#nothing in there about presence or absence of attraction to women

[agendabymooner]

melody || lh44 x ofc (1)

Summary: With her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of Melody returned to Rythme Romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of Monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. Her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. Still, a certain Formula One driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. Felicity Vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her. 

Content warning: Age gap, use of explicit language, possible mature content (not in this chapter), mentions of past sugar daddy/baby gone romantic relationship, possessive!asshole!Lewis mentioned, burlesque (2010) movie vibes, really shitty French-translated dialogue. 

Note: I have not watched Burlesque for a good while but I listen to shitloads of songs that give performer/singer/showgirl vibes??? I hope this works out lol. Enjoy xx

masterlist

i. million dollar man

"you're screwed up and brilliant look like a million dollar man. so why is my heart broke?"

Felicity Vos couldn’t remember the last time she made her presence known in the principality. She lived in Monaco for years as a nobody — she was just some 24-year-old woman who hoped to get through the day before she put on her best costume and makeup for work. She only performed to put money in her pocket. Living in Monaco wasn’t cheap, after all. She did everything she could to maintain her private space, working at the lounge every night to get the biggest tips from the wealthiest people in Monaco.

Nothing more, nothing less. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she was a nobody in Monaco. Had it been for her natural beauty and the typical streetwear of the principality, she would’ve stood out already, and everyone would know that Formula One’s mysterious “lady seducer” made her return to Monaco. 

She hadn’t wanted to gather that much attention now. It was bad enough that her three nights coincided with the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. She couldn’t bear the thought of being hounded by journalists curious about her absence/being for the past two years. 

I was just a nobody, she told herself. She wasn’t even anyone’s ex-girlfriend. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a stable relationship with a man. 

But everyone in the F1 community knew that she was something. That was for sure. The man's popularity and their agreement pulled her away from the anonymity she craved after ending things with him.

2019

The first thing that the bartender, her friend René, had spewed out just as she finished her performance had something to do with the beehive hairstyle she sported and how it coincided with ‘Fuck Me Pumps’ by Amy Winehouse, whose iconic style included the mentioned hairstyle. 

René told her Melody was the complete opposite of Amy Winehouse with her tattooless skin, bright blonde hair, and wide-set eyes. But Melody’s voice, René told her, was meant to sing about the men who’d fuck women over. 

Then her attention turned away from him when a server approached the speaking young adults, leaning over to tell them both about a lone man sitting on an empty booth, asking for Melody’s company as they all peered at the dimly lit corner booth. They couldn’t see if he was looking in their direction, but Felicity (Melody) could tell he was attractive. 

It wasn’t unusual for clients or audience members to request a sit-down time with the singer of the night, so Melody merely asked her coworker to serve them some drinks before walking in his direction.

His genuine smile and curiosity certainly pulled her closer if you were to ask her. She knew who he was. Lewis Hamilton. This place was Monaco, after all. What kind of a caveman would you have to be to not know who Lewis Hamilton was? Even the Neanderthals would ask for an autograph should they see him pass by.

She sat with him and asked how he was liking his stay in Monaco after the new year. In exchange, he provided answers and asked her certain questions. 

Is your name really Melody? Mmm… such an in-depth question for a stranger, don’t you think? 

Do you just sing Amy Winehouse? She was my inspiration, after all. This is how I pay tribute. Do you have a request? Perhaps I can sing it next time you visit— not that a man like you would be dead seen entering such a place.

How about you? How are you liking Monaco? Whoever said that this place was for easy living would be a liar. I get paid more than I used to, but university and rent still beg for more. 

How long have you been doing this? Four years. Singing and dancing at the same time takes a lot of practice. 

She was thankful to have been the performer to put on the middle show of the night. She hadn’t needed to worry about being the performer of the night, and her conversation with him seemed to have lasted until the end of the show. 

She expected him to not return after that night, with him leaving her two hundred euros in cash and tipping the servers the same amount— she would’ve expected him to hand this as a form of a farewell gift. 

But he offered those as a welcoming gift. Because by the next night, Melody’s eyes shifted to where he sat, only to find him leaning back against the booth seat. His head was slightly bobbing as musicians hit those 4/4 beats. He sat there while she sang beautifully, her hair teased into a beehive hairstyle, and her body wrapped around loose strings of pearls and rhinestones. 

He returned the night after that… then after… he returned for days. Apparently, Monaco had been so boring for him that he chose to spend his time listening to the beautiful voice of Melody. He later confessed that he couldn’t seem to get away from her. 

But instead of offering a date, he offered to fly her to Australia for the first round of the racing season. Fuck that. He offered to pay and give her everything— in exchange, she travels around with him during his races as a “partner.” He said it would benefit both of them if they entered this agreement. She would get the money, and he would have an increase of positivity in his image. 

Her mouth quickly slipped out the word “yes,” the next thing she knew, she was saying goodbye to her coworkers of four years. She was always welcome to perform should she decide to, and would pay her good money for her rare performances. 

Then her flat was fully paid for the next six months. Right after that, she was driven to a department store to find some clothes and bags to pack for her endless trips. She had gowns tailored and altered for her in case she needed to be in attendance for his formal and black tie events. 

She was only meant to be there as an eye candy, one that would hold hands with Lewis as he made his way down the paddock to the Mercedes garage. She had no name besides Melody. She was only Melody, and she was alright with that— she wanted to keep the privacy that she had left, after all. 

She was good at avoiding journalists and their questions about Lewis’ past relationships and his title as the Mercedes playboy. She often stayed put and kept her attention trained on him as he raced or Roscoe, who had grown dearly in her heart. She had never gone as far as sharing a conversation with his coworkers, only offering them a small smile before she walked off with a refresher in hand. The only one she seemed to have a good conversation with besides Toto Wolff was his teammate, Valtteri Bottas. But even then, she could feel his body radiate in possessiveness that she didn’t know he had. He’d always hold her close. 

He hadn’t even realized that Melody shifted from a nobody to a somebody despite not having a surname. It was quite a shame she had to embrace someone’s fame and be under scrutiny for it. 

PRESENT

“Am I seeing things, or is it really the woman who brought the glory in the Ryhtme Romantique?” Felicity shook herself out of her thoughts as she turned around and grinned, watching as René outstretched his arms. She squealed at the sight of him and jumped into his arms, earning a grunt from him as he said, “Mon dieu, ma fille, is this how Zurich and New York had treated you?” 

“This is how I greet people I miss,” Felicity exclaimed. “Not that you feel the same towards me, arsehole.” 

“Such language,” René scoffed mockingly. “I know I haven’t heard you speak like that before.” They both fell silent before laughing at the joke. She seduced like a siren, yet she swore like a sailor, René once told her. 

The 28-year-old woman waved it off, “Tell me you haven’t picked me up in Nice just so you can bring up my lack of manners? Otherwise, I’m walking away.” 

“Gah, and who’ll pick you up?” René grinned, now grabbing her suitcase and pulling it next to him. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to go to Monte Carlo knowing that they’ll hound you when alone. People aren't that subtle when it comes to you.”

“That right?” Felicity asked. She'd only performed once throughout those two years of her “relationship” with a Formula One driver. She freelanced because of how much she had missed it. She remembered having to convince him to allow her to do it for once, and she swore she never craved for something more than the lounge's music and atmosphere. 

“Yes,” René answered her, “you made your character known by everyone. Everyone knew Melody, not Felicity. Melody became a household name after her one-night appearance when everyone learned about her from Formula One. Wealthy people saw talent… and yeah. Now they’re eager to spend much money just to see you.”

This helped her grow a backbone, somehow. She continued to press on the topic, “And by that…?”

“It will be a full house,” René had already placed her suitcase in the car trunk before he stood with his chest puffed out. “One hour of you and Amy Winehouse on the stage in three nights is worth my mortgage for my house in North America.” 

Felicity chuckled and shook her head, making herself comfortable in his passenger seat with the seatbelt buckle snapping. 

“So,” Felicity leaned back against her seat before turning to the man beside her, “what did I miss in Monaco?” 

“I thought you didn’t miss Monaco?” René laughed, starting up his vehicle. 

Felicity scoffed at the comment, “I missed Monaco.” 

She just didn’t miss the man that she met in the principality. After all, she would have remained as nothing if he didn’t treat her like she was the only one. She preferred her life before she met him. She liked the way of living she had in Monaco before him.

2019

She probably should have settled for less, but what should she do? It was the only dress that he liked on her. She felt she would impose the mermaid white dress with the intricate baroque style and pearl details, but his praise and encouragement told her otherwise.

Besides, with her making a bet that lasted for an entire season, she really couldn’t chicken out of it now that Lewis got his 6th world championship. She really couldn’t disappoint him like that. 

So she became the woman of the awarding night. Wrapped around her neck was a layered pearl choker, letter L carved into gold with three teardrop-shaped pearls dangling off it, much like Anne Boleyn’s. 

Unlike the first time she appeared at the paddock, she walked into the event hall with her smile dazzling the crowd— even those photographers who seemed eager to capture the moments of the couple arriving hand in hand. She didn’t feel discomfort at all, not after all those months of feeling lost in the paddock while she tried finding her way around the Mercedes area. Angela Cullen had never worked this hard to guide someone, but she never saw Melody as an obligation or responsibility. She loved the girl, in fact. 

She was known to be quiet by the drivers in the grid. She didn’t feel comfortable speaking to everyone during the entire season as she saw how most of them looked at her. Nobody even knew who the fuck she was, just her first name- her stage name. Sebastian Vettel was kind enough to walk up close and introduce himself to her as if she hadn’t known him already. He was the closest thing she had to a comfort zone that wasn’t just Bottas, talking to him here and there whenever they passed by one another in the paddock. 

If she was being honest, she felt as if nobody knew what her job entailed as “Lewis’ partner.” Sebastian understood at the very beginning what she was to the Mercedes driver but had said nothing against nor about it. She already didn’t feel comfortable with the other drivers staring, so if he was to say anything about her relationship was just another level of friendship he’d have to reach. 

The only thing that Sebastian had offered her was, “If you’d like to have a friend that isn’t just Roscoe, I’ll be at my motorhome. Feel free to stop by anytime!” 

So by the time she arrived at the awarding with Lewis, her eyes brightened at the sight of the German driver. Sebastian waved at them, making the girl wave back eagerly. 

Lewis chuckled quietly, “I didn’t know you and Seb were friends.” 

Melody giggled in the same volume, “He considers me his best friend as of this moment. I suppose that happens when you’re not being looked at or linked to Sir Lewis Hamilton.” 

“Cheeky girl,” Lewis grinned, his touch feeling familiar to her skin as he held her soft hand. Pulling her closer, Lewis greeted everyone they’d passed by. Melody merely nodded in their direction while her smile didn’t reach her ears, barely looking away from Lewis as if he was the only man she could focus on. 

She probably should have settled for less, but Lewis wanted her to shine as much as he did that night. He was a 6-time world champion, after all. If he was shining, he made sure that she was, too.

PRESENT

With her embellished leotard and shoes sparkling under the spotlight and her face coated with confidence and seductiveness, her eyes zeroed in on the men who had just walked into the intimate environment of Rythme Romantique with a sultry smile. Some of them nearly recoiled at the expression she gave them. 

“Formula One driver had reserved tables for tonight,” René told her earlier today, “some might come back tomorrow and Sunday after their race. Their managers told Lita about you and how they’ve wanted to see you perform since they learned about you from the Mercedes team.” 

It wasn’t anything fearsome if you were to ask Melody. She only offered them a welcoming (yet seductive) smile, but perhaps they considered it quite daunting and intimidating. It wasn’t as if she was inviting them to her bed. 

She supposed that it was because of the fact that they’d stepped into her turf. She was in their place once— being in the paddock and feeling out of business? Yeah, she understood what they felt. Somehow. 

“Oh my,” she purred, eyes trained on each driver as some of them visibly gulped at the sight of her. This Dolce & Gabbana did wonders on every man she had encountered at the beginning of her performance. She was only halfway through the hour, and from what she had counted— there should be about eight men who were nervous at her presence. 

Her eyes shifted from the Ken-esque man (with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face) to the pair of green eyes that stared right at her and her figure. She crouched down to get to their level seeing as she was a stage higher than them. 

She did a headcount for a moment. She could see familiar faces— but most of them were older. A grin on the man behind Ken told her that it was Daniel Ricciardo. And the man next to Ricciardo was Max Verstappen. The 2021 World Champion. 

“Isn’t this a sight to see,” she chuckled almost breathlessly, her breath softly nearing her bedazzled microphone. She stared at the green eyes ahead of her, “Première fois?” First time? 

The man nodded and replied, “Oui.” 

“Et tes amis? Ont-ils déjà été ici?” How about your friends? Have they been here before? She asked, looking at the men behind him. 

“Certains d'entre eux vivent ici,” some of them live here. The man replied. 

“Est-ce que c'est oui?” Is that a yes? Melody asked with a raised eyebrow, leaving the audience to laugh. 

“Peut-être,” maybe. Charles Leclerc shrugged with a smile. She let out a giggle for a moment before nodding.

“Bienvenu,” Welcome. Melody winked. They all found their seats, but she couldn’t find the one she was looking for as she was doing a repeated headcount. Then she remembered that the corner booth had been changed to a reserved area when she left. She could only imagine who sat there. It was a seat reserved for the man who only came to the lounge to speak with her. 

Her eyes flickered at the table before turning at the drivers, “Welcome to Rythme Romantique. I hope this show eases the tension of tomorrow’s qualifying race.” 

“And I hope you’re not offended by the end of this show,” she giggled quietly, “because I’ve had men walk out of shows because of Amy Winehouse.” 

“What kind of fuckery are we?” She sang, her hips swaying as she gestured at the drivers with her gemstone-covered gloves, “Nowadays, you don’t mean dick to me.”

Her blonde hair swung as she looked toward the corner booth, “I might let you make it up to me.” 

“Who’s playing Saturday?” She winked at the drivers, hearing as the men cheered and pointed at themselves. “One of you better get a pole this time.” 

“Mr. Destiny, nine and 14. Nobody stands in between me and my man. 'Cause it's me and Mr. Jones…” 

“Me and Mr. Jones…” 

The live band had put on an end to the song and her show, every man and woman standing to applaud her. She took a deep breath before letting out a sultry smile, taking in her audience's applause and whistles. Her painted lips puckered up, and she blew a kiss to the audience, her foot picking up the fur coat that she discarded at the beginning of her show to put it on. She offered the drivers one more ‘good luck’ before walking off and heading to the bar. 

She hadn’t felt this good about performing at the Monaco Lounge since the last time she appeared in 2020. That extravagant entertainment hall at Hotel Ritz didn’t make her as happy as it should have. The richest of the richest gave her the attention and money she dreamt of when she became an adult, but something about this place made her… happier. Or rather, better about herself. 

Sharing a conversation with René hadn’t lasted long enough when a new server walked up to them to let the two know about the guest in the corner booth. 

René looked at Felicity with worry as he said, “You really don’t have to go, City.” 

“No, no,” Felicity waved off his concern, “he paid to speak and see me. I can’t really disappoint Lita now, can’t I?” 

“You’d really let your heart break like that again?” René asked her, “What if he’s actually got a girl this time?” 

Felicity merely stared at him, indifference written all over her face. Quite a facade, her face covered. René sighed exasperatedly, “Alright. I’ll get you the rum and coke. Felicity, you can back out anytime.”

“I know,” Felicity nodded, adjusting her corset with a sigh. “I’ll walk out if I want to. He lost me once, and I’ll make sure he knows he can lose me again.” 

No amount of alcohol could make her feel as relaxed as she wanted, so she settled for one glass of rum and coke only. There were a lot of things that could have happened within two years, and that didn’t exclude him. 

But god, his face remained as young as it was four years ago. It didn’t age as the years went on. 

She sat across him, the marble table the only thing separating them. He watched as she made herself as comfortable as she could be. She could tell that a smile threatened to show on his face, keeping his composure as much as an ex-lover could when they met their former flame for the first time in years. 

“Lewis,” she nodded curtly, her eyes trained on him before it shifted to the server who dropped off her drink and his. Felicity offered the server a grateful smile before it disappeared just as the younger woman left the booth.

He grabbed his drink and spoke, “Mel.”

She nearly winced at the nickname. Nobody called her Mel but him.

“When did you fly back?” Lewis Hamilton was known for many things - and being civil to anyone was one of them. She remembered how he always had to keep a straight face in the same room as his former best friend. Nico Rosberg had a fairly long history with him that ended poorly, so for him to show indifference? It was a Lewis Hamilton signature. It didn’t surprise her that he’d ask this as if he hadn’t broken their agreement long before she did. 

“Just earlier today,” Felicity answered, her voice was equally indifferent. “I flew to Nice and was picked up. I couldn’t miss the ride at the French Riviera.”

“You’ve always liked the scenery,” Lewis chuckled, sipping his drink before setting it on the table. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you,” Felicity nodded.

“Like you always did,” Lewis continued, not even caring about the small expression that eventually fell off as he spoke.

“Hm, really?” Felicity almost scoffed with a shake of her head. “Last time we were together, I wasn’t even allowed to be near a stage.”

“You were with me,” Lewis pointed out, “flying worldwide. As you wanted and had agreed on.”

“I had to get drunk enough to get up the bar counter and sing my arse off just so you’d have no control of it,” Felicity reminisced, grinning at herself when she recalled the moment. 

Silverstone GP afterparty, the year 2020. She wasn’t as drunk as he was, but she grew enough backbone to ask for a microphone and Christina Aguilera’s Candyman on the bar’s speakers – max volume. She remembered her feet moving like they were all swing dancing and being hoisted off the bar counter by Daniel Ricciardo while they all drank and her voice hit the falsetto. The drivers were rather impressed regardless of the amount of alcohol they consumed. Lewis wasn’t as impressed as the others. He’d seen it before. He hadn’t appreciated how easily she made friends with the men around her – so seeing her shy away from them the next race was a win for him. 

“I couldn’t stop you even if I did,” Lewis laughed as if it was a normal conversation. “Everyone’s way into it.”

Felicity almost laughed at his face. He stopped her when she agreed to become his company, practically handing her her year’s worth of rent and salary just as she nodded. He stopped her rhythm from flowing, but she allowed it as she wanted to live an easier life. One where she didn’t have to be taunted by her family’s constant words of discouragement. It turned out that being someone’s pretty young thing wasn’t as easy if you fell for the unattached man. 

He leaned back, observing the sight before him before asking, “Did Switzerland and America treat you right?”

Her head shot up at the question before asking in return, “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, please,” Lewis answered genuinely. He hadn’t expected to last an hour in the bar, let alone thirty minutes in the same booth as her. He could remember how his lack of commitment and false confessions destroyed her, and he wasn’t sure he could see her in that place anymore. But he stayed in his seat, watching as she practically inhaled her spiked drink before she settled it on the table. 

Crossing her legs, she wrapped her coat tightly around her body as the temperature at the booth decreased. She replied, “I was more than surprised that you found someone who could immediately fly me to another country just so I can sing far from the principality.” 

Felicity could remember the email sent to her by some management in Zurich and New York. They were interested in meeting with her because of a recommendation from a musician who had seen her perform more than twice. It didn’t take her long to realize it was Lewis’ doing. She had ended whatever it was a week before the email was sent, so it was his doing. But rather than fuming at the thought that he was more than willing to send her away from Monaco, she immediately contacted them and took whatever they had to offer. 

“I lived here for four years,” she scoffed, “before I even met you. This was my home. I can’t even consider my flat in New York as such.”

“What’s your plan then?” Lewis asked. “Are you planning to return to Monaco then?”

“And return to this lounge? Where most drivers would probably frequent in when they learn that Melody’s back in town?” Felicity snorted, “I’d rather not.”

“Why not?” He asked, “You love this place.”

“I do,” she stood up, noticing how his eyes became more cautious as she cleared her throat, “I am tired of the chasing I had to do, though. It’s not always me who has to work on it. Sometimes, they have to chase the woman, too. It’s not a one-way street for me anymore. Good luck tomorrow–”

“Wait,” her goosebumps rose when she felt his hand touching her skin, turning back when he pulled on her wrist as she watched him stand. He pulled out an envelope, leaving the package in her hand as she gripped it lightly. Lewis nearly stammered, “Invite whoever you want.”

“I’m not going, Hamilton,” she couldn’t even shove it back to him as he held her wrist, squeezing it lightly as a sign of plea. Just be there tomorrow. And Sunday.

“It’ll only be two days,” his voice might’ve shown nothing of desperation, but his eyes pleaded with her. “Two days of racing and your shows.”

She sighed exasperatedly. She was already exhausted from having to pretend that this was okay. She really hadn’t wanted to see him. But this was Monaco, and this weekend was the principality’s race weekend, so she could have at least prepared herself mentally.

“I’ll see what I can do,” was all she muttered before pulling away from him as she walked out of the booth with a murmur of, “Good night.” 

She was certain that this jetlag of hers wouldn’t wear out. Not when this weekend was a case of clusterfuck that was going to leave her restless. She wasn’t excited to know what would come her way at the very end of this week.

PS. what did you think? Send me an ask!

[midnightsapphire]

imagine the targaryens as angels considering they were already known as the closest thing to gods among the earth and it’s people. their majestic blonde hair reflecting the sunlight with every step they took, their aura almost like a halo as they pass by any common person along the streets of silk

imagine aemond, the most stoic and dutiful out of all of them, who always did his duties among the people, aided them in need, watched over those who needed protection.

a stark contrast of his eldest brother, who used his angelic prowess for all the wrong reasons, bedding any woman that was entranced by him, leaving them in the early mornings before they woke without a second thought, selfishly using them for his own desires

but aemond? aemond sacrificed his own happiness for duty, ignoring the fleeting glances of the women (and men) that gave him flirtatious looks whenever he graced their presence

he was everything anyone could have ever dreamed of being and being with

but even in the holy books, lucifer was once god’s favorite angel as well. 

aemond hadn’t known what went wrong. was he selfish in chasing his happiness for once? did he sin for falling in love prematurely? surely he followed all the rules

never glanced at a woman’s skin for longer than needed, never touched a woman for he saved himself for marriage, never stepped a toe out of line out of fear of eternal punishment

it was horrible enough lucerys had taken his eye and was dealt with nothing more than a slap on the wrist

why had the god’s forsaken him when he was the ever dutiful, the ever loyal.

did the god’s send you as a temptress to test his loyalty? to test his limits? his virtue?

as much as he tried to deny the severe attraction he had to you, he could not. even when the molting of his platinum blonde wings grew ever so painful.

clumps of blonde feathers started falling one by one, but he was used to it, it had been normal. but with every fleeting glance, every brush of your hands, the soft touch of your nose against his cheek when you kissed him. 

it burned at the wings on his back with every passing day. 

but he ignored the pain, the searing, sharp pain in his body like a fire engulfing his skin, only if it meant spending another second longer in your arms as you cradled him from the world that had done him wrong. 

it was rare he laid bare in front of you, refusing to allow you to see the grotesque mutilations of his eye and his body, no matter how much you ensured that you had loved him just the same.

but as he looked into your eyes, looked at the endless love that swam in your irises, for him, because of him-

he found himself no longer caring at the loss of weight on his back, the absence of whispered orders in his ear from his almighty

no longer worried about the scars that littered his back from the gruesome tearing of his wings as he gave up his immortality, his spot on the right hand of his father.

aemond would live through the pain tenfold if it meant falling in love with you over and over again. 

[kits-ghosts-corner]

Yeah, again, that means nothing. What does a "little" seuxal attraction mean? Compared to who? How do you know? Does gay mean "little to no sexual attraction to the other gender?" No, it doesn't. Because being attracted to multiple genders would make you bi. Just like a gay man who wants to have sex with women isn't a gay man.

Asexuality means nothing because it isn't tied to anything. If wanting to have sex is included in asexuality, gay men wanting to have sex with women would be included in homosexualiyt.

Asexuality has no boundaries and communicates nothing.

The “little to” is compared to the average person’s rates of sexual attraction, if I can put it like that - the usual lack of sexual attraction to other people is the more important part. Asexual folks won’t see most people as hot, even those who are considered stereotypically attractive. Allo people are more likely to feel something whilst watching some shit like Love Island, asexuals won’t. That’s basically it. How do I know…? I’m not sure what exactly that’s referring to, but I’m going to assume it’s knowing I’m asexual - I don’t find anyone attractive. I know that. That’s a bit like asking “how do you know you aren’t hungry” - it’s harder to describe an absence of something than a presence of it.

I’ll point you in the direction of plenty of people having random folks who are “exceptions” to their sexualities; straight men who say their “exception” is Ryan Reynolds, for example, or gay women who say their “exception” is Hozier. We can argue back and forth if those examples are always meant seriously or not, but the fact is that human experiences are varied, and people can still call themselves by certain labels even if they have their own sort of exceptions. Nobody will turn around and suddenly shout “well, if you have this random one-off, then you can’t label yourself as that!”, that just doesn’t happen (at least, I’ve never seen that beyond the internet). The world is a complicated thing and if someone feels a label fits them, then there’s really no need to waste breathe and argue with them about their reasonings. I’m sure you have better things to do than trying to convince people online that asexuality isn’t real (I think that’s you’re trying to argue here).

Asexuality can be different from talking about homosexuality or heterosexuality because it’s an absence of something, or a very great lack of something; I used the metaphor of describing not being hungry before, and I think it’s worth bringing up here again. It’s really simple to describe hunger, but not easy to describe not being hungry at all. People will describe sexual attraction as all matter of things, and it’s much more difficult for me to say “well I never feel any of that”.

Asexuality is tied to a lack of sexual attraction or none entirely (“lack of” being in comparison to most people). Asexuality does have boundaries, but it’s almost like everybody has their own boundaries because people are people and experience things in different ways to their levels of enjoyment. That doesn’t make asexuality less valid. And it still communicates plenty of things - people’s boundaries in regards to sex, how they view themselves and their experience, etc. - it just seems that’s you’re just not willing to understand those or listen to asexual experiences.

[sephythespooky]

Like...i’m trying to think of how that person was thinking. Did they expect more overt “I’m a NB AND SUCK IT” or what?

Like....you live your life, you are who you are, and your gender isn’t a big deal unless you make it one? At least that’s how it is for me.

I’m built to the point it’s impossible for me to do “androgyny” (hourglass, long hair, very soft face and delicate build in general) now that I’m losing my weight. Yeah, i like fluffy dresses. Yeah, I like doing my make up. But I’m not a woman “seeking attention”. I just enjoy those things. I also like go karts and “boy” anime :\

my nonbinary-ness isn’t about the presence of a “secret third option” or something. It, like my Ace status and my ASD, is about the absence of something. I don’t feel connected to women. I don’t feel connected to men. I don’t know what I am, just “not that”.

My ASD isn’t the presence of something extra, it’s the lack of understanding, the lack of social skills, the GAPING VOID where volume and tone control of my voice ought to be. XD

My aceness is the absence of attraction. I just feel nothing where “ooh that’s hot” should be for other humans. It’s actually annoying and painful to my emotions :\

So why would my writing reflect the presence of something when my existence as a whole is defined by glaring absence?

[raimi]

Fandom hates him! Local man understands the differences between types of queercoding and doesn't instantly call any queercoded character exclusively gay!

[leagueoflegendsimagines]

Hello, love your work! May I request SFW + NSFW headcannons for Zed?

As a disclaimer, the difference in age between Zed and the reader isn't too great. Around 7 or 8 years - and by the time their relationship starts, the reader is a young adult. Around 20 years old.

Second disclaimer: this is a very long post. I apologize to anon for that.

SFW:

- You met Zed in a very unexpected way and, truth to be told, you never imagined that you two might ever become lovers.

- You became a honorific member of the Order of Shadows because Zed was indebted to your parents. As strong political figures in the world of Ionia, they had helped him and his Order many times - standing by his side from the dark, misty shadows of the councils. Supporting his cause.

- When they died - assassinated, nonetheless - you were heartbroken. But, as their only child, you were sent to the safest place in Ionia: Zed's sanctuary.

- Zed silently mourned the tragic death of your parents. And while he could hardly swallow the fact that such a young girl - barely a woman - would live in his order, it was the least he could do for your deceased mother and father.

- The first time he saw you... he felt a pang of shock and nostalgia. As a child, you looked identical to your mother. But now... now you looked like neither of your parents.

- No, you looked like your grandmother. A woman full of prestige and respect in the whole land. A woman Zed had always respected with his whole devotion. Willing to fight for Ionia until her very last drop of blood - a dignified and incredibly strong woman, both in body and soul.

- Physically, you did look like her. But... ah, yes. The determination and steel in your eyes. Yes, you shared the same spirit as her.

- Maybe that's why Zed took such a high interest in you. Maybe that's why he started, little by little, to care for you more than he should've ever allowed himself to.

- As time passed, you started opening yourself more to him - and to the members of the order.

- You had vowed to avenge your parents, no matter what. You had a strong character - but, at the same time, you were as gentle as the first rays of dawn and as brilliant as the sun of a bright July afternoon.

- You exhaled spring and summer. You were a breath of pure, refreshing air in the dark, hallowed hallways of Zed's home.

- For the order, you were a direct example of the things they were fighting for. In you, they saw every young girl or woman of Ionia, wishing for a brighter and better future - innocent as the melting snow of a late spring.

- Zed didn't keep you under a lock in the order. He would take you to the vast hills, forests and waterfalls to be found outside of the grim labyrinth he dedicated his life to.

- He spent so many hours watching you harvest the bounty of summer and autumn. With a white summer dress and that wide straw hat you would wear you looked like an innocent, sinful delight.

- Zed realized too late that his platonic desire to watch you slowly turned into brewing lust.

- It came to his mind one August evening as he watched you from underneath an old tree. He kept a close eye on you, admiring your sun kissed skin in contrast to the yellow dress you were wearing. It only made everything else brighter. Your eyes, your smile. The rainbow of gentle, soft colors in your hair, shining like precious stones under the sun.

- When he caught the shiver of lust wrecking his body, he recoiled in repulsion.

- Repulsion directed to his own person.

- You were his friends' daughter.

- How could he even think of you as a woman?

- Of course, he was well aware of your beauty. You ravished the heart of one too many disciples. They wouldn't even dare to make a move - you were Zed's most prized protege.

- Not even Kayn dared say anything about you - in his absence or presence.

- After all, Zed had eyes and ears everywhere.

- From then on, Zed became distant. Cold.

- You figured it out fairly quickly. As innocent as you were, you knew the power of your own charms. The power of your youth.

- You didn't have to be a beauty or an incredibly attractive woman - you only had to be yourself. And that was enough.

- Your smile, your youthful energy... it ravished him.

- Oh, how he longed to bask in your light - to enjoy the gentle sun of youth in your presence. You were a sun to him, warming up his calloused heart.

- For your young age, you were incredibly intuitive and sensitive to the energy of those around you. And, of course, you easily felt the effect you had on him.

- After all, it was quite similar to the effect you had on his students. But... it left you confused. Vulnerable. So similar, yet so different.

- Things were different with him. While you wouldn't have minded the shameless flirt with one disciple or another, only to burst into a childish smile full of radiance and leave them yearning for more as you ran outside to play or dance your worries away - with Zed things were so tense and...

- You couldn't really describe it. You didn't know what Zed would do, after all. What would happen if you flirted with him?

- Would he scold you the way he did when you trained with him? Would he accept it? Would he give in?

- You shivered at the thought of how he might react. When he allowed you to go to visit the few female friends you had in nearby villages - always followed in the shadows by him or the guards he assigned you, of course - you would hear so many stories. You had a vague idea of what love meant for a woman. Or... what to expect. But you were too innocent to know the full extent of it.

- Yet, you felt lust. Zed was a dominant and strong man. It was hard not to, as you grew older and older until you reached your ripest moment of youth. It was hard to not observe or admire him with the eyes of a woman.

- One of your friends once called him delicious.

- You couldn't help but agree.

- Your slow dance around each other came to an end one late October evening.

- It had been a cold, rainy day. As such, you spent it inside the Order's headquarters, reading and lazing around with your novels. As you got bored, you moved in silence to Zed's study.

- He knew you were sneaking in - but he never said anything to scold or push you away.

- You were his one guilty weakness, after all. The only one he could afford.

- Zed did it only because he knew you would be safer with him than with anyone else in this world.

- As you sneaked in, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders the way you always did. But this time... this time, things would be different. For a moment, you briefly wondered if he could feel your erratic heartbeat.

- But as no objection came from him, you leaned to look over his shoulder with a hum. "You're working too much." He only answered to you with a soft tap on the paper - a warning.

- With a bold move, you slipped into his lap with an apologetic smile. "You should work less now - and pay more attention to me instead."

- You felt him grow stiff under your soft weight. Surprised. Shocked. Caught unaware. You knew how much Zed hated it - but you couldn't sit around doing nothing. Not anymore.

- "You have grown very spoiled, little sun." You heard him grit his teeth, a low growl in his voice. A very obvious and threatening warning. You were pushing him too far.

- Still, what would happen if he were to break?

- So you did it.

- You shifted your position to a more daring one, your warm thighs enveloping his lap in a bold statement. Maybe this shocked him too much into stillness. Maybe this is why he didn't move in the slightest as you took off his mask - and pressed a soft kiss on his pale, cold lips.

NSFW:

- Unsurprisingly, your action killed Zed inside. He wasn't a person to chase physical pleasure. When he reached a point of frustration, he would find one or two willing women to quench his lust - no emotions, no second meetings.

- But you were different. You were something to be loved and cherished. You were... innocent. Pure.

- Maybe not so innocent - that was his impression as he looked down on you with angry, dilated pupils. As much as you tried to cower under his unnerving glance, as much as you tried to look innocent... you knew it wouldn't work on him.

- You also knew that, no matter what might happen next, you wouldn't regret it.

- You only hoped it would help settle the fire between your thighs, so closely and intimately pressed to his.

- What you didn't expect was the tight grip on your shoulders, pushing you back against his desk until he was above you - a whimper escaping your lips as his hot, throbbing pelvis pressed between your quivering thighs. Your rumpled dress left your legs exposed, vulnerable. It almost made you feel ashamed.

- "I believe someone is feeling their age a bit too much." His heated words, right next to your ear, made your breath hitch. It sent almost painful shivers down your body, warming your flesh down to your toes.

- Even for his solitary life, Zed was still a very experienced man. He was a perfectionist. He would always be an expert in everything he did - combat, reading people or pleasing his partners.

- As such, he knew how to read you like an open book.

- He also knew how to drive you crazy.

- If you wanted him, so be it.

- But he would make you earn it. And he would make you pay for being a little brat with him.

- "Do you think I'm one of my students, little sun? Do you think I'll accept your teasing and let you run away?" He watched you shake your head with a teary daze in your bright eyes. Yes, the lust was getting to you. And as he rolled his hips against you with a strength and force only he possessed, he realized it was getting to his head as well - more rapidly so as he heard your stifled, confused little moan.

- "Or do you want something more? Is that why you've been looking with those hungry eyes at me these past months? Is that why you're more focused on staring at my body than learning proper combat?" Another roll - another moan from your innocent, untouched rosy lips. It sent such delicious ripples of pleasure down his spine.

- "Do you truly want to know how a man feels? Do you think you're prepared for that?" Your spine arched painfully against him - and Zed didn't waste the opportunity to wrap his strong arm around your body, biting down almost painfully on your shoulder.

- You were a shivering mess in his arms, almost crazy with lust and desire.

- And nothing had ever felt more like home than the moment when he filled you so deeply with his cock, driving into you like a man dying of thirst - or the moment you rested your head on his shoulder, wrapped in his warmth and security. Safe. Home.

- He was your home.

- At that point, Zed knew he couldn't let you go. Not until you would push him away mercilessly.

- Until then, he would always be by your side.

- In lovemaking, Zed is a very dominant man. He enjoys your innocence and youth. He enjoys how small you are or how well you fit in his arms. There's nothing he adores more than holding your hands above your head or behind your back, fucking you roughly into the soft and almost luxurious covers of his bed.

- There's nothing he enjoys more than hearing your almost pained moans, feeling you quiver in intense, almost overwhelming pleasure.

- He is quite a large man - but by the time he gives in to your desire, you would be more than ready for him. He always takes his time with foreplay, prolonging it and frustrating you to no end.

- He adores edging you. Bringing you to the brink of orgasm time after time after time - only to offer you, with his cock, the satisfaction you desire.

- You will never feel lacking when it comes to your sex life. And while you do have your own problems, like every couple, Zed has enough wisdom and experience to deal with them in a mature and calm manner - and to show you the way to do so as well.

[roanniom]

Hey Issa, my sweet honey bun! I don’t send many requests to people, so bear with me. I’ll forever wait for the day you write Kylo, but until then I’ll throw this one at you for Charlie. I had a wander through the prompt list, and I kinda liked “I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.” with Charlie being all protective of reader, unsure if she reciprocates his feelings. And because I’m a garbage can of filth, I also loved “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” if you wanted to move into smut. I hope this gets the creative juices flowing? Take your time, no pressure ever! 💕💕💕

@paper-n-ashes as you know I have been holding onto this and chipping away at it steadily for FOREVER so I can get it just right for you, so I hope you enjoy it, my love <3

Push

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word Count: 6,862

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, PIV sex / unprotected sex, light light light choking (not even really), mention of infidelity (just canon from Marriage Story plot), a lil post-divorce angst/lack of confidence

The above photo is Charlie Barber, 1-year post divorce. He’s been working out as a form of anger management and because Henry, over many late night phone conversations, has shared his new love of hiking, a pastime he’s picked up since living in LA. Charlie plans to take Henry hiking on the Appalachian trail next summer break and wants to be on tip top shape to keep up with his enthusiastic son.

He’s been to therapy. Learning more about what went wrong in his marriage, but more specifically learning about how he can become a better person in the aftermath. How infidelity and self-interest were born of a deep-seated need for a love that he was not receiving. A love that was no closer to him prior to his indiscretions but all the same rendered unreachable as a result. He’s given himself time to grieve the man he’d thought himself to be. Because that is what had died with his marriage - not Charlie Barber himself. But the Charlie Barber he’d built in his mind. A man limited by support that came with conditions, love that came with caveats. That Charlie was a father and a husband. He was often suppressed, wound tight, on edge.

This Charlie is a father and a man. He is free to celebrate his own success without fear of wounding nearby egos. He’s limited only by what he feels he deserves. And granted sometimes those self-imposed limitations can really hold him down, as they did when he vowed not to jump into any further entanglements - affairs or otherwise - in the time immediately following his divorce. But that limitation was ultimately beneficial. It gave him space to be alone - with himself, for himself. He was able to finally see his own flaws with his own eyes instead of having them recited back to him by another, as if through a crude, second hand reflection. And in seeing these flaws, he also saw the virtues. Charlie was actually starting to like himself again.

And this is when he meets you.

You storm into his life with an energy he doesn’t recognize, introduced at a party by a friend of a friend, filling his senses with your too-loud-laughter and too-bright-eyes. In many ways that’s how he sees you: too much. Your enthusiasm makes you appear too young, though in truth you’re not that much younger than him. Your smile makes you appear too beautiful, though in truth there are often much more conventionally attractive women in the room at any given time.

“Charlie. Charlie Barber,” Charlie mutters as he shakes your hand. Its warm in his larger one and he’s suddenly a little self-conscious of the fact that he’d been holding his sweating scotch on the rocks just moments before the contact.

“Hello Charlie-Charlie Barber,” you reply with a massive grin, shaking his hand back vigorously and with seemingly no reaction to its clamminess. “The famous director, I assume?”

Charlie clocks the quirk of your eyebrow. A tease. A social cue he’s not used to. Not these days. He looks down at his worn tennis shoes, all too aware all at once of the way they dress down his sweater and jeans. He feels rumpled next to you and he’s not sure he likes it. You’re too put together.

You’re too honest, too fearless, too open to new things. Though Charlie’s beginning to grow, your presence reminds him of how stunted he’d been in his marriage. How the same old restaurants, the same old clothes, the same old glass of the same old scotch had become items of comfort for him, talismans of a previous life that he clung to for some semblance of familiarity. Around you, however, those same old things looks dull and uninspired. Quite the opposite of you.

You are the one to ask him out, though he’s not even really aware that it’s a date at all when he arrives. That’s how much he doesn’t see you coming. His affair had been one of convenience. An opportunity to blow off excess steam, and a pretty disappointing one at that, with neither party really find what they were chasing. His marriage had grown cold long before it had ended. All of this to say that Charlie wasn’t very familiar with warmth. With interest that occurred in the light of day, and attention that was given without anything sought in return.

You’re halfway through lunch before you realize that he doesn’t understand your intentions. So you explain them to him. Clear and empty of any pretense. You are attracted to him and interested in getting to know him further. It’s simple, really. He’s shocked by your openness and the absence of any games. In another life he’d once assumed that a relationship without strife, without agony, without strategic tug of war would be one without passion. However, as he soon learns while taking you out on the second date, that he couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Over dinner this time he finds himself getting lost in your micro-expressions. Finds his eyes lingering on the animated way you gesture, finds his words getting twisted in his tongue as your gaze weighs on him, expectant and waiting for a response to some question. His bodily responses to your attention are no less potent in the absence of angst. In fact, he is surprised to find that his yearning practically triples when you part ways and he realizes not once had he been made to feel like he had to prove something, or fight, or challenge.

He learns over time that you challenge him in other ways. Challenge him when it comes to picking restaurants outside his comfort zone. Challenge him by dragging him, mid-lunch date, on a shopping trip with you, a trip where you gently help him to finally replace the worn out tennis shoes to which he’d been clinging. Challenge him by laughing with him, not at him, even when the subject of the humor is himself. Your laughter is lighter, more carefree, than he is used to. Then again, he’s not used to being around someone like you.

He kisses you after the third date – the lunch-turned-shopping trip. It’s quick and it’s light, on the curb before an intersection on the East Side, right before you both are about to walk in separate directions. You say nothing when he pulls away. Just smile and turn on your heel, already headed to your next destination. It drives Charlie crazy over the next few days. Not because he assumes you have some hidden agenda. On the contrary, he’s horrified that your interior thoughts match your exterior actions. You have been nothing but honest with him. It is Charlie who has been oscillating wildly in his mind. Between thoughts of how much it might hurt if you turn out to be too good to be true and thoughts of how much he’d love to feel your body on his. To explore the mouth you use so effortlessly to tease him, to compliment him, to charm him. You speak kindness like pleasantries, as if affirmations and praise were as easy to dole out as a cheery “good morning” on a stress-free Saturday. Charlie wants to know what you’re like on a Saturday. Away from the bustle of the city. Away from the common friends and the crowded shops and restaurants that have buffered all of your encounters.

But Charlie’s still afraid.

On your fourth date Charlie is more reserved when you arrive at the restaurant. You break the ice by pointing out that the formality of your dates is beginning to feel silly.

“Maybe it’s the fact that the tables have tablecloths,” you joke, swirling your pasta around a fork. “Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never repeatedly had meals with someone I wasn’t already in a relationship with.”

Charlie prickles at the implication, taking a labored swallow of ice water. He doesn’t want to comment on the relationship part of your sentiment so he chooses something more neutral.

“Should I remind you that two of these meals have been at your suggestion and you did, in fact, also plan them as meals.” He relaxes a bit when you laugh heartily at that, relieved that the conversation doesn’t get any more dicey.

“Touché,” you reply. Then you lean forward and whisper conspiratorially at him across the small table. He feels himself lean in, curious but also looking for a chance to just get closer in proximity. He wishes he’d had the courage to sit next to you rather than across from you when he’d first sat down. “Feeling adventurous enough to let me pick where we go after this tonight?”

And Charlie feels adventurous. Adventurous as he lets you whisk him across town and to your favorite arcade bar. Adventurous as he passes you a large handful of quarters he got from the little machine at the front, only to grasp your fist in his when he miscalculates how much of his handful you’d be capable of taking, narrowly avoiding a massive spill of loose change on the floor. Adventurous as he orders a couple of beers and lets you show him your favorite game, Burger Time – a silly little maze game where you collect burger ingredients. Adventurous as he shows you his favorite game, which is pretty much any pinball machine known to man.

“Yours looks cooler than mine,” you huff, walking over to the pinball machine he’s playing once you abandon the one that was definitely broken. Or at least that’s how you justify so many consecutive, immediate losses. Charlie laughs and pulls back the plunger but doesn’t release, effectively pausing his game.

“You wanna try it?” Charlie ushers you in front of him and puts your hand on the plunger beneath his, careful not to release it in the process. “The key is anticipating where the ball will go. It’s all about patterns after a while.”

“Then why does it seem so random?” you ask, looking up at him over your shoulder.

“You just haven’t played enough yet. Over time you can predict what will happen if the ball hits a certain corner. Where it will go if it ricochets juuust right at the last second.”

“Sounds fake but I’ll let you prove it to me,” you say with a laugh, focusing your attention back on the machine.

“We’ll let go in one…two…three.” When you feel the pressure of his hand let up you let go as well, letting him guide both your hands immediately to the buttons on the side of the machine.

For as great as his theory of pinball predictability is, he probably underestimates your ability to suck. Because you do, hard. But you laugh the whole way through, and you never quit. Never turn to him in frustration asking to do something else or even to leave. Instead you keep feeding quarters into the machine and bringing your hands back under Charlie’s on the machine. And no matter how shitty you are, you always at least try to focus.

Charlie, meanwhile, is having a very hard time focusing on anything that isn’t your body. His hips bracket your ass in this helpful position he’s adopted, and he feels your pressure against his pelvis with every enthusiastic wriggle and little jump of frustration that you take in response to the game. When he makes the unfortunate mistake to look down over your shoulder at one point he’s met with a direct view of your cleavage, exposed as it is in your low-cut blouse. Charlie begins to sweat and it has nothing to do with how packed the arcade is or with the exertion of gaming. When he remembers that the arcade is also a bar, he excuses himself to get more beer, hoping that one will cool him off and cool him down.

You dazzle him with a smile thrown over your shoulder when he approaches with the two fresh bottles, and he’s not prepared for how the sight of your face almost knocks him back on his ass.

“Charlie! I did better this time!” He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, handing you your beer which you sip gratefully.

“I lasted a few more minutes than last time,” you elaborate proudly. “So I’d say that means I now qualify as a pinball wizard.”

“Move over Elton John,” Charlie says with a smirk. You slap him in the shoulder and immediately engage him in a spirited discussion of whether the Elton John movie version of “Pinball Wizard” was better than The Who’s version from the original album. However, after a few minutes Charlie realizes he’s lost in thought. Lost in your voice. Lost in your expressions. Lost in you.

When it finally comes time to leave the arcade, the night drawing much later than it had on your previous nighttime date, Charlie’s scared he’ll be lost without you. The two of you walk together for a couple of blocks before you reach that similar intersection. The place where you part ways.

“I think we really turned around that formality thing, don’t you?” you ask him, turning to Charlie and leaning back against the column of a pedestrian sign. Charlie moves into your space, swallowing his hesitation.

“I don’t know, I began to feel a little unworthy when you ascended past the role of pinball wizard.”

“Oh did I get a promotion?” You ask, tipping your head back so you can look up at him as he steps closer.

“The word wizard conjures up images of wizened old man,” Charlie says dismissively, as if that clears up everything.

“So if you’re saying I don’t remind you of a wrinkled old Merlin – to which might I say, shocker – then what exactly is my new title.”

“One that fits you inside and out.” Charlie braces a hand against the column above your head, his other in his pocket. His head dips down so that it’s closer to your face despite your height difference. You feel warm despite the slight chill in the air.

“And that would be Pinball….?” you prompt.

“Goddess,” he completes the title before pressing his lips to yours. His hands remain on the column and in his pocket until you reach forward and grab a fistful of his sweater, pulling him to you. Then his hands are at your waist, pushing you back into the column. His tongue is in your mouth and your hands are in his hair and he can’t breathe. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to suffocate, wants to asphyxiate on you and the way he feels so tethered to this moment, this intersection, this place where you cannot part ways.

When you break apart to, in fact, breathe, your chest heaves and your smile is radiant.

“As far as kisses goodnight go, I’d say that was top tier,” you say on a laugh. Suddenly Charlie’s throat is constricting and he has to fight his facial muscles to keep from frowning as his hands tighten on your waist.

“That wasn’t a kiss goodnight. Not yet.”

“Any longer and it’ll be a kiss good morning, sir. Have you seen the time?” Your tone is joking. You call people ‘sir’ all the time. It’s a weird quirk of yours, like calling someone dude or pal. But Charlie can feel himself choking on the word, as well as the implications of a ‘kiss good morning.’ All of a sudden he feels like if he could have only one more thing before dying, that’s what he’d ask for. But then he kicks himself internally for being so fucking dramatic and he fiddles with the hem of your shirt.

“Exactly. It’s late.

You survey him from under your eyelashes with a small smile.

“I’ve made this walk many times.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’ve made this walk in the dark many times.”

“I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.”

Charlie’s heart clenches. Before he can overthink, you’ve ducked out of his hold, grasped his hand and started pulling him down the street.

“C’mon Charlie, hurry up. You’d keep a goddess waiting?” you toss back at him over your shoulder. But in truth it was taking all of Charlie’s self control and the fact that he didn’t know the way to your place to keep him from throwing you over his shoulder and breaking into a full sprint.

~*~

Your place is exactly like you. Eclectic, warm, inviting. There is a moment, as you pull off your coat and turn away to place it and Charlie’s on a coat rack, when Charlie feels much too big for the space. Like he’s some kind of giant invading the home of a sweet little wood nymph. But then his little wood nymph is grabbing him by the front of the shirt and dragging him to a bedroom and the worries fade right out the window.  

At first Charlie is gentle with you. His hands ghost over your body as you kiss him beside your bed. When you push him to sit down on the edge of the mattress and step between his open legs to kiss him with a different height dynamic his heart just about jumps clear out of his chest. He hasn’t done this – hasn’t touched or been touched – in so long. The affair had been transactional, just the mechanical motions of sexual gratification. Sex with Nicole, before it stopped, had been even colder, almost as if she had been begrudgingly completing some unwelcome chore.

You, however, are like fire beneath Charlie’s fingers. Your skin, your lips – everything is so warm it feels like you’re too hot to touch. But Charlie would rather risk burning up than to not become accustomed to the feel, the shape, the substance of you. He smooths over your body with a reverential softness, his muscles tense with restraint so as to keep from accidentally pushing you too far too fast. To keep from handling the way that, deep down, he desperately needs.

When your lips suddenly leave his, his brow furrows in frustrations. Before he can open his eyes a soothing finger smooths the furrow away, sliding down the bridge of his nose to press against his kiss-swollen lips. Charlie opens his eyes with a question present in them and you cock your head to the side.

“You’re tense. Like you’re holding back.” The statement isn’t accusatory but it isn’t a question. Charlie takes a shaky breath, unsure about how much he should say. Would his desperation read as too dramatic? Too undesirable? Would his enthusiasm come across as pushy or dominating? His brow must furrow again because your hand moves back up, finger pressing out the wrinkles. He shrugs.

“It’s been…a while for me. I didn’t want to come across as too…much.”

You laugh then and yet again Charlie is struck by how strange it is that you can laugh in his face directly in response to something he’s said without making him feel like you are laughing at him.

“I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me, Charlie.”

“You’re sure about that?” Charlie huffs out with a little chuckle. You give him a smirk and say your next words up against his lips.

“Try me.”

You probably were expecting him to require more cajoling. You probably were expecting him to gradually ease into something more. But Charlie takes you by surprise, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him, rolling so that you’re laid out beneath his body, all the while maintaining hungry possession of your mouth. His body finds its place between your legs and you gasp at the feeling of how huge he is. How hard and insistent against your softness. He drinks from you like a man whose thirst can not be quenched. His hands find purchase on your waist and he squeezes. So hard you’re sure you’ll bruise. You smile against his mouth with the realization that you look forward to watching them bloom later.

Since Charlie seems too preoccupied with groping and making out with you, it is you who eventually takes the next step, beginning to pop open the buttons on your blouse one by one. When Charlie feels the motion of your hands between your bodies he ultimately pulls back to investigate, mouth dropping open at the slow reveal of the lingerie you’re wearing beneath. His hand shoots out to caress the delicate lace of your bra, teasingly not applying any pressure to the breast beneath.

“Do you wear things like this often?” Charlie’s voice is already rough as he asks this. You shrug.

“Whenever I want to feel sexy.”

“You wanted to feel sexy while out with me?” Charlie asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“You made me feel sexier than the lace, Mr. Barber,” you say with a smile before leaning up to capture his lower lip between your teeth. He groans and moves to practically swallow you whole. You’re entirely foreign to him. Enthusiasm, amusement, and enjoyment bundled up into one devastatingly sexy package. There’s no shame in your movements, no angst in your eyes. Just humor. Only an unabashed pursuit of pleasure. And if it’s pleasure you want, it’s pleasure you’ll get.

Charlie now aids you in the process of removing the rest of your garments, so it goes much quicker. When you move to pull off your bra, however, he catches your wrist in his massive hand.

“No…can these stay on?” Your eyebrows shoot up but you notice the way that Charlie is gazing at you with eyes slightly hazy and tongue running over his lips.

“This doing it for you, Charlie?” you tease, shimmying a bit. Charlie’s answer is sincere regardless as he dips his head down to sample the plush skin at the line of your cleavage.

“You have no idea.”

“So you’re a lingerie man, huh?” When you ask he stops to think for a second because, truly, he had never considered himself that way before. He’d never had any reason to. Sure lingerie models in magazines were hot, but it’s not a specific fantasy he’d ever explored previously.

But the sight of you here, strategically covered in lace and laid out beneath him pretty as a picture has him so hard he feels like a teenager unable to control himself. So, as you had urged him, he doesn’t.

“I might be. But really, I’m just enamored by these tits.” His teeth sink into your flesh and you sigh, especially when his tongue comes out to lave warmly at the spot. He moves down your body then, peppering kisses to the exposed skin of your stomach, sliding until your inner thighs rest against the sides of his face and his hands dip below you to squeeze your ass. “Although I feel like this might end up being my favorite part.” He says this last part directly into your clothed cunt, his lips just barely ghosting over the fabric with his words.

You wiggle a bit in his grasp, loving the answering way his fingers dig into your soft flesh. Your fingers card into his lush hair, tugging lightly at the roots, a feeling that shoots through his body and straight to his rock hard member. The way he discretely ruts against the mattress in response does not go unnoticed by you, so you drop a hand under his chin to tip his face back up to look at you.

“Will you fuck me, Charlie?” Your voice is clear and bright. Not playing coy and requiring any convincing. Just asking for something you want. And the hunger in your eyes seems unmistakable, though it still feels to good to be true. Charlie drops his gaze back down to the wet spot forming in your panties before looking back up and practically pouting.

“I’d like to taste you,” he counters. A brilliant smile breaks out across your face at the sound of that but you shake your head.

“There’ll be time for that later,” you argue, tugging on his shoulder to get him back on top of you. “If you don’t get inside me right now I’ll die.”

Charlie almost misses that last part because he’s still stuck on the first part. There’ll be time for that later. The possibility of later squeezes at Charlie’s hard and it’s only after a few echoing seconds that he’s able to process the rest of your statement with a delayed, choking laugh.

“Is someone getting dramatic on me?”

“Not yet, but I will if - ”

“If I don’t get inside you?” Charlie completes the statement in the exact moment a hand drops between your thighs and presses against the soaked fabric covering your slit. You inhale sharply.

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who was pushy in bed,” Charlie says good naturedly, swiping his fingers up the line of you to end with a swirl over where he assumed – correctly – your clit was. You tilt your pelvis to maximize his pressure before surging up to kiss him long and hard.

“I’m actually not. Not really,” you say breathlessly when you finally pull away and drop back down onto the pillows. You stretch luxuriously, almost like a kitten in the sun under his piercing gaze, the movement of your hips bumping his hand to rub you even better. Running your hands up and down the big, strong arms that cage you in and support him, you kiss his shoulder. “I’ve been hoping you would be.”

Suddenly your wrists are being pinned down above your head by one of Charlie’s hands. He’s got your legs open wide with his body sinking against you, hard and heavy.

“Pushy? You want me to be pushy?”

You grin big and wide at him.

“Yeah. Take charge like I know you want – oh!” You’re cut off by the welcome sensation of stimulation as Charlie’s hand drops inside your panties to slide around in your waiting slick. Without the barrier of the fabric between you, the feeling of your velvety slipperiness is enough to make him loose a growl.

He’s not hesitating and he’s not teasing anymore. Charlie has been waiting for this moment. He’s been waiting to care. Been waiting to feel. And what’s heightening the experience even more is the look on your face, the way your lips are parted and the way you gaze up at him longingly, expectantly. Providing all the evidence he needs to prove that you want this too. He wants you and you want him – what a novel idea. There are no angles or obligations, but also no shame or secrecy.

“Well if you wanted me to take charge you should have said so earlier,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking a bit as he dips two fingers inside your soaking cunt, not bothering to start with one. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. The stretch is a lot, but it is everything. Charlie sees the enjoyment register on your face, discomfort melting away almost immediately, and he begins to pull them slowly in and out to massage your walls.

“Maybe – ahh – maybe I should have,” you reply.

“Should I have caused a scene in the arcade?”

“Yes – fuck!” During an inward thrust Charlie curls his fingers up this time, rubbing against that spot in your upper wall that previous guys barely even knew was there. Before you know it he’s adding a third finger and you’re beside yourself. Charlie is elated to see how easily your body responds to his ministrations, how free you are with your reactions. He leans to down to suck a mark over your collar bone while his thumb meets your clit in tandem with his other thrusting fingers.

“You knew what you were doing when you kept rubbing that pretty little ass back into me while I taught you pinball.” His words rumbling against the skin of your throat.

“You made it so easy.”

“And you made it so hard,” Charlie counters, humor very present in his voice. You gasp out a laugh and try to tug your wrists from his grasp, but he doesn’t let you. Just keeps you pinned down as he continues to finger fuck you nice and slow.

“So impatient. I should have known. You’ve been impatient all night, haven’t you?” You whine out affirmations and screw your eyes shut as the pressure starts to build to a crescendo. Charlie picks up speed, his voice growing deeper as he continues. “Wanted me to fuck you on the pinball machine in front of everyone, didn’t you?”

You gasp and toss your head back against the pillows at that, hips bucking involuntarily. Charlie’s nose glides along the perimeter of your jaw, breathing in the scent of you as you fall apart. He’s never felt so powerful as he does with the feeling of your muscles tensing up under his fingertips. Never had the inspiration or audience for such language, but as you shiver and respond to his words, a surge of pride fills him and all he wants to do is dangle you over the edge over and over again.

“Charlie…” His name is a whimper when it falls from your lips. You’re so close. He feels it. So he pushes his fingers deep inside you, curling up with the motion, just as he sweeps one, two, three final circles into the throbbing bud of your clit.

You crest and you break against the tide of your orgasm, plummeting down from such heights you didn’t know you could reach from simple fingering. But there’s nothing simple about Charlie, the man who had been broken and put back together, only to find you, the universe’s overly generous reward for his perseverance.

Charlie’s slightly (unfocused) eyes focus on your heaving chest as you finally descend from the orgasm, but you’re the one to break the spell. Impatient is the perfect way to describe you as you wrap your legs around his middle and hook your ankles to trap him against you. You lunge up to arrest his mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, but just enough to distract him so that you can pull your wrists from his grasp. Once free you push him gently to the side so that you’re both rolling over, mouths still attached. He comes to rest on his back with you straddling him.

Charlie blinks up at you, taking in the way your breasts bounce in their bra cups as you busy yourself with the task of removing his clothes. He hadn’t even realized he was still in them until you began unbuttoning and pulling and pushing. Your impatience is clear once again in the way you divest him of the frustratingly excessive material and he finally gets the memo that he should help you.

With his pants and underwear pulled off and discarded, as well as the button up shirt that you had come to love as his signature look, you rest your palms flat on the plane of his chest. You’re still in your lingerie, as he had requested, only it is now beautiful askew. Your breasts now strain out of the cups, having been jostled into almost spilling out with your change of position. Your panties are sopping wet and stretched from his vigorous fingering and the evidence of your orgasm.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But you become even more beautiful when you wrap your hand around his aching cock, lifting up on your knees as you do so. Your fists slides up and down, up and down and he watches it, mesmerized, until you lean forward to catch his eye.

“What should I do, Charlie?”

Your face is soft and open. You’re asking for him to continue taking the lead. And Charlie realizes right then and there that he will never want to disappoint you. Snapping out his daze he lets his fingers dig into your flesh where his hands curl around your hips.

“Sit down on my cock, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The term of endearment is so sugary. He’s called his son that, but never a lover, casual or otherwise, and never during the first time. Your face, however, lights up and you do as you’re told, sinking down onto his long, hard length. The impact draws a moan from both of your throats followed by gasped phrases spoken over one another.

“You’re so big!”

“You’re so tight!”

You both laugh at the overlap but laughter turns to groans as you roll your hips experimentally. After a few moments of this, it appears that Charlie becomes the impatient one finally.

“Ride me,” he spits through gritted teeth. Your nails imprint half moons in his skin as you clench at his tone, not quite hearing the words. Charlie sucks air through his teeth at the squeeze.

“What?”

“Ride me. I need you to fucking ride me.” You can tell that he’s trying to remain cool and collected, but his brow is furrowed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

So you do as he says. You lift up and drop down, feeling the length of his cock slide through your sheath with a speed that you set, establishing a rhythm that has your toes curling. You let out a particularly shameless moan and Charlie opens his eyes. They widen immediately upon seeing that you’re clutching and squeezing at your own breast with one hand while grabbing onto his hip to stabilize you with the other. The sight alone of your face, screwed up in pleasure, flips a switch in Charlie and suddenly he is thrusting up into you without mercy.

“Charlie!” you cry out, both from surprise at the increased jostling and from how tremendously good it feels.

“I should have fucked you in the arcade. I would have if I had known how good you feel.”

“I – oh fuckfuck – knew,” you barely get out. Charlie hoists you back so that he’s sitting up with his back against the headrest now. The position gives him more leverage and power so he can lift you up and down his cock, bouncing you now with a rhythm that vibrates through your entire being.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Charlie asks, engulfing one of your breasts in his huge hand. The added sensation is perfect, but not quite enough. You wonder if you can coax more.

“I knew you would feel good.” You reach down to the base of his cock, encircling it as much as possible with it’s girth, and fisting upward just as he pulls you up, therefore maximizing the squeeze on his length. Charlie inhales abruptly and drops you back down.

“Little Miss Know-it-all, are you?” His voice is harsh and it sends a thrill throughout your body. Before you can respond, you’re pushed and yanked around, losing your grip with the motion.

“What - ?” Charlie’s hand on your throat quiets you. Not because he’s truly squeezing, but because the solid warmth of his hand causes you to squeak your way to silence. His adjustments now find you pulled up to the edge of the bed, legs spread and pushed back, with Charlie standing between them. Bent over, he grounds himself with one hand on your throat and one on your hip, positioning his tip back at the entrance to your weeping cunt. You expect him to slam his hips forward, to impale you with his cock, but he pauses with the swollen head just inside your folds.

“This okay?”

This power and control, the way he is manipulating your body for your pleasure and his own – he loves it. It’s so new and yet something he now wonders how he ever did without. But he also feels the need to check in and make sure that you’re still with him. The nod you give, the sparkle in your eye, and the quirk of your lips is all it takes to convince him and then he is plowing forward, slamming himself back in again and again. You let out a full throated moan and Charlie revels in the way your eyes roll all the way back.

He wonders what else will make you do that. What else will make your eyes roll back and your toes curl and your teeth sink into your bottom lip? He wonders, as his hand presses softly into the contours of your throat, what it would feel like to squeeze a little harder, and if the pressure would make you even more desperate for him. He wonders if you like a little pain with your pleasure, as he has long suspected he might enjoy, though has never truly had the chance to confirm.

But there will be time for that.

So now, he does his best to focus in on the sounds you release. Sounds of delight and surprise and sensual thrill. He coaxes you to your second climax and you don’t fight it. You don’t demure or wait for him or hesitate. Instead you unapologetically allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure he’s built for you, seizing and quaking beneath him without shame.

The sight and feeling are so beautiful he can’t help but follow soon after, pulling out and allowing releasing all over the bra and panties you had so generously left on for him. The sight of his seed landing on the delicate lace, as you lay beneath him fucked out and smiling, causes another tremor to rock through him, and he finds that he’s still cumming long after he usually would have finished.

Charlie finds himself in a daze in the immediate aftermath of his release. He looks around for something to clean you with, and when you notice you point out a box of tissues on the desk. After he’s done his best to wipe you up, you give him a kiss on the cheek. The mundane intimacy of the act makes him blush all the way to the hidden tips of his ears. It is absurd because you had just had sex, however the press of your lips to his skin seemed to seal the deal. This was not transactional. It was something more, Charlie can’t help but think to himself as you get up from the bed and skip to the bathroom.

In your absence Charlie again registers the smallness of your room. How large – out of place, maybe – he is amongst your delicate things. He pulls on his underwear and sits back down on the mattress, unsure.

Unsure about your expectations. Unsure about whether or not you’d want him to leave. Or stay.

Before he can make a decision in either direction you are bounding back into the room, a smile on your face. Your face is freshly washed and you’re in a faded, oversized tank top, having divested yourself of your abused lingerie. Charlie swallows at the sight of your breasts, free and outlined beneath the soft fabric. He adjusts his hands in his lap. No need to let you see him getting worked up again so soon like some horny teenager. You don’t seem to notice, instead slipping easily into bed beside him, shimmying under the covers and patting the space beside you so that he does the same.

So stay he will.

Once you’re both comfortable and situated, you slide into his arms, drawing them around your body without a question or seemingly a second though. Much like the way you’d slid into his life, Charlie thinks ruefully, nuzzling his face into the top of your head as you tuck in beneath his chin.

“Charlie?”

“Hm?”

“I know you always go to that diner on 15th for breakfast,” you begin, and Charlie’s heart spasms. Both at the thought of breakfast with you and the fact that you so casually know details about him. About his likes and his habits. He pulls you in a little tighter and nods his head.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I show you a new place in the morning? I think you’ll really like it.”

And Charlie laughs. Because of course you’d want to push him out of his comfort zone. It’s what you do – push him to try new things. Push him to do things he wouldn’t usually consider. Push him to be the man he’d been working so hard for the past year to be.

“Yes, but I’m not changing the way I order my eggs,” he grumbles with humor, kissing the crown of your head. “Not yet.”

~*~

The next morning you order first, and you’ve never had breakfast with Charlie before, so when he asks for the same dish, you can’t possibly know that this is his first time ordering eggs Florentine.

As you both laugh and eat and sip coffee in the outdoor seating area of the quaint café you’d picked, fingers intertwined between you on the wrought iron table, you also can’t know that this is the happiest Charlie has felt in ages.

But he makes it his mission, right there and then, to do everything in his power to make you feel the same.

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @celestiasin @tlcwrites @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @edencherries @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @soggywhore @transparentmeoo @leia-suns @alpha-lobito

[crescentsteel]

When in Brazil - Beach

pairing: Oikawa x f!reader genre: SMUT wc: 7.8k (i am deceast bye) warnings: fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, edging

Let me bore you to death zzz

I promise the last chapter will be exciting (in my head it is at least) :(

Prior to this series, I have zero knowledge about Brazil. So if there's anything sus somewhere there as I describe Rio, pls be kind to me.

No beta for this one once again uwu

Lmk if you wanna be part of taglist

Sunshine || masterlist

In the hustle and bustle of a busy city as Rio de Janeiro, one finds themselves having their time stolen away from them as they get swept up in all the craziness the place has to offer.

That’s you, except the craziness is in the form of a never ending cycle of wake up, work, then go home.

You’re just glad a certain orange-haired boy joins you from time to time to ease your thirst for something exciting.

Yet sometimes, you crave the silence, the quiet, to be alone and actually enjoy it. Living in one of the most tourist-infested places in the world, you rarely find yourself in such a situation.

That’s why you dragged your feet outside even if your clock tells you it’s 2:48 in the morning.

You woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. Rather than waste your time away in bed, you grab a can of beer from your fridge and decide to make the most out of it.

The thing about Rio — it’s almost never silent. Even at this time, you can hear the soft beat of music from the local bars and clubs alongside the sound of the sea right across the streets where they’re located. The shores of Copacabana, being the most famous beach in the city, are never empty as well.

But what good is being a local if you don’t know places you can hide from the crowd?

A tad bit more than kilometer away from Copacabana is Posto 1 in Praio de Leme, a beach not as crowded as the others.

With the absence of people flocking here and there, you easily make your way to the beach, almost prancing on your steps for the slight tang of freedom and muted noise you haven’t had in forever.

Despite the stroll being an all-familiar route you take, it feels blissfully different. And when you arrive at Posto 1, you suddenly feel grateful for living in Rio. You take your slippers off and feel the sand beneath the soles of your feet. The smell of salt water permeates the air while you welcome the dainty breeze brought by the sea.

You savor each step, taking your time to reach a certain spot you consider yours as the darkness of the dims the bright liveliness of the city.

Luck must be in your side as you find the place still as you remember it the last time you went there. Trees surround the area abundantly compared to the more famous beaches in the city.

Lifeguard stations that separate the area covered by each beach look like mini lighthouses made of white stone. Posto 1, being the first station, is situated beside rocky shore that signals the other end of the beach.

In between Posto 1 and the clump of rocks, that’s your secret spot. The station blocks the view of the rest of the shoreline, the trees behind you conceal you from the buildings across the street, and the rocks perfectly completes the set up as it eludes you to think that you’re hidden from the tropical urban jungle that is Rio.

You pick a spot near a tree so you can lean on something when you sit down. You unknot the canga on your hip and sprawl it on the sand. You seat yourself comfortably and cross your stretched legs. You open your can of beer and savor the first taste as you stare in the vast darkness

You don’t know how long you’ll stay there, but you don’t care. You have the day off tomorrow and you don’t mind if you���re there long enough that the sun will rise on you.

Damn. You should’ve brought at least two cans of beer for this.

However, your paradise of being alone was quickly interrupted when you hear coarse footsteps approaching somewhere behind you. Shortly after, a figure emerges from the trees, much to your displeasure.

He notices your presence too as he looks your way as soon as he comes to your view.

“Hi!” The stranger greets you all too friendly, which adds to your irritation. You haven’t even enjoyed your time alone and you’re already disrupted. What’s worse is that it’s not even a local. It’s a freaking tourist, probably Japanese based on his features.

“Sorry, but the beach is closed at this time,” you announce in an amicable manner despite being annoyed, something working on a diner has instilled in you for years.

“Oh? But you’re here,” he responds with an easy-going smile that pisses you off even more. You should’ve spoken in Portugese. Maybe then, he would’ve left you alone. “Yeah. It’s not open for tourists at night,” you lie with a fake smile, still hoping that he’ll leave.

However, he does the opposite. He crosses the few steps away from you and crouches to get to your eye level. You stare at his face for a few seconds and realize that he’s actually attractive — brown hair, brown eyes, and a dazzling smile.

Still, you came here to be alone. You don’t want the company of another, no matter how good looking they are.

“Can’t you make an exception for one tourist?” He flashes you a grin that you’re pretty sure would sway a lot of women when directed at them. Maybe you too on a different night. But not this one.

“I’d be honest, mr tourist. I prefer to be alone. If you go past that station, you’ll find a lot of space for yourself.”

He purses his lips. “But it seems more fun here, ms local.”

How is this place fun? There’s literally nothing here. That’s why you claimed this place for your own because people rarely go here when the night deepens.

He’s most likely looking for someone to bother and entertain himself, as expected of tourists.

You sigh when you realize he’ll probably keep pestering you until you give in. You take one sip of your beer and turn to him.

“You better hold one hell of a conversation, tourist. Or else I’ll be the one leaving,” you announce with a deadpan voice.

He chuckles lightly before sitting on the sand. He extends one leg on the side while he bends up the other so he can rest his elbow on his knee. “I’m sure I can manage,” he declares with unshakeable confidence that makes you scoff a bit.

The guy is full of himself. If he wasn’t very pleasing to look at, you would’ve left already.

You return your gaze to the dark waters to distract yourself from his presence. “I’d offer you a beer, but I only brought one.” You say out of courtesy as you lean back to the tree and try to relax despite the stranger beside you.

“I won’t mind sharing yours,” he responds casually.

You take one more sip and face his direction to hand him the drink in your hand. He grabs it with a smile and a wink that would’ve made you cringe if he didn’t look so damn good when he did it.

He puts the drink on his mouth and nips it casually. “So what’s a pretty local doing at the shore at this hour?”

You raise an eyebrow at the subtle flattery he included in his question. “Like I said, I wanted some time alone. Unfortunately for me though, a very rude tourist arrived a few minutes after I just settled down,” you eye him meaningfully which earns you a pout from him.

You almost want to laugh. What is up with this guy? He’s a bit weird, but in a charming kind of way. “What about you, tourist? What’re you doing out this late at night?”

“Jetlag. Our hotel’s just across the street and the people I’m with are already tired. I’m so bored,” he whines as he drinks again from your can before he hands it to you.

“So you decided to take a stroll in a completely foreign city?”

He feigns a surprised look. “Are you a fortune teller?”

“A witch, actually. Better leave now before I curse you,” you warn him with a straight face.

Not even fazed a bit, he meets your dead eyes with affable ones. “I don’t mind being cursed by you, ms. witch.”

You shrug off your shoulders, unaffected by the flattery. You’re used to it with the amount of foreigners hitting on you during tourist season. “You better decide what you’ll call me then,” you respond coldly.

“You really want to keep being strangers, huh?”

Something surfaces in his orbs that unnerves you, a glint that tells you there’s more to this man behind the pompous persona he’s purposely showing you.

“Uh-huh. Ms. local sounds fine to me.” Not that he seems dangerous or anything, but you don’t want to get to know him. You’d like to remain as strangers. This is just a small chat for you both to pass time. There’s no need for names when you already have a way to address each other.

“Alright then, ms local. Lets play a game.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What game?”

“A guessing game. The person who first gets three correct guesses about the other wins.”

“What does the winner get?” You ask with intrigue.

“Anything they want.”

You tap the can of beer dangling from your fingertips while you study him. What can he possibly ask of you if he wins? He looks friendly, but you can’t be too certain. He might ask for something like your number. You have no intentions of giving it to him and getting involved with a tourist. The most you can get from the is a one night stand and a “thank you for the experience” message, as if fucking a local completes their whole Rio trip.

He suddenly laughs. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for anything weird. I just want the tree you’re leaning at.”

You frown at him. “Seriously? There’s another tree over there.” You point a tree a few steps away from him.

“I want that one specifically,” he says firmly as he ignores where you’re looking at and eyes the trunk you’re leaning on.

“Okay then, tourist. If I win, will you leave?”

“Deal” he quickly agrees. “Go ahead, ms local. Ladies first.”

Without even thinking, you make your first guess. “You’re probably a model or an actor in Japan.”

He breaks into a wide smile at your hunch, which doesn’t tell you anything whether you were right or wrong. “You really think so?”

Did you get it wrong? He seems like someone who has a nightly skin care routine to make sure he doesn’t have any breakouts. His skin looks nicer than yours too. So it makes sense for him to be either of the two.

You don’t tell him that though. He looks like he’s well aware that he’s a pretty boy.

“I mean you do look nice. You’re tall and stuff,” you justify briefly.

He gives out a pleasant laugh that sounds way too rehearsed, like he’s been practicing it in case someone compliments him.

“I’m flattered, but no. Sorry!”

He doesn’t look sorry at all. “Actually, I’m a starter for a pro Volleyball team in Argentina,” he says with his face becoming a little bit more serious as it oozes with pride. You find it interesting — how he glorifies being an athlete. He does have the build for it, but he’s kinda too pretty to be a professional athlete.

Your thoughts suddenly go back to Shoyo now that he mentioned the sport.

“Oh oh oh wait,” your enthusiasm shoots up when a hilarious assumption hits you. “I’ll go again then you’ll get two turns after this,” you clear your throat before voicing out your thoughts.

“Let me guess. You traveled all the way from Japan to Argentina to pursue Volleyball,” you declare with all smiles despite how ridiculous it might have seemed to him. You could waste one guess to entertain yourself.

He stares at you wide-eyed with disbelief. “How did you know that?”

You gape at him in surprise. You were just goofing around with Shoyo’s story. You don’t expect that he’d have a similar story.

“For real?”

He nods. “Yeah. That was frighteningly accurate.”

Wow. What were the chances that you were actually right? What was just a ridiculous hunch was actually on point. Now, you’re far more entertained. You’ll ask for his name before you part ways and tell Shoyo about him. You don’t have a clue what the Volleyball scene is like in Japan so maybe somehow, they know each other.

He recovers after a quick while and regains his composure. “Okay, my turn. I’m guessing…,” he looks up as he scurries what guess he’ll make before his gaze lands back to you, “you’re into nice guys.”

You let out a scoff at his too safe of a guess. He must be frolicking when he appears to be thinking earlier because that’s kind of a no-brainer.

“Who isn’t?” You ask back sarcastically instead of confirming that he’s right.

“A lot of women actually,” he swiftly responds. “So that’s one for me. And I’m also guessing you don’t go out much.” This time he doesn’t pretend to be thinking and straight up tells you, as if he’s figured it out already earlier.

You squint at him. “How did you know?”

“You wouldn’t be out here at this time of the night if you did,” he cocks an eyebrow as he answers.

Shit. That’s two correct guesses off the bat. The stakes are not that high for you. You’ll just lose a back rest, but it unnerves you that he’s this astute. You just assumed that he’s nothing but good looks.

You put a little more effort to the game he initiated and thought of a hunch that’s very likely to be correct.

“Umm. I think you like beer,” you surmise. If he didn’t mind sharing one with a stranger, he must like it enough.

He purses his lips to the side and shakes his head. “Nope. I think it’s vile. Also, our fitness coach will chew me out if he finds out I’m drinking tonight.”

You furrow your brows together at what he just admitted. “Then why’d you ask for mine?”

“I wanted to look cool,” he confesses without shame which makes you palm your face.

“My turn.” You remove your hands away from your face and hope that he gets it wrong this time. You’re kinda enjoying the game and want to continue for a tiny bit more.

“It’s been a while since you got laid.”

It’s a staring contest between you after he utters it. He holds the same seemingly good-natured expression in his face despite the sexual nature of his statement. You, on the other hand, can’t suppress the frisky smirk that’s creeping up on the corner of your lips.

You roll your eyes and look away with the smirk still planted on your face.

He finally bares that certain wickedness you saw a glimpse of earlier, and he does it at the right time. He’s probably waiting for the moment you start getting drawn to him, and when you do, he lures you a step deeper into his trap.

You feel stupid for thinking this game is his way of small talk. It definitely isn’t. Yet, you find yourself taking the bait he set.

“Actually, I had a good fuck the other night,” you answer indifferently.

The look that surfaces on his face mirrors yours a while ago, except he doesn’t try to hide the sensual gleam in his eyes when flashes you a grin.

“Boyfriend?”

You suddenly miss the bitter taste of the beer so you drink again prior to answering, “Friend.”

The curve of his lips twitch up, evidently amused with your reply. “I didn’t think you were the type, ms local.”

“Why? You thought I was boring?” You question with haughty disdain from what he was implying.

He stretches his bent knee as he plants both palms on the sand and leans back a bit. “No. Just really uptight.”

Only because his company was unwelcomed, but you’re positive he’s aware of that so you don’t comment on his remark. You move on with and proceed to make your guess.

“Right. Okay, my turn.”

You’re absolutely sure of this one, so you go for it without hesitation.

“I think you’re trying to get me in bed.”

Oikawa doesn’t know if he’s going to give you a free pass on that one. You’re not entirely wrong, but you’re not totally right either.

He does want to fuck you. You’re hot and you’re as interesting as he thought you’d be. But he’s not trying to get you in bed, not yet at least. He hasn’t taken any action yet.

He was still treading carefully until you were no longer treating him like a bothersome stranger, which seems to be the case when you unfiltered your words and then willingly gave him intimate information about your sex life.

“Yeah,” he says with no hint of shame. He decides to grant you a second correct answer since that’s the last one you’re going to get. His next guess will be the start of his attempt to actually get you to have sex with him, like you speculated.

“You like beer.” He already had three probable guesses in his head before the game even started. He just panned the game longer so you’ll ease into him. He reserved this particular guess to seal the deal.

“That’s no fair, tourist. That’s too obvious,” you complain yet you still wear an entertained grin.

“Not my fault” He chuckles at his already calculated victory.

“Ugh. Fine. The damn tree is yours.” You start to get up but he grabs your arm, causing you to frown inquisitively at him.

“I didn’t say you have to leave. Move a bit to your front,” he commands which you do even though you still look confused.

He stands up and takes the place you’re sitting at earlier. Your neck is craned towards him as you gawk at him while he comfortably seats himself behind you, stretching his legs just a bit so you’re positioned intimately between them.

“What are you doing?!” you ask with a panicked voice.

He ignores your question. He takes it just a bit further and grabs your waist to pull you closer to him so your back is pressed to his chest.

You gape at him with a scandalized expression, your body rigid with his touch.

He only smiles innocently at you. You might be frozen solid, but if you really don’t want him to, you could easily tell him to fuck off. But there you are, eyes wide open as you try to grasp what he just did.

“I just claimed my prize. I can see why you chose this tree. So comfortable.” He tries to sound nice and friendly, but knows it’s useless as he can’t help the sarcasm that tainted his words now.

You let out a deep breath and shake your head as you rest your back resignedly on his chest. You snuggle even closer until you fill the spaces between you two perfectly, your head nestled comfortably on the nook of his neck.

Still, you don’t seem pleased. The look in your face is a mix of frustration and defeat, but it only strokes his ego even more because despite that displeasure on that lovely face of yours, you’re still leaning cozily against him.

You straight down gulp the remaining liquor you have and put the empty can down on the sand.

“You played me well, tourist,” you mutter, the bitter taste of the beer matching your resentment towards him.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, ms local,” he continues playing innocent.

“Oh please. You planned this from the start. That’s why you asked for the fucking tree.”

He lets out the laugh he’s been holding in since you made him admit that he was trying to bed you. “You finally caught up, mi querida?”

You hoist yourself up to face him. “You speak Portugese?” you ask him curiously.

“Español. I did say I’m from Argentina, mi bella dama.”

You’re stunned with the way the supposed foreign words roll off so naturally from his tongue. It didn’t sound pretentious nor forced, proof that he’s fluent with it. You definitely underestimated him. There is so much more to his charisma than just his pretty face.

“So, ms local,” his gaze drops to your lips with uninhibited hunger that he doesn’t make the slightest effort to hide. “Can I start claiming my actual prize now?”

You open your mouth but no words come out. You don't know how to respond because you’re at war with yourself with the direction of your supposed small talk is heading to. Yet, you can’t deny that you want to reciprocate his overt desire for you.

He takes his thumb and skims it lightly over your lower lip as he keeps his eyes on it. “Say yes,” he orders you with the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

The wind suddenly feels colder as your body heats up from the ache that’s beginning to set in your core.

He completely has you in a trance, mindlessly obeying his dainty command.

“Yes.”

He smiles darkly at the consent you gave him. He moves his thumb down to your before he slowly dips down and presses his lips against yours. It was gentle, too gentle for your growing arousal as he’s deliberately teasing you to want more of him.

He peppers your cheek with the same soft kisses that are making you more and more impatient.

“Kiss me already,” you mutter when his lips reach your ear, causing the sound of his amused chuckle to be heard crisp and loud.

“But I am,” he whispers before licking the sensitive shell of your ear.

You snap your thighs together from the sharp pleasure the action sent to your pussy, your eyes almost half closed from how fast your desire is engulfing you.

He must have sensed it for he turns his gaze to your clenched thighs. “Well, well, well, ms local. I didn’t think you’re this sensitive. I’m barely doing anything,” he teases while his other hand skims your bare waist.

You want to wipe the smug expression off his face but you’re too horny to fight back. You just want him to kiss you properly already.

A triumphant glint surfaces in his orbs as he dips down and gives you what you’re silently asking for. He parts your mouth with his thumb on your chin and claims your lips, flicking his tongue on your lower lip before sucking it.

You grab his shoulder for support as you push yourself up a bit to feel him closer.

“Mmmm, beer tastes way better from your mouth,” he mumbles then quickly returns to your lips, slipping in his tongue as he deepens the kiss.

His hand on your chin travels to the side of your head, fiddling the other ear his mouth hasn’t touched earlier. You whine into the kiss, fully revealing to him how sensitive your ears are.

His other hand skims the bare skin of your waist he easily accessed because of your cropped top. Then, he moves it up to squeeze a clothed boob, earning him a moan you deliciously deliver to his mouth.

He pulls away to get a glimpse of you and he can’t help but be pleased with himself for a job well done. He’s totally got you, hook, line, and sinker with your eyes pooling with lewd desires, completely different from the cranky stranger you were minutes ago.

But he’s not done yet. He’s not yet satisfied. He can do more than this. He can break you just a teeny tiny bit tonight.

He gets back to your lips, your tongue seeking his while he fervently moves his mouth against yours. His hand lets go of your face so he can pay attention to your other boob he’s been neglecting, kneading both supple mounds with his huge hands at the same time.

You lean your head on his shoulder as he trails his lips down your exquisite neck, softly nipping the delicate flesh as he entertains himself by watching you squirm within his hold.

He lugs your bra down so he could feel your bare breasts, and as his idea of fun, he softly bites the nook of your neck while he harshly grips both tits.

A very indecent moan from your throat erupts in the tranquil air of the beach. You must have realized it too because you bite your lip while your other hand tightens its grip on his thigh.

“Let’s see how well you can keep it down,” he breathes on your neck as he puts his fingers to work, rolling both your nipples with his thumbs while licking the spot he just bit.

You plan to protest, but you’re scared that when you open your mouth, an obscene moan will come out instead. So you do your best to stay as silent as you can, your muted whimpering reaching only his ears.

His mouth goes back up again to your ear, his hot breath gradually melting your resolve to keep quiet. “Should I lick your ear again so you’ll moan for me, hmm?”

You ferociously shake your head, certain that you will lose it if he does. “I’ll do it if you don’t use your words,” he threatens you by grazing his lips on your earlobes.

“N-no,” you weakly answer.

He laughs lowly and withdraws his lips away from your ear. You feel a little bit of relief as he shows mercy. Only to feel stupid when he suddenly pinches your nipples, the surge of pain and delight causing you to lose to your own body as another moan rips out of your windpipe.

“Aahh! ”

You bury your face on his biceps to muffle the next ones as he continues tweaking the hardened buds while he sucks the curve of your shoulders.

You can feel the strain in your hips from how hard you're clamping your thighs, desperate to alleviate the ache in your already sopping cunt by grinding your inner thighs together.

Being the scum the tourist is, he hooks his foot on your ankle and does the same to the other, successfully prying your legs apart, worsening your need to be touched down from the lack of any sort of friction.

He removes one hand away from a boob and drags it down to your stomach, the cloth of your loose shirt catching on his knuckles before it comes to a stop in the waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?” He asks while he traces circles on the skin just above the garter of your cloth.

Despite the overwhelming lust, you look around. Even though you used to have this place on your own at this wee hours of night, the possibility of someone going there is not completely zero.

You let him get as far as this because you can just swat his hands away the moment someone emerges from the other side of the lifeguard station.

Instead of putting his hand in, he dips his hand further down on your crotch, cupping your sex over the fabric of your shorts. Even with just that, your pussy is already throbbing.

You look at him with hesitation.

“What if someone comes?” You ask apprehensively, your lust-induced mind hoping he comes up with a sensical answer that you can accept.

“I won’t remove your shorts, ms. local. I’ll just,” he teasingly tugs the waistband, twisting it around his index finger, “put my hand in, yeah?”

He gives a drawn out lick on the spot behind your ear as he tugs a nipple, making you shiver with the unspoken oath that he can satisfy your needs.

You nod agreeably, impatient for the touch you’ve been craving for.

With your permission, he slowly slides his hand in, the leisure drag of his fingers almost making you mad with anticipation. Your torment only increases when he steadily traces his middle and ring finger on the length of your slit.

“You’re practically dripping,” he remarks as he continues the tortuous caress of his fingers. “Holy shit. You’re twitching already.” He laughs sardonically behind you.

“Jerk.” It’s supposed to sound angry, but it comes out as a needy whine.

You throw your head back on his chest, the night sky and the leaves of the tree you’re under starting to become hazy with how feverish your whole body feels.

“You’re really mean, you know that?” He mopes flatulently before he suddenly pinches your clit, the abrupt pang of pleasure causing you to arch your back as you cry out.

“Oh my. I’m starting to think you actually want to be heard.”

You’re no longer able to respond when he starts rubbing the bundle of nerves, covering your mouth with the back of your hand to suppress the erotic sounds coming off of your mouth.

“Mmmmmpp,” you whimper when he gives your boob a firm squeeze again.

You close your eyes shut as you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Gonna cum already, hmm?” His question drenched with mockery.

Yet, you don’t give in to his taunt as you’re completely distracted with his fingers sending you to a frenzy. You nod your head frantically, shamelessly admitting that he can easily make you cum.

Then he stops. He slides his fingers down and spreads your folds open as your cunt throbs from the climax he’s defied you of.

“What I’d give to see this view,” he purrs on your ear, “this pussy twitching at nothing.”

You hate the way he’s treating you, but you hate yourself more for letting him do so. As if teasing wasn’t enough already, he starts massaging his fingers around your folds, keeping you spread open while deliberately avoiding any spot that will feel too good.

It’s utter hell for you.

You’re about to ask that he puts it in, but thankfully, he does so before you almost disregard your dignity and actually plead for him to do it. He inserts one steady digit, pushing it deeply until the whole length of his finger is in.

“You’re too wet,” he comments as he thrusts another finger in.

You bite your own hand as the stretch of his two fingers brings back the pleasure he thwarted earlier. But this time, he makes sure to not let it escalate as he keeps the speed of his fingers to a bare minimum. He drags them out incredibly slow and lunges them back in in the same excruciating tempo.

Your eyes flutter shut as you relish the sensation, his digits hitting their deepest reach at the same time the waves crash into the rocks of Leme beach.

Oikawa watches with utter fascination, seeing and feeling the rise and fall of your chest as he prolongs the pleasure his fingers can give you.

But he already misses how you sound when you lose control.

Without any warning, he increases his pace from tedious thrusts to ruthless ones.

Your clutch on his biceps almost hurts, but he really couldn’t give a shit when your moans start to seep out of your hand despite how hard you try to contain them. He can bet you’re not even aware that you’re already rolling your hips against his hand.

But it’s still not enough for him.

Luckily, he knows how to make things even better .

He flicks his tongue on a certain spot on your neck while rolling your nipple between his skilled fingers.

“Too much!” You bat your eyes open and face him, successfully unlatching his mouth from your neck. “Its too muuu aahhhh haaa. ” Your eyes instantly become cloudy as he makes sure that the base of his wrist rubs your clit while he continues ravaging your pussy with his fingers.

His cock is getting stuffed in his shorts with your back grinding against it as he witnesses you lose yourself with your mouth falling open as you whimper with wanton need for your release.

“To- hnnngg, tooouurist.”

Damn. For a moment, he thought you were going to moan his name. He would tell you right now but he kinda likes the idea that you’re a literal stranger allowing him to do vulgar things to you as he pleases.

Your feet leave the seams of the cloth you sat on as the pleasure stretches out to the tips of your toes, the coarse grains of sand getting stuck between as you curl them with your orgasm tingling too close.

The simultaneous stimulation of your most erogenous places is coercing you to let go.

“I’m gonna cum mmmppp.”

Then he withdraws his fingers completely, causing you to regard him wide-eyed with a confused look as he denies you of your high that was a thrust away from your reach. All the while, he just smiles pleasantly at you like he didn’t do anything wrong.

He takes his middle finger in his mouth while you watch him with both impatience and intrigue.

He gives it one thorough suck before sticks his tongue out and licks it, effectively making you wonder how it’d feel if he does what he just did directly on your pussy.

Then he turns to you with a naughty grin. “Why are you staring at me like that, ms local?”

Your eyes lingers on his fingers and tells him instead, “Put them back.” You can’t ask him to do what was just on your mind. The place isn’t right for it. But that’s just fine. His fingers prove to be good enough.

“You want me to put my fingers back in your pussy?” he reiterates your request haughtily.

You look down on the sand before you nod.

He hums on your nape while he inserts his hands back in your shorts, his fingers ghosting just above your slit. You buck your hip up to feel them but he retreats them when you do so.

Your mind is staggering from how much you want him to fill you up again with his digits. You look at him with your eyes begging him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He goes for your lips, kissing them passionately as he traces your slick opening. He plunges his tongue in the same time his fingers enter your cunt, easily pushing you at the very edge you were at earlier.  

Then stops again.

“Why?” You sound almost sulking, your foiled orgasm looming over you.

“Like you said earlier, ms local. I am trying to get you in bed.”

He presses his lips in your temples and drags them down back to your ear. “I don’t see any bed here. Do you?”

The sultry drawl of his voice makes you shiver, the ungratified ache in your groin making you succumb to him.

“My place is near,” you answer timidly.

“You’ll really take a stranger home?” He sneers at you, making you doubt your own decision. Yet, convinces you otherwise when he slowly rubs your clit again.

You shut your eyes and nod frantically with parted lips.

He takes his hands out of your shorts and cheerfully says. “Let’s go then.”

You fix your clothes before standing up to which he quickly follows. You take your canga and wrap it back again on your hips then picks up your empty can of beer. You plan to lead the way, but not even three steps away from where you were, he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to where you were.

He shoves you to the tree he was previously leaning on. Your hand flies to the trunk of it while he wraps one arm around your waist and pulls your ass against his erection, an entertained chuckle coming out of his lips.

“I lied, ms local.” He slides his other hand under your made up skirt, trailing his palm from the side of your knee up to your thigh.

“I didn’t want you in bed. I want you right here right now.”

He briskly tugs down your shorts while you worriedly grip his forearm, alarm evident in your orbs as he reveals his actual intention.

“We’re gonna get seen!” You warn with a cautious whisper while you look around to check for the possible presence of another.

He ignores you and hitches up the cloth hanging from your hips as he takes out his cock and traces it against your moist slit.

You drop the empty can as you drive your nails deeper in the tree with your eyes getting misty from the reminder of the little death he’s relentlessly and purposely deprived you of.

He leans over your back and reaches for your cheek with his lips, tenderly placing a kiss before speaking. “Then they’ll see a tourist with a local whore.”

Flames of fury spark in your eyes as you hiss at him. “You fucking asshole!”

He ignores your futile anger and grips his cock to align it on your entrance. He sees you try to keep up the resentful facade but you’re twitching wildly again for him to even take it seriously. He easily makes you crave for him again by grinding his shaft on the length of your cunt.

“I’m kidding, ms local. You’re too pretty and too interesting to be one,” he says with his lips latched on your shoulder.

“Do you even have a condom with you?” you ask exasperatedly.

“Nope. Should we stop and get one?” He asks back as he once again rubs his member on your opening.

“I.. uhh,” you mumble undecided even though you unknowingly just grinded against him.

He places featherlight kisses along your nape. “I promise to pull out. How about that?” His voice is delicate, persuading you to abandon your hesitation.

“Fine! Just make sure you do it right,” you firmly forewarn him, which he doesn’t even bother answering.

He begins to sink himself inside you, feeling your fluttering walls swallow his cock inch by inch.

“Shit, it’s so hot and tight inside you,” he groans.

Your knees buckle a bit as you cover your mouth with your palm this time. “You okay there?” he asks not out of concern but because he wants to entertain himself with how you sound when you’re trying so hard to keep the obscene sounds at bay.

You shake your head but your face is one deluged of sinful desires.

“But you look like you're enjoying this,” he pants as he’s starting to feel good too with how well you’re squeezing his cock. He closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder as he rams his length completely inside you.

“Fuccck,” he moans on your shirt while you deliver a muffled one on your palm, which he didn’t like.

He snakes his arm from your waist up to your chest once again, forcefully lugging down your bra that he hears it rip a little.

“I want to hear you feel good,” he says as he toys with your boob he wasn’t able to pay much attention to earlier.

In between struggling puffs, you manage to say, “I don’t wanna be heard uughhh.” You let out a suppressed whine as he pulls his cock back all of a sudden and languidly slides it back in.

“You’re lucky enough I’m allowing this,” you continue on.

“Make me luckier then,” he hums on your shoulder as he aggressively tugs the nipple poking at his palm.

“Gaaah!” You snap your head back, prompting him to softly bite the flesh of your throat you exposed to him.

“Yeaaah. You sound so hot, ms local. Just like that mmmm.” He originally planned to take his time with you, but shit, your pussy feels too good clamping on his cock like you’re already about to cum.

It’s taking all of him not to pummel his cock stupidly fast into you and sought his own pleasure.

“Faster, tourist. Fuck!” Your voice cracks at the last word you uttered from keeping it from being too loud.

Instead of quickening his pace, he stops moving at all. He needs a moment to regain control of himself despite how splendid your insides feel. He wants to tease you some more until you lose that fiery pride of yours. He finds it sexy, but it would be sexier if you drop it and desperately beg for him to fuck your brains out.

He lifts himself off your back and retrieves both his hands to skim them over the curve of your ass.

He kinda wonders what face you’ll make if slams one hand against the meaty flesh. Oh well. No need to wonder if he can just see it for himself right now.

The solid sting of his palm hitting against your skin pierces the quiet air of the shore, quickly followed by a sharp gasp from you that is just as audible.

Fuck, he put a little too much force on that one. He can see the pinkish mark he’s left on one cheek. He checks on you and expects a pained expression but what he finds is eyes lidded with intense carnal longing while panting heavily.

He looks around briefly, checking to see for any unwanted onlookers before landing another slap on your other ass cheek.  

Your hand grips his that just struck you as you turn your neck to look at him with utmost desperation he’s been wanting to see from you.

“Make me cum already,” you mumble with a wavering voice as you start moving on your own, wobbly withdrawing your hips and pushing them back against his cock.

The sensation in his shaft as you use it to give yourself pleasure is nowhere near enough for him, but he continues to stare at your cute attempt to make yourself cum.

“Please!”

Ahh, fuck. Yes. That should do it. You look just the right amount of pathetic he can get himself off to with satisfaction.

He plants both hands on your hips, holding them in place so he can give you what you vehemently begged for. He buries himself inside you in one swift thrust and repeats it again, and again, and again until he sets a steady rhythm.

You wretchedly grasp the tree again to support yourself as he does his way with you.

Harsh slaps of skin to skin contact can be heard, but he figures it won’t be heard from a distance.

“Ah, ahh, aaaahhhhhh!!”  You practically yelled out that last moan, causing him to lean over again and put a hand over your mouth.

“As much as I want you to- shiiit -hear you scream for me, I’d rather not be caught here,” he tells you in a raspy voice. He doesn’t know the laws in this country. He might get arrested for this if found. Their coach would probably take him off the starting roster as punishment if he gets in trouble because of this.

But fuck, you really feel unbelievably good. Even the vibrations of your stifled wails on his hand is an added stimulation for him.

Even he himself is having a hard time to keep his voice hushed as he feels his orgasm about to explode. He removes his hand away from your lips and replaces it with his mouth so he drowns out his groans as he swallows yours.

With his knee, he nudges your leg apart from the other as he dips his hand from your hip down to your clit, rubbing the swollen bud ferociously to finally push you to your peak he previously kept on declining you to reach.

You start trembling beneath him so he wraps his other arm around your waist again to support you.

He pulls away a bit to look at you become undone and holy shit, you do not disappoint. You look so fucking pretty with your moist lips gaping as you puff while your eyes have completely surrendered to the sinful goodness he’s giving you.

“So good, so good, so fucking good uuhhhh,” you mewl shamelessly.

“Yeah? Gonna cum on a stranger’s cock?” He goads you even though he’s about to cum himself just to see if you still give a crap about that.

To his delight, you just nod thoughtlessly.

“Cumming, ahhh, A-“

He covers your mouth again with his before you’re able to let out a scream that will probably expose you two.

He feels too good that all your senses are filled with nothing but the intense carnal bliss as he batters the insides of your pussy by ramming his cock wildly into you without restraint, probably chasing his own high as well.

Your vision becomes a static blur as the coil in your stomach snaps viciously, making your whole body convulse with how intense you came. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’d probably be a thrashing mess on the sand.

You hope that he keeps his word and pulls out because honestly, you just don’t have it in you anymore to stop him as he prolongs your orgasm by seeking his own.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he spews while his forehead rests on your spine as his thrusts become wilder and more erratic.

He takes out his cock a second before you feel hot spurts of liquid on your lower back accompanied by his hoarse grunts.

He unties the canga around your waist and uses it to wipe off the mess he made on your skin while you’re still holding on for your dear life on the tree.

“My legs,” you whine as they give out with exhaustion.

Thankfully, he catches you in time and releases the soiled clothing he used to wipe off his load. He pulls up your lower garments before he settles you back to how you two were seated a while ago, except it’s less compromising this time.

You’re all curled up within his grasp, still catching your breath from what just happened as he puts a hand on your forehead to make you rest against his heaving chest.

The sound of the waves, the blow of sea breeze, and the sand beneath your thighs are lulling you slowly back to the present, making you aware that you just had sex with a stranger, with a freaking tourist

“So,” he speaks first but you keep your eyes closed and pretend this is just one sexy dream then you’ll wake up in the morning and realize that you actually didn’t go out at this time.

“Ms. local, helllooooo?”

He’s obviously recovered based on the familiar, frivolous tone he had when he came out of the trees a while ago.

You sigh since you aren’t able to convince yourself enough that this is just a dream. The sex felt too good and too hot for it to be unreal.

“Do I finally get a name?”

You open your eyes and find him looking eagerly at you.

“No,” you respond immediately which visibly turns his excitement upside down.

You also discard your previous plan to get his name. There’s no way you’re telling Shoyo about this guy.

Sunshine || masterlist

Taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai  @aphroditeschambers​ @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe @richkookie @hqbeesun @megatron-1199​

[fanfickittycat]

One of Us

Title: One of Us

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen (anime)

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader

Genre: Angst to fluff

Fic Summary: You return to Tokyo where you are reunited with the man who broke your heart a decade ago

Rating: T

A/N: my first Nanami fic!!! I love him so much. Just a simple one-shot about rekindling your love after being apart with a fluffy ending. Yes, the title is an ABBA reference, no I will not be taking any questions on it at this time. If you'd like to read this on AO3 then you can here otherwise the fic is below the cut. Let me know what you thought!!!

I’m lucky that I came back during the spring, you thought to yourself, as you meandered around campus. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, and pink petals danced around your ankles with every step. Even the scent infused itself into the air, carrying a bittersweet undertone to it as you reminisced about your time here as a student. The sound of chalk on the board; the feel of the grass against your cheek as you hit the ground during training; the look on Nanami’s face when he rejected you and this world. It had been spring then too.

“You’re here!” trust Gojo to spoil a melancholy moment. You rolled your eyes playfully, accepting the hair ruffling from your upperclassman with weak jabs back at him.

“Gojo, stop” you laughed “we’re not kids anymore.”

“Says who?” he pulled away, adjusting the black blindfold over his eyes “you still look the same.” He teased, patting your head for emphasis. You still came up a whole head shorter than him and then some.

“You don’t” you retorted “you look old. What are you, like 40?”

“What?! You know I’m not” he whined. He was so easy to wind up sometimes. You half listened to him as he complained to you, citing his skin care routine and the regular comments he got about how youthful he looked before nudging him teasingly. The two of you walked back down the path towards the main building, feeling the nostalgia seep into your bones softly.

“You really haven’t changed” you said with a smirk “still vain as ever.”

“And you’re still as sharp tongued as ever.” He sighed, putting an arm around you “still. I’m glad you’re back. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to throw a party.”

“You’re a lightweight, Gojo” you said, remembering the time he had snuck in vodka during the winter of his final year. He had wanted to show off and ended up throwing up after two shots, before he passed out in the same pile of vomit. He had never snuck in alcohol again.

“You’re not, I remember you and Nanami having a drinking contest one time.”

“It wasn’t a drinking contest. We were just having wine and cheese. It was a very civilised affair.”

“You must have done a lot of that kind of thing in Europe.”

“Not really” you shrugged “it’s not really something to do when you’re alone.” You didn’t mean to sound so sad, but it wasn’t easy to hide, especially from a man with Six Eyes. You were glad he didn’t press you on it, instead opting to blabber on about how great his new first year students were, and his unmatched skill as a teacher. Gojo always seemed to walk the line between being insufferable and incredible. Nanami had often winced whenever he heard Gojo start a new tangent, and you would rub his back reassuringly. It became an unspoken gesture between the two of you. When you’d failed at mastering a new cursed technique, Nanami would be there to hand you a tissue for your bloodied nose and rub soothing circles on your back. Maybe that’s why your final moment together was so sad. You’d told him you loved him, and he told you that he wanted nothing to do with sorcery in exchange for a normal, human life. He’d left you crying, and the absence of his palm on your back made you feel colder and more alone than ever.

“…so the official party is at 7 but the real party will start after. Are you listening?”

“Official party at 7. Real party after.” You repeated “I’ll wear something that can suit both.”

You had wanted to ask Gojo if Nanami was going to be there, but you held your tongue instead. You hadn’t heard anything from him after you two had split ways, with him becoming a salary man and you going abroad to conduct research. You already knew that if you asked, you’d be met with disappointment. Still, perhaps it was better this way. You might actually be able to relax tonight and remember what social interaction felt like. You wouldn’t have to worry about what to say if you saw him there, or overthink the black dress you were planning on wearing tonight. You’d heard that even Utahime was going to be there. You owed it to everyone making an effort for you, to be present and gracious.

The nerves were still there of course. You were happy to see the small collection of former classmates and teachers there, and excited to catch up. It was strange to think of how close you all were once and then you’d left and avoided talking to anyone beyond a few words at a time. Now, the bonds between you were a little rusty but still strong. It calmed the butterflies in your stomach to know that everyone still accepted you, though Utahime scolded you for it. Your eyes kept lingering at the door, in anticipation of him entering the room with a curt apology about his lateness but then you’d catch yourself and internally reprimand your actions.

“You’ve always been too tough on yourself” Utahime said, sipping her tea knowingly.

“Sorry” you apologised lamely, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

She huffed at you “stop apologising, it’s not your fault that men are idiots.” She eyed Gojo, who was trying to impersonate Yoshinobu, and sighed deeply. It made you smile.

“Thanks” you wanted to say something more but the lack of social interaction over the many years constricted your words. You didn’t even know what to say, let alone how to physically say it. Utahime didn’t mind however and squeezed your shoulder.

“God, I can’t stand him” she said, pinching the skin between her eyebrows. You turned to see Gojo laughing obnoxiously at something.

“Still single too, I presume” you said.

“You know he could never be tied down and imagine that poor woman” she groaned “it’s best he stays single. Imagine if he procreated.” She shuddered, making you laugh.

Ieri joined the two of you, shaking her head at her co-worker’s antics “I’m glad you’re back” she said to you “being a woman in this line of work is hard enough, and then you have to deal with that.”

You smiled “I’m glad to be back, even if it’s a little hard sometimes.”

“You know” Ieri looked down at her drink that she had spiked “wounds take time to heal and it’s important to cover them, but you also have to take the bandages off at some point and let it breathe.”

“You’re wise as ever Ieri” you said.

“Hmmm I don’t think so” Utahime said, frowning “if she was so ‘wise’ then she’d quit smoking.” It prompted a whole conversation, part jokes, part argument between the two and then Gojo stepped in to see what was happening which led to him being verbally bullied by the two women as you watched on and laughed.

“You’re all being so mean to me considering I planned this party” Gojo said, mock snivelling “and the after party.”

“That’s true” you said, perking Gojo up instantly “thank you for inviting everyone.”

“We’re not done yet” he said, bringing a corner of his blindfold down to wink at you.

The after party was more chaotic than you had envisioned. Despite not drinking anything, Gojo still managed to scream-sing the lyrics to every song into the karaoke microphone, sometimes even trying to elongate certain sounds in an attempt to emulate Mariah Carey. Needless to say, Utahime was so irritated that she agreed to join Ieri outside while she smoked. You wandered over to the bar and pouring a generous amount of wine into your glass, feeling warm and happy for the first time in a long time. Of course, you knew that it was the alcohol primarily, but it had also been so long since you’d had fun. You were going to allow yourself to enjoy it.

“Didn’t you think I was soulful?” Gojo asked, his grin wide and satisfied like the Cheshire cat.

“Very” you said, watching out the corner of his eye as he poured himself a coke triumphantly “I didn’t even know some of those notes existed.”

He shrugged mock casually “sometimes it’s a curse to be so blessed.” You two continued to talk, laughing at the ridiculous things Gojo said as he sat on the bar stool next to you, leaning casually against the bar. He sat up quickly at one point, looking past you with rapt attention.

“What is it, boy?” you jokingly asked and when he didn’t answer quickly enough you turned to look behind you. There, standing cautiously at the door in a jacket and tie was Nanami.

“Finally,” you heard Gojo murmur but when you turned back to confront him, he had disappeared into thin air. You felt afraid to turn, knowing that Nanami had probably seen you. You felt your heart race in your chest. He was here. This wasn’t a dream or your imagination. The wine made your legs feel weak and shaky as you clumsily stood, pressing your hands down your dress to smooth it out. Your palms felt clammy as you did so. Downing the remainder of the wine in your glass was attractive, but you could already feel his presence near you.

“Nanami” you breathed out, swallowing nervously as you looked up at him. You had often thought about what would happen if you met again and you’d played the scenario in so many ways; one where you were cool and calm, another where you cracked a killer one liner; even one where you’d pull him in for a kiss that would ignite the flames of your relationship. Instead, you felt your nerves shoot through your body and you felt like a mess.

“Your hair” you said lamely, reaching a hand up before stopping yourself and letting your fingers curl into your palm in shame “it’s different.”

“Yes” he seemed taken aback by your sudden note on his appearance “I changed it a while ago.”

“It looks nice” you said, feeling warmth flood your cheeks at your pathetic comment “it suits you.” This wasn’t a lie. The shorter cut emphasised the sharpness of his cheekbones, which looked lethal in the dimmed lighting. He was taller too, if only by a little, and broader as well. You hadn’t anticipated that he’d look better after all this time. It made it hard to think coherently.

“Thank you” he said, “you look well too.” Disappointment already tinged in your stomach. He was just as strict with his feelings now as ever before. You both stood there awkwardly for a couple of seconds, wanting to speak and yet not at the same time.

“How’s normal life working out for you?” You asked, hoping your jovial tone would make things less tense.

“Oh. Well, it didn’t” he said, taking a seat on the barstool and pouring himself a glass of wine to join you “I tried to do it, but I couldn’t. Work is shit.”

Your surprised both you and he when you laughed “and what? This is the height of luxury?”

He smiled into his glass “no, it’s shit, as well but at least I’m better at it.” He raised his glass to you to clink “to this sorcery shit.” You smiled too, eagerly charging your glass to meet his. You watched him sip, allowing yourself to really look at him. Your eyes traced over his profile, drinking in the angles of his jawline and the elegant slope of his nose.

“I’m sure Europe was better” he said, making you snap out of your daze “at the very least, the food must have been delicious.”

“Oh, yeah” you said inattentively, thinking about evenings in foreign capitals where you fell asleep over your work with a half empty bowl of ramen next to you.

“It was interesting, and I learned a lot” you said, repeating what you had told everyone “I’m glad I’m home though.” You looked at him to gauge his reaction. His face was impassive as stone as he nodded. Dejected, you swirled the liquid around your glass, unsure of how to proceed.

“You were so adamant about leaving” you found yourself saying, the wine loosening your tongue “I’d never seen you so determined about something before.”

“I thought I knew everything back then” he sighed “I was so sure that I’d turn my back on this and work hard to maintain a normal life with a stable job, and money, and a family to provide for.”

You felt stunned “I didn’t know you wanted a wife and kids.”

He smiled without humour “well, something like that.” You watched wordlessly as he emptied the glass down his throat.

“I guess this line of work makes it hard to have those kinds of things.” You could picture Nanami in your head, in a dark suit and tie as he kissed his wife and child goodbye before going to work. He’d probably be good at it too. Firm but caring as he helped his child with their maths homework or opened a jar for his wife who would cook dinner for him every night. He’d dote on his family too, taking them to the beach and up the mountains or abroad. He’d probably keep a picture of them on his desk at work too. It pained you that he felt he couldn’t have that; let alone that you could never give him that.

He turned to look at you “well that and I knew I couldn’t tie you down like that.”

“Me?” you couldn’t have hidden your shock if you tried.

“You wanted a career” he said plainly “one that involved research into cursed objects and continuing to improve your skills and techniques. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

“You didn’t even give me a choice” your throat felt hoarse as you grappled with this new truth “you just made that decision for me.” You stood up, feeling woozy on your tipsy legs but determined all the same to get away. You needed air, and the chance to absorb everything you’d heard. All these years you’d assumed he felt nothing for you, and you’d been so embarrassed and upset that you put yourself in self-exile because of it.

“Would you have gone with me if I asked?” he said, following you up the stairs and out of the basement of the bar. The night air was cold and crisp against your hot body.

“Would you really have given up everything because of me?”

“I did give up everything because of you.” You said, turning to clutch the sleeve of his beige blazer, feeling your heart palpitate as your knuckle brushed the skin of his hand. Tears pricked your eyes and you looked down, feeling the rush of emotions you had kept chained away in the shadows rear its head into the light.

“I’m sorry I realised it all too late” he said, and before you could think he had pulled you into a tight embrace. You fought against him at first, wanting to be angry with him for assuming things on your behalf and making you suffer so miserably for so long, but you couldn’t. You gave in, letting your tears blot onto his rich blue shirt. His tie tickled your cheek as he let you press your face into his chest like you used to. His hand automatically began to take small, gentle laps on your back. He whispered his apologies over and over again, finally pressing a tender kiss on the top of your head.

“Nanami” you mumbled, pulling away so you could look up at him. His eyes were piercing as they regarded you. One of his hands remained on your back, whilst the other came up to cup your cheek fondly.

“I love you” he said quietly, pink appearing in his cheeks as he admitted it to you “and I hope it’s not too late to say it, however I’d understand if you didn’t feel the same. I was awful to you.” He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped when you pressed a finger against his soft lips.

“Kento” you said, tasting the way his name sounded for the first time “I love you too.” He took it as permission to lean down, capturing your lips against his in a kiss that you had been dreaming of since you’d met. He was still cautious as always, not wanting to push you too much, but you couldn’t help but enthusiastically pull him closer, standing on the tips of your toes to be closer to him. You shivered when he opened his mouth to take your bottom lip between his own, sucking on the plump skin as you felt a whisper of wind snake around the two of you, depositing fallen petals on your shoulders like confetti.

[shera-dnd]

Had to split a simply colossal chapter into two smaller ones, so here is the first of those

Now featuring the faes’ true forms and an ungodly amount of simping

“I believed we had our winner when Lady Polendina got that perfect bullseye,” Weiss retold as she walked with her companions through the festival grounds, “but Lady Rose managed to, and I still cannot believe it, split her lover’s arrow with her own!”

“I’m certain there is an innuendo to be found there,” Ilia commented, earning her an offended scoff from the would-be-knight.

“Must you?” Weiss asked in exasperation.

“Believe me, Lady Gigas, she most certainly must.” Blake assured her, “but please continue. I’d love to hear more about our favorite couple.”

“Well, after they had finished utterly humiliating me in the shooting range,” she regaled, “they decided it was time to do so again in the sparring fields.”

“What is it with you knightly folk and sparring?” Ilia asked, seemingly annoyed, “is this your means of courtship? Were Lady Rose and Lady Polendina inviting you to join them in their tent?”

“It is a means to maintain our skills while coming to better understand each other!” Weiss countered, “and just because I now know where my preferences lie does not mean I’ll fall for the first woman to best me in combat!”

“Of course,” Ilia replied, though Weiss found no reassurance in her tone, “after all that honor would fall to Lady Blake, and we all know her preference is for women two times your size.”

“I have never claimed otherwise,” Blake replied with a shrug, “now would you mind procuring us some dinner, before you make our friend pop a blood vessel.”

“Very well,” Ilia sighed, as if she had been burdened with a terrible quest, “I shall meet you both back at camp. Please, do torment the Schnee in my absence.’

She offered them an over exaggerated bow and made her way deeper into the festival grounds, quickly disappearing amidst the crowd.

“You do know I could have just made us dinner, right?” Weiss asked, annoyance clear in her tone.

“And I’m certain it would have been delicious,” Blake replied, “but I’m not certain it would have been worth your sanity.”

“Of course.”

She hated to admit it, but she did not mind this at all. In fact she quite enjoyed the little trading of barbs that they partook in every day. It made for some interesting entertainment, and it allowed her to know Ilia a little better.

She was also quite enamored with the little laughs that would escape the fae whenever she got Weiss to make a fool of herself. No, she most definitely did not wish to question why she found Ilia’s laughter to be so endearing.

Definitely not.

Weiss decided then to archive those thoughts, and focus instead on the second most embarrassing topic in her mind.

“Thank you,” she muttered as they began making their way back to camp.

“No need to thank me,” Blake waved off, “wouldn’t want you two to strangle each other.”

“No, I meant…” Weiss sighed, “thank you for calling me a friend.”

Blake offered her a soft smile that only served to embarrass her further.

“I’m glad I got to call you that,” she replied, “and I’m sure Ilia thinks the same, even if she’ll never admit it.”

That got Weiss to smile back. Her life so far had been one of isolation, she had barely met anyone outside of the few select guests her father would allow into their manor, and had failed to find anyone who cared for her with the exception of Winter and Klein. But now she had been able to adventure beyond the walls of Atlas and find people who she could call friends.

Without Ilia with them to incite arguments and pester her, the rest of the walk back to camp was held in a comfortable silence. Though Weiss certainly missed the opportunity to get back at her friend for the earlier annoyance.

“If I may,” Blake began as soon as they arrived at their camp, “would you mind if I spent the night in my own skin for a change?”

It took Weiss’s mind a long moment to register what she meant by that request, but when it did she jumped to attention.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She asked, looking around to make sure no one had heard that.

“Our camp is secluded enough,” she shrugged, “and no one ever comes here uninvited.”

“If you’re sure,” Weiss replied, “then I would not mind.”

Blake smiled at her in thanks and began undressing herself. Weiss promptly turned to look away, eyes focusing on anything but her naked companion. What followed was a series of noises that she would fail to describe, though they tempted Weiss to look back at her, if only to make sure that she’s okay.

After a moment of silence she heard the heavy thump of something heavy hitting the ground, followed by Blake’s familiar voice, “you may look again now.”

Where once stood the proud Black Knight of Vale now sat something else entirely. Her form had grown tremendously, now easily challenging that of Lady Xiao Long, and her body had grown completely covered in black fur, with a small white spot on her chest and two others on the back of her now clawed hands.

Her hair too had grown longer and wilder, and the face that hid behind it now took the features of a feline, especially her golden eyes which now reflected the bonfire’s light with an eerie glow. Behind her sway a long black tail, though mostly catlike it was adorned with thorns and purple flowers.

No, not adorned, that plant was as much a part of her body as her tail.

Stunned was perhaps not enough to describe the state in which Weiss found herself right now. She had been raised on stories of the terrifying and monstrous fae that hid in the forests beyond the walls of Atlas, and though Blake’s true form definitely fit that description, she still carried herself with the same grace and nobility that she did in her human skin.

She was still a knight, and she was still Lady Blake.

Unfortunately Blake seemed to take notice of all the staring, “if this causes you discomfort, I could change back.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Weiss assured her, “I was simply unprepared.”

Pleased with that response, Blake began to vigorously stretch herself as if she had spent many hours locked inside a tight space - a comparison that was perhaps too appropriate for her much smaller human form - and behind her her tail swayed happily.

“I haven’t been able to don this form since we arrived for the festival,” Blake informed, “it is good to feel like myself again.”

“It won’t be good for long if the local knights decide to take our hides,” the familiar and ever cheerful tone of Ilia’s voice called as she approached camp and unceremoniously dropping a basket between the two of them, “though do enjoy your dinner while you can.”

“Thank you, I certainly plan to,” Blake replied, seemingly unfazed by Ilia’s usual foul mood, “now come, sit, take off that damned glamour for once.”

Ilia stared at her, as if she was trying to will her fellow fae to stop with this nonsense.

It did not work.

“She will not give in, Lady Ilia,” Weiss said, “we’ll already be in plenty of trouble if we’re found in the presence of one fae, a second one won’t make a difference.”

Lady Ilia was unamused by Weiss’s commentary, “and what, pray tell, is your plan in case they do find you in the presence of not one, but two fae?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asked, standing up so she would be on the same level as her, “I’ll have a heroic last stand where I’ll fight off a dozen knights, before rescuing you on horseback.”

“Is that so?” Ilia asked, trying to keep her lips from twitching.

Weiss stepped closer.

“Oh yes, and then we’d ride off towards the sunrise and you’d…” she paused for a moment, trying to remember something, “what was it you said? Swoon and praise me for my strength and bravery.”

“Didn’t you say you held no attraction towards swooning maidens, Schnee?” Ilia teased, her smile slowly beginning to take hold.

“I’d be simply fulfilling my knightly duties, Lady Ilia,” Weiss insisted.

“You know what, Schnee?” Ilia began, with a smile on her face as she closed the ever shrinking gap between her and the Schnee, “I think I will doff this damned glamour, if only so I can watch you get skewered by those dozen knights while I flee on horseback by myself.”

“I’ll make sure to make it entertaining to you, my lady,” Weiss assured her, now face to face with the smiling fae.

A chuckle escaped Blake’s lips, earning her the most terrifying glare from Lady Ilia. The knight was, of course, unimpressed, seeming to consider a comment in her mind before reconsidering and letting it die without being voiced. A decision that Ilia greatly approved.

“Now will you please cast away that glamour of yours and relax for once,” she said instead.

“Very well,” Ilia surrendered with a sigh.

For a moment nothing seemed to happen, but then it was like the Ilia Weiss had known had shattered like glass, and what stood behind the illusion could only be described as breathtaking.

Eyes of light blue turned into pure glowing white, freckled skin turned to thousands of scales woven together into a tapestry of color. On her forehead now stood two large thorns, almost like a pair of horns, though they exuded the same regal air as a proper crown.

Lady Ilia then disposed of her - now much bleeker looking - dress to reveal a growth of leaves and vines covering her more...intimate places. Still it was not her crown nor her naked form that had Weiss in awe, it was her wings.

They were not unlike those of a butterfly, though no butterfly could ever hope to match their beauty. They were the light of her eyes fractured again and again into more colors than Weiss's mortal eyes could see, all of them weaved together in a pattern that could make even the stained glass of Atlas's grand cathedral look plain by comparison.

It took all of Weiss’s will not to fall to her knees in worship of the beauty she had been given the privilege to bask in. Though it didn’t seem she was able to completely hide her reaction, as when their eyes met she saw surprise in Lady Ilia’s face, and for a moment it was as if every fragment of color in her body had turned to the brightest of pinks.

“Should I give you both some space?” Blake asked, tail swaying slowly behind her.

“Absolutely not!” Lady Ilia shouted, sitting back down and refusing to look back at the still stunned wannabe knight.

It was now Weiss’s turn to shift through several shades of pink. She whispered a silent prayer that the gods would return to Remnant if only so the God of Destruction could completely remove her - and her shame - from the face of this world. This gave her some time to recover, at least enough that she could sit by the campfire with her companions again.

Unfortunately for the both of them that awkward tension lingered over the camp like a thick fog. It did not help that neither of them found it within themselves to look at or even address each other. They left it all to Blake to rescue them from their self imposed punishment.

“Ilia,” she called, “I believe you had questions for me.”

Lady Ilia seemed to take a few moments to recognize that she was being spoken to, but bolted up in attention as she understood the opportunity that was being given her.

“You’ve yet to tell me how you came to join the humans,” she reminded, “or why iron doesn’t burn you.”

That piqued Weiss’s interest as well. She knew Blake had to have some kind of magical trick to don her armor without burning herself alive, perhaps if she could share that secret they could use it to help those fae who wished to live among humans.

“This isn’t some trick you can replicate, Ilia,” Blake explained, killing Weiss’s plan on the spot, “this is not a weapon the unseelie can use.”

Ilia let out a sound not unlike a growl, showing that her teeth were much sharper than before.

“Not everything I do is out of spite for humanity!” She almost shouted, and her body shifted into bloody reds and harsh yellows. Though that display clearly failed to intimidate her fellow fae, earning herself only a raised brow, a reaction that caused her to change colors once more, this time to pinks and blues. “You left us. I want to know why.”

“But I have already--”

“No,” she interrupted, colors shifting over and over through her body, unable and unwilling to settle, “you don’t just change your mind like that for no reason. I want to know what happened.”

Blake sighed, tail wrapping around herself as she seemed to deflate, “this story is quite long, Ilia.”

“So is the night,” Ilia countered, “come, tell us.”

Blake looked at her, then at Weiss, who offered her her most reassuring look, “very well then.”

[roublardise]

my "Crowley isn't attracted to women" take

for @spnprideweek - day 2 - mlm

cw: dicussion of homophobia & transphobia all in all I wanted to highlight how canon gay Crowley is bc I love him 💕 thank u spn for Crowley even tho he deserved better

in the last weeks I've realized there's a huuge consensus in the fandom for pansexual Crowley. if you're pan or not and wanna hc Crowley as pan, power to you! but what's bothering me is the non-discussion of it all. the way it seems obvious for everyone. whereas, to me, Crowley has been canonically gay all this time.....

disclaimer: I'm aware Mark Sheppard alledgely said he saw Crowley as pansexual, however I can't even take these words for canon without context. Especially not when a year later he'd say Crowley's sexuality didn't matter. The way Mark Sheppard talks about characters' sexuality is more a "why are people making a big deal let them be" than "the character doesn't care." Moreover, actors pov can't be taken as canon imo. Jensen Ackles thought Dean straight for so long when Dean's been bi all this time as well. Sometimes actors are biased by their own experiences & stereotypes!

disclaimer #2: on god I don't wanna start discourse lmao. I just wanna share my silly thoughts about a tv show & question the way Crowley's sexuality is written in this silly homophobic tv show. don't @ me about what's making you think Crowley is indisputably pansexual bc I assure you I already know your points

That being said, here's why I think Crowley is a bear, a gay man, a trans gay man actually, a homosexual, who isn't attracted to women & some food for thoughts about why the unquestioned consensus towards pan Crowley could have roots in both homophobia & panphobia.

I don't think we can think of Crowley as your usual demon. We know too much about Crowley's life as a human, and the numerous ways in which he acts un-demony, almost humanly after. Considering him simply like a demon with no concept of gender preference who would be pan “by default” wouldn’t be right with his character. But we also can't question his sexuality in the exact same way we would a human's.

It also can't be thought in the same way as angels': as once-humans demons do have a concept of gender. Crowley especially cares a lot about his gender presentation and the way he's addressed. Not only does he literally sell his soul for a bigger d*ck as a human ; as a demon he uses the same vessel where other demons are shown to move once they had to leave one ; and for the few hours Crowley's possessing a woman, he clearly states he should still be referred to as king.

This will all be used for homophobic & transphobic jokes in the show, but I'll get back to that later on. Gender does matter to Crowley's identity, and I think it could be extended to his sexuality.

I've seen numerous descriptions of it all saying Crowley's sexuality was "ambiguous" and I guess it is, as he never explicitly used any label. However "ambiguous" doesn't mean bi or pan. It doesn't mean anything besides the fact we can't draw a clear-cut conclusion of his sexuality.

Imo we can actually draw a clear-cut conclusion of Crowley's sexuality but yeh, I'm getting there.

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

Let's take a look at canon events around Crowley & sexuality!

His character introduction is him enjoying making a homophobe man kiss him for a deal

It is rumoured that he was a demon's lover (Lilith's)

He heavily flirts with Bobby

He french kisses Bobby for a deal and takes a pic

He never kisses a woman on screen (tell me if I forgot anyone!)

He flirts with every single man he sees, and even more strongly when it's making the other uncomfortable

The other parent of Crowley's son is never mentioned nor even brought up

He has two orgies that we know of

He has sex with a demon who's possessing a woman (Lola) when he was addicted to human blood

He dates, has sex with, and asks Dean to rule Hell with him. He's in love with Dean

On late spn he drinks fruity drinks

He flirts with and implies he had sex with an angel (Naomi)

He flirts with Death (Billie)

He's into BDSM

I'm not gonna go into details with all the sexual stuff he says bc there's a lot.... But it's always about gay sex. (once again, if I'm forgetting smth pls tell me nicely)

Now, with all that I'd like to question specifically the elements people use to say Crowley is canonically attracted to women.

He has two orgies that we know of

There’s the one Crowley has while he’s himself possessing a woman ; iirc it’s a foursome with two other men and one woman. Crowley still counts as a King, as the show makes sure we know, admitedly this dialogue implies we should still think of him as a not-very-manly-man.

Honestly, if one is convinced Crowley is attracted to women based on this scene.. okay. Personally I don’t see it because the orgy is unplanned, it’s an opportunity Crowley takes. Is he even attracted to the two other men?? Who knows. We don’t even know if Crowley even touches the other woman, there’re so many ways to have group sex. Even if he did, having sex with one woman doesn’t make it impossible for him to be homosexual.

The second orgy is with Dean. Crowley describes it then: “We've done extraordinary things to triplets.” It’s interesting how before I went to check, I thought it was clear the triplets were women. But not at all! I’ve been tricked by heteronormativity myself. So this is up to interpretation. Even though the way the show doesn’t make sure we know the triplets were women is pretty telling (as I’ll talk about later).

It is rumoured that he was Lilith's lover

Well, this is a rumour. In this relationship Crowley would know Lilith as a demon possessing a woman, and Lilith would know Crowley as a demon possessing a man as well. Who's even to say they met in their vessels to sleep together. That's the kind of cases in which the ambiguity of Crowley human/demon situation makes it impossible to draw any kind of conclusion towards Crowley's attraction to women. Also if anything Lilith is clearly a lesbian lmao.

He has sex with Lola when he was addicted to human blood

Same thing here, the relationship is one of demon/demon. Though we do now they do meet in their vessels to sleep together. Besides that, the sex happens while Crowley is at a low point. She's the one bringing him human blood, which makes the sex more of a transaction than anything. It does fit a very grey area of consent which would be fair to question.

We can't know for sure whether the demon possessing the woman was a woman as well, but let's say she was: 1/ Crowley having sex once or twice with a woman doesn't prevent him from being homosexual. 2/ What is he seeing if not a demon's true form? 3/ Wasn't he in a self-destructive mental state?

It's a stretch, imo, to assume Crowley was attracted to her.

He flirts with and had sex with Naomi / flirts with Billie

This one is so ridiculous to me bc Naomi is an angel and as a demon, Crowley sees her true form. We don't even know who was her vessel when they had sex.

The flirt thing is interesting however, bc iirc Naomi and Billie are the only "women" we see Crowley actually flirt with. During the orgies or the demon sex there's no flirt involved. It's interesting bc, as Cas would say: "Naomi's vessel is a woman. Naomi is an angel."

Same case for Billie who's a reaper then Death. Spn is pretty unclear about how the whole thing works but we know reapers are kind of angels. In any case, I won't go as far as saying Billie has any connection to gender.

Moreover, the way Crowley flirts with them is pretty light next to everything else Crowley says to men. It's pretty personal, I'm aware, but I do relate a lot with the way Crowley flirts with them VS how I flirt with men just because (and I'm a lesbian).

Anyway! Both Naomi and Billie are supernatural creatures, which brings the count of women Crowley flirts with to... zero.

-> What I take from all that is that Crowley is attracted to men for sure ; to angels and demons ; and doesn't care about the genitalia involved in the sex he has. We have nothing about the kind of relationships he had as a human. His gender presentation matters a lot to him. The only long-term commitment he has is with Dean. I wouldn't even say he had a committed relationship with Gavin's other parent bc we don't know anything about them.

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

But what's my deal with homosexual Crowley? One can wonder, if Crowley doesn't care about bodies, doesn't that mean he can still be written as pan?

No! First because sexual attraction isn't about genitalia (even if transphobes would argue the contrary but they're transphobic so...). And second, well....

I would refer to this point as "how do I know Crowley isn't attracted to women? bc Dean is"

I'm convinced that if the show wanted to write Crowley as anything other than a gay man, it would have been way more obvious.

This is a show who wrote Dean catcalling a faceless woman on the street, for no other reason than to remind the viewers Dean was attracted to women & to balance it with the following homoerotic scene.

One could say spn doesn't have lots of women characters to begin with, but that's my point exactly: when spn wants to show attraction towards women, they do find women for people to be attracted to. Hell, they even give Gavin some girlfriend but never ever bring up the topic of Gavin's other parent. Even though an entire episode is dedicated to learning about Crowley's past.

What's important to understand Crowley's sexuality isn't the people he slept with ; it's the people he doesn't show interest in.

The absence of something is the presence of the thing, blablabla. It's a way to look at homosexuality that heteronormativity makes hard to see because, unconciously, we don't tend to question attraction towards the expected gender. One would ask for a 10 pages essay on why a character is gay, but one would need only a 2 sec kiss to assure a character's heterosexuality or attraction towards the expected gender.

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

In Crowley's case, his attraction to men is a huge part of his character right from the beginning (thanks god, at least no one's questioning that). Spn as a show that hears what the fans are saying and twists writing accordingly, is perfectly aware of that. Yet rather than pushing women at him along the course of the show to remind everyone how Not Gay Crowley is - the opposite happens.

Yeh, Lola, Naomi, Billie, they all happen in the later seasons. But even then, the show somehow can't write Crowley as attracted to a human woman.

What happens then is: not only does Crowley fall for Dean ; he engages in some BDSM play with Lucifer : and he switches from drinking only the finest Scotch to fruity cocktails.

The BDSM thing as well as the drink thing are choices rooted in stereotypes, that's how spn is! But it does canonize Crowley's homosexuality. They're depriving him of his "masculinity" as the show goes on, because they purposely write him as homosexual. I don't think spn would have ever written a bi or pan character that way.

We learned a few days ago that Crowley died in a gutter. He died in a gutter for a bigger d*ck. I'm just gonna refer to Oscar Wilde & Mika on this : "some of us in the gutter are looking up at the stars."

The "referred to as king" scene isn't about Crowley being a demon and so not caring about gender - it's the opposite. Other demons are the ones poiting out Crowley's vessel. This is a transphobic joke. It's the demon edition of the "gay boy in a dress" transmisogynistic trope.

Viewers aren't supposed to be on Crowley's side ; we're supposed to be giggling with the other demons while Crowley is being emasculated. Crowley gets a woman vessel because he's a not-very-manly-man, because he's a trans man, because he's homosexual.

And I know that bc Dean is written as bi, and all they're doing is reaffirming the way he does like women while being extra subtle with his love for men.

Meanwhile Crowley is losing influence and power, loses his authority as he loses his throne in Hell, gets humiliated by Lucifer, until all his character revolves around is his love for Dean. The way Crowley is then protrayed as some lovesick ex who can't move on is, imo, a straight man fantasy. Crowley's love is both used as predatory and as a tool to validate Dean's Peak Masculinity.

Spn has been burying their gays all along, and Crowley was right there being punished for not only being in love with Dean but for not being attracted to women. For never being able to be a "normal" guy. For never being able to be seen as a "normal" guy. For checking every homophobic stereotypes in the books. Crowley as a human dies because he's a trans man. Crowley as a demon dies because he's homosexual.

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

That's what leads me to be uncomfortable with the way the fandom seems to have a consensus towards pansexual Crowley. (Once again: idc about people's personal hc of Crowley as pan, I just want to think critically about the way no one thinks twice about it & accepts it as canon so easily. Hell, just bc I dared to ask what started the pan Crowley confirmation I got accused of erasing his pansexuality. All I did was ask a question.)

To me, it feels like erasing everything his character went through because he was gay. And it seems to be taken from a reasoning which is going to assume Crowley is attracted to women.

I mean: the reasoning would go "oh, Crowley clearly has a non-straight sexuality -> he's attracted to men -> he's pan" His attraction to women being accepted by default, without needing any backup. And when I look at the canon I see nothing implying he'd be attracted to women. Taking Crowley's attraction to women for granted is following an heteronormative thinking.

Being into people isn't all about who one sleeps with. It's about love. And when we look at what spn shows about Crowley's close relationships, the only meaningful one he got is with Dean. When Rowena wants payback for Crowley making her kill Oskar, she goes for his son.

And it's SO interesting to me because if angels can't be in love because they don't have a soul - can demons? as they're beings with a destroyed soul? And if so, how powerful of Crowley to still fall in love with Dean Winchester.... the power of gay love :) (Crowley 🤝 Cas)

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

To conclude all this with some more stuff to think about if, like me, you love questioning everything:

While it's not wrong per se to hc Crowley as pan, it can be worth questioning what's making us so sure we collectively just vibe with it? To me there's a few things: - As I was saying: heteronormative bias - Crowley being a non-fully-human character - Crowley being masculine (despite the show's attempts to erase that) - Crowley being into BDSM - Crowley flirting and making sexual remarks in every context

These, unconsciously, gives a vibe of a character who's "outside" of the gender norm, not making big deal of their sexuality, not even questioning it. This creates this idea of "ambiguity" around Crowley's sexuality. The way Crowley particularly seems to be really chill about sex, is a demon (so what does he know about gender?), and heavily flirty, ... is what most people will link to pansexuality. That doesn't mean thinking of Crowley as pan is being problematic™ ; this means in western medias that's what fills the "pansexual character" imagery (like basically: the Jack Harkness type).

However, when we look at it like that, none of these elements are defining of pansexuality. None of them are excluding him from homosexuality. If not stereotypes.

That's where it gets personal ; but it does make me feel like the huge consensus towards a pansexual Crowley (when there is no clear-cut evidence of it) is erasing the complexity of homosexual experiences. As I said at the begining: I'm happy if pansexual people can relate to Crowley ; everone's free to headcanon. But saying Crowley is canonically pansexual is a stretch - and a take rooted in homophobic stereotypes.

Imo Crowley may have been created with all these traits pushing towards a pan reading of his character. However, as the show went, he was clearly written as a homosexual man. The changes in his portrayal took a turn to be specifically homophobic. He gets imagery that only strictly homosexual characters got (such as drinking fruity cocktails like Aaron. Meanwhile Dean, on the same scene, is allowed beer & whiskey.)

We're used to taking spn's homophobic rep and jokes to make it our own. Yet it seems, when it comes to Crowley, the fandom doesn't see it.

Sometimes people aren't attracted to the gender heteronormativity expects them to be attracted to.......... sometimes people are gay and it's not an umbrella term.

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

“Until today I have written only in my diary - but I have done it faithfully, every evening, ending the day close to you. I have put nothing in it but the detail of each day of a monotonous life, but I have written nothing but for you, directed to you, colored by you. This departure was a wrench and I wouldn't have wanted to write you the awful pain and the kind of cowardice I was in. When the earth broke away from us, and later, after Gibraltar, when the coasts of Spain, and with them Europe, moved away, I was nothing but misery. But the day after tomorrow we will be in Dakar and I will be able to post a letter.

For two days we have been on your ocean. The waters are no longer blue but green. At midday, under a vertical sun, round and pale in a gangue of mist, we have passed the "Tropic" and sailing towards Dakar, I have the impression for the first time that I am going to meet you a little, towards the letter that I hope. This long silence, this depressing ignorance will stop. May my letter also bring you hope and life, a love as great as this tireless sea that has accompanied me for so many days, my cry to you, darling, and trust.

May I not forget this: it is not on the 20th that I arrive in Rio, but on the 15th. Calculate the flight time and write, please, so that your letter may wait for me and accompany me. Then we will not have had those twenty days of silence that I feared so much. For my part, I will write to you immediately. But do I need to tell you! Life on board is monotonous, as you can imagine. I have a strict, naked cabin, but I love these cells and the destitution. I can't imagine life any other way, outside of your presence.

I get up at 7:00. I go to the morning sea, have breakfast, take a bath, go to the pool (three fathoms wide, and water up to my stomach), bask in the sun, and then work. I have lunch, watch the sea at noon, get some sleep, work, have dinner and finish the day in front of the sea. The weather has been good, the sea has only risen from Gibraltar. I like those big events on board: a sail of fishermen, or a troop of dolphins, free and proud. The cinema sometimes: American turnips that I left after a quarter of an hour.

And conversation. Don't worry, we're not spoiled for pretty women. At my table: a professor from the Sorbonne, a young Argentinean, and a young woman who's going to join her husband. We say nothing, we smile, and we part. The young woman confides in me. I attract confidences, which is unfortunate when the confidences are so banal. I did what you asked: I took care of myself. For the first few days, all I had to do was lie down during the day to sleep. I was exhausted, almost sleeping while eating. But the baths, the sun, the sleep, the boredom on the edge, my wisdom too (no alcohol) and everything was back to normal. I'm fresh brown, dressed in light, and I'm thinking that maybe you'd like me right now. But I try not to tell myself that, I'm sick of your absence.

Every minute I imagine what this trip would be like if only you were here. You, the sea around us, far from the world and its cries, in the wonderful silence of the nights, and everything would be transfigured. But that imagination hurts. It awakens desire too, which sometimes I want to stifle inside me. In the meantime, I am here, in front of this sea that helps me, and it alone, to bear everything. When the day comes to an end on this immensity, when the moon sets a milky river rolling its thick waters towards the ship, or when the morning sea is covered with mane, there, alone on the deck, I have my appointments with you. And every day my heart swells like the ocean itself, full of that tormented and happy love that I prefer to life. You are present, docile, abandoned as I am, and then I can't love any more.

Over there it will be harder. But everything will go quickly darling, another appointment will come. I am waiting for this time and your letters to begin. Write me the details, tell me what you do, what you are, what you think. Don't forget my trust, and that your trust is the only way to answer it. Tell me everything, omit nothing, even what may distress me. There is nothing about you that I cannot understand that my heart cannot accept. I know now that I will love you to the end, against all pain.

I have never judged you, nor hated you. I never knew that I could love you, but I did so with all my strength and experience, with what I know and what I've learned. It's only me that I hate, sometimes, when I see you unhappy, or hostile. That's what you must remember. The image I have taken of you has now gone through many pains and many joys. It won't change again. This dear face is mine, it is what I would have taken away, what I would have received more precious in this life.

Wait for me, my love, my savage. You're here tonight as never before. I can't breathe from the tears that go up to my throat when I write to you. But I imagine your smile, I see it also in this photograph in front of me and I begin to hope again - this taste of happiness is very strong. But the happiness that comes to me from you pays for everything. Where are you, my love. I am wandering on all this water that separates us, I am calling you and I would like you to hear me, and I would like this cry to take you away, out of misfortune at last. I kiss you from afar, farther and farther away! Do not forget that I am not leaving you, that I am following you step by step, and that I am watching over you, for you and close to you.”

— Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, July 5, 1949 [#67]

[marmalodi]

John Lennon and Yoko Ono Interview: St. Regis Hotel, 9/5/1971

When we turned up at the St. Regis for our first interview, John and Yoko were still in bed. It was nearly afternoon and there was a flurry of activity in the adjacent rooms. May Pang was much in evidence, bustling about, her long black hair swirling around her. (This was a year or two before her affair with John.) She told us that our interview would have to be interrupted by a fitting for Yoko, which turned out to be to our advantage, because in Yoko's absence John was prepared to go back into the past and talk about Hamburg and the role of Brian Epstein.

We were served tea on a silver tray. John chain-smoked Gauloises, and the interview proceeded. It was obvious from the start that he was still angry at Paul, but when I played the tapes back later, I noticed he did not say anything negative about Paul's music. He attacked Paul for being bossy, arrogant, chauvinistic, etc, but in the next breath he would be telling us about Hamburg and about Paul having to be onstage for an hour and a half playing 'What'd I Say,' and you could hear the affection in his voice.

I have listened to these tapes many times, and I have always been struck by the contradictions within John Lennon. He tended to see the world in terms of black and white, and people were either on his good list or his hit list, and often subject to being switched from one to the other, according to which way the conversation turned. He was always outspoken, yet the charm of John's outspokenness was not only his way with words, but also that he was as critical and candid about himself as others. In the end it was this that made him endearing. He bared his soul about everything -- his insecurities, his mistakes -- and when he did so, even when he appeared ridiculous, he was a breath of fresh air in the entertainment world.

One moment I remember during the interview was when John and Yoko were leaning toward the microphone, each jostling the other to tell the story of how they met and fell in love. No one could have been in their presence for those minutes and not have been affected by it.

Neil Aspinal, the Beatles' longtime friend, said, 'The Beatles' world was an unreal world... a war zone.' It surely was. In a way I think Yoko brought John home. He found comfort, love, and understanding with her. He had a son by her and devoted himself to his child. I have no doubt he was a happier man in 1980 than he was in 1967 when he walked into that London art Gallery. - Peter McCabe (1984)

Q: "Let's talk about the Beatles' breakup, and the falling out between you and Paul. A lot of people think it had to do with the women in your lives. Is that why the Beatles split up?"

JOHN: "Not really. The split was over who would manage us -- Allen Klein or the Eastmans -- and nothing else really, although the split had been coming from Pepper onward."

Q: "Why, specifically?"

JOHN: "Paul was always upset about the White Album. He never liked it because on that one I did my music, he did his, and George did his. And first, he didn't like George having so many tracks. He wanted it to be more a group thing, which really means more Paul. So he never liked that album, and I always preferred it to all the other albums, including Pepper, because I thought the music was better. The Pepper myth is bigger, but the music on the White Album is far superior, I think."

Q: "That's your favorite, of all the Beatle albums?"

JOHN: "Yeah, because I wrote a lot of good shit on that. I like all the stuff I did on that, and the other stuff as well. I like the whole album. But if you're talking about the split, the split was over Allen and Eastman."

Q: "You didn't like Lee Eastman (Linda's father), nor John (Linda's brother), and the Eastmans didn't like Allen Klein..."

JOHN: "The Eastmans hated Allen from way back. They're from the class of family... like all classes, I suppose, they vote like Daddy does. They're the kind of kids who just think what their fathers told them."

Q: "But for a while you didn't get along with Linda."

JOHN: "We all got along well with Linda."

Q: "When did you first meet her?"

JOHN: "The first time was after that Apple press conference in America. We were going back to the airport and she was in the car with us. I didn't think she was particularly attractive. A bit too tweedy, you know. But she sat in the car and took photographs and that was it. And the next minute she's married him."

YOKO: "There was a nice quality about her. As a woman she doesn't offend you because she doesn't come on like a coquettish bird, you know? So she was alright, and we were on very good terms until Allen came into the picture. And then she said, 'Why the hell do you have to bring Allen into it?' She said very nasty things about Allen."

Q: "Yoko, you weren't with John the first time he met her?"

YOKO: "No. The first time I met her was when she came to the EMI studio. And you know, when Beatles are recording, there's very few people around, especially no women. If a young woman comes into the room, everybody just sort of looks at her. So I was there, and the first thing Linda made clear to me -- almost unnecessarily -- was the fact that she was interested in Paul, and not John, you know? She was sort of presupposing that I would be nervous. She just said, 'Oh, I'm with Paul.' Something to that effect. I think she was eager to be with me and John, in the sense that Paul and John are close, we should be close too. And couple to couple we were going to be good friends."

Q: "What was Paul's attitude to you as things progressed?"

YOKO: "Paul began complaining that I was sitting too close to them when they were recording, and that I should be in the background."

JOHN: "Paul was always gently coming up to Yoko and saying, 'Why don't you keep in the background a bit more?' I didn't know what was going on. It was going on behind my back."

Q: "So did that contribute to the split?"

JOHN: "Well, Paul rang me up. He didn't actually tell me he'd split, he said he was putting out an album. He said, 'I'm now doing what you and Yoko were doing last year. I understand what you were doing.' All that shit. So I said, 'Good luck to yer.'"

Q: "So, John. You and Paul were probably the greatest songwriting team in a generation. And you had this huge falling out. Were there always huge differences between you and Paul, or was there a time when you had a lot in common?"

JOHN: "Well, Paul always wanted the home life, you see. He liked it with daddy and the brother... and obviously missed his mother. And his dad was the whole thing. Just simple things. He wouldn't go against his dad and wear drainpipe trousers. And his dad was always trying to get me out of the group behind me back, I found out later. He'd say to George, 'Why don't you get rid of John, he's just a lot of trouble. Cut your hair nice and wear baggy trousers,' like I was the bad influence because I was the eldest. So Paul was always like that. And I was always saying, 'Face up to your dad, tell him to fuck off. He can't hit you. You can kill him (laughs) he's an old man.' I used to say, 'Don't take that shit.' But Paul would always give in to his dad. His dad told him to get a job, he dropped the group and started working on the fucking lorries, saying, 'I need a steady career.' We couldn't believe it. Once he rang up and said he'd got this job and couldn't come to the group. So I told him on the phone, 'Either come or you're out.' So he had to make a decision between me and his dad then, and in the end he chose me. But it was a long trip."

Q: "So you think with Linda he's found what he wanted?"

JOHN: "I guess so. I guess so. I just don't understand. I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted something intelligent or something arty. But you don't really know what you want until you find it. So anyway, I was very surprised with Linda. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd married Jane because it had been going on for a long time and they went through a whole ordinary love scene. But with Linda it was just like -- boom! She was in and that was the end of it."

Q: "So if the falling out was essentially with Paul, what made you decide not to participate in the Bangladesh concert with George?"

JOHN: "I told George about a week before it that I wouldn't be doing it. I just didn't feel like it. I just didn't want to be fucking rehearsing and doing a big show-biz trip. We were in the Virgin Islands, and I certainly wasn't going to be rehearsing in New York, then going back to the Virgin Islands, then coming back up to New York and singing. And anyway, they couldn't have got any more people in, if I'd been there or not. I got enough money off records and I don't feel like doing two shows a night."

Q: "Do you have any regrets about not doing it?"

JOHN: "Well, at first I thought, 'Oh, I wish I'd been there,' you know, with Dylan and Leon... they needed a rocker. Everybody was telling me 'You should have been there, John,' but I'm glad I didn't do it in a way because I didn't want to go on as 'The Beatles.' And with George and Ringo there it would have had that connotation of Beatles -- Now let's hear Ringo sing 'It Don't Come Easy.' That's why I left it all. I don't want to play 'My Sweet Lord.' I'd as soon go out and do exactly what I want."

Q: "John, you said you 'get enough off records,' but you used to say you weren't as rich as people thought you were. Are you rich enough finally?"

JOHN: "Well, I do have money for the first time ever, really. I do feel slightly secure about it, secure enough to say I'll go on the road for free. The reason I got rich is because I'm so insecure. I couldn't give it all away, even in my most holy, Christian, God-fearing, Hare Krishna period. I need it because I'm so insecure. Yoko doesn't need it. She always had it. I have to have it. I'm not secure enough to give it all up, because I need it to protect me from whatever I'm frightened of."

YOKO: "He's very vulnerable."

JOHN: "But now I think that Allen Klein has made me secure enough, it's his fault that I'll go out for free."

Q: "You mean tour for free?"

JOHN: "Well, I thought I can't really go on the road and take a lot more money. What am I going to do with it? I've got all the fucking bread I need. If I go broke, well, I'd go on the road for money then. But now I just couldn't face saying, 'Well, I cost a million when I sing.'"

YOKO: "It's criminal."

JOHN: "It's bullshit, because I want to sing. So I'm going out on the road because I want to this time. I want to do something political, and radicalize people, and all that jazz. I feel like going out with Yoko, and taking a really far-out show on the road, a mobile, political, rock and roll show."

YOKO: "With clowns as well."

JOHN: "You know what I was thinking -- when Paul's going out on the road, I'd like to be playing in the same town for free next door! And he's charging about a million. That would be funny."

YOKO: "Our position is -- I come from the East, he comes from the West -- a meeting of East and West, and all that. And to communicate with people is almost a responsibility. We actually are living proof of East and West getting along together. High water falls low, you know. And if our cup is full, it's going to flow. It's natural for us to give because we have a lot. If we don't give, it's criminal, in the sense that it's going against the law of nature. In order to go against the law of nature you have to use tremendous energy."

Q: "Let's talk about Allen Klein. He has a reputation as a tough wheeler-dealer in the music business. What made you decide to have him as your manager?"

JOHN: "Well, Allen's human, whereas Eastman and all them other people are automatons. And one of the early things that impressed me about Allen -- and obviously it was a kind of flattery as well -- was that he really knew which stuff I'd written. Not many people knew which was my song and which was Paul's, but he'd say, 'Well, McCartney didn't write that line, did he?' I thought, anybody who knows me this well, just by listening to records, is pretty perceptive. I'm not the easiest guy to read, although I'm fairly naive and open in some ways, and I can be conned easily. But in other ways I'm quite complicated, and it's not easy to get through all the defenses and see what I'm like. Allen knew to come to me and not to go to Paul, whereas somebody like Lew Grade or Eastman would have gone to Paul."

Q: "Did Klein hope to get Paul back into the group?"

JOHN: (laughs) "He came up with this plan. He said, "Just ring Paul and say, 'We're recording next Friday, are you coming?' So it nearly happened. Then Paul would have forfeited his right to split by joining us again. But Paul would never, never do it, for anything, and now I would never do it."

Q: "There was a lot of negative publicity about Klein. Didn't that bother you?"

JOHN: "Well, he's a businessman. He's probably cut many peoples' throats. So have I. I made it too. I mean, I can't remember anybody I literally cut, but I've certainly trod on a few feet on the way up. And I'm sure Allen did also."

Q: "How does Klein compare with Brian Epstein as a manager?"

JOHN: "Well, Brian couldn't delegate, and neither can Allen. But I understand that. When I try and delegate it never gets done properly. Like with my albums and Yoko's, each time I have to go through the same process -- Get the printing size right. I want it clear and simple. I have to go through the same jazz all the time. It's never a lesson learned."

Q: "Let's get back to something we were talking about earlier. The attitude of the other Beatles toward Yoko."

JOHN: "They don't listen to women. Women are chicks to them."

Q: "What about George?"

JOHN: "George always has a point of view about that wide (he holds his hands close together), you know? You can't tell him anything."

YOKO: "George is sophisticated, fashionwise..."

JOHN: "He's very trendy, and he has the right clothes on, and all of that."

YOKO: "But he's not sophisticated, intellectually."

JOHN: "No. He's very narrow-minded. One time in the Apple office I was saying something, and he said, 'I'm as intelligent as you, you know.' This must have been resentment. Of course he's got an inferiority complex from working with Paul and me."

Q: "John, what did you think of Yoko's work when you first saw it?"

JOHN: "Well, her gallery show was a bit of an eye-opener. I wasn't sure what it was all about. I knew there was some sort of con game going on. She calls herself a concept artist, but with the 'cept' left off, it's con artist. I saw that side of it and that was interesting. And then we met."

Q: "Was it love at first sight?"

JOHN: "Well, I always had this dream of meeting an artist woman I would fall in love with. Even from art school. And when we met and were talking I just realized that she knew everything I knew -- and more probably. And it was coming out of a woman's head. It just sort of bowled me over. It was like finding gold or something. To have exactly the same relationship with any male you'd ever had, but also you could go to bed with it, and it could stroke your head when you felt tired or sick or depressed. Could also be Mother. And if the intellect is there... well, it's just like winning the pools. So that's why when people ask me for a precis of my story, I put, 'born, lived, met Yoko.' because that's what it's been about.

"As she was talking to me I would get high, and the discussion would get to such a level that I would be going higher and higher. And when she'd leave, I'd go back into this sort of suburbia. Then I'd meet her again and my head would go off like I was on an acid trip. I'd be going over what she'd said and it was incredible, some of the ideas and the was she was saying them, And then once I got a sniff of it I was hooked. Then I couldn't leave her alone. We couldn't be apart for a minute from then on."

YOKO: "He has this nature, and I'm thankful for it. Most men are so narrow-minded. Somebody once told me, 'You don't make small talk, and that's why men hate you.' I mean, I have so many male enemies who try to stifle me. What the hell."

JOHN: "I did the same, of course. I found myself being a chauvinist pig with her. Then I started thinking, 'Well, if I said that to Paul, or asked Paul to do that, or George, or Ringo, they'd tell me to fuck off.' And then you realize -- you just have this attitude to women that is just insane! It's beyond belief , the way we're brought up to think of women. And I had to keep saying, 'Well, would I tell a guy to do that? Would I say that to a guy? Would a guy take that?' Then I started to get nervous. I thought, 'Fuck, I better treat her right or she's going to go. No friend's going to stick around for this treatment."

Q: Did you know anything about rock music, Yoko, when you first met John?"

YOKO: "I didn't know anything about rock music, or anything like it. I thought of rock songs as something a bit lower than poetry. It was like reading poetry that had a definite rhythm to it."

JOHN: "She used to say, "Why are you doing the same beat all the time?' I used to get very irritated."

Q: "What were your feelings about art and the art world at that time?"

JOHN: "Well, I went to art school and I thought that was the art world, virtually. And they're all such pretentious hypocrites. There was no artist I admired, except for maybe Dali or someone from the past. And when I read the art reviews... I couldn't understand why I wasn't being reviewed for my art, because I always felt like an artist.

"So I went to her show. I was thinking, 'Fucking artist shit. It's all bullshit.' But then there were so many good jokes in it, real good eye-openers."

YOKO: "That's another thing, most artists don't have a sense of humor."

JOHN: "And there was a sense of humor in her work, you know? It was funny. Her work really made me laugh, some of it. So that's when I got interested in art again, just through her work."

YOKO: "All the men I met, I felt they were more pretentious than me, hypocritical, narrower than me, and not genuine. And I'm talented. Because I can compose, I can paint, I can be in many fields. Most men that I met were bragging about their professionalism in one field."

JOHN: "They get one idea and flog it to death, and become famous on one idea."

YOKO: "And fucking conservative, you know? And they talk about women not having a sense of humor. I used to despise every man that I met. I was thinking, 'There's something wrong with me, because everybody hated me for it.' And then I met this man, and for the first time I got the fright of my life because here was a man who was just as genuine, maybe more genuine than me. He's very genuine. And he can do anything I can do, which is very unusual. And I got surprised. And that happened at the first meeting."

JOHN: "It took me a long time to get used to it. Any woman I could shout down. Most of my arguments used to be a question of who could shout the loudest. Normally I could win, whether I was right or wrong, especially if the argument was with a woman -- they'd just give in. But she didn't. She'd go on and on and on, until I understood it. Then I had to treat her with respect."

Q: "Yoko, did you have any idea of what the Beatles' life had been like, on tours for example?"

JOHN: "She was really shocked. I thought the art world was loose, you know? And when I started telling her about what our life was like, she couldn't believe it."

YOKO: "I came from a different generation. I mean, my friends didn't want me to know they smoked pot, you know? So I thought 'Oh, he's an artist. He's probably had two or three affairs.' Then I heard the whole story and I thought, 'My God!'"

JOHN: "She was just like this silly Eastern nun wandering about, thinking it was all spiritual."

YOKO: "He once said to me, 'Well, were you a groupie in the art world?' I said, 'What's a groupie?'"

JOHN: "So I said, 'Just tell me. I don't want to go 'round and fucking Picasso or someone comes up and says, 'Yes, I've had her.'"

YOKO: "And I really didn't know the word 'groupie.'"

JOHN: "So anyway, I'd been dying to tell her about the 'raving' on tour. I just wanted her to know what a scene it was. I thought it was silly not to say it. And of course the people with us were living like fucking emperors when we were locked in our rooms. That's why they cling so much to the past."

Q: "Talking of your entourage, do you resent it that so many people take credit for their contributions to the Beatles?"

JOHN: "Well, there was an article on George Martin in Melody Maker -- he's telling all these stories. He says, well, I showed them how to play feedback, or put tape loops together, or some arbitrary little technical thing... Where is the great talent of George Martin and Derek Taylor, and the legacy of Brian Epstein? Where is their talent?"

YOKO: "It's like my ex-husband saying that he sacrificed his talent for me, or something."

JOHN: "Well, I never had anything against George Martin. I just didn't like all the rumors that he actually was the brains behind the Beatles. I can't stand that."

Q: "Let's talk about Brian Epstein, your first manager. What did you think of him?"

JOHN: " I liked Brian. I had a very close relationship with him for years, like I have with Allen, because I'm not going to have some stranger running the scene, that's all. I was close with Brian, as close as you can get with someone who lives sort of the fag life, and you don't really know what they're doing on the side. But in the group I was closest to him. He had great qualities and was good fun.

"He was a theatrical man rather than a businessman, and with us he was a bit like that. He literally fucking cleaned us up. And there were great fights between him and me, over years and years, of me not wanting to dress up. He and Paul had some kind of collusion... to keep me straight. Because I kept spoiling the image, like the time I beat up a guy at Paul's twenty-first. I nearly killed him, because he insinuated that me and Brian had an affair in Spain. I was out of me mind.

What I think about the Beatles is that even if there had been Paul and John and two other people, we'd never have been the Beatles. It had to take that combination of Paul, John, George and Ringo to make the Beatles. There's no such thing as 'Well, John and Paul wrote all the songs, therefore they contributed more.' because if it hadn't been us we would have got songs from somewhere else. And Brian contributed as much as us in the early days, although we were the talent and he was the hustler."

Q: "So after Brian died you made 'Magical Mystery Tour.' You said Paul was acting as if he were going to take charge of everything?"

JOHN: "Well, I still felt, every now and then, that Brian would come in and say, 'It's time to record,' or 'Time to do this.' And then Paul started doing that -- 'Now we're going to make a movie,' or 'Now we're going to make a record.' And he assumed that if he didn't call us, nobody would ever make a record. Well, it's since shown that we managed quite well to make records on time. I don't have any schedule, I just think, 'Now I'll make it.' But in those days, Paul would say that now he felt like it. And suddenly I'd have to whip out 20 songs. He'd come in with about 20 good songs and say 'We're recording.' And I had to suddenly write a fucking stack of songs. Pepper was like that. Magical Mystery Tour was another. So I hastily did my bits for it and we went out on the road. And Paul did the thing for his album -- the big-timer, auditioning directors."

Q: Let's go back for a minute and talk about all the early influences on the Beatles. What would you say had the greatest effect on the group? Was it Liverpool? The Cavern? Hamburg? Did Hamburg really improve the playing?"

JOHN: "Oh, amazingly. Because before that we'd only been playing bits and pieces, but in Hamburg we had to play for hours and hours on end. Every song lasted 20 minutes and had 20 solos in it. We'd be playing eight or ten hours a night. And that's what improved the playing. Also, the Germans like heavy rock, so you have to keep rocking all the time, and that's how we got stomping. That's how it developed. That made the sound. Because we developed a sound by playing hours and hours and hours together."

Q: "You all must have found yourself playing in some unbelievably bad conditions."

JOHN: "Yeah, but it was still rather thrilling when you went onstage. A little frightening because it wasn't a dancehall, and all these people were sitting down, expecting something. And then they would tell us to 'mak show'. After the first night they said, 'You were terrible. You have to make a show -- Mak show!' So I put my guitar down and I did Gene Vincent all night. You know -- banging and lying on the floor and throwing the mic about and pretending I had a bad leg. They're all doing it now -- lying on the floor and banging the guitar and kicking things and just doing all that jazz.

"Then they moved us to another club, which was larger and where they danced. Paul would be doing 'What'd I Say' for an hour and a half. And these gangsters would come in -- the local mafia. They'd send a crate of champagne onstage... this imitation German champagne, and we had to drink it or they'd kill us. They'd say, 'Drink it and then do What'd I Say.' We'd have to do this other show, whatever time of night. If they came in at five in the morning and we'd been playing for seven hours, they'd give us a crate of champagne and we were supposed to carry on. We'd get pills off the waiters then, to keep awake. That's how all that started.

"I used to be so pissed I'd be lying on the floor behind the piano, drunk, while the rest of the group was playing. I'd just be onstage fast asleep. Some of the shows, I went on just in me underpants. I'd go on in underpants with a toilet seat 'round me neck, and all sorts of gear on. Out of me fucking mind!"

Q: When did you get into acid? Did Paul time his LSD announcement to coincide with the release of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band?"

JOHN: "No. We'd had acid on Revolver. Everyone is under this illusion... even George Martin saying 'Pepper was their acid album,' but we'd had acid, including Paul, by the time Revolver was finished."

Q: "So why did he make that big announcement?"

JOHN: "Because the press had cornered him. I don't know how they found out about him taking it. But that was a year after we'd all taken it. Rubber Soul was our pot album, and Revolver was acid. I mean, we weren't all stoned making Rubber Soul because in those days we couldn't work on pot. We never recorded under acid or anything like that. It's like saying, 'Did Dylan Thomas write Under Milk Wood on beer?' What the fuck does that have to do with it? The beer is to prevent the rest of the world from crowding in on him. The drugs are to prevent the rest of the world from crowding in on you. They don't make you write better. I never wrote any better stuff because I was on acid or not on acid."

Q: "Did the fact that Sergeant Pepper inspired so many people to try LSD surprise you?"

JOHN: "Well, I never felt that Haight-Ashbury was a direct result. It always seemed to me that all sorts of things were happening at once. The acid thing in America was going on long before Pepper. Leary was going around saying, 'Take it, take it, take it.' We followed his instruction. I did it just like he said in the Book Of The Dead, and then I wrote Tomorrow Never Knows,' which is on Revolver, and which was almost the first acid song -- 'Lay down all thought, surrender to the void' -- and all that shit. Do you remember if Paul's statement on acid came out after Sergeant Pepper?"

Q: "Just as it was released."

JOHN: "I see. He always times his big announcements right on the letter, doesn't he. Like leaving the Beatles. Maybe it's instinctive. It probably is. Anyway, 'Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds' is not about LSD. And Henry the Horse is not about smack on Sergeant Pepper, because I'd never even seen it when we made Sergeant Pepper. But those kinds of stories evolved from it -- people thought if you listened to it backwards it said 'Paul is dead.' All that shit is just gobbledygook."

Q: "Still, many who got into acid might never have followed Timothy Leary but did follow the Beatles."

JOHN: "Well, blame it on Dylan. He turned us onto pot."

Q: "Having written so much with Paul, do you think it's possible for there to be some type of settlement, outside of business?"

JOHN: "Well, there's no way for it to be settled 'outside business,' because it all gets down to who owns a bit of what. It's a house we own together, and there's no way of settling it, unless we all decide to live in it together. It has to be sold."

Q: "Have you missed writing songs with him?"

JOHN: "No I haven't. I wrote alone in the early days. We used to write separately. He used to write songs before I even started writing songs. I think he did. And we'd written separately for years. I wrote 'Help.' I wrote 'A Hard Day's Night.' He wrote 'Yesterday.' They'd been separate for years.

"In the early days we'd write together for fun, and later on for convenience to get so many numbers out for an album. But our best songs were always written alone. And things like 'A Day In The Life' was just my song and his song stuck together. I mean we used to sit down and finish off each other's songs. You know, you could have three quarters of a song finished and we'd just sit together, bring ten songs each, and finish off the tail ends, and put middle eights in ones that you couldn't be bothered fixing, because they weren't all that good anyway.

"We usually got together on songs that were less interesting. Now and then we'd write together from scratch. 'I Want To Hold Your Hand,' things like that were done like that. But we'd been working apart ever since we were working together. It was only news to the public that a lot of Lennon-McCartney songs weren't Lennon-McCartney. That was something we'd agreed on years ago."

Q: "Do you think it was a mistake in retrospect to have named everything Lennon-McCartney?"

JOHN: "No, I don't, because it worked very well and it was useful. Then it was useful, so it was quite good fun. I've nothing against it."

Q: "If you got, I don't know what the right phrase is... 'back together' now, what would be the nature of it?"

JOHN: "Well, it's like saying, if you were back in your mother's womb... I don't fucking know. What can I answer? It will never happen, so there's no use contemplating it. Even if I became friends with Paul again, I'd never write with him again. There's no point. I write with Yoko because she's in the same room with me."

YOKO: "And we're living together."

JOHN: "So it's natural. I was living with Paul then, so I wrote with him. It's whoever you're living with. He writes with Linda. He's living with her. It's just natural."

Source: Transcribed by www.beatlesinterviews.org from original magazine issue

[plus-size-reader]

Company

Jaskier x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1906 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Travelling with Geralt and Jaskier, and when you stop, Jaskier draws you a bath 

—————————————————————————————————

Jaskier didn’t have much experience with women of your caliber as a general rule. 

Sure, he had plenty of experience with women in general but not like you. Never had he met a woman so entitled yet strong willed. It was an awakening for him, and immediately, he never wanted to stop being around you. 

You just had such a strong presence and it wasn’t his fault that he was captivated by that. 

Any man in his right mind would be, as far as he was concerned. 

So, it was only natural that everything you said and did held his attention, just as much as when you were just riding alongside him on the trail.You were a stunning beauty with a title to match but that wasn’t what got him the most. 

What held the bard’s attention more than anything was the fact that you seemed to have no fear, and that was admirable in a woman like you. A woman who had been raised with a crown atop her head and no reason to ever leave. 

Even so, when your people needed you, you left the palace you had grown up in and hit the road with two complete strangers. 

So, of course he found you interesting. 

If he ever had to do what you had, to leave that comfort, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to go through with it. Fear would likely keep him from doing so, even if he really wanted to. 

“I suggest we stop for the night” you hummed, interrupting the thoughts that were coursing through the young man’s mind. You all had been going since sun up two days  again and Roach could use some shade and a bit of fresh water. 

Not to mention the fact that if Geralt didn’t get enough sleep, he would be rather crabby in the morning. Sleeping on the ground hadn’t proved well enough for his taste. 

Geralt audibly sighed at the idea of having to prolong the journey even more but after taking a moment to think about it, he knew that you were right. There was no good reason to exhaust yourselves on this long trip. 

“Fine, but we leave at dawn” he grumbled, deciding that the next town you all came across would just have to do. Whatever the state of it, you had all stayed in worse during your time on the road. 

You hummed in agreement, finding no problem with that arrangement. You caught Jaskier staring out of the corner of your eye, but thought nothing about it. Instead, you winked at him in amusement, knowing that Geralt wouldn’t argue with you. 

You had learned that the white haired male was a bit of a pushover, even if he liked to act as if he wasn’t. 

~

The inn at the closest town seemed rather shabby, if you were telling the truth, but all things considered it was much better than sleeping in a field like you’d been doing lately. At this point, you would probably sleep anywhere as long as there was a roof over your head. 

“I’ll find a place for Roach, and get some ale, you stay here” Geralt suggested, though in his gruff tone it sounded more like an order. 

Not that you really cared. All you did was nod, hoping that maybe you could find a washtub around here to clean the dirt and grime from your skin. Right about now, you would kill for some warm water. 

“Let’s go get settled in, Geralt will be back before we know it” you suggested to Jaskier, gesturing over to the room you three had booked without hesitation. The poor man had been on his feet for hours and you were sure he wanted to rest. 

You would have, in his position. 

...And, without a shred of hesitation, Jaskier followed. 

You found a suitable basin of water in the room, deciding immediately to have that bath before anything else. If you were lucky, you could actually get all cleaned up before Geralt got back. 

“I’m going to have a bath Jaskier” you hummed, calling to the man across the space, knowing that he could hear you even if he was behind the far wall. The least you could do was give him some heads up. 

Not that it was much of a warning seeing as the second you called out to him, you let your clothes fall to the floor. You had been wearing them for what felt like hours, and it wasn’t natural. 

A woman like you shouldn’t have to consider herself lucky for a clean outfit and a warm bath. 

The man didn’t say anything in reply until you had already settled yourself into the tub though you could hear what sounded like he knocked something over. You chose to ignore it, only smiling as you let the water settle over your sore muscles.  

The feeling of it was wonderful, easing the strain you didn’t even know you’d been feeling in every one of your tense limbs. 

So much so that you let out a content sigh, a sigh that must have alerted the man in the other room to the point where he felt the need to check in on you. 

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” he wondered, the words getting caught in his throat when he saw you there, sunk deep into a metal washtub. Immediately, it was as if he’d lost all ability to comprehend what was happening, and it amused you. 

You had noticed Jaskier’s obvious attraction to you. Anyone would have known, but you didn’t dare tell him that, in fear of embarrassing him. It wasn’t until things like this happened that you felt the need to tease him ever so slightly. 

“I’m wonderful Jaskier, how are you?” you smiled, batting your eyelashes at him casually with your fingers dancing on top of the water. It moved with your hands, back and forth with the swaying of  your finger tips, making a swishing sound that filled the entire room. 

The sweet man faltered ever so slightly, his face flushed as he tried to speak. However, he found his throat too dry to form the words though he was trying his best.

Not that you minded. 

“Jaskier, could you assist me with something?” you wondered, your voice sickeningly sweet as it bled into the air, eliciting a nod from him almost immediately. In that moment, you both knew that he would do anything you asked, and you couldn’t help but grin at the thought. 

You had both been shying away from the obvious attraction between you for so long, but it was clear that whatever you were dealing with, was coming to a head right now. 

There would be no more running from it after this. 

Still, you persisted. 

“I was just wondering if you would scrub my back? I can’t seem to reach it” you hummed, looking up at him with bright eyes, shining in the dark room. For good measure, you stretched your arm around, proving your point to him. 

The action made the bard swallow hard, but again he nodded, not trusting his voice to form the words necessary to answer you. 

Not that much talking was needed, as far as you were concerned. 

You enjoyed Jaskier’s company, and that was no secret. However, the distance between you was becoming bothersome, to the point where something had to be done about it. 

...And the Witcher’s absence gave way to the perfect opportunity. 

“Thank you, I’ll owe you for this” you smiled, taking in the heavenly feeling of his hands on your back, washing away all the grime of the past few days. Not to mention the fact that his nimble fingers worked perfectly into the muscles of your back. 

It was wonderful. 

However, it wasn’t quite close enough for your liking. After all, this was your one attempt at showing Jaskier that you cared for him, and it had to be perfect. 

You would likely use your sanity if this wasn’t resolved soon. 

“Is this alright?” he hummed, his voice cautious as he strummed over the tense muscles of your back as he would his lute. If there was one thing you could say for the man, it was that he had excellent control over those muscles. 

...And it was beginning to be too much. 

You two had been running away from these feelings you had for one another for far too long and it was almost bothering you at this point. 

“Jaskier” you sighed, throwing your head back ever so dramatically toward where he was behind you. Had the washtub not been in the way, you likely would have had your head in his lap, which was perfect. 

At least, for you. 

“Do you find yourself drawn to me?” you asked, well aware of how strange it sounded. In any normal circumstance, you wouldn’t have dared ask but this wasn’t normal circumstance. 

This was something else entirely. 

The bard stammered, of course, a few times before he could get the words out but you both knew what he was trying to get at anyway. “Yes, I suppose I do” he decided, bringing both hands up to your shoulders to rest there for a moment. 

He hadn’t foreseen this when you asked for a favor, but perhaps he should have. After all, he had been throwing subtle hints your way since you two met so he couldn’t be shocked now.

There was one thing for sure and it was that this was going to be a turning point for the both of you and the direction of your relationship hinged completely on the man’s reaction in this moment. 

So, he did the only thing he could think to do. 

Jaskier leaned down as casually as he could, ignoring the rapid beating of his heart, and kissed you. 

It was a smooth motion especially considering the fact he could hardly focus past your damp skin and the sounds of the water moving slowly past your body as you moved. 

...And now it seemed to be your turn to be silent.  

In all the ways you’d ran through this in your head, you hadn’t considered Jaskier being so bold. When you were concerned, he seemed to slink away into a more subservient role but not now. 

Whatever you had done to bring this out of him, you had to be sure to remember it for later. 

This was quite fun. 

“Was that alright?” the bard repeated, smirking at himself by using his earlier words on your now, focusing on the look in your eyes as you admired him. 

The candlelight shone on him wonderfully and gave way to the shimmer in his eyes that you had never seen in broad daylight. Jaskier was beautiful in his own right, and you’d never given that the attention it deserved. 

Not that you could tear your eyes away now. 

“It was a good start” you allowed, turning to face him that much more to capture his lips in your own again. Perhaps it had taken a while to get to this point but it didn’t matter now. 

All you could focus on in this moment was your newfound company and all the wonderful things you could do now that it was all out in the open. Though, you’d have to explain some things to Geralt when he got back. 

[elliemarchetti]

Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (Part 1)

@lilyharvord hope you like it!

Masterlist

Words: 2391

It’s a universally recognized truth that a bachelor in possessing of a large fortune should need a wife. However little you may know about the feelings or points of view of such a man on his first appearance in the neighborhood, this truth is so firmly fixed in the minds of the district’s families that he was considered the legitimate property of one or the other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Barrow,” his lady told him one day, “did you know that finally the Hall of the Sun has been rented?” 

Mr. Barrow replied no and although his lack of interest was evident, his wife continued with her speech anyway, until, impatient at the absence of an answer, she asked him if he wasn’t interested in knowing who possessed enough fortune to be able to afford it. 

"You want to tell me, and I have nothing against listening,” he replied, enigmatic as always. He had always been a bizarre man, but the war accident that forced him into a wheelchair had somehow accentuated his wit and sarcasm, and despite twenty-three years had passed, his wife, a woman with a simple mind, of low intelligence and even less culture, still struggled to understand him, but somehow it seemed enough for the man, and he loved her dearly. 

“Well, my dear,” she continued, “you must know that Mrs. Long says the Hall of the Sun was rented by a young man who arrived Monday to see the place, and was so delighted that he will send his servants toward the end of the week.”

"And what’s his name, may I ask?” 

“Samos,” replied the woman, innocently. Mr. Barrow knew that name well, as it was that of the family who owned the largest mines in the kingdom, but he didn’t know if their son was a bachelor or not, an answer that soon came from his wife.

“Oh! Bachelor, my dear, you can be sure! What a beautiful thing for our girls! ”

“Why on earth? What do they have to do with it?” he asked, even though he had already guessed his wife’s plan to marry him to one of their daughters. What his spouse didn’t take into consideration was that this might not be the primary interest of the young heir to an industry that seemed to be making him richer and richer: after all, they weren’t a rich nor noble family, and all they had was earned from their work in the textile industry and his and his three sons’ military career.

“Since he’s young, it’s very likely that he can fall in love with one of our girls, and so you must visit him as soon as he arrives,” replied his wife, as if she had not understood that the flow of his thoughts had gone far beyond. 

“I see no reason to do that. You and the girls can go without me, or you can send them alone, which maybe will be better, since you’re as beautiful as they are and Mr. Samos could consider you the best of the bunch.” 

"My dear, you flatter me. Sure, I had my share of beauty, but now I don’t claim to be anything extraordinary, but don’t try to distract me: you really must go.”

 "It’s more than I can commit to doing, I assure you.”

“But think of your daughters. Just think of what arrangement it would be for one of them. The Skonos are determined to go just for this reason, and you know that they generally don’t visit newcomers. You have to go, because if you don’t, it would be impossible for us to visit him.” 

"Surely you have too many scruples: I really think that Mr. Samos will be delighted to meet you, and I’ll send through you my cordial consent to his marriage to whichever girl he prefers, although I’ll have to put in a good word for my little Mare.” 

"Do me the pleasure of not doing such a thing. Mare is nothing better than Gisa and I’m sure she isn’t half as beautiful or half as jovial as her, but you always prefer her over your other daughter.” 

"That’s because I have to balance your obvious preference for Gisa,” the man replied, and not knowing how to win that argument, Mrs. Barrow appealed to her most famous excuse, her feeble nerves.

“Ah, you don’t know how much I suffer.” 

“But I hope you will be able to heal, and live to see many young men with four thousand a year arrive in the neighborhood. ” 

“It wouldn’t do any good even if twenty came, seen that you are not going to visit them,” she replied, angrily. 

“Count on it, my dear, that when they will be twenty, I’ll go and visit every one!” he exclaimed, and walked away, leaving her to wonder if he would go or not, an answer she received the next week, during a conversation that occupied the whole family, in which her husband threw a few clues about his secret visit to Mr. Samos that morning. 

 “I’m tired of Mr. Samos!” exclaimed his wife, after a while.

“I’m sorry, but why didn’t you tell me before? If I had at least known it this morning, I certainly wouldn’t have gone to visit him. It’s really unfortunate, but since I did indeed visited him, now we can no longer avoid him,” he replied, although it really was exactly what he would’ve wanted; even if he was handsome, with an elegant appearance and formal manners, everything in him seemed forced and his expression wasn’t very nice. Even Shade, his third son, who had accompanied him in his visit, didn’t liked him that much, and it was a very strange event, given his character. Anyway, the two had decided not to spoil the enthusiasm of the women and not to instill in them any bad judgment, so, thanks to the general excitement, they retired ahead of time, followed by Bree, who had no interest in dances and social events of that kind, and which would shortly be called back to serve in the army. 

"What an excellent father you have!” exclaimed Mrs. Barrow, as soon as she was left alone with Tramy, her favorite son, and the two youngest. 

“I don’t know how you can ever repay his kindness; or mine too, for that matter. At our age, I tell you, it’s not so pleasant to make new acquaintances every day; but for your sake we would do anything. Gisa, my darling, even if you are the youngest, I really believe that Mr. Samos will be your knight at the next ball.”

Mare was used to that kind of preference, and she spent the rest of the evening speculating about when Mr. Samos would return Mr. Barrow’s visit, and deciding when they should’ve invited him to lunch. The visit was returned within a few days, but although Mr. Samos had hoped of being admitted to the presence of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard a lot, he saw only their father. The ladies were a little luckier, as they had the advantage of ascertaining, from a window upstairs, that he was wearing a black jacket and was riding a wonderful thoroughbred stallion. Immediately afterwards an invitation to dinner was sent, and Mrs. Barrow had already planned the dishes that would do her honor when a postponing reply arrived: Mr. Samos was forced to be in town the following day, and consequently was unable to accept the honor of their invitation. Mrs. Barrow was utterly shocked: she couldn’t imagine what he could do so shortly after his arrival that requested his presence at Archeon and she began to fear that he might pass quickly from one place to the other without ever stopping at the Hall of the Sun for the time due. Lady Skonos calmed her fears a little by saying that perhaps he had gone to the capital only to gather a large party for the ball, and soon afterwards news came that Mr. Samos would take twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the party. The girls worried about the number of ladies, but the day before the dance they consoled themselves by learning that, instead of twelve, he would take only six with him, the sister, a dear friend and four cousins, but when the party arrived, he made his entry into the ballroom with just four people, being them his sister, a beautiful woman with an undeniable elegance, this mysterious friend, a noble lady with the appearance of a princess, a cousin and another young man., General Calore, who immediately attracted the attention of the room for his tall and refined figure, his beautiful features and his noble bearing : the gentlemen thought him a refined-looking man, the ladies proclaimed that he was far more attractive than Mr. Samos, and he was object of great admiration for about half of the evening, up when his manner aroused a disapproval that reversed the course of his popularity; it turned out that he was proud, that he thought himself above the company and did nothing to make himself pleasant, and not even his vast estate in Harbor Bay could save him from having a hostile and unpleasant face, not to be worthy of comparison with the other guest, who had immediately made acquaintance with more people and was lively and expansive, danced every round and regretted it was over so soon. These amiable qualities spoke for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! General Calore, on his part, danced once with Miss Samos and once with Lady Haven, refused to be introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening wandering around the room, occasionally talking to someone from his group. He was the most haughty man in the world and everyone hoped he would never show up again, more than anyone else Mrs. Barrow, whose disapproval of his behavior was sharpened by a particular resentment, given he had snubbed one of her daughters: Mare Barrow had been forced by the shortage of men to remain seated for two rounds of dance, and during one of these moments, General Calore found himself standing close enough to allow her to hear unseen a conversation between him and Mr. Samos, who had stopped dancing for a few minutes and approached his friend to persuade him to join him. 

"Come on, Cal,” he said, “I have to make you dance. I hate seeing you standing there alone in such a stupid way. ” 

“I won’t do it for sure. You know how much I hate it, unless I know my lady well. In a place like this it would be unbearable. Your sisters are busy, and in the hall there’s no other woman with whom for me to dance with wouldn’t be one punishment.” 

“I wouldn’t want to be as picky as you are,” exclaimed Mr. Samos, “for all the gold in the world!” 

“You’re dancing with the only attractive girl in the room,” said General Calore, looking at Lady Skonos, “at the moment the least of your interests is gold, be it in your coffers or in the rest of the world! “ 

"There’s a friend of hers sitting right behind you: let me ask my lady to introduce you. ” 

“Who are you talking about?” asked General Calore, and turning, he looked for a moment at Mare, until, having met her gaze, he averted his and said coldly she was passable, but not pretty enough to tempt him. 

“I’m not in the mood to take care of young ladies neglected by other men, so you better go back to your lady and enjoy her smiles, because with me, you’re wasting your time.” 

Mr. Samos followed his advice, and General Calore walked away, leaving Mare with far from cordial feelings towards him. However, she told the story to her friends with great wit since she enjoyed seeing the comic side in everything and didn’t wanted to completely ruin a evening that passed pleasantly for the whole family: Gisa had been greatly admired by Lady Elane Haven and she had danced twice with Mr. Samos’ cousin, which made her as happy as her mother, albeit in a quieter way, and Mare shared the sentiment too; Tramy had never been without a lady, and that was all he cared about in a dance, and when they all returned in good spirits to the village where they lived, they found Bree and Shade still up, both very curious about the events of an evening that had raised such amazing expectations. Somehow, Shade had hoped that his sisters’ expectations on the stranger and his retinue were disappointed, but soon he found he had to hear an entirely different story, at least from Gisa’s side. 

“It was an absolutely delightful evening,” she was already telling, as soon as she had crossed the threshold of the house, “a magnificent dance. I wish you had been there too.” 

“Gisa was so admired that she couldn’t have been more,” explained their mother. “All they talked about was how beautiful her dress was, and Miss Samos’s friend said she would be honored to introduce her to her brother! Also, Mr. Samos’ cousin danced twice with her, just thinking about it makes me shiver with joy; she was the only one in the room that he asked for a second dance! Mr. Samos, on the other hand, invited Miss Skonos and although I was annoyed at first, I must say that I am relieved that a much older man doesn’t think at our youngest in that way. Oh! My dear!“ Mrs. Barrow went on, "I am really thrilled with his family! His sister is so beautiful and charming, I have never in my life seen anything more elegant than her dress. I really think the lace…” 

But before she could start rambling about clothing, Mare interrupted her to inform her brothers about the General rudeness. 

“But I can assure you,” added Mrs. Barrow, “that Mare hasn’t lost much for not having tickled his fancy, since he’s the most unpleasant man that exists, absolutely unworthy and unbearable. I wish your father had been there, he would’ve made him regret such an attitude bitterly! ”

[marvelous-imagines-for-all]

Spencer x BAU x Sister

Requested? Yes! 

“Can I request something platonic for Spencer Reid in Crimnal minds? Maybe where he has a younger sister that's around 5 or 6 years old and for some reason she has to stay at the office with Spencer for the day and he's hesitant because he thinks she will just cause a scene but everyone loves her?”

Author: Jade:)))

A/N: So this is definitely the longest imagine I’ve ever written (Over 2k), but I loved the idea and I got carried away with it. I also have no idea if it makes sense but I hope you all enjoy!

The team had barely checked into work when Hotch called them into his office for a brief meeting, no one knew what it was for, but they noticed the absence of Spencer’s presence. 

“Is there another case? You said today would be a paperwork day.” Emily inquired, looking down at Hotch who was seated at his desk.  

“It is. That’s not why I called you here. If you haven’t noticed, Spencer is running late. He called me ahead of time to notify me of this. Something came up and he has to bring someone in with him today.” Hotch paused, taking notice of everyone’s shifted behavior. Confusion was evident on the faces before him. “Although this is out of the ordinary, I expect nothing less from any of you today. You will continue to work and not create any scenes about the situation.” 

“What’s going on?” Derek asked, worrying filling his mind about Spencer. Who was he bringing in? His mom? Everyone knew how much his mom wasn’t a fan of the “government’s work”. Or maybe it was a girlfriend? But that didn’t make sense. There was no reason for him to have to bring her here even if he did have one. 

The team was dismissed and they went back to their desks, waiting for Spencer to arrive. 

Back at Spencer’s place, Spencer was distressed to say the least. Today was Monday, and it wasn’t until he had woken the little girl up despite her protests that he forgot she didn’t have school. Some teacher work day thing. Spencer was at a loss for how he forgot, but it didn’t matter at this point. He didn’t have time to call a babysitter, not that he really trusted them anyways. 

Now he was gathering items in a backpack for the little girl. Coloring books, a couple of barbies, a book, and a stuffed elephant, her favorite one. Spencer had already prepared a lunch for her moments earlier, it was sitting on the counter waiting. 

“Skye, are you ready?” Spencer called from the living room, searching for his keys. He was already late to the BAU and even though he called in advance, he hated being late. “Skye?” 

After the second call the little girl ran into the living room, hairbrush in hand. 

“I need help!” Her lips formed a pout as she looked up at her older brother. Spencer looked up to see his sister’s hair half in a tangled mess. No matter what he did, he could never seem to get her hair under control. He wanted to tell her that he could fix her hair later, that they didn’t have much time or that her hair looked fine. But he decided against it since he knew she would argue and he definitely did not have time for that. Kneeling behind her, her took the brush from her hand and combing it gently through her hair. 

“We’re going to my work today, which means that you need to be on your best behavior. You know what that means, right?” Spencer paused his actions, waiting for a reply. Skye nodded her head furiously. He smiled at her eagerness and continued to brush her hair. “My friends will also be there. They’re super nice, but you still aren’t allowed to go anywhere without letting me know, you understand? I can’t lose you.” 

Skye nodded again before turning around to face him, “I understand.” 

Spencer smiled and placed a kiss against her forehead, “Then I guess we’re ready to go.” 

Walking into the BAU was a task in itself. Skye claimed her hands were full; one arm wrapped around Mr. Pebbles, her stuffed elephant, and her other hand holding on to Spencer's. So Spencer was left with one arm to carry his bag, both of their lunches, Skye’s backpack, and the files that Spencer had collected on the way up to the elevator. 

The elevator ding was enough to attract the team’s attention. Everyone’s eyes moved down to the little girl who was slightly ahead of Spencer, practically dragging him into the bullpen as she looked around amazed. Spencer directed her to his desk where he hastily dropped everything onto his desk. Skye was too busy staring at Derek, who was approaching the scene along with the rest of the team behind him.

“Hey, kid, who’s this little lady?” Derek smiled down at her and she instantly smiled back. She already liked him. 

“This is, um, she’s my little sister. She doesn’t have school today and I couldn’t call a babysitter so I brought her up here. After confronting Hotch first.” Spencer chewed on his lip, not sure how to continue. 

The team examined Spencer for a moment. They always noticed the bags under his eyes, but they assumed it was just lack of sleep from nightmares, not from dealing with a kid. The random pen marks on his hands? Those were just supposed to be his random scribbles to get a pen to work, not markings from a kid at home who was drawing. The way he knew how to talk to kids? It was assumed it was just all the knowledge he had. Not that he had experience. 

“My name is Skye.” Skye broke the silence, and the group turned their attention to her, whose eyes solely focused on Derek. 

“Hey, Skye, my name is Derek! I’m a friend of your brother’s. How old are you?” 

Skye bounced on her feet as she held up her hand, “I’m 5!’

Derek laughed at her and the team knew in that moment they couldn’t be upset with Spencer for keeping it a secret. 

“How could you not tell us you had a little sister?” JJ nudged Spencer softly, a smile playing on her lips. 

“She’s adorable!” Squealed Penelope as she joined the conversation with Derek. Spencer felt himself blushing, he wasn’t expecting such a positive response. He wrapped his arms around himself and shrugged. 

“I don’t know, I guess safety and privacy.. I told Hotch for work reasons, so he understood my household situation.” 

“Well I don’t think you’ll have to worry about her safety anymore. She’s about to have the whole team wrapped around her finger” Emily spoke and shot a smile at Spencer before she went to go introduced herself. 

An hour passed and Skye hadn’t caused any trouble. She stayed seated next to Spencer and played with her dolls. Occasionally asking him to name a location for her dolls to pretend to be, or have him play as Mr. Pebbles for a few minutes. He didn’t think twice before agreeing, not thinking of the teasing Derek would give him later. 

“Where does Mr. Pebbles wanna go?” Skye thought out loud. Spencer glanced over from his computer and smiled. Her hair was already starting to stick up in places despite his efforts to comb it down earlier. 

“Elephants can be found in 37 countries just south of the Sahara Desert. Maybe you should take him somewhere warm.” 

JJ walked by, setting a file on Derek’s desk and then onto Spencer’s. Overhearing the conversation she interjected, 

“Like the beach? It’s warm there!”

Skye looked up with much wonder in her eyes as a grin broke across her face, “The beach! Yes!” 

JJ and Spencer exchanged a smile as the child went on pretending to take her elephant to the beach. 

A little while later, Skye had insisted that Derek needed his help completing paperwork. Spencer objected at first, saying that Derek needed to focus on work but Skye swore that she would be on her best behavior. So now Skye was seated on Derek’s leg and had colored 2 pictures for him. She was currently writing his name on a paper since Derek teased that he didn’t know how to spell his own name. Spencer couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Derek trying to fill out paperwork around the child in his lap. 

“Derek starts with a D! And this is how you write a D..” Skye stuck her tongue out in concentration, slowly writing the letter on the paper in front of her for Derek to see. He took his eyes off his files to watch the girl and smiled. 

“Are you sure that’s how you do it?” Derek teased, tickling her sides. A loud squeal left her lips followed by a laugh. 

“Yes! That’s how you write it. Spencer taught me and he’s always right.” She smiled proudly, looking back at her brother who smiled right back. 

Lunch time rolled around and Skye claimed that she wanted to sit with the girls, who happily accepted her. She shared her grapes with Penelope who had not so subtly given her multiple pieces of candy in exchange. 

“I got candy!” Skye held it up for Spencer to see. 

“Yes, you do. But why don’t we space out the pieces so you don’t get sick from eating them all at once?” Spencer stood next to her chair pushing her hair back out of her face, attempting to run his fingers through her locks. It was even more tangled than earlier and he knew it was gonna be hard to brush through later. 

“Ah, come on, genius. We know a few pieces of candy won’t kill her.” Garcia smiled, winking down at the little girl. 

“Of course it won’t. You have to eat approximately 262 fun sized bars of candy in one sitting for it to have a deadly affect.” This statement earned eye rolls from the ladies and a not so quiet giggle from the little girl as she zipped the candy up in her lunchbox. 

“So Skye, what’s your favorite thing to do?” Emily asked, eating the meal she had picked up at the beginning of the break. 

“I like drawing!” Skye looked up at Emily, her legs swinging under the table, “And Spencer gets me a lot of coloring books. There are some in my backpack, I can show you!” 

By the end of lunch time, each of the women had been assigned a coloring sheet to color. Hotch had reentered the building from his meeting and Spencer pulled Skye back to his desk, worried that Hotch would think she was causing too much trouble. But much to Spencer’s surprise, Hotch walked to his desk with a soft look in his eyes. 

“So I hear you’re Miss Skye, is that correct?” 

“Yeah, I am!” Skye sat up straight at the mention of her, something Spencer always told her to do to make sure the person knew she was acknowledging them. 

“I wanted to say thank you for coming in today and helping my team with their work. You make an excellent helper.” Hotch lifted his palm and smiled as the girl gave him a high five, “Keep up the hard work, Miss Skye. I’m counting on you” 

“Yes sir!” Skye saluted Hotch before turning her attention back to Spencer desk where she was helping Mr. Pebbles recite the ABC’s. 

Soon the paperwork filled day that everyone had dreaded coming into work for ended, and it went better than any of the team had expected. Skye had the team wrapped around her finger and they all knew it. Spencer walked to the Elevator, hand in hand with Skye who was smiling and waving at the rest of the team.

“She is just too cute” Emily remarked, smiling at Skye who had finished waving and was now talking up a storm with her brother in the elevator. 

“She is the most pure thing to ever step foot in this building, if anything happens to her I might literally die. Auntie Garcia can’t have that happen!” Penelope looked around with her eyebrows raised, confirming she was serious. Derek laughed, 

“I can’t have that happening either. But don’t worry. Spencer’s been taking good care of her. And now that we know about her,  we can help.” 

“I know exactly what we’re going to be helping him with.” JJ chortled besides Derek. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Oh please, did you see that girl’s hair? Lord knows what he’s doing to try to keep that mane contained.” JJ smiled as the group laughed in agreement.  

Back in the elevator Spencer smiled to himself, knowing that this would not be the last time that she gets to visit the team.