#just wanted to practice a silly little thing

[kxsagi]

Idk if this have been done before or not but blue lock boys of your choice (hopefully with sae, isagi and aiku) with a very flirty reader but when it comes to the real thing just short circuit?? Like they're all bark but no bite type of thing (me frfr) Reader saying stuff like "I'll take you home tn pretty😘", "What do you want to do first? Eat, bath or me😜 Isn't that what japanese women say to their husbands??" or "I'm so delicious yk" (and yes if you're curious I did say this to my friends and I don't have a love life😔)

“𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐳 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭”

a/n: i am obsessed with you. you are the final boss of flirt-to-faint pipeline and i will write this with my whole chest

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, aiku oliver, karasu tabito, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei

isagi yoichi

you're sitting on a bench, hand under your chin, giving him the most dramatic eyes ever. 

"yoichi, when are you gonna stop playing soccer and start playing me?" 

he CHOKES mid-bite of his sandwich. you’ve been doing this for weeks. he’s used to the pickup lines, the little winks, the "what if i kissed you rn lol jk... unless?" energy. 

but today? oh he’s had ENOUGH. 

“what if i did kiss you right now?” 

silence. 

you blink. your brain hits a blue screen error. 

"what?" 

"you always say that stuff. so what if i actually did it?" 

you panic. 

you THROW YOUR OWN SANDWICH AT HIM. 

“don’t do that. i’m too delicate. i’ll combust. i’ll faint on the spot.” 

he cackles. absolutely loves how you can be a flirt and a coward at the same time. 

he starts throwing your lines back at you. suddenly isagi’s texting you at 1 AM like “i’m so delicious you know 🤤” and you’re clutching your pillow screaming into it. 

itoshi sae

you always flirt with him when he’s least expecting it. like when he’s brushing his teeth. or doing taxes. 

"sae, when are you gonna marry me so i can kiss you good morning every day and give you little bento boxes that say ‘good luck, honey’?" 

he's brushing his teeth. he’s staring at you in the mirror like you’re a walking headache. 

“you want to kiss me every morning?” 

“... no. that’s not what i said. i don’t even know you like that. who are you.” 

you run. flee the scene. 

sae chases you down the hallway with his toothbrush still in his mouth. “say it again, coward.” 

you’re under a table texting rin for backup. 

bonus: sae starts quoting your pickup lines when you least expect it. 

"what do you want to do first? eat, bathe, or me?" he says this deadpan in a restaurant and you drop your drink. 

aiku oliver

THE WORST ONE TO FLIRT WITH. DO NOT DO IT. HE WILL FLIRT BACK. 

you walk up to him during practice like, “i brought you water, pretty boy. drink it and think of me.” 

he takes the bottle, winks, and goes, “sure, babe. if you’re what hydration tastes like, i’m gonna need gallons.” 

you explode. your brain does not have the processing speed to handle oliver aiku. 

“i’m kidding! i’m KIDDING! we’re friends! i’m just a silly little guy!” 

“silly little guys don’t call me pretty with that much eye contact.” 

he lives for your flirty lines and the way you instantly crumble when he flips the script. 

“hey, gorgeous.” 

“please be serious i have a weak heart.” 

he’s constantly calling you out. “you told me i was ‘so hot you wanted to risk it all’ yesterday. and now you’re turning pink because i called you ‘cutie’?” 

yes. yes you are. 

karasu tabito

he thinks your one-liners are HILARIOUS. 

he flirts back once and you hit him with the “who said that. don’t make me take this seriously” defense mechanism. 

“you said you wanted to lick whipped cream off my abs yesterday.” 

“i was JOKING.” 

“you had a whipped cream can in your hand.” 

he starts keeping score. 

flirty lines from you: +1. 

your panicked denial after: +10. 

he 100% makes a powerpoint for your birthday called “top 10 times you flirted like a menace and ran away from consequences.” 

slides include quotes like “tabi if you were dessert i’d never skip dinner again” and your reaction when he said “okay then, bite me” (you fainted, it was dramatic). 

nagi seishiro

he doesn’t understand flirting. but he does understand that you turn bright red every time he repeats your lines. 

you: “sei, you’re so fine i’d let you ruin my life.” 

nagi: “okay. how do i do that?” 

you: “what do you mean how do you– HUH??” 

“do i just sit on you or something?” 

you scream into the void. 

he genuinely thinks your flirty lines are just jokes. until one day he mimics your tone and says, “i’m so delicious, you know?” 

and you combust. you literally trip over the couch. 

“don’t do that. you’re not allowed. only i can be the menace here.” 

“but you get all weird and sweaty when i do it. it’s funny.” 

he’s addicted now. whenever you flirt, he just gives you bedroom eyes and goes “mm, yeah, me too.” 

you haven’t known peace since. 

kaiser michael

you flirted with him ONCE and he hasn’t let you live it down since. 

you were feeling bold one morning and went, “you’re so fine, i’d let you break my heart and still say thank you.” 

kaiser didn’t even blink. just leaned in, cocky smirk and all. 

“then let’s not waste time. bed or balcony?” 

YOU SHORT-CIRCUIT SO HARD YOU HIT HIM WITH YOUR BAG. 

“I WAS JOKING. GOD HAS ABANDONED ME.” 

he lives to watch you crumble. you’re a walking contradiction and he’s obsessed. 

starts intentionally flirting back just to see the panic in your eyes. 

“hey, pretty boy.” 

“i’m prettier in bed, you know.” 

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. RESPECT YOURSELF.” 

he respects you so much he tells everyone your pickup lines. “this one once told me ‘i’m so delicious you’ll never want another meal’ and then choked on air when i said ‘bon appétit.’” 

you hate him. you also flirt with him again the next day. it's a sickness. 

itoshi rin

the most dangerous game. 

you flirt with rin purely because he reacts like a cat staring at a laser pointer. pure judgment. 

“rin, if we lived together, would you want to eat, bathe, or do me first?” 

he stares. unimpressed. “i’d move out.” 

you laugh it off like “haha okay cold prince.” 

but then one day, he breaks. 

you say something like “you should let me sit on your lap during team meetings. i’m cuter than your teammates.” 

and he goes, “fine. try it.” 

silence. 

“WHAT.” 

“you said it. don’t back out now.” 

and you just evaporate into thin air. 

your soul leaves your body. rin’s casually holding open his arms and you’re hitting the eject button on life. 

and ever since that day, rin casually flirts back just to mess with you. 

“don’t say things you can’t commit to,” he says every time you flirt. “or do you want to prove it this time?” 

you’ve never known fear until rin calls your bluff. 

shidou ryusei

you flirt with him because you thought he’d be too unhinged to take it seriously. you thought wrong. 

first time you said “i’m hotter than hell, baby. want a taste?” he said, “yeah, let’s start with your thighs.” 

YOU FROZE LIKE A WINDOWS ERROR POPUP. 

“WH– I– NOT LIKE THAT–” 

“nah you started this. now i’m invested.” 

every time you flirt now, he takes it as a personal challenge. 

you say, “you’re so hot it’s actually disrespectful.” 

he winks. “cool. wanna get on your knees and teach me manners?” 

YOU PASS OUT. 

he fans you with a plate like “bro what happened to all that confidence?” 

he calls you "flirty mcfragile" behind your back. and to your face. 

“what’s up, bark-and-no-bite?” 

you ban yourself from flirting around him but he bait-flirts you like it’s a sport. 

“damn, i look good today. don’t you want to say something sexy to me?” 

“NO. YOU’RE EVIL. STOP BAITING ME.” 

"can't help it. i’m just so delicious, y’know?" 

shidou uses your own lines against you like a weapon and you're too weak to stop him. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[stevenose]

night moves (18+)

inspired by that slutty slutty shoot joe did for coup de main (that pic of him in the chair… you know the one)

contains: steve x reader; reader with a vagina and breasts; reader is referred to as ‘good girl’ etc several times through this fic; teasing!!!; oral (m receiving); cock worship; some scent kink; silly but also stern steve trying to teach u a little lesson about patience. also robin gets laid 🤍

steve looks good. this isn’t an unusual occurrence - he always looks good - but tonight’s outfit has you reeling.

he never wears black levis, but he’s shown up with a pair on tonight. tight enough to see his goddamn cock through, the curve of his ass emphasized. you’re dizzy over them, but the terracotta button-down that he’s wearing makes your thighs clench together. it’s unbuttoned enough to truly be considered slutty, and the sleeves are rolled up, pretty veins and hands on display. and he’s wearing a goddamn leather jacket, too. you didn’t even know he owned one of those.

“what’s this all about?” you ask, tugging at the soft leather.

“family heirloom,” he explains hesitantly. “why? is it weird?”

“no,” you say quickly. “you look incredible tonight.”

steve leans in a little, his sunglasses sliding down the straight slope of his nose. you can see his eyes, going from milk chocolate to dark chocolate. “you really think so?”

“know so,” you breathe, taking a step back, because you might kiss him stupid - or faint - if you don’t.

and it must be obvious that you’re reeling. steve’s arm cradles your waist tightly, keeping you close to him all night. this whole thing is new - being in public with him for the first time as a couple. you’re sweating, face perpetually hot, the scent of his fig cologne sticking to your skin.

and every time he faces you, you feel more and more ridiculous. his cock is practically shouting at you. all you want is to be out of this stupid bar, on your knees for him, his thick length stuffed into the back of your throat.

you take a deep breath to steady yourself and sip on your cocktail, to give the impression that you’re a normal person and not ridiculously horny.

“something wrong?” he asks, lips tickling your ear. you can hear the smug smile in his voice.

“you drive me crazy,” you say softly, voice just above a whisper.

you’re sure he can’t hear you over the loud music of the bar, but he must be a lip reader, because he smiles wide.

“you look good tonight too, y’know,” he says, his hand moving from your lower back to the back of your neck. he slides a finger under your sleeve, and fiddles with your bra strap. his breath in your ear makes you shiver. “can’t wait to get you alone.”

you turn to look at his pretty face now, his hair all tousled, his cheeks pink.

“we’ve been here long enough, don’t you think?” you murmur.

steve tuts. “eddie’s gonna think you’re rude if we miss his set.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. “there’s a bathroom.”

he shakes his head, beaming, finishing the last of his drink. “uh-uh. you’re a good girl. you can be patient for me, can’t you?”

you want to punch him. he does it to tease you, because he knows how much you like it when he talks to you like that. a little condescending, a little mean. you glare instead, now biting your tongue, irritated.

“i love it when you look at me like that,” he says, taking your empty glass and heading to the counter to get you another.

you can finally breathe, though you’re still suffocating. eddie’s band hasn’t even set up yet. and you don’t get why steve wants to stay to listen to music he doesn’t like for a guy he only quasi gets along with. robin’s here somewhere - and with jealousy, you realize she’s probably finger-banging her girlfriend in the restroom right now.

steve’s back at your side, still grinning, handing you another drink.

“got you the sweet kind,” he says, then leans in. “not sure if you should be drinking, though. afraid you’re gonna try to fuck me right here if you get drunk enough.”

his jawline is incredibly defined as his head leans back, another jack and coke at his lips. if you were stronger, you’d drag him outside, or at least into the men’s bathroom.

“keep it up and you won’t get fucked.”

steve scoffs, wraps his free hand around your waist and pulls you into his chest. “then what’ll you do, huh?” he asks quietly, his nose almost touching yours. “gonna touch yourself in my bathroom all alone?”

“maybe i won’t spend the night,” you say, voice wavering. you’re very unconvincing. “maybe i’ll go home and use a toy.”

he grins again. “you gonna suck your dildo before you ride it?”

your eyes widen at the debauchery. steve’s got a mouth on him, but he doesn’t typically use it outside of the bedroom.

“yeah,” he says, shit eating grin widening. “you’re droolin’, baby. wanna taste my cock so bad, yeah? wore these just for you. know how much you like seeing it.”

he grinds himself into your hip bone. you almost drop your goddamn glass.

“you think i don’t want to take you to my car and make your brain melt?” he continues. “i do, baby, but i’m patient. you gotta learn.”

your mouth is dry.

at your lack of response, steve’s shoulders drop. “too much?”

you shake your head quickly. “no,” you insist, “i like this version of you.”

he relaxes a bit more, presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “good girls get rewards,” he murmurs.

there’s a sudden bang! behind you. you whip around to see the drummer beginning to set up on the stage.

“we gotta stay after, too, y’know,” steve says, lips ghosting over your neck. “say congrats and all. maybe get some food.”

your head whips back around so you can glare harshly at him. “we are not going to dinner after this.”

he can’t stop grinning, his teeth gleaming in the low light. “don’t be selfish, honey, we don’t all have something to eat later.”

you sort of wonder what he would do if you fought back. would he chase you if you said you were leaving? would he give in?

you don’t have time to contemplate, as robin finally emerges, chugging a water with a red face. her girlfriend’s all blissed out, leaning on robin for support.

“gross,” steve says, stepping away from you. his body parting from yours makes you feel cold.

robin grins widely, cocking her head at him. “oh, so you hate gay people?”

they argue - steve can’t take a joke sometimes - but you block them out. you sip absentmindedly on your drink, watching as eddie finally emerges on stage to set up the amps and pedals.

“third stall in the girl’s bathroom,” robin’s partner says, nodding and giving you a thumbs up. “pretty cushy in there, if you guys need a space.”

“thanks,” you say weakly.

you’re tense when eddie’s band starts to play, finally, and the drinks aren’t helping. you’d like to relax like steve is now, a third drink in his hand.

what’s really infuriating is that steve has the audacity to nod his big head along to the music and act like he really cares about it, when you know his vibe is the eagles and queen, not this.

he finally looks at you, still smug. “not polite to stare.”

“not polite to tease.”

he scoffs again, throwing a hand out to gesture towards the stage. “what are you talkin’ about? i’m havin’ a great time.”

your eyes follow his strong biceps and you want to sink your teeth into the flesh and muscle desperately.

he opens his mouth to make a comment about it, but you reach into his glass to fish out the cherry that came with it. you stare him down as you bring it to your lips, your teeth sinking into the cherry instead of him.

he watches you, eyes darkening, hooded, his fingers flexing around the glass. tart juice spills down your chin and you make no attempts to clean it up.

“want the stem?” you ask, holding it up.

steve leans forward to wipe the sweetness with his thumb, then sucks it into his mouth.

you’re blown away. outperformed.

“you’re gonna get it,” he says lowly.

you force a smile, heart beating fast. “what i want?”

he laughs and leans back, eyes moving to the stage again. “you’ll see.”

there’s another half an hour after the performance where everyone shoots the shit in the ally behind the bar. you’re squirming the entire time while steve’s arm stays wrapped around your waist, holding you into him, trying to make you stop.

and when eddie asks if anyone is coming to the diner with the band, you brace yourself for steve to say yes.

instead, he yawns loudly and shakes his head. “we’re too tired, sorry.”

“you just hate me,” eddie says, waving him off.

“how’d you know?” steve says, then guides you to turn around, moving towards his car. “we’ll see you soon — vickie, drive safe, please.”

she gives him another big thumbs up and you try to remember her name for the next time you see her. you have bigger priorities right now, though, as steve walks silently beside you. your clit pulses between your thighs, the short walk nearly excruciating.

he gets the door for you - a gentleman, of course - and for a brief moment, as you sit, you’re at eye level with his dick.

steve doesn’t linger, though. he shuts the door and moves to his side. you stare at him, a little nervous to be alone after all that was said earlier.

“you,” he says, pointing a finger at you after turning the key, his eyes equally playful and serious, “have a lot to make up for tonight.”

steve spreads his legs wide, still clothed (with that jacket), hair tousled. he’s spread out in a chair at his place, the room lit dimly by a lamp in the corner. it makes you sleepy but you’re convinced his bulge has hypnotized you.

he looks at you like he’s disappointed. it’s all a rouse, of course. he’s doing all of this because he saw how hot it made you earlier, and he had told you as much before sitting down.

“strip,” he finally says.

you don’t hesitate, of course. you’ve been waiting to get your damn clothes off all night. like a palette cleanser, one of these nights plays softly in the background, spinning on the record player.

“underwear too?” you ask.

he hums. “keep ‘em on.”

you do as you’re told.

steve stares at you for what feels like forever, sort of squinting. “give me a spin, baby,” he says, spinning his finger.

you do, nice and slow, letting him look. look at what he’s missed out on all night, what he could have had in the bathroom or the ally or his car all night. when you’re back to facing him, he beckons you over.

“come here.”

you like him like this. you like him when he’s goofy and soft, too, but this is new and exciting.

you stand between his thighs and he moves his hands to your ass, gently cupping it. he’s gorgeous below you. his hands roam, hands squeezing almost a little too roughly, but never making you wince. you’re giddy about it, his eagerness showing through with every handful he takes of you.

“on your knees.”

you drop down so quickly it hurts, your knees throbbing, but you don’t complain.

steve leans forward to cup your cheek. “gotta teach you a thing or two about patience, don’t i?” he asks softly, eyes scanning your face and landing on your lips.

“mhm,” you agree.

“i’d tell you not to act like that again, but i really liked it,” he admits, smiling softly at you. “like knowing how much you need me.”

“i really do,” you breathe.

“i know.” he kisses your forehand gently. “so here’s the deal. i’ll let you have what you want, but there are two stipulations: you can’t touch yourself, and i’m going to draw this out as long as possible. how’s that sound?”

you try to be cute. “am i going to cum tonight, stevie?”

he hums. “no way, baby. this is all about patience, remember?”

you know how much he’s obsessed with pussy, so you don’t take his threat very seriously.

“no cheating,” he instructs. “no clenching your thighs or anything.”

you bite your lip. you’re still trying to be cutesy. “and what if i do?”

he grins and leans down to touch the tip of his nose against yours. “if you want my cock so bad, baby, you’d better play by the rules.”

he finally kisses you, soft and slow. it’s not heated like it usually is when you’re with him. it clicks that he’s taking his time, and you really wish he wouldn’t. not just because of your eagerness - it’s also two in the morning and your head hurts from all the heavy metal.

he pulls away from you slowly and leans back in his chair. “go ahead,” he says, a finger tapping his belt buckle. “slow.”

it takes three minutes to get his tight jeans down his thick thighs at a pace that he likes. you leave the briefs on. you‘ve already mapped out what you’re going to do.

there’s a sizeable stain of precum where the tip of his cock rests. you’d like to make a comment about it but you abstain, knowing he’d drag this out for longer.

“wait,” he says.

so you do.

one of his hands sneaks down to palm at his erection. his head falls back and he lets out a breathy moan as he touches himself. you don’t know where to look - his big hand on his cock, or his pretty face twisting softly with pleasure.

“maybe i should just jerk myself off, huh?” he rambles. “make you wait even more.”

you almost whimper.

“‘s okay,” he assures, “i’m not that mean.”

but he does keep touching himself while you stare at the stain of precum grow. you spread your legs far apart but you’re definitely still cheating, your cunt clenching and unclenching.

you’re just about ready to beg when he finally stops, moving his hand back to the armrests.

“slow,” he repeats, like you’re a dog, and you really don’t mind.

your hand replaces his. he’s hot to the touch, even through the cotton. your thumb swipes against his head and he groans softly above you. his pre transfers to your thumb and, just as he had done with the cherry juice, you suck it into your mouth.

“copy cat,” he breathes, pupils blown.

you smile up at him, then lean forward. you maintain eye contact with him until your lips reach his cock, and you mouth at him through his briefs.

“jesus,” he groans, hands gripping the chair.

you take your time with it like he told you to. kissing him through the fabric, getting a taste of him — really him. his musk is intoxicating, and you make him gasp like a prude when you inhale deeply.

“wanna worship it?” he breathes, hips bucking, his cock grinding into your cheek. “this what you wanted all night?”

you nod, mouthing at him more.

steve shakes his head, perhaps in disbelief. you haven’t been quite so needy before.

your spit mixes with his precum, the fabric sticking to his cock. he finally relents, gently ordering you to pull his underwear down.

his cock springs up, almost hitting his stomach. you pause, feeling hypnotized again, before pulling them down to meet with his jeans at his ankles.

his cock’s so pretty. pink at the tip, a pronounced vein running down the underside, and big enough to make your jaw ache.

you’re not thinking as you lean forward. steve’s hand stops you, his palm pressing against your forehead.

“thought you were learning.”

“i am,” you whisper.

he holds his palm out. “spit.”

he makes you watch as he jerks himself off, your spit helping his hand slide up and down the shaft. your thighs twitch towards each other as you stare at him, brows furrowed.

you want him so badly. want to climb up into his lap and kiss his pretty face stupid. he bites his lip, moans breathily sneaking out as he keeps stroking himself slowly. he concentrates on you, a strand of hair falling into his dark, hooded eyes.

you bite your tongue so hard it almost bleeds. your pussy works like it has a mind of its own, helplessly clenching, your clit aching horribly. you’re certain you’ll scream, one queuing up in your throat. he has about ten seconds before you throw a tantrum like a baby. he’s so beautiful that it makes you forget yourself.

“go on,” he says eventually, leaning back again.

you’re relieved, almost to the point of tears. you move a little closer and press soft kisses to the inside of his sensitive thighs. his cock kicks near your forehead as you move nearer and nearer. you let your tongue flick out against his skin, smiling when he sighs.

if you weren’t so impatient, you’d make him wait for it.

you move up, up, up, but not to where steve’s expecting you. instead, your lips place a gentle kiss to his sack.

he sort of sits up, brows furrowing hard. so you continue, your tongue laving over his balls gently.

“oh my god?”

it isn’t a protest, so you continue. you mouth at them, too, licking and sucking gently. one of his hands tangles itself in your hair and he moans loudly above you. it goes straight to your clit, of course, and at this point you’re once again near tears at the ache.

you lick your way up his balls and to the base of his shaft. you place a chaste kiss there before continuing upwards, licking a long stripe up to the head. you make sure to run your tongue along the aforementioned vein and he shivers.

his voice cuts the silence. “worship, baby.”

you kiss the head of his cock, the salt of his precum laying heavy on your tongue. you make out with it, using your tongue, doubling down every time steve groans. his hand stays in your hair and he gently moves you down to kiss the rest of him.

steve’s free hand grips the base of his cock and he pumps gently as your tongue flicks against him. after a long moment, he pulls you back, crowding your space again.

“can i say something?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

you watch his throat bob as he swallows hard. “i want to use your mouth.”

you gasp breathlessly, happily. “please, steve.”

so he stands, kicking off his jeans, keeping his grip tight in your hair. he pumps himself still, keeps you at eye level - again - with his leaking tip.

“hands on my thighs,” he says softly. “pinch me if you need me to stop, alright?”

you nod, hands resting where he’s instructed.

“i’ll go slow,” he promises. “still need to finish our lesson, right?”

you nod again.

he gently kicks your thighs apart with his feet. you hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten to pulling together.

“my pretty girl,” he coos, leaning down, pulling your head up. he kisses you much more fervently this time, but shorter. “i’ll give you just what you want.”

[winxanity-ii]

FIRST [1/?]

ship: virgin!telemachus x fem!virgin!brothel worker!reader warnings: explicit ( oral f. receiving only / mutual virginity / heavy fanservice / soft dominance ) word count: 6.3k (strap up, babes, this is a long one~) a/n: y'all i don't know why but i've been SO embarrassed about this lil fic just sitting in my docs 😭😭 like i fully forgot i'm grown (20) and can post what i want??? even then i guess it's just the lil-nerd in me who just giggles/squirms when faced with my own smut 💀💀 but yeah this is a oneshot that started as a silly thought (aka virgin!telemachus with virgin!reader and then turned into a whole thing and now i'm in love with telemachus and maybe crying a little?? anyway. pls enjoy this soft, heated, reverent mess of a fic. (also someone come get Peisistratus for being a menace) 💀🩷✨✨ idk might do part 2 if i can get over this block 😭😭

★·.·´🇪‌🇵‌🇮‌🇨‌: 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇲‌🇺‌🇸‌🇮‌🇨‌🇦‌🇱‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

The tavern was too loud for a place still mourning.

Laughter clanged like armor. Mugs slammed against wood. Someone was playing a lyre too fast, too off-key, but the crowd didn't care—they were drunk on peace, drunk on wine, drunk on finally.

And maybe Telemachus should've been, too.

He sat at the far end of the long table, boots planted, tunic a little looser than usual. There was still a sword at his hip—habit, not threat—but he hadn't had to reach for it in weeks. The suitors were gone. His father had returned. His mother no longer cried into candlelight. Ithaca breathed again.

So why couldn't he?

"Drink," said Peisistratus, pushing a cup toward him. "If you're going to stare like that, at least look mysterious while doing it."

Telemachus blinked. "I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were," his friend grinned. "Whole brooding prince thing? Very effective. That barmaid's been eyeing you since we walked in."

Telemachus turned, just in time to see her saunter off after dropping another round of drinks. She had smiled at him, he thought. Maybe lingered. He hadn't noticed.

He glanced back at Peisistratus, sheepish. "She was just being polite."

"She was being polite with her chest, my guy."

Telemachus sputtered into his wine.

Peisistratus leaned back with the smugness only the youngest son of a king could afford. "Gods, you're hopeless. What do they do in Ithaca, anyway? Stitch tapestries? Pray? Practice self-restraint until you die untouched?"

"We defend our homes," Telemachus said, wiping his mouth. "We hold our families together. I didn't exactly have time to entertain women while men ate my mother's food and planned to take her bed."

Peisistratus groaned. "Still reciting war monologues, huh? Your house is intact, your mom's safe, your dad's alive, and you—you've still never—"

"Don't." Telemachus glanced around, lowering his voice. "You don't have to announce it."

"Then deny it."

He said nothing.

Peisistratus stared. "Telemachus."

Still silence.

The prince of Pylos let out the most exaggerated gasp Telemachus had ever heard. "You are—!"

"I never had time, okay?" Telemachus snapped, heat rushing to his cheeks. "And it's not like I—like anyone—I mean, I could have, maybe, once or twice, but—"

"Spare me." Peisistratus slammed the mug down. "You've been home for weeks. Women all over the castle smiling like doves in heat. And you've done nothing?"

Telemachus opened his mouth. Closed it.

"...You're impossible."

"I'm cautious," he rebuttled.

"You're cursed."

Telemachus rolled his eyes. "You said we were celebrating your last night in Ithaca, not my alleged virginity."

"And we are." Peisistratus stood up suddenly. "Which is why we're fixing that."

Telemachus tensed. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you out of your own head." The younger prince grabbed his wrist. "Come on."

"Wait—"

"I know a place."

"Peisistratus—"

"You trust me, don't you?"

"I—That's not the point—!"

"It is exactly the point." Peisistratus grinned, half-dragging him through the tavern door, past the lyre, past the wine, into the soft night where stars bloomed and scandal lurked.

Telemachus' stomach dropped. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the nerves, or the fact that for the first time in years... he didn't know what came next.

☆

☆

The wash water stung your hands. Not from heat, but from the way your fingers had cracked again—tiny splits in your skin from scrubbing too long, too often, with too little rest between. But you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. If you could just finish this last basin, you could dry your hands by the fire and maybe—

"Hey." You flinched.

One of the older girls leaned into the doorway, silk slipping off her shoulder, perfume following behind her like smoke. She was smiling—but not in that fake, flirty way they did for customers. This was different. Kind. Almost... pitying.

"You're up."

"...Up?" you echoed, straightening too fast.

"First client. Just got called in. He's a special one, too. Big spender."

Your mouth went dry. "I—I thought—"

"I know. You've been doing laundry for weeks. Earning your keep. But tonight's different."

She crossed the room, gently took the basin from your hands, and set it down. The water sloshed over the sides. You stared at it like it might pull you under.

"I'm not ready."

"No one ever is," she said softly. "Come on. We'll help you."

Moments later, you sat like a doll in a chair that wasn't yours, surrounded by girls whose hands moved too fast for you to follow.

One was curling your hair with a hot iron pin, another was dabbing rose oil on your wrists. Someone else adjusted the straps on a dress that dipped too low, hugged too tight. You barely recognized yourself in the mirror. Cheeks smooth in oil. Lips bitten raw. Cleavage you'd never seen before.

"You're shaking," said one girl, brushing powder across your collarbone.

"I-I'm fine," you lied.

"She's nervous," another grinned. "That's cute."

"She's lucky," said the girl with the perfume. "First time, and she gets him."

You finally gain the courage to speak. "...Who?"

The girls exchanged a look.

"I heard he's a prince," someone whispered. "Or close to it. Tall. Polite. Kind eyes. Might not even make you do anything."

You swallowed hard.

"Just remember," said the first girl, crouching in front of you, voice low. "Pretend you've done this before. That you're in charge. Even if you're not. Men like that."

Her hand touched yours. Warm. Grounding.

"You'll be okay."

.☆.      .✩.           .☆.

You followed the madam up the stairs like you were walking to your own execution.

Each step felt louder than it should've. Your heartbeat was pounding in your throat. She stopped in front of a thick wooden door, glanced over her shoulder, and whispered, "He's already inside."

Then she was gone.

Just like that.

You stood there for a second, alone in the silence, hands slick with sweat, chest so tight it hurt. You almost turned and ran. Almost knocked on the madam's office and begged to go back to your linens, to the hot sting of soapwater, to the safety of anonymity. Almost.

But you didn't.

You opened the door.

He stood near the window, back turned, silhouetted by moonlight.

His posture was perfect—hands clasped behind his back, chin slightly tilted, like he was measuring the stars. His cloak was folded neatly on the chair beside him. His boots, still dusty from the road. He didn't turn at the sound of the door closing.

Your fingers clenched at your sides. You tried to remember what the girls said.

Pretend I've done this before. That I'm in charge.

You took one step. Then another.

Your voice came out soft—too soft. "You can sit down... if you'd like."

He turned.

And you forgot how to breathe.

Not just because he was handsome—though gods, he was. Soft brown curls that caught the light. Broad shoulders. Eyes like calm earth after rain. But what stunned you wasn't his looks.

It was the way he looked at you.

Like you were real.

Like he hadn't expected someone nervous, someone trembling in silk like she was being sacrificed.

Like... he saw it.

He stepped forward, slower than you expected.

You reached up—mechanically—like you'd practiced. Fingers brushing his jaw. His skin was warm. Clean-shaven. You smiled, or tried to, coy and low-lidded like the others had shown you.

But when he raised a hand—slowly, carefully, like he was asking permission—and touched your cheek...

You flinched.

Your whole body jolted. Just slightly. But enough.

He froze. His palm still hovered, but he didn't push.

You dropped your gaze. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I just—I've never—" The words got caught. Your throat burned.

He stepped back. Not in shame. Just to give you space.

"...Me neither," he said quietly.

There was a silence after he spoke. Not an awkward one. Not really. More like a stillness—a moment suspended in the air between two strangers who had no idea what to do now that the truth had been said aloud.

You weren't sure who sat down first. Maybe you did. Maybe he followed. But somehow you both ended up on the edge of the bed, not touching, facing slightly different directions like you were afraid of spooking each other.

You stared at your hands in your lap. "I didn't think... you'd be nervous."

He gave a soft huff, not quite a laugh. "Why not?"

"Because when I walked in here, you turned around like... like you weren't afraid of anything."

That made him pause.

He looked at you—just looked—eyes dark and unreadable, like he was weighing whether to say the truth or something easier.

Then, slowly, his mouth curved into a faint, crooked smile. "Looks can be deceiving." He held out his hand. "I'm Telemachus."

You blinked.

The name struck something deep in your chest. You're not sure why, but it sounded really familiar. Still, you reached out, slipping your fingers into his before the silence stretched too long. "I'm ____."

He held your hand a second longer than he had to.

" ____." he said softly, like he was tasting it. "That's... a beautiful name."

He repeated it again, slower this time. More careful. Like he was folding it into memory.

You looked away first. But only for a second. When you turned back, he was already watching you—shoulders drawn in a little, face unreadable.

He blinked, startled at being caught, and looked away quickly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. His ears were flushed.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'm not... I didn't come here planning to do anything like this. My friend—he pushed. I didn't even mean to follow him in, but I—I don't know."

He sighed through a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, shoulders rising and falling under the weight of his own honesty.

"I've fought men twice my size. Led ships through storms. Stared down men who wanted to kill me in my own hall," he said. Then turned his head to you, eyes meeting yours. "None of that was as terrifying as opening that door."

You blinked at him. "...Why?"

He looked away again, and you could tell he was choosing his words.

"...Because if I went through with this," he said slowly, "I'd never be able to go back."

That confused you. "Back?"

"To the boy who never did," he murmured. "To the version of me who still hadn't. I spent so long carrying him around, pretending he didn't matter. But I think he does. And if I let him go—" he paused, "—I want it to be for something real."

You swallowed.

Telemachus glanced at you, half-smiling. "Sorry. That was a bit heavy."

"No, it wasn't," you said, surprising yourself. "I... understand."

He tilted his head. "Do you?"

You nodded. "I gave my first kiss to a coin."

He blinked.

You flushed. "I mean—! I didn't—I meant—" You exhaled, collecting yourself. "I gave it to the idea of a coin. A better life. A trade. I thought I could handle it. That if I said yes to this place, I could keep my soul out of it."

He was quiet.

You laughed, bitter. "But I think it got in anyway."

When you looked up, his expression had changed. Something had softened in him—not out of pity. Not out of guilt. But recognition. He knew that feeling. That ache behind your voice.

"I was scared," you whispered. "I still am."

Telemachus leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze steady. "What are you scared of?"

"That it'll hurt," you said. "That it'll be awful. That I'll do something wrong."

"It's not something you can do wrong," he said quietly. "Not when you mean it."

"...Do you?"

His breath caught. You didn't mean to ask it like that. Like it was a challenge. But it hung there.

He nodded. "I... I think I do. Now."

Another long pause. But something shifted in it—something warmer.

You both smiled, small and unsure.

He turned slightly toward you. "Would it be alright if... if I... kissed you?"

You nodded.

The kiss wasn't perfect. It wasn't practiced or smooth or clever. It was a little too hesitant. A little too careful. His lips were warm but tentative, like he didn't want to overwhelm you. Your fingers curled in his tunic, clutching the fabric, not pulling—just holding. His hand touched your cheek again, and this time, you didn't flinch.

It deepened. Slowly. You tilted your head. He let out a breath.

When you finally parted, you were both smiling now, a little dazed.

"I don't want to do anything that scares you," he murmured.

"That's the thing," you said softly. "It still scares me. But... not as much."

He leaned back slightly, just enough to see your face. "Do you want to stop?"

You hesitated, and then, with the tiniest breath, you said, "No."

You moved first this time—your hand trembling slightly, brushing the inside of his knee and then higher, testing the waters. He inhaled sharply, but didn't stop you—his gaze locked on yours like he was waiting to see what you'd do next.

He didn't move.

Didn't push.

Didn't take.

He just watched you, like you were a storm rolling in, and he was the only man foolish enough to stand beneath the thunder. But then you moved again. Just a shift, just closer. And something in you said: Try it. So you did.

You leaned in and kissed him.

The moment your lips touched his, Telemachus melted into it—no hesitation, no second-guessing. His hand cupped the back of your neck like it was instinct, holding you steady, and then—

His mouth opened, his tongue slid against yours, and you gasped.

A startled, breathy sound that you couldn't bite back. It caught in your throat like a held-back whimper, made your lashes flutter. You weren't expecting that—how warm he was, how eager. He kissed like someone starved. Like someone who'd read about it, dreamed about it, but never had permission to try.

And gods, once he had it... he took it.

His arms wrapped around you without thought, strong and sure. In one smooth motion, he pulled you forward, shifting until you were straddling his lap, your knees against the bed, your body pressed flush to his. His hands didn't just rest at your back—they curled, palms dragging up your spine like he was learning the shape of you by feel alone.

Your mind raced.

He's strong. He's so strong. This is going so fast—but I don't want it to stop.

You barely remembered to breathe.

His hands spread wide against your ribs, holding you in place like he was afraid you'd vanish. His tongue moved against yours again, this time slower—more deliberate. Testing. Teasing. Tasting.

You whimpered, and his grip tightened.

Some small, silly part of your brain sparked to life, voice hushed but not gone:

If this is what all the customers are like... maybe working at the brothel won't be so bad.

But the thought barely had time to settle before memory returned, sharper now—the voices of the girls who'd painted your lips and whispered in your ear before the door opened.

"Touch his chest. Men love that."

"Use your hips—grind just a little, then stop."

"Fake moan. Even if you don't mean it. They eat that up."

The words came in flashes.

You tried to recall what you were supposed to do next. How you were supposed to arch your back or roll your hips or do that breathy little laugh one girl had demonstrated by the mirror.

But none of it came naturally.

Not when his hands felt so real. Not when his lips were shaking slightly against yours. Not when he kissed you like you were something he didn't think he'd ever get again.

You clutched his shoulders instead.

Not because someone told you to, but because you didn't know how else to keep yourself from falling apart.

Your lips finally broke from his, breath catching as you pulled back just enough to see him.

And gods—Telemachus looked wrecked.

His cheeks were flushed pink, almost feverish. A single curl clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, while the rest of his hair had fallen wildly out of place, soft spirals tousled from where your fingers had tugged them. His mouth hung open slightly, lips swollen and red, wet where he'd kissed you too long and too hard and too much—not that you'd wanted him to stop.

His eyes, though...they were the worst part.

Wide. Glassy. A little dazed.

And so hungry.

Not like a man ready to devour—but like a boy starved of softness, blinking up at you like you'd just fed him something he never knew he needed.

You sat on his lap still, panting softly, your chest rising against his.

Your hand moved before you could think. Fingers brushing his jaw, then up along his cheek. You cupped his face, thumb tracing just beneath his eye like you were trying to remember every line of him.

He's handsome, you thought, breathless.Too handsome to be here. Too gentle to want someone like me.

Telemachus leaned into your touch like it was instinct. Like it was safe.

You stared at him.

And then... you moved.

Slowly, you slid from his lap, your knees hitting the floor one after the other. Your hands rested on his thighs, steadying yourself. You leaned forward, eyes cast down, heartbeat loud in your ears.

This was what the other girls said men wanted.

This was what they told you would happen eventually.

Maybe if you did it well, he'd want to come back. Maybe he'd ask for you again. Maybe—

But your fingers had barely reached for the tie of his tunic before—

He stopped you.

Gently.

Firmly.

Telemachus' hands curled around your waist again—not desperate, not panicked, but certain. Like he'd been waiting to stop you from this.

You didn't even get to ask why before he was lifting you. Effortless.

He picked you up like it was nothing, like you weighed less than the breath in his lungs. Before you could protest, he'd turned and settled you back on the bed—this time seated lower, your legs tucked beside you. You stared up at him, startled, breath still ragged.

His hands didn't leave your hips. But they didn't move either. Just stayed there. Warm. Steady. Present.

You swallowed. "Why...?"

He crouched slightly, bringing himself to eye level, voice soft.

"I'm not here to take from you," he murmured. "I... I don't want that to be your first memory."

You blinked. Tried to read his face. His voice hadn't changed. There was no judgment in it. No shame. Just... truth.

He touched your knee—light, barely a brush.

"But... I want to give you something... If you'll let me."

It didn't take long for the truth of it to click into place.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart lurching as it settled in.

He was telling you—right now, in this quiet moment with your hands still trembling in your lap—he wanted to give, and he wanted nothing in return.

The realization made your stomach twist in a way you didn't have a name for.

Before you could find your voice—before you could tell him, you don't have to, I didn't mean for this—

Telemachus moved.

He dropped to one knee—not with dramatics, not like some chivalrous knight, but like something in him had simply given way. Like his body understood before his mind did that this was where he belonged.

Not beneath you. But before you.

His shoulders bowed, his head dipping slightly as his gaze stayed locked on yours. His hands hovered over your thighs—not touching, just there. Waiting. Asking without words.

He didn't blink. Didn't flinch.

"You don't have to do anything," he whispered. His voice was so low it felt like a secret passed between breaths. "Just let me take care of you."

Your lips parted, but you didn't speak.

He continued—voice steady, but laced with something softer. Something closer to awe.

"I've thought about this moment," he admitted. "Not like this, not here—but... about what it would feel like. To be trusted with someone. By someone."

His fingers finally moved—just enough to ghost over your knees. Then higher. Sliding along your thighs, slow and warm and so careful.

He didn't press them apart.

He didn't ask for more.

He just waited.

And the way he looked at you—gods, it was unbearable. His eyes didn't flick down to your chest. Didn't scan your body like a thing bought and paid for. They were locked on yours. Unblinking. Steady. Patient.

You didn't think you'd ever been looked at like that.

Like your nervousness was sacred. Like your silence was allowed. Like you were the sky and he'd found a place in it.

Your hands curled into the sheets.

And then—

You nodded.

And everything stilled.

Not the air. Not the quiet creak of the floorboards beneath the bed. But him. Telemachus didn't surge forward. Didn't pounce. He waited one heartbeat—two—just to be sure. Just to give you the chance to change your mind. And when you didn't, he moved.

The first press of his lips to your inner knee was enough to break you. You inhaled sharply, your thighs twitching from how careful he was being. As if he thought you might shatter. As if he'd fall apart too, if he touched you wrong.

His hands were warm against your calves, large and steady, sliding beneath your legs to part them—not forcing. Guiding. Creating space. Creating breath.

You couldn't look at him. Could only stare at the ceiling as the fabric of your dress shifted—bunched higher and higher as his hands pushed it past your knees, your thighs, up over your hips. Each inch of exposure made your skin burn. Not from embarrassment. From realization.

From how huge his hands felt.

The way his palms wrapped around you so easily. How his thumbs brushed along the softest parts of your inner thighs. How your skin tingled wherever he touched—like his fingertips were ink, and you were being written on.

His lips followed.

He kissed higher.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like each inch of skin was a vow.

He paused between each kiss like he needed permission from your skin to keep going. And when he reached the place right at the intersection of your thighs—he paused again, and the heat of his breath made you jerk.

Your voice came out soft. Fragile. "Telemachus..."

His head tilted up.

You expected hunger. Or urgency.

But his eyes..

Gods, his eyes.

They were soft. Dazed. Like he was seeing something divine.

You could feel his breath there—there—hot and reverent, like prayer pressed to skin. It burned in the most delicate way. A kiss without contact.

And then—

His mouth covered you.

You jerked.

A small, startled squeak caught in your throat as your hips lifted off the bed, back arching on instinct. The heat of his mouth was searing—not rough, not greedy, just everywhere. Warm and wet and real.

"T-Telemachus—!" you gasped, the sound breaking halfway through as his tongue moved. You clutched at his hair—those soft brown curls that caught your eye the moment you saw him—and whimpered as the pressure began to build.

It was clumsy at first. Careful. Testing. But gods, he was trying—tongue flicking and tasting and exploring in slow, cautious strokes that grew bolder every time you whimpered.

Every sound you made pulled something new from him.

You couldn't see his face, but you felt him—his hands gripping your thighs tighter, holding you open, his mouth pressing against you like he was trying to learn you by muscle memory. Like he didn't want to miss a single reaction.

You weren't trying to say his name, not really, but it kept falling from your lips like a prayer—"Telemachus, Telemachus, Telemachus—" and every time you said it, his grip on your thighs tightened, his tongue slowed, focused, like the sound fed him.

He moaned into you once—just once—and the vibration made you cry out, thighs twitching around his head. Your fingers tangled in the sheets. You couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop trembling. Every time you cried out—every little "ah," every breathless "oh gods"—he shook with need.

"Please," you whispered, not even knowing what you were asking for.

His hands slid further beneath you, thumbs hooking under your thighs as he lifted your legs—gently, reverently—and pulled them over his shoulders, like this was where he'd wanted to be all night.

He didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

His fingers pressed into your hips, holding you still when you started to squirm, when your legs tried to close. You didn't want to push him away—you just didn't know what to do with all of it.

The pressure. The heat. The way he was everywhere.

And when you came—

Gods, when it hit—

You didn't scream. You didn't cry.

You breathed—one long, shaking exhale as your whole body went tense, then soft. Your thighs locked around his head, your back bowed, and your fingers slipped from his hair to your own lips, muffling the sound that rose from deep inside your chest.

And he didn't stop.

Not right away.

Telemachus kissed you through it—tongue gentle again now, coaxing you down with slow, soft laps that made your thighs tremble and your lungs shudder. Like he couldn't bear to let you go yet. Like he wanted to catch every last wave of your pleasure and hold it in his mouth.

Only when your hips twitched from the overstimulation and you sagged against the pillows like a storm passing, then—and only then—did he lift his head.

He looked... wrecked.

His face was flushed. Lips wet. Hair mussed from where your fingers had accidentally tangled in it. He looked like a boy who'd just touched divinity and barely survived.

For a while, neither of you moved.

Your legs had gone loose. Your chest rose and fell like it had been emptied of every secret you'd ever tried to carry. And him—Telemachus just stayed there. Sitting on the floor beside the bed, head resting against the mattress, eyes closed like he was memorizing the sound of your breathing.

He hadn't touched you since. Not in that way. Not even to kiss you again. He just sat there, reverent and flushed and so very still, as if breaking the silence might ruin it.

Eventually, you found your voice.

"Should I... should I... help you?"

He let out a breathless laugh. "No. I'm... I'm alright."

You looked at him, eyes flicking downward.

He was obviously not alright.

But he only smiled—softer this time, a little crooked.

"That was enough," he said. "More than enough." Now it's his turn to question you. "Was it... Was that—?" he started, then cut himself off, unsure.

Your hand reached for him, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth, catching the last trace of yourself there.

"That was..." you couldn't even finish. Your voice cracked, but you smiled. And that was enough.

His breath hitched, just for a second. Then, gently, he asked, "Can... Can I lie beside you?"

You nodded.

He stood and climbed onto the bed with a quiet grace that didn't match how tightly his body must've been wound. He slid in behind you—not too close. Not assuming. But when you shifted—just a little—and your back brushed his chest, he went still.

You felt his arm ghost toward your waist. Waiting. Always waiting.

You let him.

He exhaled as he wrapped around you, chest pressed against your spine, his breath steady against your hair.

And gods... it felt like safety.

Not heat. Not hunger. Just warmth.

You'd never been touched like that before.

Never felt like that before.

And the craziest part?

Neither had he.

You whispered, "...You're still hard."

You felt him laugh, muffled against the back of your neck. "I know."

"I can—"

"No," he said softly. "Not tonight."

You turned your head just enough to glimpse him over your shoulder. "Then... what do we do now?"

He smiled. Sleepy. Adoring. Infatuated in a way that made your heart ache.

"Now?" he murmured. "Now we stay."

And so you did.

With his arm draped over your waist, his nose tucked behind your ear, and your breath starting to slow to match his, you let yourself fall asleep.

Just this once, in someone else's arms.

Just this once, without fear.

☆

☆

You woke to the smell of lavender soap and old wood.

For a moment, your eyes stayed closed. You didn't want to risk opening them—afraid that the night before had been a dream spun from nerves and exhaustion. Afraid that if you looked beside you, he'd be gone. Or worse... that he'd still be there, and it wouldn't mean anything.

But you didn't need to open your eyes to know he was still behind you.

You could feel him.

Telemachus' chest was warm against your spine, one arm draped lazily over your waist. His fingers twitched in his sleep, like he was still holding on to something. His breath was slow. Even. Peaceful.

You tried not to move. Tried to hold still like maybe if you stayed quiet enough, time would pause. But it didn't. You felt the moment start to shift—the softness fraying at the edges, reality creeping in.

You turned your head slightly. Just enough to whisper, "Are you awake?"

His breath caught. And then, softly. "Yeah."

You rolled onto your back, eyes meeting his.

He looked ruined. Hair tousled. Eyes a little puffy. Lips still flushed from where you'd kissed him. But gods, if he didn't look at you like you were something he was scared to blink at.

"Hi," you whispered.

He smiled. "Hi."

Neither of you moved.

You weren't sure what to say. Should you say anything? Ask if he'd be back? If it meant something? If he'd still want you when the sun was high and the world was loud again?

But then he reached up, fingertips barely brushing your cheek, and said, "I've got to leave soon."

Your stomach dropped. You nodded, trying not to let it show.

"But," he added quickly, "that doesn't mean this... have to end."

You looked at him.

He smiled—soft, boyish, crooked. "I don't think I could forget you if I tried."

You didn't believe him. Not really. But part of you wanted to. And maybe that was enough for now.

You sat up, pulled the sheet around you. "I should get dressed before everyone wakes and the girls start talking."

"They'll talk anyway," he muttered.

You looked over your shoulder. "Oh?"

He smirked faintly. "They were whispering when I came in last night. Half the brothel knew where I was going."

That made your cheeks burn.

You stood, tried to tame your hair, tried to smooth the wrinkles out of the dress you'd been poured into. You felt his eyes on you the whole time. Not leering. Just... watching.

Like he still couldn't believe you were real.

"I'll send for you," he said suddenly.

You turned. "What?"

"I mean—" he sat up, voice softer now, more careful. "If... If you want your actual first time to be... different... I could find a way."

Your throat tightened. "You don't have to—"

"I want to."

You blinked.

He stood. Stepped close. Tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear and whispered, "If last night was your first... then I want the second to be mine, too."

And then he was gone.

.☆.      .✩.          .☆.

You were back in the laundry room before the others, sleeves rolled to your elbows, sleeves that still smelled faintly like him. You kept your head down, folding quietly, avoiding the curious glances and the not-so-subtle giggles from the other girls.

"Did he kiss you?"

"Did you touch him?"

"How big was his dick?"

You ignored them.

The madam approached mid-morning. You braced yourself for orders—new clients, more linen, someone drunk puking on the rugs again. But she only said. "You're off the floor."

You blinked. "What?"

"No clients. No touch work. From today on, you stay with the laundry."

Your lips parted. "Why?"

She didn't answer at first, just tucked a folded piece of parchment into your palm. A receipt. A payment.

"He bought it. Your virginity." she said simply. "The prince. Paid enough to take you off rotation."

Your mouth dropped. "Prince??"

She snorted—an unladylike sound for a woman who wore perfume and lace—and kept walking, her heels clacking across the wooden floor as she called out something about clean towels to the other girls.

You scrambled after her, nearly tripping on the hem of your skirt. "Wait—wait! What do you mean a prince?! Why would a prince buy me? When would he—does he come back? Will he come back tonight?!"

The brothel was already alive with its usual morning rhythm—cleaning cloths flapping out windows, perfume bottles clinking onto vanities, girls slipping between one another to straighten bedding and fluff pillows. A few early clients sat in the lounge area downstairs, their voices low and lazy, nursing watered-down wine while waiting for their favorites to appear from behind silk curtains.

You chased the madam past them all, dodging a tray of breakfast figs and a girl giggling down the hall with her corset still half-undone. You reached the hallway leading back toward the laundry room when she suddenly spun around to face you—and you stumbled to a stop with a squeak.

She didn't speak at first.

Just looked at you. Looked through you.

Then—tap.

Two fingers to the center of your forehead.

"Honestly," she sighed. "And here I thought you were one of the smart ones."

You blinked, wide-eyed. "I—I am!"

She gave you a flat look. "You keep the ledgers balanced. You talk back to the bookkeeper without blinking. You know which clients are late on payment before they sit down. Hell, you taught Clio how to read last week—and you fixed the squeaky back door with an oil rag and string."

Your face flushed. "Then why—"

"Because, darling," she said, tone sharp but not cruel, "you're acting like a little airhead this morning, and it's beneath you."

You shrank in on yourself slightly. "I just... I don't understand."

She sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose. "The man you were with last night—"

"Telemachus," you said quickly, almost breathless. Just hearing his name made your chest pull tight.

The madam's lips pursed.

Tap.

She poked your forehead again, this time more pointed.

"That's Prince Telemachus," she corrected. "Don't forget who you're talking about."

You blinked. "But I thought—he never told me—"

She raised a brow. "Of course he didn't. Nobles never do. Not when they want to see how you treat them before the title gets in the way. That's why you listen to the whispers that goes through here. I'm positive someone let it loose."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

She continued walking, and you had to trot after her again.

"Anywho, the prince of Pylos—Peisistratus, the youngest of King Menelaus' sons—he came in just after dusk last night. Said he needed someone untouched. Said it was a gift, of sorts, for the prince of Ithaca. And the moment I thought of someone who might actually look him in the eye and not fall apart..." She gave you a sideways glance. "So I sent for you."

You gawked. "But I—I flinched. I almost cried!"

"Yes, precisely why I chose you," she said dryly, "and yet he bought your virginity the moment he left. Paid triple what we charge."

You stopped walking.

The hallway around you blurred—sunlight spilling through stained glass, footsteps echoing above, voices below, the brothel alive in every direction.

You stood frozen in the middle of it.

Prince Telemachus bought my virginity.

You touched your lips.

They still tingled.

Even then, all you could be stuck on was the fact that Telemachus was a prince.

And suddenly—everything clicked. Like someone had thrown a torch into the back of your mind and lit up the whole kingdom map.

You recalled the whispers in town. The parade of ships. The late-night feasts held at the palace people like you weren't invited to. The rising hum of change in every corner of Ithaca.

The return of King Odysseus.

And that boy—the one who kissed you like the world was ending—

"Prince Telemachus?!" you squawked again, way too loud this time.

But the madam was already halfway down the hall, waving a rag at the kitchen girl and calling for someone to bring fresh honey-water to room six.

You stood frozen, still clutching the folded parchment like it might burn you.

You looked down at it again.

The ink hadn't changed. His name was still there. The number. The seal.

All real.

And your chest—your whole body—went still.

"...So I'm free?!?" you shouted down the hall after her.

The madam didn't stop walking.

She just gave a half-smile, scoffing like you'd just asked if pigs could read.

"No one's free here, girl," she called over her shoulder. "But you're his now."

And with that, she disappeared into the steam of the bath corridor, barking something about soap and firewood.

You looked back down at the parchment.

Your fingers were shaking a little, but only because they felt lighter somehow. Like for the first time in weeks, you were holding something that might mean more than just survival.

And then—just barely—you smiled.

Because he didn't take you.

He chose you.

And maybe, just maybe...

He'd choose you again.

[envy-of-the-apple]

pt 2 cuz so many ppl asked!

Part one

ok fine so maybe he isnt adverse to lavender BUT you still have a demon problem on your hands! sure he hasn't hurt you, yet, but all demons are waiting for their chance and you needed to strike back first!

you happen to see her outside. maybe you were doing yardwork or something when you see a blur of red stumbling about in the bushes. Naturally, you help the woman out, along with getting out that weird jagged contraption she insists on carrying around with her. she thanks you happily and is more than happy to tell you that her name is Grell and she was currently on her way to see 'bassy' but these days he had been hiding from her.

"Hiding?" You repeat. "wait...you’re saying he's scared of you?"

"Yes!" She strikes a pose. "He's terrified that my dashing looks might charm him."

you're not sure if thats the reason...but it is very odd that he hasn't turned up yet. the demon hates intruders, you know what he's done to the last guy who tried to get into the estate. Yet, grell is just fine waltzing around.

No way...he was avoiding of her.

She was your charm!

You take her hands in your own and passionately declare how touched you were by her commitment to winning ("...bassy" ugh it was so hard to say it without gagging) over, and you want to help her. Absolutely delighted, she agrees and you two instantly become 'best friends'.

You invite grell over all the time. she's your friend after all. you two do everything together, practically connected at the hip. You two even have sleepovers together (you're not a big fan of those, considering all what she does is go on and on about how much she loves that terrifying demon).

Your master does agree for Grell to keep visiting when you ask him. He's up for anything that might piss Sebastian off.

"Though, I'm elated this vexes sebastian...are you sure about this? that women is insane." He tells you after you tell him about your 'new bestie'.

And yeah, he's right. its clear that Grell isn't human, but she isn't a demon. and you'd prefer that over Hell.

Much to your delight, Sebastian does stay away. he is no longer lingering around when you're cleaning rooms cuz Grell is right next to you, blabbering about the hot men she saw on the way over here. You dont feel his presence right by your door at night anymore because Grell is in bed beside you...hogging all the blankets that bitch. still! it's working! you feel peace.

until....things go wrong.

eventually Grell starts to slowly put some pieces together. If she's being completely honest...she's not too sure what she ever saw in sebastian. he's hot but...he's also a bastard who has tried to kill her numerous times. and the thrill of lusting after him was starting to get a little old...but you're new.

You care about her. When she's rambling about things, you're humming and nodding along. You laugh at some of the jokes she makes. You tell her how pretty she is...you're just a thousand times better than that nasty demon who nearly got her canned.

"We should get married!" Grell declares.

"Ah," you say, not really listening. "You and Sebastian?"

"No, silly. Me and you!"

...what?

Suddenly your charm becomes yet another supernatural entity that's obsessed with you.

She chases follows you around the manor, telling you the flower decor she wants and what kinds of music she wants to be played. You try to dissuade her with multiple excuses: she's a paranormal entity ("thats alright! i love you for who you are<3"), you're too young to be getting married ("we can wait!"), but each one is just chopped down.

Eventually, you're forced to hide in a broom closet to get away from her. When you glance over, Sebastian is right next to you.

Oh...he was hiding too.

when you ask for a truce…he agrees. You two were in the same boat after all.

"Can't you just...get rid of her?" You plead.

He smiles, but it looks pained.

"Unfortunately, the young master declared that unless that woman specifically bothers him...she is not to be harmed."

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

You should've stuck with the demon butler.

[pomefioredove]

Hi! i’d like to order a sugar cookie, 11, with powdered sugar, marshmallows, and whipped cream please! (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

o7 this was really fun to write!

order #11, sugar with whipped cream, powdered sugar, marshmallows

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ it don't take a word

summary: relationship sabotage and ariel!reader tropes: royalty au, roommate au, coffee shop au (mentioned) characters: floyd additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, little mermaid au!!! actual relationship sabotage

Azul had warned him about this.

"Don't get too invested," he had said, "It's only business."

But, then, when had Floyd ever really listened to his boss? He had been told to keep watch, "Don't let them out of your sight", were the exact words. He cozied up in your room at the castle, called himself a cook, and then got comfortable. It wasn't his fault that there was just... something about you.

Really, if Azul wanted professionalism, he would've had Jade do his dirty work.

You were a lot like him, Floyd had thought. Never happy where you were, always looking for the next interesting thing. That's why you had gone to Azul in the first place, wasn't it? You wanted to be human.

And there was some... boy, or something. Some prince.

Floyd didn't really care about him.

It was his job to prevent you and the guy from getting too close, anyway. What did it matter if Floyd jumped in his place? Azul didn't even have to know! Azul didn't have to know anything.

"Don't get too invested. It's just business,"

But it's not. Not now. Floyd hates when you leave your room to go see that guy. Going to work is one thing, Floyd can sit around a coffee shop on Azul's dime all day, but he can't stalk your dates. That would be... well, sloppy. He didn't really care about the morality of it, but the last thing he needed was for you to get suspicious.

Tonight, you're going to kiss him. The boy, not Floyd. He'd overheard your fishy friends bubbling about it.

Obviously, that's not going to happen.

If he were Jade, or even Azul, he might have the patience to plan something smart. He'd stage an accident and make himself a hero, or he'd blackmail your little boyfriend into backing off.

But he's Floyd, not Jade or Azul.

And so he tails your romantic evening (dinner and a boat ride? Lame, he could do so much better for you) waits to get in the water, and then flips your boat.

You look funny when you're all surprised. Floundering around in that silly outfit as if you didn't know how to swim. No kiss for you!

He practically has to bite your little boyfriend (and by that I mean he does bite him) to get ahold of you and pull you out of the water first.

"Hey, it's you!" he shouts, dragging you to shore. "What're you doing in the water, flapping your arms around like a fish without fins, huh?"

You sputter, covered in seaweed and saltwater, pointing at him.

"You know this guy?" your boything asks. Floyd ignores him.

"I was out for a swim,"

You squint, as if to say ...Now? In your clothes?

Floyd looks down at himself. He's wearing a full suit. Oh, right. "Didn't really feel like changing,"

You seem to accept that, and keep picking the kelp out of your hair, but your prince looks suspicious. Floyd sticks his tongue out at him.

"Awh, you're all wet. Guess you're gonna have to call off your little date," he says, taking you by the arms and lifting you to your feet. "Let's get you dried up. Wouldn't wanna catch something, huh?"

He grabs your wrist and drags you away before you can say no.

Floyd slams the door as soon as you're inside with him, losing the tension in his shoulders. "Don't get too invested," Azul had said.

Azul doesn't know anything.

"Poor fishy. Your prince didn't even spare you a second glance!" he says, dumping a heap of towels on your head. "He woulda let you drown if I weren't there. You're real lucky."

You give him a pout. He pretends he doesn't see it. "Here, I'll make 'ya something warm,"

Floyd goes down to the kitchen, and you follow, towel wrapped around your shivering shoulders.

He starts heaping butter and oil into a pan, and then looks over his shoulder at you. You stand there, silent as ever. What he wouldn't give to hear you speak. Just once.

"...Ya know," he says, kicking the oven to get it started. "...I could probably call in a few favors for the voice thing."

You raise an eyebrow. He smirks. "What, you don't believe me? Just... keep that in mind. If the whole prince thing doesn't work out,"

[sturnberries]

ꕤ BERRY FIELDS - in which lucky takes chris along to pick berries.

warnings; none, just fluff & fluff and intentional lowercase!

ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ

"you said this would be fun." chris said with a small grunt as they walked in the breezy cool air. "this is fun!" lucky said with a positive attitude, trying to forget the fact that they were walking in such cold weather just to get some berries.

"what's so special about these berries. why'd I have to come anyways?" chris spoke as he pulled the hood of his green hoodie on his head.

"don't worry we're almost there, chris!" lucky said not having a care in the world, just wanted her berries.

"so—that's not what i asked." lucky just walked faster ignoring his questions and concerns, excitedly and they could see the long field full of berries ahead. she was so excited, she loved fruit, and so did chris but not in the moment. "i could be like making some cash right now, mr quinn wanted me to mow his lawn today."

"he'll understand!" lucky said as she quickly ran into the field of berries as chris followed her down, amused at her joyful behavior.

so there they were, chris and lucky, knee-deep in a berry patch that seemed to stretch on forever. the sun was playing peek-a-boo behind fluffy clouds, and the air smelled like sweet. lucky was like a whole ass berry-picking ninja, darting from bush to bush, their little wooden basket with lace on the sides filling up at lightning speed. chris, on the other hand, was moving at the pace of a sleepy snail, grumbling about the prickly thorns and the mud that was trying to steal their shoes.

"c'mon, chris! keep up!" lucky chirped, their eyes sparkling with mischief. "at this rate, the birds are gonna get all the best berries before you even wake up!"

chris rolled their eyes but couldn't help but crack a smile. "what birds??—easy for you to say, some of us weren't born with a berry-radar installed." chris plucked a particularly plump raspberry and popped it into their mouth. the raspberry was perfectly sweet, no wonder lucky was begging him to come with. "mmm, not bad. maybe this won't be a total disaster after all."

as they moved deeper into the berry fields, the competition started heating up. it wasn't about who could pick the most berries, oh no. it was about who could find the biggest, reddest, juiciest berry of them all. lucky, with her boundless energy, was all over the place, giggling and exclaiming every time they found a promising contender. chris, ever the strategist, took a more methodical approach, carefully scanning each bush like a seasoned detective.

"ooh, i think i found one!" lucky squealed, holding up a berry that was practically bursting with flavor. "beat that, chris!"

chris squinted, pretending to be unimpressed. "psh, that's nothing. i bet i can find one twice that size." and with that, the hunt was on. they spent the next hour crawling through bushes, comparing berries, and playfully teasing each other. it was the kind of silly, lighthearted competition that only best friends could truly appreciate. even though they were annoying each other every step of the way, they were also creating memories that would last a lifetime.

as much as annoying they both were chris admired the way she was so adorable, the determination in her eyes was so cute. at this point he wasn't even looking at the berries, just at how excited she looked. she spoke with joy in her voice. "oh my goshhh I cannot wait to make these into pies, and cakes and cookies, and—" she continued to ramble on about all the things she was gonna do with the berries.

"make something for me, lucky?" chris spoke endearment as he watched her look at the basket of berries.

she nodded happily, excited to make him something with the berries, probably for his brothers too. "yeah of course, you know it." she spoke as she popped a berry into his mouth as he was able to catch it.

guess chris would rather be here popping berries into his mouth with lucky, than mowing mr quinn's lawn.

a/n; loveddddd this, this was so fun and cute to make! please send requests and check out this au! I have some ideas and you can check that out too guys!!

luckylawn!au taglist; @vanillaspacecamp @backwardshatnick

[friendlyrandomperson]

Sunrise to sundown.

Sitting in his rocking chair right before the sunrise always brought a peaceful mood to Frank; he held a Hot Mocha in his hand as he reads a book on The History of Entomology. Many may wonder how a man so bitter could stand such a rich, sugary drink.

Mocha is the only coffee he will drink, as he absolutely cannot stand coffee without something to complement its taste. It leaves a horrendous taste in his mouth for hours afterwards, and he simply could not have that. He may be a bit bitter, however his palette will never reflect that.

As the sun creeps over the horizon as if attempting to secretly see the neighborhood, a warm glow covers the large, homely little village, giving a gentleness rarely ever matched by the residents of said village.

“G’mornin’ Mr. Frankly!!! G’mornin’ to you too, Mr. Dear!!”

Frank, mid-sip of his coffee, opens his left eye to see Howdo and Youdo waving with all of their arms at him, little matching hats and aprons on as they stood outside of their uncle’s bodega.

He turns his eye to see his husband leaning on the doorframe, waving back in a purple t-shirt and loose blue pants as he steps out of the door and shuts it behind himself.

Once they notice Frank’s eye is open, they both look at each other with a grin before nodding and bolting over to the man’s porch, soon standing in front of him with all four of each boy’s hands clasped neatly together in front of themselves.

He sets the cup down with his eyes closed and bookmarks his page.

Closing the book, he folds his hands on top of the cover and opens his eyes with a calm demeanor.

The boys had energy, but they were extremely polite young men. Very pleasant to be around and delightful company. A gentle smile from the man follows.

“Good morning to you too, boys. I assume you have work today?”

The boys both reply in perfect unison, as if they had practiced this.

“Yes sir, we do, just Howdo and Youdo helpin’ everybody with the things they need to do!”

Frank chuckles, that is absolutely not something they learned from their uncle. The word work was far too clever.

Eddie snickers at the boys’ silly sentence, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrow with a smile.

“Did you boys come up with that all on your own?”

Both men speak in unison, much to the amusement of the little boys and even themselves.

Howdo’s voice perks up, just like his red and yellow antennas.

“Yes sir, we did! It was Youdo’s idea!”

His little grin lit up the morning more than the Sun ever could, praising his brother for the phrase as Youdo shyly hid behind his top pair of hands, his little blue and yellow antennas pressed down onto his fluffy blue hair, similar to his uncle’s.

“Well, it’s absolutely splendid boys. I would invite you inside for tea, but you should be on your way now. You both have work. You wouldn’t want to be late, would you, Howdo and Youdo?”

All four of the men on the porch hear the bell of the Bodega ring out, signaling the door is open and somebody is either going inside or coming outside.

It is the latter, and the man that walks out is not Latter Pillar.

“Boys, where are you?”

The boys share a nervous glance before sprinting off towards the bodega, being met with a playful scolding from Howdy as he led the twins inside, shaking his head with a smile.

Frank turns to his husband, who was still standing in front of the door with his arms loosely crossed. Eddie’s off day was today; Frank did not anticipate the other man to be up so early.

“Good morning, dear.”

Eddie turns his head down, meeting his spouse’s eyes with a gentle, but clearly tired, smile.

Eddie places his hands on Frank’s shoulders and presses his lips to his forehead tenderly.

Without pulling away, he mumbles, “G’mornin’ sweetheart.” His accent being much more pronounced, his voice deeper than usual and a little bit raspy, the light smell of a small bit of perfume and his coffee lingering on him, Eddie simply being there always makes Frank’s heart skip a beat.

———————————————————————————————

The two spent two hours enjoying each other’s company on the porch, Eddie sitting next to Frank in the rocking chair to the entomologist’s right, a small table separating the two, where Frank’s book lay forgotten, his coffee cup in his hands, twirling the not quite hot, not quite warm liquid around as he listened to his husband discuss the week’s events.

They soon fell into a comfortable silence, smiles on both of their faces as the world began to wake up around them.

Frank takes a sip of his coffee, eyes closed, hearing his husband clear his throat.

Frank opens his right eye and looks at his husband with one side of his eyebrow raised.

He sees Eddie use his pointer finger to make a “come here” motion, which causes Frank to chuckle a little bit before he swallows his coffee and sets it down on the table, leaning on his right armrest, his chin in his right hand and his left tapping the table in front of him.

Eddie leans forward, pressing a kiss to Frank’s nose before he rested their foreheads together, eyes meeting in a comfortable and familiar way.

“Have I evah told you just how beautiful you look in the mornin’s?”

Frank snorts, his hand moving from his chin to his mouth as he giggles, trying his best to restrain them.

—————————————————————————————

Three hours have passed since Eddie’s little compliment, and it made what Frank has to do for this game much easier.

You see, Julie dragged them both off of the porch around thirty minutes after Frank’s giggle fest, making them join her Pogo Stick Hopscotch Championship, with the entire neighborhood, including Howdo and Youdo and excluding Howdy, participating. When Frank inquired about the Championship part of the name, she simply ran off, shuffled through the toybox in her front yard, and lifted up a dog toy shaped like a Ribeye while yelling back, “It raises the steaks!”

Luckily, the PSHC, which is what Frank shortened it to for convenience, was much safer than Julie’s regular games due to Howdo and Youdo only being around eight years old.

The rules were also very simple, the game was basic Hopscotch but you cannot get off of the Pogo Stick under any circumstances, including when you are idle. One person would collect the tossed pebbles for those on the Pogo sticks, that one person being Poppy, to prevent injury and unfair losses.

Of course, Frank refused to join regardless. His Pogo stick skills were less than average, and he was not willing to participate in something that would end with him on the ground with the pebbles. Julie absolutely refused to let him stand by while everyone else had a role, so she made him scorekeeper. His job? Track who crossed the finish line. Simple enough, right?

Oh, no.

It had now been four hours since the compliment, and thirty minutes since Frank noticed something was off.

He lost track of where Youdo went and had to leave to find him, checking Howdy’s Bodega first, the obvious choice. Youdo was not there. He checked around the neighborhood, checked to see if Youdo was in any of their yards. Nowhere to be seen.

Howdo had won the game, according to Julie, who was very mad with Frank for “abandoning his job”. He very anxiously explained to her Youdo just disappeared and he couldn’t find him anywhere.

Panic set in soon after, and after a smart suggestion from Eddie, everyone set out to find Youdo. Howdo was sprinting around, sifting through bushes with all four arms and cupping all four hands around his mouth as he yelled for his brother.

Suddenly, a deep southern voice rang out through the thick forest.

“I FOUND ‘IM!!!”

When the neighborhood arrived, they were met with Eddie trying to verbally get Youdo to come down, but the poor thing was so afraid, he couldn’t move. All he could do was quiver and push his face into the bark of the thick tree branch he clung onto.

Now, Eddie is climbing up the tree with nothing except day clothes, tennis shoes, and dedication.

Watching his husband climb the tree, and seeing Youdo so terrified, Frank begins biting his right fingernails.

Eddie grabs onto the branch with Youdo on it, lifting himself up and crawling over to him, sitting down and letting his legs dangle in front of him on the right side, his left, of the branch.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Hi…”

“How didja get up here?”

“I saw a butterfly…”

“A butterfly brought chu all the way up here?”

“Mhm..”

“Hoowhee, that musta been one strong butterfly to be able to carry ya here!”

Youdo giggles, his grip staying strong on the branch. His voice goes higher, a slight whine, but playful.

“It didn’t carry me!”

Eddie places his right hand over his heart and gasps dramatically. His raises his left eyebrow and smirks as he makes his voice more exaggerated, clearly not surprised but silly enough to keep Youdo talking.

“Really? Well, however did it bring you all the way up here?”

Youdo laughs, his grip loosening before he slips slightly and yelps, falling and wrapping all his arms around the top of the branch as his body hung from it, his antennas down and his whole body shaking.

Eddie jumped slightly, his demeanor going from concerned back to as close to calm as that man could be in this situation.

“Alrighty, lemme get chu down, okay?”

Eddie crawls over to Youdo, legs wrapped around the top of the branch, and holds out his left hand, which the young boy took with all four arms, messing with Eddie’s balance slightly but not tossing him down. He tugs Youdo over to him, holding him close as the little caterpillar clung to his shirt tighter than he had been clinging to the branch.

“Alright, hang on tight now, ‘kay? I’m gon’ have to use both o’ my arms to get us down.”

Youdo nods, and Eddie shimmies his way towards the main part of the tree, hanging on for dear life as he carefully works his way down, hopping off when they got about three feet from the ground. He gently sets Youdo down on the ground with a “Good job, bud.” Eddie gently wipes off Youdo’s hands, getting all of the bark and dirt off of them. Luckily, the kid wasn’t hurt. Eddie smiles and ruffles the small Pillar’s hair, causing the boy to giggle while playfully batting at Eddie’s arm.

“YOUDO!!!”

Howdo sprints over, tackling his brother in a bear hug that knocked the wind out of the poor thing, causing both children to laugh as they stood back up, Howdo never letting his brother go despite his reassurances that he was okay.

Frank runs over, embracing his husband and then examining his hands, checking for any cuts or abrasions. When he finds none, he smiles wide with relief, his eyebrow unfurrowing and his shoulders going down. Frank presses a kiss to the man’s cheek.

“What possessed you to go up there? I thought you were afraid of heights.”

“Heh.. I couldn’t let the little feller stay up there all by ‘imself, could I?”

Hearing those words, watching his husband overcome one of his largest fears to help Youdo.. it made something click. Something… fit, filled a gap Frank never noticed was there.

Suddenly, Howdo perks up.

“How ‘bout another round of PogoScotch?!”

——————————————————————————————

The day has come to a close, Howdo and Youdo under the now very watchful eyes of their uncle, the neighborhood calmed down from the events of the afternoon. Everyone said their goodbyes, with extra tight hugs for Youdo.

Our lovely pair, the hero of the day and his love, are in their backyard.

Frank glances over at his husband, who is peacefully watching the sunset next to the entomologist, simply spending some quality time together in the grass.

“How did I ever get so lucky?” Eddie raises his right eyebrow as he turns his head to face Frank. “Hm? What do ya mean, honeybun?” Frank breathlessly chuckles before placing his left hand on top of Eddie’s right gently.

“I have almost everything I could ever want; a loving and caring and very brave husband, friends who, although sometimes overbearing, always stay by my side, and an overall amazing life, full of new things day in and day out.”

Eddie’s expression softens as he looks at his husband with adoration. “Awww, darlin’ that’s so sweet.” Suddenly, Eddie’s expression changes to slight confusion. “Wait a sec’nd.. did you say ‘almost’?” Frank’s hand tenses slightly, his grip tightening just enough for Eddie to be able to tell. “Well.. yes.” Eddie flips his hand around and uses his left hand to smoosh Frank’s hand in his own. His expression is soft, curious. “What else do you want, hon?” Frank’s expression is shy, nervous. “Well.. I’ve been thinking..” He places his right hand on top of Eddie’s left, their hands stacked on top of the others’. Eddie, Frank, Eddie, Frank.

“What would you think about.. raising a child together?”

Eddie’s cheeks warm at the thought; it reminded him of the softer sides of Frank he’s seen.

How he cares for each plant so calmly, sweetly, never letting one feel left out.

How when Howdo scraped his knee during the second round of Pogo Stick Hopscotch Championship, Frank helped him clean up and patched him up, as Poppy’s barn was too far away and he knew where Julie kept her first aid kit.

How sweet he is when someone needs comfort, even towards Barnaby. That one is surprising, to say the least, but it shows that even though he is not Barnaby’s largest fan, he still cares.

How gentle he is when holding Eddie’s hand, when making his coffee for the mailman in the morning, when he kisses him good night and good morning.

Each made Eddie fall harder, deeper in love.

The idea of raising a child with him? Starting a family with him? Oh, it made Eddie’s heart grow warm.

“I’d…”

Eddie pauses, getting a good look at Frank.

His eyebrow, scrunched in anticipation, in worry. His eyes, sharp, like he knows exactly what he wanted, but they are soft too, like he is willing to accept any answer at all. His grip is firm, but tender, nervous and finding comfort in the pressure of Eddie’s hands wrapped around his own.

He sighs, his grip tightening. “It’s a real big thing.”

“I know.”

“Gonna be a lot o’ work.”

“I know.”

“I’m gonna love you no matter what.”

Frank’s lips turn up at the edges just a tad.

“I know, Eddie.”

Eddie gently smiles, moving his right hand to this lovers’ cheek. His voice shakes slightly, low as if something would shatter if it was too much.

“Frankly, I would love to start a family with you.”

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

tidbit Tuesday again hell yeah!!! another technically teaser but I swear to god I'm gonna actually finish this one (in a. timely fashion.) n you can explode me if I don't

"Dally's got a heater. A real life actual heater." Soda's eyes are wide as saucers. Speakin all fast n low so all his words trip over each other n bubble up like a creek. He glances up n around n I peek over my shoulder instinctively. The lawn is still empty n abandoned save for me n him n I knew it would stay that way til Darry got home from practice or mama got off work.

"Where'd he get a gun?" I can't completely keep the awe outta my voice. Which was kinda stupid cause we'd all held a gun before. Daddy took us out on his huntin trips n taught is how to hold em just right. How to keep from hurtin ourselves.

But this ain't daddy n those big ol shooters kept locked safely away from pryin eyes n graspin hands. This was Dally. N he weren't that much older than Soda. Even though he acted like he was. Sometimes, he even seemed it. Mama said seein too much of things kids ought not to would do that. I dunno what she meant by that really.

"Dunno. Who cares! He's got a real life heater n he's gonna let me shoot some pop bottles with him this weekend." Soda puts his hands out in front of him, mimin his best impression of a handgun. He shuts one eye n levels it at my forehead. "Bang!"

I pout at him n he giggles. There's a move from those westerns he loves too much where they spin their pistols round their fingers before they slip them back into heavy holsters n he grins, mimes a sloppy impression. Tips his unseen hat to unseen women n laughs himself silly.

"I wanna go." He stops gigglin to himself immediately, raisin one thin eyebrow n frowin at me seriously.

"Y'can't go, Pone. You're too little." I scowl at him.

"Cmon Soda, I won't even shoot it. I just wanna see it." I can hear the edge of a whine creepin into my own voice, n I know it ain't helpin prove my point at all. Soda plonks his hands down on his hips n gives me an incredulous look I know he only learned from bein on the other side of mama's most his life.

"Nuh uh you're a kid, Pone. You could get hurt or somethin n then we'd both get hollered at." I fold my arms across my chest n kick a hole in the grass. I feel bad for that immediately. Mama worked real hard on the grass. I dunno why. She had a garden n all n she was always gettin us to help. Soda n I were useless n always got distracted playin in the mud but mama n Darry had a real 'green thumb'. Whatever that meant.

Soda, havin figured he'd settled the debate, raises his imaginary gun again n aims to my chest beneath crossed arms. "Cmon, I'll be cowboys n you can be cops."

"You sound like Darry. Never lettin me do anythin fun." Darry had big high-school friends now n he never wanted either of us taggin along.

Soda drops his hands immediately n I can tell this particular jab has landed. Both of us had been feelin Darry’s recent epiphany that apparently we weren't nearly as fun as his stupid football friends.

He pulls a face, squints, purses his lips in thought. After a long moment I spend the entirety of tryin not to look too hopeful, he sighs n nods n I know he's conceded. "Alright, alright. Fine."

I jump to my feet, grinnin wide, 'n throw my arms tight around him. He huffs out a small, insincere noise of frustration before wrappin me tight back in a hug n bonkin our foreheads together.

"Ouch, Soda!" He giggles again, raises his gun.

"Oh, you got such a hard head you'll be fine." He flashes a bright, toothy smile 'n I forget I'm meant to be put out. "Now c'mon! I wanna play cowboys 'n cops."

"I'll be a cowboy." I scramble away from my brother's arms n cast around for a branch to use as a horse. Soda's response is immediate n through, both bony knees in my back as he tackles me to the dirt.

"Nuh-uh. I'm the cowboy." He musses up my hair 'n I buck up, throwin him off 'n into the grass beside me. "You gotta be the cop if you wanna come on Saturday."

He nods resolutely n climbs back to his feet, leavin me flat on my back on the lawn squintin into the sun behind his head that make his hair look like a halo.

If it had been Darry I woulda threatened to tell mama on him n he woulda called me a brat n then we'd both get in trouble for fightin n the whole original plot would come out either way n both our fun would be spoiled. But I ain't a lil kid anymore n I know better. N also this is Soda.

So instead I roll my eyes into the bright midday sun n take the hand he offers me up. "Fine. I'll be cops."

[knockoff-fuze-tea-brewery]

first ever traditional drawing in a bit wooooooo

[xxplastic-cubexx]

ok i drew both of them now

[sciderman]

[six-improbable-things]

I had to open the ship combat rules doc I made for Rook's campaign the other day, and man, that thing was (and still is tbh) my fucking magnum opus. I put so much effort into creating rules for a type of combat that dnd doesn't naturally support, and it was SUCH a fun challenge. I'll admit it's not perfect, but it works for our campaign, and everyone seemed to like it during our one test so far, so that's good enough for me.

I think between the stat blocks, the rules themselves, and the maps of the ships, I spent easily 48 hours total on making this sailing arc happen. (No, I'm not the DM, I just like homebrewing shit, and also happen to be the one who decided to play a pirate and make that involved in the story.)

[hermitcraftx]

just got a dm abt one of my posts and y'all please don't try and show the hermits (or any minecraft youtuber or content creator for that matter) my posts, i'm uncomfortable with it and don't want any of my posts shown to a cc. if they stumble upon it naturally that's unfortunate but i can live with it since i do maintag a lot (something i REALLY need to stop doing tbh i already know i need to make a tagging system just for my blog that wont clog results) but going out of ur way to show a cc is entirely different and something i am not comfortable with.

no hate to the person at all but even if i wasn't a little silly and weird with it sometimes i wouldn't be comfortable with it, i want my blog to be a purely fandom only space with none of the creators involved <3 please respect this

[molagboop]

So I put the power of friendship and impractical outfits into Metroid Dread. No suits, no shields: we die in a giant laser hand cannon fight like true warriors.

[whoviandoodler]

this is how this scene went right

[id in alt]

[notmoreflippingelves]

Shi Long Lang insisting all of his agents identify themselves as "1" during team countoffs, and Manfred von Karma setting his bank PIN to #1 have the same and yet opposite energies.