. Dae-Ho had spent hours setting up a cozy little space for the two of you in his apartment. There were fairy lights strung across the walls, and candles lit, casting a warm glow on the small space. A stack of your favorite movies was placed neatly on the coffee table, and he had somehow managed to get your favorite takeout—nothing fancy, but he’d put in the effort to make sure it was exactly what you wanted.

“Dinner fit for a queen,” he joked, gesturing to the food he’d made. “Just wait—there’s more.”

After eating, Dae-Ho led you to the living room, where he had set up an art project—a canvas, some paint, and brushes.

“I thought we could paint something together,” he said shyly, clearly hoping you would enjoy it. “It’s a bit cheesy, I know, but it’ll be fun. And when it’s done, we’ll hang it up somewhere. A memory of tonight.”

You agreed, both of you laughing and joking as you painted. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a piece of art that represented the two of you—something you could hold onto forever.

Later, when the art was drying, Dae-Ho pulled out a small envelope from his pocket. “Okay, this is it.”

You opened it to find a handwritten letter, filled with all the little things he loved about you—your laugh, your kindness, the way you made even the most ordinary days feel special.

“I’m not great with words,” he confessed. “But I wanted to give you something that showed how much you mean to me. You’ve made my life better, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend this day with.”

You blinked back a tear, touched by the sincerity of the gesture. “Dae-Ho…”

Before you could say anything else, he grinned. “Wait, there’s one more thing.”

He led you to the door, where he had arranged a small, impromptu surprise—outside was a blanket spread across the grass, and despite the chilly night air, there was a small, portable heater to keep you warm.

“It’s not much,” he said quickly, “but I thought we could watch the stars together. Just the two of us. A quiet end to the night.”

You smiled, heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. You two sat together on the blanket, the warmth of the heater providing just enough comfort to allow you both to forget about the world. The stars twinkled above, and it felt like the night was just for you two—no need for anything more than this moment.

In that quiet space, you leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your own. “This has been the best Valentine’s Day,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

Dae-Ho smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad, because you deserve the best.”

A/n: Hi my lil monsters! How we likey? This is fic 5# of Project Valentines Day 2024! Hope you enjoy!

Love ya, Twilight

Taglist:

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @imflying-high @mirahyun @takuma-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @truefandemonium

[moriitis]

How do you think Toby would act with a Deaf/mute reader?

Both as a victim and as a lover. Seriously, I need to know what you think about this dynamic 🫂

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE.

I actually have an OC that is deaf so I already know how Toby would react to this! (I haven't written her story or introduced her yet.) But if you are interested in my OCs or more writings in general -

MASTERLIST.

LOVER.

We'll start things off on a lover's perspective!

At first he'll forget. He'll always talk and talk and talk and then always expect to hear an answer from you.

But he adjusted to your needs quickly.

Whether you need a notepad and pen, he'll always have a pen tucked behind his ear. Or if you needed to borrow his notes app on his phone to write a message too, sure.

Sign language was hard for him, either you signed too quickly or he got jumbled up on words.

But he tries and albeit it's broken, it's enough for you to understand him.

At first he used to shake you if he wanted something from you or if he were talking, but after admitting that made you feel uncomfortable or that it startled you - he thought of alternatives.

Like flickering a light on and off or gently tapping you on the shoulder.

Admittedly, he's super curious.

And he seems himself in you too, just you can feel pain and he can hear things. A weird dynamic really but it was a welcoming one - one that actually made him feel.. normal?

Once he does get the hang of signing a bit more fluently (? is that the right word for it?) he shit talks all the time.

But it's funny.

Naturally, he feels a sense of protectiveness over you too. Especially knowing you are vulnerable due to the hearing loss.

(Honestly, he has no idea how somebody like you is able to become a Proxy, but hey , Jack has no eyes so anything is possible.)

You'll never admit this to him, but lip reading is difficult - with the gash in his cheek and all. Not only that, his German accent slurs the words together a little so sometimes you find yourself just nodding along, a smile on your face like you pretend you understand what he said.

Weirdly enough, he was too self-concious to remove his mask guard to allow you to lip read. But then he knew that that was a little selfish of him and he just had to suck it up.

And holy shit is he thankful you can't hear his tics. It's lowkey a blessing.

VICTIM.

Oh, what a beautiful, twisted blessing that he has the pleasure of killing somebody who is so helpless.

Admittedly, it ruins the fun a little for him. He likes hearing the jagged breathing under the bed, perhaps even the little whimper here and there as his victims attempt to hide away from him.

But you had no idea. You had no idea that he were standing there in your living room, watching you make your food in the kitchen.

A part of him wanted to see how long he could go for it to go unnoticed.

And a very, very, very, small part him almost.. pitied you. Because he could take your life right here, right now and you would have no idea what happened. Well, not that you had a chance to worry about that, you'd be dead before the splitting pain of his hatchet came connecting to your skull.

Toby was always told to never play with his food, his mom scolded him a lot for picking at pieces of broccoli on his plate but the idea of messing with you really did humour him.

What if he casted a sickly shadow on the wall? Or turned the light on? Or better yet, move things around! Oh, what fun!

But Toby felt no shame taking your life.

Perhaps that little bit of humanity within him screamed that now was a good time as any to leave you in peace - that you would have no idea that he stood in the very room with you from the begining.

Nah, once your name was in writing, it was rare for your life to be spared - especially at the hands of a Proxy. You were an asset, a problem and you needed to be taken care of.

Admittedly, Toby convinced himself that he was doing you a favour. Taking you out of misery, fuck, he couldn't imagine living a life not being able to hear any incoming threat but hey, you were the weakest link in the food chain.

Though he did.. linger for awhile. Just to observe, just to watch. He'll wait for you to turn around first, he needed a little noise to get him going.

[scientia-rex]

Because my most popular post is about weight loss and how it's a crock, I get a lot of questions about various things, including bariatric surgery--just posted the link to the post I did about that--but also Ozempic/Wegovy, the once-weekly injectable semaglutide medication that was developed for diabetes but was found to have independent benefits on weight loss.

I always said that weight loss was like Viagra: when a medication came along that actually worked, it would explode. We'd all hear about it. Fen-phen in the 90s worked, but it was bad for your heart. Stimulants, like meth, may cause weight loss, but they do it at the cost of heart health, and raise your likelihood of dying young. Over the counter weight loss supplements often contain illegal and unlisted thyroid hormone, which is also dangerous for the heart if taken in the absence of a real deficiency. Orlistat, or "Alli," works the same way as the Olestra chips Lays made in the 1990s--it shuts off your ability to digest fats, and the problem with that is that fats irritate the gut, so then you end up with fatty diarrhea and probably sharts. Plus Alli only leads to 8-10lbs of weight loss in the best case scenario, and most people are not willing to endure sharts for the sake of 8lbs.

And then came the GLP-1 agonists. GLP stands for glucagon-like peptide. Your body uses insulin to make cells uptake sugar. You can't just have free-floating sugar and use it, it has to go into the cells to be used. So if your body sucks at moving sugar into the cells, you end up with a bunch of glucose hanging out in places where it shouldn't be, depositing on small vessels, damaging nerves and your retinas and kidneys and everywhere else that has a whole lot of sensitive small blood vessels, like your brain.

Glucagon makes your liver break down stored sugars and release them. You can think of it as part of insulin's supporting cast. If your body needs sugar and you aren't eating it, you aren't going to die of hypoglycemia, unless you've got some rare genetic conditions--your liver is going to go, whoops, here you go! and cough it up.

But glucagon-like peptide doesn't act quite the same way. What glucagon-like peptide does is actually stimulating your body to release insulin. It inhibits glucagon secretion. It says, we're okay, we're full, we just ate, we don't need more glucagon right now.

This has been enough for many people to both improve blood sugar and cause weight loss. Some patients find they think about food less, which can be a blessing if you have an abnormally active hunger drive, or if you have or had an eating disorder.

However, every patient I've started on semaglutide in any form (Ozempic, Wegovy, or Rybelsus) has had nausea to start with, probably because it slows the rate of stomach emptying. And that nausea sometimes improves, and sometimes it doesn't. There's some reports out now of possible gastroparesis associated with it, which is where the stomach just stops contracting in a way that lets it empty normally into the small intestine. That may not sound like a big deal, but it's a lifelong ticket to abdominal pain and nausea and vomiting, and we are not good at treating it. We're talking Reglan, a sedating anti-nausea but pro-motility agent, which makes many of my patients too sleepy to function, or a gastric pacemaker, which is a relatively new surgery. You can also try a macrolide antibiotic, like erythromycin, but I have had almost no success in getting insurance to cover those and also they have their own significant side effects.

Rapid weight loss from any cause, whether illness, medication, or surgery, comes with problems. Your skin is not able to contract quickly. It probably will, over long periods of time, but "Ozempic face" and "Ozempic butt" are not what people who want to lose weight are looking for. Your vision of your ideal body does not include loose, excess skin.

The data are also pretty clear that you can't "kick start" weight loss with Ozempic and then maintain it with behavioral mechanisms. If you want to maintain the weight loss, you need to stay on the medication. A dose that is high enough to cause weight loss is significantly higher than the minimum dose where we see improvements in blood sugar, and with a higher dose comes higher risk of side effects.

I would wait on semaglutide. I would wait because it's been out for a couple of years now but with the current explosion in popularity we're going to see more nuanced data on side effects emerging. When you go from Phase III human trials to actual use in the world, you get thousands or millions more data points, and rare side effects that weren't seen in the small human trials become apparent. It's why I always say my favorite things for a drug to be are old, safe, and cheap.

I also suspect the oral form, Rybelsus, is going to get more popular and be refined in some way. It's currently prohibitively expensive--all of these are; we're talking 1200 or so bucks a month before insurance, and insurance coverage varies widely. I have patients who pay anything from zero to thirty to three hundred bucks a month for injectable semaglutide. I don't think I currently have anyone whose insurance covers Rybelsus who could also tolerate the nausea. My panel right now is about a thousand patients.

There are also other GLP-1 agonists. Victoza, a twice-daily injection, and Trulicity, and anything else that ends in "-aglutide". But those aren't as popular, despite being cheaper, and they aren't specifically approved for weight loss.

Mounjaro is a newer one, tirzepatide, that acts on two receptors rather than one. In addition to stimulating GLP-1 receptors, it also stimulates glucose-dependent insulinotropic polypeptide (GIP) receptors. It may work better; I'm not sure whether that's going to come with a concomitantly increased risk of side effects. It's still only approved for diabetes treatment, but I suspect that will change soon and I suspect we'll see a lot of cross-over in terms of using it to treat obesity.

I don't think these medications are going away. I also don't think they're right for everyone. They can reactivate medullary thyroid carcinoma; they can fuck up digestion; they may lead to decreased quality of life. So while there may be people who do well with them, it is okay if those people are not you. You do not owe being thin to anyone. You most certainly do not owe being thin to the extent that you should risk your health for it. Being thin makes navigating a deeply fat-hating world easier, in many ways, so I never blame anyone for wanting to be thin; I just want to emphasize that it is okay if you stay fat forever.