#round navy rug

[horseye]

Dallas Contemporary Family Room Inspiration for a large, open-concept, contemporary family room remodel that features a dark wood floor, white walls, and a fireplace but no television.

[whatshouldfitcallme]

Master Bedroom Seattle Inspiration for a large coastal master medium tone wood floor bedroom remodel with a standard fireplace, a metal fireplace and beige walls

[avilaemmy]

Open Los Angeles Example of a large transitional open concept light wood floor family room design with white walls, no fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[mrsfancyferrari]

Can you make an AU where Carlos is attracted to the new receptionist at the golf course he and Papa Sainz frequent? Ps. please make her Latina and with curly hair

Thanks in advance!!

Golf Gurl

Anon: Can you make an AU where Carlos is attracted to the new receptionist at the golf course he and Papa Sainz frequent? Ps. please make her Latina and with curly hair

Song: Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood

Author’s note: I can't write short stories to save my life. I hope you enjoy this long journey which may take a full day to read. Please like, reblog and share this! <33

Word count: 6.6k

It was another busy day at the golf course, with members coming and going.

You've only worked here for a few weeks, thanks to your best friend who got you the job. She knew you were in desperate need of more staff, and you were in desperate need of money, so it worked out perfectly.

The hours were long and the work could be exhausting, but it was a steady paycheck and you were grateful for it. Every day brought new challenges and new faces, and you were slowly getting the hang of things.

The members were mostly friendly, though some could be demanding. Your friend and you often laughed about the more eccentric characters you encountered, and it made the busy days more bearable.

Plus, the beautiful scenery of the golf course was a nice bonus, providing a peaceful escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

As you stood behind the reception desk, checking in players and handing out scorecards, you couldn't help but notice a familiar face approaching.

It was Carlos Sainz, the young Formula 1 driver, and his father Carlos Sainz Sr.

Carlos Sainz Jr. had a boyish charm that was hard to miss. His chiselled jawline, sparkling brown eyes, and tousled dark hair gave him an effortlessly cool appearance. Dressed in a sleek, navy-blue polo shirt and tailored khaki shorts, he exuded an air of casual sophistication that turned heads everywhere he went.

His father, Carlos Sainz Sr., was a distinguished figure with a rugged, experienced look. His salt-and-pepper hair and weathered face told stories of countless adventures and victories. Wearing a classic white polo and well-fitted trousers, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a seasoned champion.

As they approached the desk, their easy camaraderie was evident. The younger Sainz greeted you with a warm smile, while his father gave a polite nod, both of them radiating the kind of charisma that comes from a life spent in the spotlight.

"Good morning, how can I assist you today?" You greeted them with a warm smile.

"Hola, we'd like to check in for our usual tee time," Carlos Sainz Sr. replied.

As you typed away at the computer, you felt Carlos Sainz's gaze on you. You glanced up and your eyes met, causing a flutter in your chest.

"Here are your scorecards, gentlemen. Enjoy your round," you said, handing them the cards.

"Gracias, senorita," Carlos Sr. nodded, then turned to his son. "Come on, let's get going."

But Carlos lingered for a moment, his eyes still locked on yours. "Thank you," he said softly, before following his father to the first tee.

A few seconds after they left, your best friend Mariah came running over, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Did you know that Carlos Sainz and his dad just arrived here?" she exclaimed, almost out of breath.

You sighed, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yes, Mariah, I just saw them. I checked them in," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual despite the fluttering in your chest.

Mariah's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she leaned in closer. "Did you talk to him? What did he say? Oh my gosh, he’s even more handsome in person, isn't he?" she gushed, barely able to contain her excitement.

You chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Not much, just a thank you," you said softly, feeling that flutter in your chest again as you recalled the moment.

Mariah nudged you playfully. "Come on, there has to be more! Did he smile at you? Did you feel a spark?"

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help but blush. "He did smile, and maybe there was a little spark," you admitted, causing Mariah to squeal with delight.

"This is so exciting! Who knows, maybe you'll bump into him again later," she added, winking mischievously.

Over the next few weeks, you noticed Carlos Sainz would often linger a bit longer after checking in, finding excuses to talk to you.

You'd exchange small talk about the weather, the course conditions, or the upcoming F1 race. You found yourself looking forward to these brief interactions, captivated by his charming smile and warm brown eyes.

"Girl, he loves you," Mariah exclaimed dramatically over your lunch break, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You laughed, shaking your head. "That's exaggerating, Mariah. We've just been talking," you insisted, though you couldn't deny the thrill that ran through you at the thought.

Mariah leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Please, I've seen the way he looks at you. It's like you're the only person in the world. And don't even get me started on how he always finds a reason to linger around," she said, raising an eyebrow.

You sighed, unable to suppress a smile. "Okay, maybe there's something there. But it's not like anything can really happen," you said, trying to temper your own rising excitement.

Every time you saw him, your heart would skip a beat, and a warm, tingling sensation would spread through your chest.

You found yourself stealing glances at him, feeling a mixture of nervousness and exhilaration with each encounter. Despite your attempts to remain composed, the mere sight of his easy smile and confident demeanor left you feeling giddy and hopeful for what might come next.

One afternoon, as you were organizing some paperwork, Carlos approached you with a cup of coffee in his hand. "I thought you might need a pick-me-up," he said with that signature smile, his fingers brushing yours as you accepted the cup.

The brief touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you couldn’t help but stammer a thank you, your cheeks flushing pink.

Carlos's smile widened, clearly pleased by your reaction. "You're welcome," he replied smoothly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I hope it helps you get through the rest of the day," he added, lingering just a moment longer before turning to leave, leaving you feeling both flustered and elated.

As Carlos walked away, you couldn't help but replay the moment in your head, savoring the warmth of his touch and the genuine kindness in his eyes.

Your mind swirled with a jumble of emotions—anticipation, curiosity, and a growing hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to these interactions than simple friendliness.

You find yourself unable to focus on your work, daydreaming about what might happen the next time your paths cross. . . .

It was getting closer to Christmas Day, and Carlos's visits to the golf course were becoming more frequent. Every time he came by the check-in desk, he lingered a little longer, chatting about anything and everything.

"So, are you planning to go spend Christmas with your family?" he asked, leaning casually against the counter.

You smiled, shaking your head. "No, my parents live in Mexico and I'd rather stay here for Christmas. What about you?"

Carlos chuckled, "I think I'll spend the day with my family." His eyes twinkled with a mix of excitement and holiday spirit.

"That sounds perfect Carlos. I hope you'll have a great Christmas with them," you replied.

Carlos nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Thanks! Maybe next year you can join us for a big family dinner," he suggested, his tone genuine.

You laughed softly, feeling a bit more connected. "I'd love that, Carlos. Maybe I'll take you up on that offer someday."

The conversation flowed easily, making the cold December days feel a little warmer.

The day of Christmas arrived quickly, bringing with it a quiet calmness to the golf course. Snow gently dusted the greens, and the usually bustling check-in desk saw only a handful of customers.

You had decided to work today, lured by the promise of bonus pay, but the lack of holiday cheer made the hours drag.

As the afternoon wore on, you found yourself reminiscing about Carlos's invitation. The thought of being surrounded by a warm, welcoming family made the solitude sting a little less.

Maybe next year, you thought, as you glanced out at the serene, snow-covered landscape. For now, you'd focus on making the best of the quiet day, knowing that the holiday spirit could be found in the most unexpected places.

The day of Christmas arrived quickly after, and you were one of the two workers stationed at the reception desk.

The other worker, Sarah, had just gone on her long break, taking the opportunity to stroll through the snow-dusted golf course while you handled the few customers that trickled in.

The quietness of the day was both a blessing and a curse; it gave you ample time to reflect but also made the hours stretch endlessly.

As you sat there, a small group of regulars came in to get a quick round of golf in before their holiday festivities. Their cheerful banter brought a touch of the holiday spirit into the otherwise serene clubhouse.

Engaging in light conversation with them helped pass the time, and their jovial moods were infectious.

You then heard a familiar voice as you texted Mariah on the phone. "You should be focusing on me instead of your phone," the voice teased.

You looked up to see Carlos standing there, bundled up in a thick coat and scarf. "Carlos! What are you doing here? I thought you'd be with your family!" you exclaimed, genuinely surprised but delighted to see him.

Carlos chuckled, "I was, but I thought I'd stop by to check on you. I know working on Christmas can be a drag."

He leaned on the counter, his eyes twinkling with the same mix of excitement and holiday spirit from before. "Plus, I brought you a little something to make your day brighter," he said, pulling out a small gift-wrapped box from his coat pocket.

You accepted the gift with a smile, the loneliness of the day melting away in the warmth of his gesture.

"Thank you, Carlos. You didn't have to do this," you said, unwrapping the gift to reveal a beautifully crafted snow globe with a miniature winter wonderland inside. "It's perfect," you added, touched by the thoughtful gesture.

Carlos shrugged modestly, "I just wanted to bring a piece of the holiday cheer to you. Besides, who says you can't have a little fun at work?"

"You always know how to make things better," you replied, placing the snow globe on the counter where you could admire it throughout the day.

"So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" you asked, curious about how he managed to juggle his time.

Carlos smiled, "Well, after making sure you're not too lonely here, I'm heading back to help my mom with the Christmas dinner preparations."

He chuckled, "You know how it is, I'm the oldest so it's my job to help out." You nodded in agreement, feeling a rush of admiration for his sense of responsibility.

He shrugged, "It's just what family does."

"That's really sweet of you, Carlos. Family traditions are important, and I can see how much you cherish them," you replied, feeling a renewed sense of warmth from his presence.

"I actually miss those big family gatherings, the laughter, and the chaos. But being here isn't so bad, especially now that you're here."

"Well, I hope you get to see your parents soon," Carlos said, his eyes filled with understanding and sincerity.

"Thanks, Carlos. I hope so too," you replied, handing him his scorecard as you noticed a small line forming behind him. "But for now, I'm just glad I got to see you. It means a lot."

Carlos gave you a warm smile, "Take care of yourself, and don't let the holiday blues get to you, okay?" He glanced at the next customer and nodded, "Looks like you've got some more people to cheer up. I'll see you around."

You smiled back, "Thanks again, Carlos. Have a wonderful Christmas with your family." With that, he waved and headed to his golf section, leaving you with a heart a little lighter and a desk adorned with a piece of holiday magic.

As Carlos left, the next customer approached the counter with a friendly smile. "Hi there, I was wondering if you could help me find a gift for my nephew.

"He's really into sports, especially golf," she said, her eyes twinkling with holiday excitement. "Of course," you replied, eager to assist and share some of the holiday cheer Carlos had just brought into your day.

After assisting the customer with a few suggestions for her nephew, you were finally let off for your break. Eager to catch up with Carlos, you quickly made your way to the golf section, scanning the aisles for his familiar figure.

There he was, meticulously arranging golf balls and chatting with another employee.

You decided not to disturb him, content to watch from a distance as he swung his club with practiced ease. The fluid motion of his swing sent the golf ball flying straight and true, a testament to his skill and dedication.

His focus was unwavering, and you couldn't help but admire his passion for the sport. It was clear that golf was more than just a hobby for Carlos; it was a part of who he was.

As you continued to observe, you noticed the way he effortlessly engaged with the customers and his colleagues, offering advice and sharing tips with a genuine enthusiasm that was infectious.

His charisma and kindness shone through in every interaction, making the golf section a little brighter and more welcoming. Watching him, you felt a sense of comfort and connection, knowing that even in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, there were moments of true joy and camaraderie to be found.

"Are you going to stare all day or are you going to come here?" you heard Carlos say, snapping you out of your reverie. You blinked and realized that he was looking right at you, a playful grin lighting up his face.

With a sheepish smile, you walked over to him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just admiring your swing," you confessed.

Carlos chuckled, handing you a golf club. "No worries! Want to give it a try? It's never too late to pick up a new hobby," he encouraged, his eyes twinkling with the same holiday excitement you had seen in the customer's earlier.

"I've never done golf before," you admitted shyly, gripping the club with uncertainty.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. "How do you work at a golf place yet don't know how to play golf?" he asked, his tone light and curious.

You shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I guess I just never had the time or the opportunity. Plus, it always seemed a bit intimidating," you explained.

Carlos's expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Well, today is your lucky day. Let's start with the basics. First, you want to have a good stance," he instructed, moving to position your feet correctly.

"And don't worry, I'll be right here to guide you every step of the way."

You stood in front of him and held one of his clubs, following his instructions but you missed the ball twice. "Don't worry about it," Carlos said, his voice gentle and encouraging.

"It's all about getting comfortable with your stance and swing. Let's try adjusting your grip a little bit." He carefully positioned your hands on the club, his touch steadying your nerves.

Taking a deep breath, you tried again, but the ball still didn't go very far. Carlos laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Hey, you're getting there! Remember, it's not about power, it's about technique. Just relax and let the club do the work." His confidence was contagious, and you found yourself smiling back at him.

"Alright, one more time," you said determinedly, feeling a renewed sense of excitement.

Carlos moved closer, his presence both comforting and electrifying. "Let me help you this time," he muttered, standing right behind you and placing his hands over yours on the club.

Your breath hitched as you felt the warmth of his body aligning with yours, his steady guidance making you feel surprisingly confident. "Just relax," he whispered, his voice soothing, "and let’s focus on the swing together."

With Carlos's hands guiding yours, you felt an immediate difference. The club felt less foreign, and your stance more natural.

As you swung, the ball finally took a clean, satisfying arc through the air. "There you go!" Carlos exclaimed, stepping back with a proud smile. You turned to him, beaming with excitement and gratitude. "Thank you, Carlos. That was amazing!"

He chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Anytime. Looks like you might just have a knack for this after all."

Looking at Carlos, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement and appreciation. His patience and unwavering support were more than just helpful; they made you feel seen and valued.

As your eyes met, you realized there was something undeniably special about this moment, making you wonder if this newfound connection might extend beyond the golf course.

Before you could say anything more, one of the staff called you for assistance. "Excuse me, I need to help with something," you said, reluctantly pulling away from Carlos.

He nodded, his eyes still warm and understanding. "Go ahead. I'll be right here when you're done," he assured you.

As you walked over to the staff member, you couldn't help but glance back at Carlos. He was watching you, a small smile on his face, which only made your heart race faster.

The task at hand was simple enough, but your mind kept drifting back to the moments you had just shared. Finally, as you wrapped up the assistance, you knew you couldn't wait to get back to Carlos, eager to see where this newfound connection might lead.

"Thanks for waiting," you said with a smile, walking back toward him. "So, how about another lesson? I think I could use a bit more of your expert guidance," you added, hoping to prolong your time together.

Carlos grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'd be happy to help. Let's see if we can make that swing even better." He stepped closer, his hand gently resting on your back as he adjusted your stance once more.

"Remember, it's all about the rhythm and feeling comfortable."

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

As you were closing up the pro shop, Carlos approached the desk. "Y/N, I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner tonight?" he asked, a nervous edge to his voice.

"But what about your family dinner?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern.

Carlos smiled, his eyes twinkling with reassurance. "We can go after it, if you want to. My family gatherings usually wrap up pretty early."

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the excitement of spending more time with him against the potential intrusion on his family plans. But his earnest expression melted your doubts.

"Alright, that sounds perfect," you agreed, feeling a rush of anticipation.

"Great! I'll pick you up around eight?" Carlos suggested, his face lighting up with relief and joy.

"Eight it is," you confirmed, your heart fluttering at the prospect of what the evening might bring.

As you both exchanged smiles and phone numbers, you couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning of something wonderful.

The dress Mariah brought was a stunning crimson red, the color of a ripe pomegranate. As soon as you held it up, you could tell it was made of the finest silk, the fabric flowing through your fingers like liquid fire.

"Mariah, this dress is absolutely gorgeous!" you exclaimed, your eyes wide with delight. "I can't believe you found something this beautiful on such short notice."

"I know you, girl," Mariah said with a wink. "I knew you needed something special, so I went straight to my favorite boutique. As soon as I saw this dress, I knew it had your name written all over it."

Holding the dress up to your body, you admired the way the deep v-neckline would accentuate your collarbones, and the way the fitted bodice would hug your curves in all the right places. The skirt flowed out in elegant pleats, promising to move with grace and fluidity as you walked.

"It's perfect, Mariah. Absolutely perfect. Help me try it on?" you asked, already shimmying out of your clothes in anticipation.

Mariah helped you carefully slip the dress over your head, the cool silk gliding effortlessly against your skin. You felt a slight shiver as the fabric settled around your shoulders, and Mariah expertly adjusted the straps to ensure a perfect fit.

As you turned to face the mirror, you marveled at how the dress seemed to transform you, its rich color and elegant design highlighting your best features.

Mariah's eyes sparkled with pride and excitement as she took a step back to admire you.

"Oh my goodness, you look absolutely stunning!" she gasped, her smile widening. "This dress was made for you; Carlos won't be able to take his eyes off you tonight!"

"Do you really think so?" you asked, your cheeks flushing with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

"Absolutely," Mariah reassured you. "Trust me, when Carlos sees you in this dress, he's going to be speechless. Now, let's finish getting you ready—hair and makeup next!"

You heard a knock on your door and jumped, your heart racing as you glanced at the clock. Mariah had already left after doing your makeup and hair, leaving you to savor the final moments before the big night.

You took a deep breath, smoothing down the skirt of your dress one last time before opening the door.

Carlos stood there, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of you. "Wow," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You look... incredible."

You felt your cheeks flush again as you smiled shyly. "Thank you, Carlos. You look pretty dashing yourself."

He offered you his arm, his gaze never leaving yours. "Shall we?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting. "Let's," you replied, feeling a surge of confidence and excitement as you stepped out into the evening, ready to dazzle the night away.

That evening, you two met at a cozy Spanish restaurant not far from the golf course. As you sipped on sangria and shared tapas, the conversation flowed easily.

Carlos was genuinely interested in learning more about you - your background, your hobbies, your dreams.

"So what brought you to work at the golf course?" he asked, popping an olive in his mouth.

"Well, I've always loved the sport, and the job allows me to be outdoors and interact with people. Plus, the members are so friendly," you replied, glancing up at him through your lashes.

Carlos nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. The course has never looked better, thanks in no small part to you."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his compliment. "You're very kind. And how about you? What do you enjoy most about golf?"

"The peace and quiet, the challenge of the game... and the lovely company you get to keep these days," he said, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

We talked late into the night, losing track of time. You were captivated by Carlos' charm, his passion for racing, and his genuine interest in you.

As you said your goodbyes in front of your door, he gently took your hand, sending a warm, tingling sensation up your arm.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and a sense of calm contentment washed over you. The evening had been perfect, filled with laughter, meaningful conversations, and an undeniable connection that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

You felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness, wondering what the future might hold for you two. Carlos leaned in slightly, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," he said softly, his voice rich with sincerity. "I hope we can do this again soon."

You nodded, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. "I’d like that very much," You replied, feeling a sense of warmth and anticipation as you two lingered in the middle of the corridor.

From that night on, Carlos and you grew closer, our budding romance blossoming amidst the lush greens of the golf course. You had never expected to find such a connection with this famous Formula 1 driver, but every moment spent with him felt natural and effortless.

Our future was uncertain, but one thing was clear - you were falling for Carlos Sainz, and falling hard. . . .

You and Carlos had been dating for a few months, but you finally decided to go public with your relationship. As soon as you did, you became everyone's favorite WAG.

People were captivated by the way you and Carlos would talk in Spanish to each other, often leaving the others around you confused and wondering what you were saying.

"Me encanta cómo podemos hablar en español y nadie sabe de qué estamos hablando.," you said to Carlos one day, giggling. I love how we can just speak in Spanish and nobody knows what we're talking about.

"Yo también," Carlos replied with a smile. "Es nuestro pequeño lenguaje secreto." Me too. It's our own little secret language.

The two of you also had a tendency to judge people from afar, casting subtle glances and whispering comments to each other.

"¿Viste cómo estaba vestida?" you whispered to Carlos, raising an eyebrow. Did you see the way she was dressed?

"Horrible," Carlos scoffed. "Ella no tiene ningún sentido de la moda." She has no fashion sense at all.

Both of your friends would just shake their heads, used to your antics by now. But they couldn't help but be charmed by the way you and Carlos were so in sync, so clearly infatuated with each other.

"They're just so cute together," Mariah said wistfully. "I wish I had what they have."

"I'm right here," Her boyfriend says, carrying her bags and sighing at her disappointment.

You and Carlos would just smile knowingly at each other, happy to be in your own little world, unaffected by the attention you were receiving.

Your relationship was the envy of many, and you wouldn't have it any other way. . . .

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

During summer break of F1, you, Carlos, Lando, and Carlos Sr decided to embark on a fun-filled adventure to the local golf course.

You, who had recently taken a break from your job, was determined to make the most of your time with Carlos. Armed with golf carts, the four of you embarked on a journey to the greens.

As you all arrived, the golf course was bustling with activity. The lush green landscape stretched out before them, dotted with pristine fairways and shining bunkers.

You all parked their carts side by side, ready to embark on a day of golfing camaraderie.

Excited by their newfound freedom, Carlos and Lando couldn't resist the temptation to showcase their competitive spirits.

Without even waiting for Carlos' dad to finish settling into your shared cart, they spontaneously decided to have a race with their carts. Their eagerness was palpable as they revved their engines and took off down the fairway.

As they raced, Carlos and Lando zoomed past unsuspecting golfers, eliciting a mix of cheers and startled gasps.

Their reckless behavior quickly caught the attention of others.

"Carlos, Lando, slow down before you two idiots flip those carts!" You yelled, your heart racing as you watched them careening down the golf course, their competitive spirits in full display.

However, your pleas went unheeded, as the boys' competitive spirits clouded their judgment.

Frustrated by their reckless antics, Carlos' dad turned his attention to you.

Carlos' dad turned to you, his brow furrowed. "Do you really care for my son, or is this just some passing fancy?" he pressed, his tone laced with skepticism.

You took a deep breath, feeling the frustration build within you. "Of course I care for him, more than you could ever know,"

You replied, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Carlos is the most important person in my life. He makes me laugh when I'm down, he challenges me to be a better person, and his smile lights up my world. I love the way he scrunches up his nose when he's concentrating, and the way he always remembers the little things that mean so much to me."

Your speed increased as you spoke, the golf cart practically flying down the course. "He's my best friend, my confidante, my partner in crime. When I'm with him, I feel alive, like I can take on the world. He's the one person who truly understands me, who sees me for who I am, flaws and all, and loves me anyway."

You pulled the cart to a perfect stop in front of Carlos and Lando, who had finally slowed down. Carlos' dad stared at you, his eyes wide with surprise and, perhaps, a newfound respect.

"I love your son, more than anything," You concluded, your voice soft but unwavering. "He's the most important person in my life, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe, even if it means yelling at a couple of reckless idiots on a golf course."

"Eres tan malo como mi hijo, una pareja hecha en el cielo." Carlos' dad said with a smirk as he slowly got off the golf cart. You're as bad as my son, a match made in heaven.

The tension seemed to ease slightly as he approached you, his stern demeanor softening.

"I see that you care deeply for him, and maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what he needs. Someone who isn't afraid to stand up to him, even when he's being a complete fool."

You let out a relieved sigh, grateful for his understanding. "I promise, I'll always look out for him, even if it means being the voice of reason when he's not thinking straight," you said, meeting his gaze firmly.

Carlos' dad nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Well, then I suppose I can't ask for more than that. Just remember, love isn't always smooth sailing, especially with someone as headstrong as Carlos. But if you can weather the storms together, you'll come out stronger on the other side."

"Thank you, sir," you replied earnestly, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "I understand that loving someone like Carlos won't always be easy, but I'm committed to facing whatever comes our way. He means the world to me, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure he knows that every single day."

Carlos' dad placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his eyes softening further. "That's all I needed to hear. Just keep being there for him, and don't be afraid to push him when he needs it. He's lucky to have someone as dedicated as you by his side."

With that, he turned to join Carlos and Lando, leaving you with a renewed sense of determination and a heart full of hope.

You sighed, trying to relax before getting off the golf cart and bringing the golf bags along with you. The weight of the bags felt lighter somehow, perhaps a reflection of the newfound understanding you shared with Carlos’ dad.

As you walked towards Carlos and Lando, you couldn't help but smile, feeling more confident in your place within this tight-knit family.

Carlos looked up as you approached, his eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of concern.

"Everything okay?" he asked, glancing between you and his dad. You nodded, setting the golf bags down gently. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just had a little chat with your dad," you said, your voice steady.

Carlos' expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand. "I’m glad," he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. "And thank you, for everything."

An overwhelming sense of warmth and contentment washed over you as Carlos' gratitude echoed in your ears. You felt a deep connection solidify between you, knowing that your commitment and love were reciprocated.

In that moment, you realized just how much you cherished being a part of his life, and you silently vowed to stand by him through whatever challenges lay ahead.

"Now let's go destroy Lando in golf," you said with a playful grin, trying to lighten the mood. Carlos chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing as he glanced over at Lando.

"Hey! I heard that!" Lando yelled from a few yards away, feigning offense but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips. He walked over to join you both, slinging an arm around Carlos' shoulders. "You know, I wasn't planning on going easy on either of you, right?"

Carlos laughed, glancing between you and Lando. "Well, bring it on then. We're ready for the challenge." You nodded in agreement, feeling a renewed sense of camaraderie as you all headed towards the first hole.

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the course, and for the first time in a while, you felt completely at ease, surrounded by friends and the love that had become so precious to you.

As soon as Lando missed the hole and lost the game, a triumphant cheer erupted from both you and Carlos. Without a moment’s hesitation, you found yourself running into Carlos' arms, the exhilaration of victory coursing through you.

Carlos lifted you off the ground in a joyous embrace, spinning you around as your laughter filled the air.

The bond you shared felt even stronger now, forged not just through love but through shared moments of triumph and joy.

Meanwhile, Lando stood a few paces away, trying—and failing—to hide his disappointment. "Oh, come on, you two! No need to rub it in," he called out, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Carlos set you down gently before kissing you, his lips warm and reassuring against yours. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that perfect moment.

When you finally pulled back, you saw a mixture of happiness and determination in his eyes, a promise of many more shared victories to come.

"We make a pretty good team, don’t we?" he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. You nodded, feeling the truth of his words resonate deep within you.

With Carlos by your side, every challenge seemed surmountable, every moment more meaningful.

Lando, still feigning annoyance, walked up and clapped both of you on the back. "Alright, lovebirds, let's see if you can keep that winning streak going," he teased, his smile widening.

As you all moved on to the next hole, the playful banter and shared laughter reminded you just how lucky you were to have such incredible people in your life. . . .

[delopsia]

Cinnamon, Coffee & Vanilla | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 12,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Bob, omega! Reader. Physical altercations, implied abuse/mistreatment & trauma from the Navy, a little blood, brief food mentions, handjobs, mating cycles, first ruts, knotting, unprotected sex, a (slight) open ending, and a weak traitor plot woven between the lines. Brief Summary: You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing.

Wind howls around the corner, rain pattering against the window with soft thunks that dance and twist down the hallway like their own little melody. You haven't got the slightest idea where your feet are falling, barely guided by the pale blue light that peeks out from the kitchen and out into the hallway.

Turning the light on is a viable option; the switch should be somewhere on your right, but your arm is too heavy to lift, dangling limp at your side as you amble down the hall.

There are some things that you can't bring yourself to do this late in the night. Not when this is the first time you've seen these walls since you left this morning, skipping off into the sunrise, naively believing that you'd get to come home at a normal time.

Lightning flickers so brightly that, for a moment, you think the kitchen light has turned on by itself. But it's gone just as quickly as it appeared, thunder rattling the picture hanging on the wall as you drift past.

The kitchen isn't that much better. It seems that being closer to the window doesn't do all that much in regards to lighting because...you can't see a damn thing. All you know is that you're surrounded by vaguely shaped splotches, all varying shades of black. Some of them are familiar: the round blob that is the clock on the wall, the rug, the step stool, the dining table, the foot sticking out from underneath it...

Your eyes narrow. Squinting as if that can possibly brighten the room.

"Bobby?" Because there should only be one other pair of feet in this apartment. 

"Hm?" It's faint, but you recognize that hum all the same. 

Your weary knees creak as you crouch down, peering below the table. Light leaks out from a crack in the curtains, casting across a familiar mop of hair. His eyes squint back at you, unfocused and blurry, without the assistance of his glasses. 

"What are you doing?" Your head tilts to the side, trying your best to shake an idea out of your brain. 

"Dunno," Bob raises his hand, watching intently as he knocks his knuckles against the wood above his head, "trying to figure out what omegas get out of this."

You're...not following. "I've never gotten under the table."

"You said you like small, dark spaces." His shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "This is the only place I could fit."

"Well..." pausing, you shrug the backpack off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a resounding thunk. The neighbors downstairs probably heard that, but it's not your problem right now. "Is it striking any instincts for you?"

A chuckle rumbles out of him. "Not a damn thing."

But he's not making the slightest effort to come out from under there. Content to rest with his back against one of the table legs, like it's the best spot in the house. If the sun were still out, and your eyes weren't halfway closed, then you'd probably have a lot more questions for him, but fuck if questions are the last thing you want to think of right now.

Your palms flatten against the floor, left knee chirping as you begin to crawl under the table with him. Another motion, and it pops, the remnants of a nagging ejection injury. It's usually an easily missable sound, but in this quiet little kitchen, it might as well be as loud as the thunder.

"Was that your knee?" Bob asks it as if he doesn't already know the answer, his hand darting out as you settle next to him. His palm is hot against your bare skin, thick fingers squeezing around the joint like he thinks that a bit of pressure will heal the old fracture. 

You wish it was that simple.

"Yeah," your head falls against his shoulder, unable to keep it up any longer. "I should bill Maverick for the surgery."

As if they'd even give you enough time off to heal. The consequence of being the best of the best: your free time vanishes because everyone on planet Earth needs you. 

Bob's head comes to rest against yours, a subtle weight that seems to quiet your thoughts in an instant. No worries about getting into bed before six-thirty rolls around, what you'll pack for your rushed lunch tomorrow, and whether or not you'll come home from this mission alive. All you can do is breathe and watch as Bob reaches for your weary hand, squeezing it gently.

His wrist shakes, and you don't need to ask to know that it's been caused by another one of those full-body tremors. One of the side effects of being taken off navy regulation suppressants for the first time in over a decade, left to suffer the consequences of a body that has never learned to regulate its own hormones. 

Slow, you tilt your head, nuzzling into the soft fat of his cheek. Squishy. "Anything change for you yet?"

"I can smell your scent now," you can feel the flex of muscle as he smiles, peeking at you through the corner of his eye, "but...nah, I think that's about it."

You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing. Still the same vanilla shampoo and faded woodsy cologne.

"What do I smell like?" Asking after a moment.

"Somethin' like..." All of a sudden, the tip of his nose finds the shell of your ear. His fingers dance across your sensitive thighs, tickling. 

"Hey!" You squeal. 

A kiss presses to your cheek. "Sugar." Kiss. "'n fresh laundry." Another kiss.

Your noses bump together. It's too dark to see, but you know there's a shade of cherry dusting across his cheeks as he pulls you into him, mouths colliding like galaxies, merging into one. 

There is no end to your exhaustion—simply an intermission. 

Your feet fall so heavily that it sounds as if you're stomping down this empty hall. Boots pounding against the floor with heavy thump, thump thumps that pale in comparison to the voice that booms above all. It's so loud that you can hardly understand a single word, and you're making no effort to try and decipher it.

The hand on your bicep tugs, forcing you forward. A voice in the back of your head sparks to lie; they shouldn't be hauling you around like a mutt on a leash, but you can't bring yourself to say a damn thing. Not when your throat is already raw from shouting, voice run ragged in a desperate attempt to convince Cyclone that you're not the person he's accusing you of being. 

What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty, anyway?

"I cannot fucking believe this!" Maverick's voice crystallizes as you round the corner, feet flailing beneath you as you're thrust into the room. 

Weary heads turn your way. Jake. Natasha. Rueben. Mickey. Bob. Javy. Billy. Brigham. Callie. And you know the names of the remainders, but their names just aren't coming to you right now. But one glance is all it takes to realize that they must have pulled all of you all at once; they look just as miserable as you feel.

"The Navy trusted you!" Spit flies out of Maverick's mouth. "I trusted you!"

He turns, hands combing through his hair as if to try and soothe himself. It doesn't work. It never works. "I paraded you as the best goddamn pilots the Navy has seen this decade, and you make a fucking fool of me!"

Bob's head tilts, muttering something to Jake that you can't quite hear. Whatever it is, it's enough to have Jake nodding his head and leaning over to Javy. 

"I give you my best and how do you repay me?" Mav doesn't seem to hear them, too red in the face to think about anything other than this. Betrayal. A figurative knife in the back. "By running off and becoming an insider for the goddamn enemy!" 

His arm swipes across a shelf. Porcelain figures and glass frames fly in your direction. Shattering on the ground into a million and one pieces. Damn near invisible on this white floor, presence merely indicated by the glisten of the shards in the light. But he's not done. A potted plant strikes the wall, exploding like a firework. 

"God, so help me," spinning around, Mav jabs his finger in your face, "if I find out which of you fucking did this—"

"For godsakes, Mav!" Bradley's voice is loud in your right ear. Every bit as strained as yours is.  Cracking in the middle. A husk of its usual sound. 

Just as quickly as he's turned to face you, Maverick is moving again. Storming across the room. Turning. Pacing back to you and Bradley like a mad dog, thirsty for someone's blood. 

"How are you so damn sure it was us?" Bradley continues, throwing his hands up. He's so close that his nails scratch your elbow on their way past. You hardly feel a thing. "We weren't the only ones who knew this shit!" 

A hand appears on your shoulder. Warm, a thumb swiping back and forth in such a familiar manner that you don't need to look to know who it is. Bobby. His slight nudge is enough to get you to follow him, slinking toward the back of the room. Walking backwards has never been your talent, but somehow, you don't bump into anything.

What's he trying to do?

"You and your team are the only pilots who knew the information that made its way across enemy lines," there's a sudden calmness to Maverick's tone that wasn't there before. You don't like it, not one bit. "And now you've cost us an entire goddamn mission."

Boots stomp across the tile. Louder. Closer.

 "And not one of you is fucking leaving!" And all of a sudden, Maverick is nose to nose with Bobby. "Not until someone starts talking!" 

Bob's mouth opens, but for a moment, nothing but air escapes. "You can't lock us in here." 

Jake's head nods. So does Javy's. Silent agreement. 

Mav shoves Bob's shoulders. Knocking him against the wall. "Yes, I goddamn can."

Bob's lip curls. Canines uncharacteristically flash in the light with the same glisten and sharpness as the glass scattered across the tile. 

Maverick strikes him. 

You don't even see him reeling back. You blink, and his fist is crashing into Bob's glasses. The frames fracture, falling to the floor with a clatter. 

Someone gasps. Mav falls backward, hand shielding the side of his head. A boot finds his jaw. Hands grab hold of his hair. A flurry of bodies dart between. Someone's got Mav by the collar, and Bob—

Bob growls. 

Held back by Jake and Bradley. Teeth bared. Blood pouring from the corner of his mouth. Shoving against Jake and Bradley's hold. And he's strong, but he's not stronger than both alpha and omega combined. You hardly feel your feet moving, bending to scoop the fractured frames off the floor. 

"What's gotten into you?" Natasha shouts. Somewhere off on your left. "Both of you!" 

Her shoulder clocks yours. 

You spin on your heels. 

She's nose to nose with you. "Get your roommate under control," she hisses under her breath. For a moment, her gaze darts to Maverick, eyes so wide that you fear she may never close them again. Then, back to you. "If this goes south—"

"I know." Your hands find each other at the same time. Squeezing once. Twice. Four times. She's got this handled. "I'll get Bobby sorted."

"By safe," she's stepping away, already beginning to shout something that you don't quite catch.

By the time you turn around, Bob is gone. 

For someone who usually operates at a turtles pace, Bob sure does move quickly when he wants to. Jake tells you that he caught a glimpse of him leaving the locker room, and by the time you get outside, his truck is missing from its usual place beneath the old maple tree in the back corner of the lot.

"Do you think he's realized that he can't read the road signs?" Javy wonders aloud as you walk toward your vehicles. Always parked next to each other. He's the only one you trust not to ding your car with his door, and vice versa.

You're still waiting on Mickey to pay for that giant scratch he gifted you this past Christmas. 

"He's probably wearing the set with the tinted lenses," you chirp, adjusting the bag weighing on your weary shoulders. "I think he usually keeps them in the center console." That's where you last saw them, at least.

Javy nods his head like he's agreeing with your train of thought.  "Well, if I see a black truck swerving in and out of lanes, I'll give you a heads up."

The front of your boot thunks against the curb. Your weight falls forward. But your footing recovers just as quickly as you lost it. Javy's already grabbing your shoulder, holding you steady. 

You might be too tired to be driving. But what other choice do you have other than to call a car and pay the fine when your car gets towed overnight? 

"Maybe we should check for him around Mav's place," the sound of Reuben's voice is the only reason why you remember that he's walking behind you, "might be looking for a round two. No referees this time."

Your hand darts into your pocket, pressing a button on your key fob. A second passes, and the locks in your car doors audibly open. "Well, if he's not home, I'll sound the alarm," 

"Y'all make it home safe!" Jake's voice echoes across the lot.

"Text the group chat, or you'll find me at your front door!" Natasha picks up right where he left off, her phone shaking in the air as she yells. "That means you, Bradshaw!"

Bradley's horn honks. "It was one time!"

It's not until you get situated in the driver's seat and are combing through your music, looking for something decent to listen to, that your phone dings with a singular message. 

Bob: Made it home 👍 12:47 AM

With everyone leaving at the same time, it's not difficult to find yourself falling into a loose line as you all make your way off base. A symphony of honks soar through the air once you've crossed onto city-owned pavement, some dumb little routine that sparked from Jake's incessant need to remind you all that he's here before you can possibly begin to forget.

This place is so far out that for a good three miles, the only vehicles on the road belong to your little group, following the slightly too-fast lead of Mickey's project car until the street guides you into town. Jake and Bradley take a left at the red light. Natasha cruises off onto the upcoming exit. Mickey and Rueben turn off into the parking lot of a sandwich shop; Javy tails you until you enter a roundabout. 

And all of a sudden, you're by yourself. 

It's almost strange, actually. You've grown so used to Bobby's headlights reflecting in your rearview mirror that without them, the road feels impossibly dark. Not another person on this Earth but you. 

The sight of his truck parked in its spot is just as foreign, and once parked, you catch yourself trying to wait for him to pull in next to you. But there is no smiling WSO to accompany you on the walk into the apartment complex. No giggling as he tries to beat you to the elevator doors. It's just you and your overfilled backpack. 

All that, only for the apartment to be dark when you open the door. 

"Bobby?" You call out, trudging into the darkness. No response. Blindly, your hand feels along the wall, seeking the switch.

A whine jumps out of your throat. Light does nothing to reveal him, but his backpack rests in its usual spot beside the door, those tinted glasses sit on the arm of the couch, and his work shoes rest in the place of the beat-up pair reserved for the gym.

Is he not tired? 

Evidently, you aren't either because somehow you've got the energy to slip into a softer pair of shoes and head back out of the apartment. Eyes half-lidded, barely paying attention to your surroundings as you make your way down the hallway. 

There's absolutely zero reason for you to be doing this. It's not as if Bob is never going to come home again, but something has got you hunting him down like a bloodhound on a trail. Frozen images flicker through your head, like flipping through a picture book. 

The drop of his smile when Cyclone made his accusations that someone is leaking information to the enemy. How tired those usually bright eyes were when you were finally hauled out of the office. The flashing of fangs, the fist connecting with the side of Mav's head. You don't understand. You've seen him riled up a number of times, but this...

This is new. 

You suppose that you can't blame him; you acted similarly when they finally took you off those suppressants. Too many unbalanced hormones, all at once, thrown in the deep end with no idea how to swim. 

You hear him before you've even stepped off of the basement stairs—the soft patter of fists against leather echoing throughout the stairwell like a beacon. Heat greets you like a slap in the face, enveloping you as if you've just walked into a sauna. It's always so damn hot down here; you don't know how Bobby can stand working out in it. 

The door to the bottom of the stairwell is missing, seamlessly opening up to the gym. Treadmills, a long rack of weights, specialty machines you've already forgotten the names of; the mini fridge in the corner is still broken, and whoever left their neon yellow yoga mat has yet to come back for the poor thing. 

It's so big that at first, you don't notice him. But then you do, and...

Shit. Has Bob always looked like that?

It's got to be a trick that the lighting is playing on your eyes, set off by the sweat that pours off his body like a waterfall. Dripping down the swell of his chest, running loose across a toned stomach, only makes it that much more obvious when his abdomen flexes. There's no way that he's fully awake, but his feet are alive beneath him, dancing left and right as if this old punching bag might start punching back.

You've seen this sight more times than you count, have followed him down here for the sole purpose of drooling over his swollen biceps, but this...this is different. Something has changed, and you can't pinpoint what that is. 

The strike of his fists might be more aggressive than you remember them being, but maybe the exhaustion slowing your senses is causing you to misjudge. His upper lip twitches up, breathing hard through his nose. It's the only other sound in the room. Too shy to allow himself to make much noise, for fear of hearing his own grunts. 

There's a foreign scent in the air. Something hidden beneath the stench of sweat and the indescribable sourness that comes with a poorly maintained gym. Your brows furrow. It reminds you of...a kitchen. Fresh. Warm. Kind of like...the pot of black coffee that he brews every morning. Wrapped around a cluster of cinnamon and vanilla, like a hand-crafted candle. 

Is that...?

All of a sudden, the gym falls quiet, his fists frozen at his sides, the punching bag still swaying from his final strike. From across the room, his eyes lock with yours, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed, unkempt in an almost endearing fashion. 

 Oh, his poor eye. Mottled with red and darkening purple, swollen around the corner, just enough to be noticeable when compared to his right one. The split in his lip doesn't look that much better, a visible scab resting in the corner. 

Something in your lower belly twists. A shiver wracks down your spine. 

Bob doesn't say anything, and you don't either. Frozen into silence. 

Coming here may have been a mistake. Shit. Why did it never occur to you that he probably came down here because he wanted to be left alone? Why else would he be down here at one in the morning?

"I...I'm sorry," Bob's voice breaks through your thoughts like sunshine peeking through storm clouds, warm enough to melt away the words fluttering about your head, "I almost blew—"

"Mav had it coming." Cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. You were never upset about that to begin with. 

Again, it's quiet. Hesitant, Bob steps forward, then pauses, looking back toward the swaying punching bag, then back to you. Then, one foot falls in front of the other, head hanging low as he crosses the room. A small part of you wishes that he would have stayed right where he was because that little voice in your head stirs to life the moment that he's within an arm's length of you.

Touch his chest. Touch his chest. Touch his chest.

You're no better than an omega in heat. 

"'s my face look that bad?" A chuckle rumbles out of him, blindly pawing at his bruised cheek with the side of his hand. 

Blink. "Huh?"

"You're looking at me kinda funny," he says it like there's absolutely nothing different here. As if today is just another average day. Same old, same old. 

"You really haven't figured it out, have you?" It's more of an observation than a question. Even through your half-open eyes, it's not hard to tell that he hasn't put two and two together. 

He reaches to scratch at the back of his neck. "...no?"

Ugh.

"Flashing your teeth, sudden aggression..." You're starting out slow, listing your evidence out bit by bit, but he's not reacting to a word you've said, "developing a scent..."

A scent is an understatement. He smells like a goddamn bakery.

A beat passes, and then, slowly, his shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "I'm not following."

For a guy with glasses, Robert Floyd can be really fucking dense sometimes. 

If you were more awake, then maybe you'd put more effort into spelling this out for him, but a king-size mattress on the ninth floor is calling your name, and you're running low on willpower. Your brow furrows, swallowing hard. It's been a minute since you last tried to do this, but if you dig deep and focus on flexing your throat...

A chirp bursts out of you. Sharp. High pitched. 

Jake did a piss poor job of explaining what that noise does to an alpha, but he must be right about one thing. Bob stiffens. Holding onto his breath, his wide eyes flickering up and down your body. 

His eyelashes flutter. "Oh." 

You're fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Alphas. 

Of course, that's what he would wind up being. 

It seems that you can only fight one battle at a time because your hands are on the move. Palms skittering up the sides of his waist on a one-way track to his chest. He's on fire, burning so hot that the feel of his skin alone is enough to have you feeling light-headed. There's no reason for you to be embarrassed by it, but you find yourself masking your intentions by using him to remain steady as you lean in. 

His scent glands have only just begun to awaken, producing so little oil that your scent almost wipes his out entirely, but it's there, and it's real, and it's so...him. Hands appear on your waist, drawing you in, his sweaty body pressing against your uniform. Slow, his head moves against yours, temples brushing against each other once more.

"'m I doing it right?" He asks, breath tickling your ear. 

"You're getting the hang of it," your confirmation doesn't amount to a whole lot. He knows that as well as you do. You're only slightly better than he is, too far removed from the instinct that resides in your DNA to make much connection with it. 

Even so, that doesn't stop him from following your lead. Letting your hand curl around his jaw, guiding him to nuzzle against you in a sloppy, unpracticed fashion that just feels right. A noise lurches out of him, a low, rumbling thing that sounds like the beginnings of a purr. 

Lips appear on the corner of your ear. Breaking your attempt at scenting in favor of kissing along the side of your cheek, each one growing closer and closer until his lips finally meet yours. Soft, melding with yours in a dance that you know like the back of your hand. 

This is something that the Navy can never take from you. The weightlessness that settles into your joints, the way your head goes completely and utterly quiet when you kiss him. He molds against you like he's been built just for this, the soft jabs of his prickly chin drawing you into him like a moth to a flame. 

You can feel the flex of muscle in his arms as they curl around you, strong and burning and so, so familiar. The fresh, warm scent that greets your nose is new and yet so undeniably him; you've only known it for a few minutes, but you can't wait to spend a lifetime wrapped up in it. In him, and his soft hums and the dizziness that he puts in your head. 

It's the voices in the stairwell that break you apart, but it's the deepest craving of your soft, cozy bed that has you both tumbling up each and every step. Shoulders bump together as your weary legs carry you to that familiar apartment door, not quite awake enough to maintain any sense of balance. 

"I can't believe you never put it together," you find yourself saying as you meander down the hallway. Whoever decided that the elevator should stop on the first floor and not the basement should be fired. 

"Well...I sort of already did," Bobby pauses, squinting at the buttons, "I just didn't..." he trails off, too focused to finish his sentence.

"Uhuh, sure," Your hand darts out, pressing the correct one.  "What other symptom could I have possibly missed?" 

"A knot."

Saliva catches in your throat. "Huh?"

The elevator dings, evidently just as surprised as you are. A moment passes, and the door slides open. It's empty, thank god. No prying ears to overhear what is about to come out of your partner's mouth. 

"I'm just as surprised as you are," his hand squeezes yours, obediently following along as you walk into the elevator. There's no use in him trying to do anything else. Not when he can't see. "It's not...you know, all the way there yet, but it's either that or an unfortunately placed tumor."

Almost automatically, you press one of the buttons, not even entirely sure if it's the correct one or not. Guess you'll find out when the doors reopen because this cheap old contraption gives no indication as to what the hell you just did. Are you going to the ninth floor or the third? Only the elevator knows.

Bob's weight sways from foot to foot, and in the thin sliver of mirror in the corner, you can see the overhead light glistening against his sweaty chest. There's that twitch in your lower belly again, thighs pressing together on their own as if to keep something at bay. Maybe there would be something if your head weren't so...empty. 

"Nobody ever warned me about how sore it'll be when it's coming in," Bob's words are stretched around a yawn, quickly chased by a second one.

Almost simultaneously, your mouth pries itself open, yawning, too. "That bad?"

"You have no idea," his laugh bounces off the metal walls, ringing in your ears; it's the kind of thing that might put you to sleep right here and now. "I forgot about it while I was in the shower this morning and about hit the floor."

With another ding, the doors slide open, and as it turns out, you did pick the correct floor. The next thing you know, you're stumbling into the apartment together; your phone rests on the couch, screen flickering to life with a text. Right. 

You: Made it home! 2:12 AM

Almost instantly, a new message appears on your screen.

Rueben: Is Rob home, or should I send the search team to Mav's house? 2:12 AM

Bob: 🙄 2:15 AM

Something about that text has both of your phones buzzing away with a flurry of texts as if some kind of floodgate has been opened. Bob entertains it, but you're too focused on gathering clothes and towels, dumping them in an unceremonious pile on the bathroom sink. 

Where your belongings end, and his begin can be figured out when you're out of the shower. For now, all you're focused on is turning on the water and pulling this stuffy uniform off your body before it becomes permanently stuck there.

 "Do we have work in the morning?" You find yourself croaking as you test the water. Still a little chilly. 

Lips appear on the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. "We don't work on Sundays, remember?"

"I don't even remember what day it is." Oh how you wish that you were exaggerating. At some point in the week, you've just quit looking at the calendar and let your overfilled schedule swallow you whole.

There's no reason for him to guide you into the shower; hell, it's a walk-in, but he does it anyway. One hand on your waist, moving at the same slow pace until you're standing under a warm stream of water. Your eyes are already trying to drift shut, fighting against you as you try to keep them open.

Defiant, they drift down between Bob's legs as he reaches to grab a bottle off the shelf. There's a soft swell to the base of his cock that wasn't there before; skin stretched tau, not quite adjusted to this sudden change he's been hit with. Whether or not he catches you staring, you don't really care.

Moving is the last thing that you want to be doing. Your shower gel is only an arm's length away, but it might as well be a mile, and once you finally grab it, it's almost too heavy to hang onto. Somehow, though...somehow, you manage. You think you do, at least; you catch the familiar scent from the soap, and you certainly remember washing the bubbles off, so you must have washed something.

You're staring at your reflection in the foggy mirror when a cold wipe presses to the side of your neck, rubbing at the scent gland there. Funny, you'd almost forgotten about that. But now that it's been brought back to the forefront of your mind, you can't help but pluck one from its container. 

The corner of Bob's lip lifts, obediently tilting his head to expose his neck for you. A few little swipes are all that it takes to unveil a scar atop the scent gland there. Faded white with age and almost blending in with his pale neck. For something that could cost you both your jobs, it's quite small.

"We're lucky Mav didn't see these," you mutter, thumb swiping over top of it. The gland is still dry, hasn't figured out how to produce that thin sheen of oil yet. 

Maybe it never will.

Bob's frown is something that you find yourself having to kiss away, can't stand the sight of such a thing. And that's really...that's the last thing that you remember doing. Standing in the bathroom, feeling his arms snake around you, as you kiss his lips until they lift with a smile one more. 

What you do know is that somehow, you get into bed because the next time you open your eyes, you're snuggled into the sheets. Sunlight peeks through a crack in the curtains, casting a horribly bright light into this otherwise dark little bedroom, all too visible behind your closed eyelids. 

Defiant, you roll over. 

If you don't acknowledge it, it's not there. 

Guided by habit, your arm darts out from your side, sliding across Bob's warm belly. His hand settles around your wrist, squeezing gently as if to test and see if you're really there. Through the haze of sleep still lingering in your head, you think you can feel him moving, hips wriggling back and forth against the mattress, unable to keep still.

It takes a moment to find your voice. "What's wrong?"

"It's..." fuck, you forgot how deep his voice can get in the mornings, it's the kind of thing that can put thunder to shame. "It's nothing."

The room is darker than you expected it to be, nothing but that little sliver of light to illuminate the whole place, stretching across the bed and up onto the wall. 

"Well, it's got to be something," gliding your palm up and down his belly in that lazy sort of fashion that always makes him sigh.

His mouth opens, then snaps shut just as quickly, afraid of the words that rest on his tongue.  "'m hard," he croaks, and then, before too much silence can build in between sentences, "which wouldn't...which wouldn't be a problem, but that stupid...that stupid knot hurts." 

Oh, and his cheeks are on fucking fire, red as they can possibly get. All these years, and yet he's still so shy about these topics. It's cute. Even if part of his face is decorated in a frightening mixture of red and purple, only just beginning to recover from yesterday's events. 

You're only just beginning to blink away the blurriness resting in the corners of your eyes, but there's already a lightbulb going off in your otherwise foggy head. So bright that you can feel it lighting up your features, eyes brightening, smile sprawling across your face.

Bobby clocks it before you can even begin to formulate words. "I suppose you have an idea."

"When do I not?" Your weary arms help to push yourself up, lazily swinging a leg over his waist. 

The sheets jostle, pooling around your hips, a chill nipping at your skin. But alphas run pretty warm, and Bobby was already a furnace, to begin with, downright burning against you like a flickering campfire. 

Your plan isn't that unpredictable. It's so easy to figure out that Bob is already leaning up, elbows settling on either side of himself as he meets you halfway. Teeth knock together, lips crashing with so little grace that you distantly wonder if you're at the start of your relationship again—just two fools who don't know how to navigate around each other's bodies. 

But you do know. 

Only several years spent together could teach you that he'll shudder when your nails trace down his chest, gasping into the kiss when they drift across his nipples. Always has been sensitive here, even if he struggles to admit it. 

Biology suggests that you won't get away with it, but history assures that putting your hands on his shoulders and forcing him onto his back will be rewarded with perfect compliance. Instinct be damned, he's putty in your hands. Blinking up at you with those big, unfocused eyes, like a lamb caught in the hungry gaze of a wolf. 

You just can't help yourself. Mouth finding the soft underside of his jaw, where a little bit of stubble has managed to make itself known, scraping against your nose as you drift past. His hands splay out on your hips, his only attempt at reigning you in as you kiss down his neck. Soft little pecks that can't last any longer than a second or two, lest you get carried away and leave a mark that your superiors may spot. 

One of these days, you're going to childishly mottle his neck with marks. Make everyone understand that the cute WSO is yours, nobody else's. Alpha or not. 

"Don't tell me..." his chest heaves as you make your way across it, peppering every little freckle with attention, "don't tell me you're..."

"I'll be gentle," peeking up at him through your lashes, blindly following the hard valley of his sternum. Down, down down to the start of his upper belly, soft and squishing beneath your kiss. Here, you can pause, sucking gently at a patch of pale skin.

A hand slides up your back, settling into the space between your shoulders, just resting there. "Ain't worried 'bout that," his words come out breathy, not quite focused on what he's trying to say. 

You've already got a little red spot forming. Then a second, and a third, before you've reached the treacherous territory of where his shirt may unexpectedly ride up. Being visible in the locker room is one thing, but if he reaches to grab something while wearing that little black regulation t-shirt...

"Do you want me to stop?" Pausing in your tracks. 

"Nuh uh," his head shakes back and forth, then, hesitantly, "'s just...new." 

Your knee pops as you scoot further down his legs, fingers hooking under the thick elastic of his boxers. Obedient, his hips lift, letting you slide the fabric down his thighs. But you're a little too close, forcing him to pull his knees to his chest in order to get it safely past his ankles.

Fuck, he really does have a knot. Properly swollen at the base now, the skin stretched tight and flushed a dark shade of red, not quite adjusted to this sudden change. At least at sixteen, your body encounters these things over time, gradually increasing in intensity. But he's a decade older and up the creek without a paddle. 

"Well, if you could handle me on my first heat," carefully taking his length into your hand, feeling the weight of it, "then this should be a walk in the park, right?"

Bob's head tilts to the side, gaze fixated on what you're doing. "'s easier when I ain't the one changing." 

Fair point.

Maybe you would have more to add if you weren't too busy settling between his legs. In hindsight, you should have detailed your plan a little bit more because now that you're here, you're not entirely sure what to do. Start at the base? The tip? Somewhere in the middle? What do you usually do here? 

Your tongue darts out, running over the swell of his knot. Just one little lick and—

"Oh."

A spring squeals as his hips writhe against the mattress, suddenly full of life. 

Curious, your tongue pokes out once more, gliding across it slower this time. A whine cuts through the morning air, rising to chase your touch. Greedy. Like he hasn't been touched in forever. 

"Do that..." sucking in a desperate gulp of air, "do that again." 

You don't need any more encouragement; already beginning to fall into some kind of rhythm. Lazily mouthing at his delicate knot, all lips and tongue, like you're playing with a lollipop and not the base of his twitching cock. So simple and yet he throws his head back and whines, content with this and this alone. 

"Lube," speaking against him, if only to see the shiver that ripples up his spine. 

His hand audibly pats around the bed, feeling around until he makes his way onto the bedside table. A beat passes, and the bottle appears next to you. Thank god for being lazy; otherwise, he would have had to move and dig into the drawer. 

This is something you know. Leaning back to pour it directly onto him, savoring that little hiss at the chill. Maybe you're a bit too generous with it, thick globs of it running down him like some kind of waterfall, but it's too early in the day to be worrying about such a thing. 

All you care about is getting your hand around him, feeling that familiar girth beneath your fingers as you give him an experimental stroke. How his back rises up off the bed once more, his hand reaching to grab a handful of the pillow, anything to keep himself from pawing at your arm. 

"Feel good?" Your wrist twists. His thighs squeeze around you.

Dumbly, he nods. "Uhuh." 

It's not enough for you, and so you're already opening your mouth with another question. "Can you use your words for me?"

But that pretty head shakes back and forth, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "N-no." 

He's cracking. Hand flying away from the pillow, making a little grabbing motion until you offer him your unoccupied one. Always has to be holding your hand. Always. Even if it's when your other hand is lazily gliding up and down his weeping cock, working at its own comfortable pace.

Swift, your thumb darts out, massaging circles around his enflamed tip. 

You don't know what's louder, the squelch of lube or the cry that rips out of him, muffled a little too late. This is so new. He's so much louder, reacting to every little thing as if it's the first time all over again.

"Up—mmh!" Bobby's eyes squeeze shut, then flutter open again, panting hard. "Up here." 

If this was his first time requesting such a thing, you wouldn't know what he's talking about, but it has almost become second nature at this point. For a moment, you let go of him, needing both hands as you crawl back into your place beside him. He rolls onto his side, already beginning to reach for you before you can even settle in. 

"This better?" You chirp. He's nodding before you can finish your question.

The change in angle makes it so much easier to stroke him, following your own undisclosed rhythm, feeling the way he twitches under your touch, sensitive to all hell. But you're already growing distracted, letting go of him once more, lightly tracing your fingers over that newly formed bulb at his base. 

"That..." his thighs squeeze together, whimpering high in his throat. "That..."

In the back of your mind, you wonder if the neighbors can hear this. The unusually loud noises that just keep tumbling off his pretty tongue, so beautifully overwhelmed with the newness of all this. Glassy-eyed and pink in the cheeks, reaching out to hang onto your wrist as your fingers wrap around his cock once more, if only to keep himself grounded.

Maybe he's worried about being overheard because he's craning his neck, lips crashing together with the same clumsiness as before. Your tongue darts out, wrapping with his for a fleeting moment, wet and messy and certainly getting saliva on the pillow below. 

Again, your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, running back and forth across his slit. His body jerks, gasping into your mouth so sharply that it startles you. 

"Talk to me, Bob," you've got to quit using that phrase outside of the workplace, but it just works so well on him. 

"Feels, feels, aha—!" If he sounded this pretty in the backseat of a jet, you probably wouldn't have a license anymore. "Feels good!"

Vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee kiss your senses with all the strength and intensity of a roaring freight train. The scarred gland on the side of his neck glistens, finally producing that intoxicatingly warm scent. So strong that it makes your head spin, senses downright swimming in it.

"I want...I'm gonna..." Bob's eyes scrunch shut, his foot kicking at the sheets like he can possibly keep it at bay if he fights hard enough. 

But you're not slowing down.

"That's okay," squeezing him a little tighter, twisting your wrist in a fashion that makes his knees knock into each other. Close. So, so close. "Cum for me, Bobby." 

And he does. Twitching in your hand one, two, three times before that first rope of cum paints your palm with white. Fuck, and it just keeps coming, knot swelling impossibly wide, pulsing with every spurt, until your entire hand is fucking dripping. 

You've never seen so much of it. Not from him. 

On their own, your fingers dip down, delicately rubbing at his expanded knot; it throbs under your touch, his thighs snapping together on impulse. The greedy voice in your head wonders what it would be like to feel that inside of you, locking your bodies together, cum flooding your pussy until you can't possibly take another drop from him.

"Feels..." he's fighting for a proper breath, eyes rolling, "feels so different."

"Is that a good thing?" You hum, drawing your hand away before that nonexistent refractory period of his can raise its ugly head and drag you in for a round two. 

Weary, his head nods, but you're not entirely sure that he realizes he's doing it. "Uhuh."

You don't know if he's just not awake or if it's something about the alpha thing, but he hardly has his eyes open, lying next to you like a lazy puppy. His belly and your hand are a downright mess, drenched in an obscene mixture of cum, saliva, and lube, and more just keeps spilling out of him. 

A shower is the only thing that can clean this mess up, but it's too late for that. He's already wriggling an arm around you, his head nuzzling beneath your chin, and moving is suddenly impossible. 

If he's not worried about it, then you suppose that you aren't either. 

It takes twenty minutes for his knot to go down, disappearing entirely as if it were never there, to begin with. It takes an hour to get out of bed and another one for your impromptu bubble bath to end, only for you to crash on the couch like a pair of sleep-deprived teenagers. 

What else are you meant to do on your day off? Something productive? 

You'd known this day was coming, but Christ, you didn't expect it to arrive this soon.

A gray building with gray floors and even grayer walls. The definition of boring and exactly where you're supposed to spend the next several hours rotting away in a meeting. The plastic chairs, the doors, and the pen that the lady sitting at the front desk taps her cheek with are all the same, dull monochrome. 

It's such a severe lack of color that it makes the fading on Bob's cheek appear brighter. Fresher. Like he walked out of the fight ten minutes ago and not three days. There's no uniform, but Jake's red t-shirt is almost offensively vivid, persistently resting in your peripheral, no matter which direction you turn your head.

All of a sudden, the unnamed girl stands, darting into another room without a word.

"Sure can't wait for this to be over," Bradley mutters almost as soon as the door slams closed. 

Jake shifts his weight, bumping their shoulders together. Hard enough to make Bradley sway with the impact. "Worried you can't take the heat?"

"Are you projecting?" Bradley hums, hardly even reacting to the second attempt to shove him.

There's a response there that you don't quite catch about something back at home. But before you can decipher those whispered words, your eavesdropping is cut short by a weight appearing on your own shoulder. The burning press of Bob's nose against your neck, shamelessly burying into you. 

"Bobby?" You chirp, craning your neck to try and get a better look at him. No dice. 

He doesn't move. "Mmm?" 

Rueben's head swivels in your direction. Nose wrinkling. 

...did you forget to take a shower? What's he looking at you like that for? 

All of a sudden, Bob's feet stumble. Weight falling atop your back as he tries to regain his footing, so damn heavy that he's got you wobbling right along with him. A strangled noise rumbles out of him, riding on the coattails of his breath.

"Robert?" Because he's not answering to your nicknames. "Do you feel okay?"

"My head is..." his words vibrate into your collar, arms wrapping around you as if to use you as a pillar, "spinning." 

"You're not gonna get sick on us again, are you?" Nat has suddenly appeared on your left, brows knitted together. 

Between the lingering glances from Rueben and the sudden end to Jake and Bradley's conversation, it's suddenly far too quiet in this little room. A second drags by. Then a second, and a third. Your only indication that Bob is even awake is the brushing of his eyelashes against your skin.

Just as you're beginning to think he doesn't have a response, he opens his mouth.

"'s not that kinda spinning," he mumbles, hardly even loud enough to reach your ears. 

Surely, it can't be something that he ate; you two have shared the same meals all week. If he's feeling off, then you should be, too. It's certainly not allergy season, and as far as you could tell, he was perfectly fine on the drive over here. 

So what gives? What could have possibly changed in the span of a few minutes?

The unnamed woman stumbles back into the room, her heels clicking with every little step that she takes. Something comes out of her mouth, but the grumbling noise that rumbles out of Bob covers it up entirely. It must be a request to follow her because all at once, everyone around you begins to move, filing through the same door that she just came from.

Bob's arms loosen from around you, and he's straightening up, all things that should make him appear better, but...he looks worse. Pale in the face, shoulders appearing to slouch in on themselves as he walks next to you. He's moving, though, feet falling in perfect tandem with yours, following the crowd down the corridor and around a corner. 

The group comes to a sudden halt.

Bob's shoe squeaks against the floor. His shoulder hits the wall, his head rolling like it's too heavy to hold up. Eyelashes flutter, his chest rising with a breath so shaky that you can see him quiver with it. 

Something's wrong.

"Bobby?" You start to reach for him, but Rueben's quicker than you, settling a sturdy hand on the back of Bob's shoulder, trying to draw him away from the drywall before he can accidentally put a hole in it. 

Abnormally short fangs flash. Something akin to a growl rips out of Bob's throat. Heat rushes between your legs. 

His face drops. Eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's nothing personal," Rueben's already backing up, his palms facing the ceiling. The closest thing he can get to waving a white flag. "I get it." 

You don't believe what you're seeing. Smelling, even. It's way too soon for this, but...

He's starting his rut. 

"Is everything okay?" The girl from before is asking; you wish you could remember her name, but reading her nametag is the last thing you're doing right now.

Bradley's shoulder nudges against yours, his head hanging low as if to shield out the rest of the group. "Get him home," he whispers. Firm. "I'll cover from here."

Your attention flickers to Bob, then to the rest of the group. "You're sure?"

All it takes is a look. Unwavering, jaw stiff, commanding all the authority that he can possibly muster. Omega or not, he's not one to be argued with. 

Bob's shoulders shudder. Sweat is already beginning to bead at his forehead; lips parted, breathing through his mouth. 

You don't need any more convincing, already beginning to take him by the wrist. There isn't the slightest bit of resistance, falling into step with you without any ounce of convincing. Whether or not he's actually comprehending what's going on, you're not sure, but he knows enough to not try and let go of you.

Taking the keys from him is the hardest part, trapped in the front pocket of his jeans, right next to the growing tent in the fabric, downright begging for your attention.

"Feels...weird," he grumbles, foot missing on his first attempt to climb into the truck. The second is a little more successful, almost trembling as he pulls himself up into the seat. 

"I know," if it's anything like what your first heat felt like, then you've got a pretty good guess of what he's going through. Heat flashes, loss of coordination, nausea, the overwhelming need to orgasm damn near eating you alive.

In fact, you think that's exactly what he's going through. Grumbling with every turn you take, slouched against the corner of the seat, his head against the glass. There's a tremble in his hands that wasn't there before, knee bouncing up and down, unable to slow itself even for a second.

There are more signs that you would likely notice if you weren't so focused on the road ahead. You've only driven this truck a handful of times; the turn signal is in a different place, the view of the road is different, and it doesn't quite take turns as sharply as your car does.

But he's quiet. Uniquely so, as if he's lost in his own head. Doesn't make a comment on how you pull his truck into its spot rather than backing it in, only grumbling when you don't immediately give him your hand during the walk toward the apartment complex. 

His chin falls onto your shoulder the moment the elevator doors close. 

"Still feeling weird?" You ask, attention flicking to the mirror.

He whines, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, arms wrapping around your waist. A familiar hardness shamelessly grinds into the curve of your ass. Even the thick material of his jeans can't stop you from feeling the way he twitches, desperate for something. Anything.

Warmth rushes down into your thighs. Knees knocking together as they clamp shut, helpless to do anything but wriggle against him. His shaky exhale tickles your ear. 

Something clangs overhead, but you can hardly pay it any mind. The elevator could be falling, and you still can't bring yourself to care. Too focused on twisting in his hold, bodies so close that your noses crash together. 

Bob looks no better than he did while you were in the truck. Skin so clammy that he glistens in the overhead light, not quite pouring with sweat but if you give him a few minutes, that story may change. 

The elevator doors open with a squeal. You move toward them. He doesn't budge. 

"Bobby?" Your head tilts. 

His eyes dart toward something in the hallway. You follow his gaze, but not a damn thing is there. Nothing but the same old gray carpet, dusty, decorative table, and the welcome rug sitting outside your neighbor's door. 

Your alpha neighbor. 

"Bobby, it's your instincts running wild," your attempt at diffusing fails to evoke the slightest reaction, "nobody is going to hurt us." 

He doesn't seem to believe you. Still staring off into the hallway as if his greatest enemy is about to slink around the corner at any given moment.

You reach over his shoulder, fingertips brushing over the back of his neck. Scarred and battered from all those scruffings during basic and every other time a superior thought they caught a glimpse of defiance. Delicate, you pinch the soft skin there, but his shoulders don't loosen like they should. No, they stiffen. 

His chest swells with a sharp inhale. 

"It's okay," whispering, as gently as you can, "it's just me." 

Hesitant, he takes a step forward. Obediently following your lead, those big blue eyes flickering back and forth across the hall as you walk down it. The apartment door is only a few steps away, off in the corner of the building, but it must take a minute or two to get him there. He's just sane enough not to fret when you let him go in exchange for digging the keys out of your pocket.

The door opens, and it's as if an invisible string snaps.

Kisses appear on the side of your neck. Crowding you through the threshold, the door slamming closed the moment you're through it. The apartment is at the same temperature it's always been at, and yet it's too damn hot in here. Feels as if you're walking into a burning room, but instead of flames licking at your skin, it's Bob's hands. Darting under your shirt, desperate to feel more of you.

"I..." Bob's voice dies in his throat. Rumbling against your nape. "I..." 

It's too easy, letting him pull that thin piece of material over your head, your back finding its way up against the wall. The meeting, your friends, the buzzing of your cell phone in your back pocket, none of it matters. Only the press of Bob's lips against yours, how his body slots against yours, built for this and this alone.

He's everywhere. His lips are crashing into yours, and his hands are creeping up your naked back, and the bulge in his jeans is pressing against your hip, and, and—

It's so much. 

Fuck, it's so much. 

"Bob," you find yourself gasping, aimlessly uttering his name as if it can quench the fire beneath your skin. "Bobby..."

He whines at that. Rumbling against your mouth and down your spine, rattling through you like a shockwave. Your fists gather the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. Deeper. Draws a surprised groan right out of his throat, caught off guard but making no move to stop you. 

His hips roll into yours once more, all too eager for something, anything. Your thigh slots between his, pushing up just enough and...

"Shit," he's swearing under his breath, so quiet that you hardly hear it. 

Your impatient hands tug at his shirt. The kiss only breaks long enough for you to yank it over his head, taking his glasses with it. They the floor with a painful clatter. 

He makes no effort to retrieve them.

Neither can you because he's back in your space within an instant, his lips stealing your breath away as if it has belonged to him all along. He tastes like coffee and the honey biscuit he scarfed down on the way to the meeting, so warm and sweet that it's like kissing a bakery instead of a man. 

It ought to drown you. Flooding your senses like some kind of pleasant assault swirls your thoughts and delves deep into your belly, disturbing the butterflies there and setting you alight. This is...this is new. He's always made you weak in the knee, but you don't recall them nearly buckling from his scent alone, only held up by the strong arms looped around you.

Something in your lower stomach clenches. So upset over the overwhelming sensation of being empty that it begins to cramp, a wave of slick rushing to ease the ache. 

Bob's moving, and it's all you can do to throw your arms over his shoulders and hang on. Following blindly as he backs you through the bedroom door, feet stumbling blindly. Back, back, back, guided by the pressure of his hands and the bump of his chest against yours.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, crumpling out from beneath you.

Your ass hits the bed. Vision swimming as you try to regain focus. 

That soft belly is right in front of you. Pale and dusted with freckles, the thin layer of fat concealing the muscle that lurks beneath. You just can't help yourself, greedily leaning in and kissing a fading hickey. One of your hands finds its way to the tent in his jeans, pressing softly. 

Bob sucks in a breath. Jerking. "Hurts." 

"I'm gonna take care of you," you say it as if you've got yourself together. You don't. "I promise."

The button to his jeans pops open without the slightest resistance, zipper racing down the tracks at a record pace. He's too quick to help. Hands colliding with yours as you both yank at the hem of them, pulling his pants and his boxers down in one go, sloppy as it might be. His cock springs free without warning, the flushed tip nearly hitting your cheek as you try to help him pull the fabric past his thighs.

Once they're past his knees, you can no longer reach them.

Your eyes dart to the bottle of lube sitting on the bedside table. With the heat between your legs, you're almost certain that you won't need it, but you're squirming across the bed anyway, rolling onto your belly, arm outstretched, reaching for it. Your fingers wiggle, catching on the side. The bottle spins across the table, right into your grasp.

Hands appear on your hips, dipping beneath your waistband.

"Hey!" You squeal, but it's too late. He's already tugging your pants down, too, pulling you across the sheets in the process. Your phone pops out of the pocket, landing next to you.

"Sorry," but those half-lidded eyes and his lazy grin imply that he's definitely not sorry, already hovering over top of you. There's barely enough room for you to roll onto your back, caged between his shivering arms. 

Funny, you'd always presumed alphas to fall under the same old, aggressive stereotype once their rut started, but this one...he's anything but. Pink in the face, pressing soft kisses against your cheek, almost entirely himself. 

Whether or not he hears you uncapping the lube, you don't know, but he doesn't react to it in the slightest. 

"Ah—!" He does react when your dripping hand wraps around his heavy cock, spreading cold lubricant across him without so much as a warning.

His knot is hardly there, nothing but a slight bump at his base, as it should have been this whole time. You reckon that something about his rut finally kicked his hormones into gear. 

Your hand is hardly doing anything special. Simple strokes to spread the sticky substance across him, thumb swiping over his head once, twice, drawing little whimpers past his lips with every motion. Sensitive and so wrapped up in the feeling that he doesn't realize that you're surging up off the bed. Pushing him over, your leg swinging out to straddle his hips. 

Those wide eyes draw a giggle out of you. "Dummy." 

It's so easy, reaching between your thighs and taking hold of his weeping cock, guiding it up until his tip slips through your folds, nudging against your clit and all. Ugh, you've missed this feeling.

"You're..." Bob sucks in a trembling breath, eyes flickering from your face to the sight of his cock nuzzled against your cunt. "You're sure?"

"Are you?" Mirroring him. You've already made your intentions loud and clear. 

He nods before he can find his voice. "Uhuh."

"Then so am I," and before either of you can begin to conjure up a response, you're sinking down on him.

A sudden pressure appears at your entrance, an ache already arising from your severe lack of interest in stretching yourself for him. It's a dizzying kind of burn that has your body shuddering, taking his cock head in with a soft 'pop' that ought to make your heart stop. 

"Jesus," Bob's hands fly up to your hips, squeezing tight, "fuck." 

There's just something about hearing him swear that gets your head spinning, fighting to keep your body upright as you take him inch by delirious inch. Not obscenely thick, but enough to already be rubbing against those little hidden nerves. It's not fair. He has no right to have your thighs tremoring before you've even taken him halfway.

Your hands fall forward, bracing yourself against his heaving chest. The feeling of the pitter-patter of his heart beneath your palms isn't doing much to help you either, beating at his chest like a caged animal.

Coffee and cinnamon strike your nose with the intensity of a freight train, tearing through your head so quickly that everything becomes muffled, wrapped up in your own little world. A little place where Bobby is your only concern, with his oddly sweet scent and soft blue eyes that threaten to drown you if you gaze too closely.

But your ass is settling into his lap, and you're too damn full to remain up in your head much longer. Fuck, you can't breathe. Lungs tight as if you've run out of room, forced to pant for air that you can't possibly hang onto. 

Already, Bob's hips roll up, unable to keep himself from squirming beneath you. His hands roam up your sides, idly touching, as if to make sure that you're really here. That you're not a figment of his rut-clouded mind.

"So pretty," he babbles, sounds absolutely awe-struck, "you're so pretty." 

"You're just saying that because I'm riding you," teasing, a little smile emerging onto your face as you draw yourself up.

"No, I'm—mmh!" His head falls backward, thunking against the pillow.

This...this is something. You've hardly even drawn yourself up an inch, and he's already whining about it, his hands squeezing your sides once more, hanging on tight as you sink back down on him. 

It's on the second attempt that your breath hitches, stars sparkling in your vision as he rubs against a particular bundle of nerves. An experience nearly identical to any of the other times his cock has been in you, but something...something is different here. You don't recall feeling a sudden gush of slick, reacting to an extreme. 

He should have quit taking those suppressants sooner.

You're drawing yourself up quicker now, clinging to his chest as you try to find your pace. Something quick enough to get what you want but shallow enough to avoid wearing yourself out before you've even gotten close. But it's so hard to remain rational when he's downright nailing that little spot, cock head kissing it over and over and over. 

Bobby's hips jump up once more, meeting you halfway. His whine intertwines with yours, dancing about the room and through the walls. You hope the neighbors aren't home because you don't have the strength to quiet him down. Not when he sounds so pretty. 

"Darlin'," his head rolls back and forth, blinking rapidly, "darlin', I..." 

A beat passes. He doesn't finish that thought.

"Hm?" Fighting to keep your eyes open, "talk to me, Bob." 

You're using workplace phrases in the bedroom again.

But his eyes only scrunch shut. So tight that his nose wrinkles with it. "I don't know."

On its own volition, your hand darts out; he meets you halfway, fingers lacing together as you push them onto the bed. It's a motion that forces you to lean forward, such a subtle change in angle, but—

"There," you blurt it as if you're not the one in charge here. Heat rushes up your belly, burning high into your throat, smoke clouding your vision. 

You're babbling something, but you just can't hear it. Control crumbling like a house of cards, impossible to rebuild as your hips quicken, chasing the delicious pressure of his cock against your nerves. Cunt clenching around him like a vice, every little motion punctuated by an obscenely wet noise that you're only vaguely aware of. 

It's a sudden growl that rips you back into reality. Bobby's short fangs sink into his shivering bottom lip, pretty blue eyes glassy as he bats his lashes up at you. 

"Huh?" Freezing in your tracks. Is there something...did you do something that he doesn't like? 

He's pushing himself up, suddenly all too close. "Wanna roll over." 

The room is spinning before you can even realize what he's just said. Back hitting the soft mattress, a familiar weight settling atop your chest. Arms brace on either side of your head, already finding his favorite position.

Your newly empty hand darts up. Grasping at his wrist until your fingers lace together once more, his weight pinning them into the sheets. You haven't the slightest clue how he stayed inside of you, but he's already beginning to move, and your shaking legs are coiling behind him, and—

"There!" It rips out of you so suddenly that you think you sound akin to a wounded animal. Little shocks jump up your core, pussy fluttering around him. "There, there..."

His hips move a little harder, properly jostling you beneath him, rubbing into those little nerves once more. "Jus' like this?"

All you can do is nod, tongue limp in your mouth. 

Bob's leaning closer, his nose nuzzling against yours, hardly an inch of space left between your heaving bodies. The slight swell of his knot catches on your entrance, such a sudden thing that it rips the air out of your lungs, fighting to keep your legs hitched around his waist. All it's doing is drawing him up against where you crave his touch most, growing impossibly wet from the feel of his knot alone.

A stray squeezes out from the corner of his eye, rolling down his cheek and leaping down to hit your nose. His lips crash into yours before you can begin to ask about it. A soft intertwining that makes your thoughts swirl together until they've blended into a constant, incessant murmuring. Bob. Bob. Bob. 

"Bobby?" It slips out before you've realized it, and if your voice itself could echo a word, you have no doubt that a hundred incantations of his name would be tumbling out your parted lips.

His whine cuts through the air. 

"Feels good," he gasps, speaking against your lips, making no effort to pull away any more than he has to. "Feels...it's so—mmh." 

There's no possible way to keep himself quiet, his whimpers so distracting that you hardly notice the ones coming out of your own mouth. Your unoccupied hand rises, shaking with the heavy thump of your heart as it settles against his cheek.

As if it's come alive, your back twitches up off the bed, legs squeezing around his bony hips, a wildfire rushing across your skin. Head swimming with the noise that is Bob Floyd and the incessant nudge of his growing knot rubbing against that sweet little spot. It's so new and it's so much, and, and it's got spots decorating your vision. Patches of black fading in and out, like you're about to faint.

His knot catches on its way out of you. So big that it doesn't slip back in on the next pass, merely pressing into your pussy once, twice, three times. 

You don't feel it coming. 

One moment you're fine, and the next, your eyes are rolling, cumming without warning, as his knot finally pops inside of you. Quaking with the force of it, ears ringing so loud that you can hardly hear Bob's cry as he cums inside of you. Knot swelling to its full size, locking your bodies together, his cum flooding your spasming cunt, with nowhere for it to escape. 

You're only distantly aware of your back hitting the bed once more, legs slipping out from around him to fall at his sides instead. There are teeth sinking into your shoulder, and your heart is pounding against your chest, lungs burning for a breath you've gone too long without.

The first inhale grounds you. Brings you down from the ceiling and back into his arms. 

The second rips every ounce of strength from your body. All too limp beneath Bobby and his crushing weight that has long since settled on top of you. 

"I love you," his words are jumbled together, so unintelligible that you hardly realize what he's saying. 

It must take a minute or two for you to squeeze his sweaty hand, still linked with yours. "I love you too." 

There's no way that you'll be separating any time soon, not with his knot pulsing inside of your poor pussy, stretched to a limit you didn't know you had. Even when his phone dings from the other room, there's nothing he can do about it. How cruel nature is, forcing you to lie here and accept his snuggling advances. Barbaric, even.

"This..." Bob hums, kissing at your jaw, "feels so damn weird."

Idle, your arm loops around his shoulders, hand greedily delving into his hair. "Tell me about it. If you cum any more, I think I might pop." 

Your giggles melt into yawns; whoever said that sex was a quick and easy thing clearly wasn't doing it right. The moment that Bob gets his head comfortable, his nose nuzzled beneath your ear, you know that you've lost him. Frankly, you're not far from it, either, already beginning to fight back another yawn. 

But your brain isn't on the same page because while your body is already sinking further into the bed, growing heavier by the second, your thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Maverick. The prescription suppressants sitting on the dresser, waiting for the day that the Navy requires you to start taking them again, for the sake of efficiency and making the job easier for all parties.

You don't understand it. 

Why does the Navy prioritize scrubbing you of alpha, beta, and omega statuses? What's the point of soap designed to strip your scent glands when all it does is make you so much more sensitive to the variety of scents out there? Was the endless scruffing from your superiors really meant to 'build character'? Or was it just a bunch of insecure superiors desperate to make themselves feel in charge?

Bobby should have known whether he was alpha, omega, or beta over ten years ago. Why is it that you and he have been medicated to high hell while Maverick has walked around for the better half of thirty years without being given a single fucking pill to take? He's exactly what the Navy preaches about; a hot-headed, cocky alpha who gets so invested in instinct that he hurts his team.

God, fuck, his fangs aren't even formed properly. Short and stunted from the lack of hormones, not an ounce of threat to them, no matter how many times he may try to flash them. 

Your eyes dart to your cell phone, resting on the unoccupied side of the bed. 

It's barely within reach, but it's nothing that a little stretching won't resolve. Heavy in your hand as you type in the passcode and navigate toward an app, resting in the far right corner. The screen turns black. 

A beat passes. 

Then, a second.

And a third. 

The camera opens, little squares dancing across the screen as it scans your irises. A microphone crosses the screen. Your name tumbles off your tongue.

Finally, it opens. A crudely built messenger app, a myriad of texts flooding in as it loads. Wire transfers. Messages about the mission. Information that the Navy never thought would leave your lips. Names. Javy. Natasha. Jake. Rueben. Bob. Mickey. Three other familiar names that you cannot be bothered to read. All you care about is finding a contact by the name of Admin, and pressing the call button. 

As the dial tone sounds, Bob's head lifts, sleepy eyes flickering up to meet with yours. Doesn't need to look at the phone to understand what you're doing. It's a call he made when Admiral Cain left a mark on your wrist. The same number Bradley dialed when Cyclone started that brawl with Jake. 

Bob's just beginning to settle back into the crook of your neck when someone picks up. 

"Who hit him?" 

You know that voice. You know what happened the last time you called. But for once in your life, you've forgotten how to feel hesitant about the words that are about to leave your mouth. 

"They call him Maverick."

[henrioo]

If requests are still open would you been interested in writing some domestic Mihawk with his husband and their baby? Maybe reader teaches the kid their languages, and Mihawk gets the baby little sword plushies. Idk man but there's no way that man isn't secretly mushy 😭

°•*⁀➷ OUR LITTLE PEACE: MIHAWK

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "All Mihawk ever wanted was a peaceful life in his castle. But a perfect peaceful life is not complete without you, his husband, and now his little baby to fill his days with joy."

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : Male! Reader (can be cis or trans), MLM, homo relationship, homo marriage, Spoilers to the two years separation! (Zoro and Perona are in the castle and this is post Marineford), the author doesn't know anything about babies and children, almost nothing of Spanish because I couldn't think of one cute dialogue so sorry, not too many mentions of the reader gender like my others stories but still clear the reader is a men, also no mentions of the birth of the baby, no name or appearance to the baby so you can choose if is biology, adopted, imagine what you want.

꒰ WC ꒱ : 1,8k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : Another story! Another male reader! Hehehehe, I skipped one day of posting but here it's the new one, another ask because I'm really trying to finish them to give more attention to another project and maybe write other stories idk. Thanks for the ask, I love writing family stuff hehehhe, this one was not that good because I'm having some struggles with my writing style but I hope everyone likes it! Byee

You yawned as you tested the milk in your hand, warm but not enough to burn your baby's tongue, perfect. Zoro was in a bad mood in the kitchen eating something, he had been beaten by Mihawk in the last training session and you suspected it was because the pirate was always lost in the castle and opening the doors with great force, which made a huge noise and always it made your baby start crying, irritated when awakened from his sleep. Which also made the older man a little irritated that someone was disturbing his son's sleep.

You made a mental note to try talk to your husband, although to be honest you were uncomfortable too. His son was a needy little boy and when he started crying he would stay like that for hours, until his throat got tired and he went back to sleep, so having to deal with it several times because Zoro kept waking him up was really frustrating.

You walked through the hallways, now with furniture all prepared to be baby proof, no furniture with pointy ends, no sliding rugs, doors in front of the stairs and other changes. At first you thought that Mihawk would be uncomfortable with the changes, to his surprise he took responsibility for changing everything without you even talking about it first. He spent weeks moving furniture, buying or making objects to close doors or round edges, he even made himself available to remove carpets and pictures, even going overboard with the protection.

Your husband has always been a very protective person, even before he was your husband or boyfriend. When he was just flirting, or courting, he was always very concerned about your ntegrity. If you were traveling, would he always give you the best accommodations, extreme climates? He has everything prepared, clothes and even medicine for illnesses, that is if he doesn't change the entire route of the trip to prevent inconvenience.

As you progressed in your relationship, the more protective Mihawk became, he would never be possessive or controlling, he was just genuinely concerned about your comfort and safety and felt it was his obligation as a lover to provide you with the best. Of course he respected you, after all you were also a man and a fighter, you were not weak in any way, it was your strength and intelligence that made Mihawk attract and fall in love with you in the first place. But living a life as a "pirate", an ally of the navy or just someone very strong in the grand line meant that your loved ones and even you were at risk of death at all times. He would never want to lose you and that's why he never let his guard down.

It was no different with his son, he wanted to give him a safe and as normal childhood as possible, thus arriving at this extremely careful point. He was already planning his son's diet and he wasn't even eating so many solid things yet...

"Almost there dear, it's papa, mi hijo, papa" You heard through the half-open door, there was an area of the castle that was closed just for the three of you. Even Zoro and Perona knew to stay away from that part, it being your private wing.

There was the bedroom where you two slept, a common room with the fireplace where you two usually stayed, a bathroom, a library next to the balcony and of course, your son's room. It was almost a complete house, except that it was inside a huge castle with many other rooms.

You stopped watching your husband next to your son, Mihawk was now wearing casual clothes although his shirt was more open, contact with the parents' skin was good for babies, he had told you. The baby laughed in his arms, trying to touch the adult's face with his chubby little hands. He wore thicker baby clothes to protect himself from the cold on the island, as your husband insisted that just the fireplace wasn't enough. The outfit was dark red with bat symbols, Perona had given away saying that the cute baby needed to maintain one parent's vampire reputation.

"Baba!" Your son exclaimed excitedly, laughing again, your husband's affectionate look and smile made your heart melt and your stomach feel strange.

For many, Mihawk was a cruel and merciless man, who could effortlessly cut through ships and defeat thousands of swordsmen at the same time without breaking a sweat. For you? Ah... To you, he was a loving man, a man who always brought gifts from every island he visited, who always had fresh flowers to give you, a man who would kill anyone who dared to offend you for being in a relationship with another man. For you, he was your husband.

"I'll only forgive your terrible pronunciation because you're too cute," Your husband said, shaking his son again.

"I think baba suits you a lot" You smiled entering the room, your husband had been trying to teach Spanish to your little baby for some time. Although this turned out to be a much longer task than he imagined.

"Of course I do" He mocked looking at you smiling, it's not like he could contradict you.

"Papa!" Your baby said excitedly and soon his attention was all on you, his little hands stretched out trying to reach you as quickly as possible.

"Why can he get the pronunciation right with you?" Mihawk looked at you confused and envious as he passed the child to you.

"Because he likes to annoy you" You smiled, rubbing your face with the chubby and soft face of your baby who laughed at the contact.

"Well, he got it out of you then..." Mihawk teased as he adjusted the chair so you were comfortable breastfeeding.

"Of course yes" You sat in the chair and then placed your son next to the bottle, he quickly held the bottle as he began to drink the milk. His eyes soon started to get tired and he relaxed against you, after all it was close to time for him to fall asleep.

"I should order a painting of you two like this, it would be the most beautiful work of art I have ever seen..." He sighed looking at the two of you with love, for him it seemed like a dream, so much peace with the people he loved most.

"He wouldn't be able to stay still for that long" You laughed, your baby used to be quite energetic, which had created some good confusion with you guys losing him in the huge castle.

“It would be worth a try” He chuckled and walked closer to you, caressing your cheek and then placing a kiss on your forehead. "I can put him to bed today, you should take a shower and rest."

"You already did this yesterday, I don't get that tired taking care of him, you practically do everything." You sighed, your husband always wanted to take the weight off your shoulders since he used to travel a lot. However, your son really wasn't that big of a job, now with Perona and Zoro here and the instability of the world government, you doubted that Mihawk would travel anytime soon, so your job was even easier since you shared it with your husband.

"Humpf" He huffed, he always sulked when you didn't allow him to take care of everything.

"Let's put him to bed together... Then after that we'll have some time just for the two of us" You suggested smiling, your baby had now let go of the bottle and was yawning, showing that he was ready to end the day.

"You know how to convince me, don't you?" Mihawk smiled, taking the empty bottle as you stood up with your baby.

"Of course, how do you think I got you to marry me?" You played with him. Soon you were running around the baby's room to rock him, your son clung to you yawning and finishing digesting the warm milk you had provided. Luckily he didn't give much work on that part.

When he had calmed down enough to be practically asleep, Mihawk had already prepared the crib, also carrying some stuffed animals and blankets in case you decided to add something else. You walked over with your baby and gently placed him in the crib, then he stretched out completely and then curled up again in a ball, grabbing a sword plush and messing up the blanket there.

"Sword?" You said looking confused at the plushie of a sword, you didn't remember having one of those. You then asked your husband.

You only met a proud, red-faced Mihawk if you had seen your son doing the most graceful thing possible.

"We have to start familiarizing him as soon as possible," he said, smiling to disguise that he had bought the plush hidden from you.

"Oh yeah? Familiarize our baby with his father's swordsmanship legacy?" You said, crossing your arms and smiling at him, you even wanted to pretend to be angry but you couldn't, not with him being so cute like that.

"Of course, he will be a great swordsman in the future" Mihawk said proudly, you raised your eyebrow.

"Of course, then he's going to beat Roronoa and then come kick his own father's ass, it seems like something my son would do" You said proudly leaving the room, knowing that Mihawk would now be thinking about the fact that one day he would fight seriously with his son, knowing he would never be able to hurt his own child.

It didn't take long for Mihawk to come up behind you with a thoughtful face as he too got ready for bed.

"Well... He's still young, we can't say if he'll actually be a swordsman" He said coughing embarrassedly as he sat next to you on the bed.

"Of course, maybe he's something else" You said smiling knowing you had hit the nail on the head. Mihawk would never be able to seriously fight his own son.

"Of course... Another thing" Mihawk said with flushed cheeks, he also knew that you knew. It was shameful for him to know that his husband knew him so well.

"Yeah, another thing where he doesn't have to kick his dad's ass" You laughed giving him a kiss on the cheek, knowing he would sulk at the idea for a while.

“You really like teasing me…” He sighed as the two of you cuddled together on the bed, ready to spend some time together before bed. And well, you couldn't deny it, your biggest fun was seeing the merciless and cruel Dracule Mihawk, the strongest swordsman in the world, reduced to a soft-hearted, caring husband and father who would do anything for his husband and son. Sometimes love also came with provocation.

[shares-a-vest]

🍹 If You Like Pina Coladas 🍹

wc: 1.5k | Rated: M for Mild Suggestive Language, Sexual Humour, Mention of a handjob | cw: Alcohol Consumption (Not excessive – Eddie makes two Pina Coladas)

Tags: Hot Tub, Steve Harrington’s House, Cocktails, Flirting, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Body Worship (just a smidge as Eddie ogles his boyfriend)

Note: A while back I was looking through 1980s furniture advertisements and stumbled across several Jacuzzi ads, so I decided the Harringtons needed one hehe. And thank you to the STWG discord for always indulging my silly ideas, even if it takes me months to bring them to life 💜

🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹🍹

Eddie leans across the countertop of Family Video and kicks up his feet, grinning at his boyfriend despite the grumpy, pouty-boy frown creasing Steve’s brow.

“Come on, Stevie,” he insists, “What’s got your jeans in a such a twist?”

He rests his chin on his hands and tilts his head to the side, all innocent but nonetheless expectant. Steve has been sulking all week and Eddie is certain it has something to do with the fact that his folks have been home for an entire month now.

It has been tough on him too – what with their Private Boyfriend Time being cut down to whenever Wayne isn’t home. Which, considering his roaster right now, isn’t a whole lot of time for much of anything.

Plus, the novelty of boning in Steve’s car wore off about halfway through the first time. As it turns out, the back cab of the Beemer isn’t exactly all that spacious – nor is it conducive to avoiding a leg cramp so severe that Eddie almost got kicked straight in the head by his lover.

Eddie hums, thinking back to just what he was doing before the near-collision.

Steve stands upright to reach into the breast pocket of his tight navy-blue polo – one with four whole buttons the tease keeps undone in order to expose maximum chest hair. He produces a flimsy and tattered scrap of paper that looks to have been cut out of a magazine.

Steve sucks in a breath, unfurls the paper and hands it over.

“A hot tub?”

Eddie gawks at the advertisement in Steve’s hand and his boyfriend groans at his excitement.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, collapsing forward against the counter and Eddie’s heart flutters at their regained proximity, “My parents had it delivered a few days ago.”

Eddie delicately lays out the advertisement on the sliver of counter space between them and runs his finger over the picture, circling the rounded edges of the featured hot tub. He then moves to trace the hairline of the male model in the picture, a Fabio-looking dude who is having the time of his life sipping on a cocktail, accompanied by a pretty blonde toasting to his rugged masculinity.

“And this is bad, how?” he asks, looking up to find his boyfriend looking more than a little grumpy.

“Well, for one thing I have to make it down to the Post Office before closing to pick up some pump plug thing,” Steve grouses, all pouty with that bitchy lilt he gets (and that Eddie loves).

“Pump plug…” Eddie murmurs, transfixed as his greedy gaze makes its way down the long, tanned column of Steve’s neck…

To his chest, which is a lot more appealing than that of Jacuzzi Fabio Guy.

“Yeah, and guess who has to figure out how to get the stupid thing up and running by the time they get back?”

Eddie snaps to attention and smiles as sweet and innocent as he can muster.

“When do they get back?”

Steve looks at his watch, “They left about an hour ago and come back Monday night.”

Eddie leans over a little more – at least as much as he can before the counter begins to cut into his stomach.

“Stevie,” he coos, wiggling his brows, “My darling boyfriend.”

He abandons his fingering of the advertisement to reach for a lock of hair to twirl. Eddie giggles, dipping his chin as he bats his dark lashes.

“What?” Steve purses his lips before it all sinks in, “ – Wait. Oh, no!”

Call him selfish, but Eddie gives Steve no choice when it comes to the matter of getting the new Harrington Family Jacuzzi up and running. First, he mans Family Video so Steve can head to the Post Office for his pump plug-thing – an item he cannot bring himself to think about without chuckling a little, ‘tee-hee’. Then, when Steve returns with a box that contains said pump plug, Eddie helps his boyfriend read through the instructions before he heads on over to Melvad’s for some supplies.

It is going to be perfect.

Warm and bubbly.

Sensuous.

Private.

Eddie later finds himself buzzing out of his skin, rocking on his heels from his position right behind Steve as his boyfriend fires the bad boy up, pump plug plugged, and all.

“Great,” Eddie says, flapping the instruction manual in his hand, “Now we just have to wait for it to warm up.”

Steve huffs as he stands up and wipes at his sweaty brow – a sign of a manly job well done. He insists on washing up, so Eddie changes into his black boardshorts and sets about making them cocktails.

And yeah, he might have taken the advertisement out of the wastebasket in Steve’s bedroom while his boyfriend was showering in order to replicate Fabio Jacuzzi Guy’s alcoholic beverages. Sue him for wanting a romantic, catalogue-inspired evening – Pina Coladas included.

Eddie is all set up and ready to go as he lingers by the new outdoor accessory, waiting on bated breath for Steve to finally make his way out onto the back patio. The Hot tub is bubbling away like a hot spring, the inviting, steamy warmth every bit the picture painted in the advertisement Steve so thoroughly poo-poohed all afternoon.

But when Steve drops his towel, Eddie’s face drops.

“Why aren’t you wearing that tantalising little red speedo of yours?”

“Eddie, it’s freezing out here,” Steve argues, shivering as he looks out over the backyard.

Eddie grumbles and turns to the hot tub. He licks his lips, deciding what would be the most logical way of stepping up into the warm waters as he balances the two fruity cocktails in his hands.

“It’s what the bubbles are for, sweetheart,” he says, swinging his leg over the rounded boarder of the tub.

And in a second Steve is by his side, looping an arm around his waist to guide him. Eddie grins and pushes one of the cocktails into Steve’s hand.

“Oh, Pina Colada,” Steve beams.

They settle onto opposite sides of the hot tub – optimal positioning, if Eddie does say so himself! It allows him to get a good, greedy look at Steve, who is now preoccupied with trying to get his plush, pink lips around his straw without poking himself in the eye with the little yellow umbrella sticking out the top of his drink.

Eddie puffs out his chest and takes a sip of his own drink.

“Wait, is that my b-boombox?” Steve says mid-gulp, looking over Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie nods with enthusiasm.

“Thought it could be romantic,” he coos.

He sets his drink on a coaster near the boombox and carefully makes his way to his boyfriend. He wades through the warm water, stepping carefully – his body tingling as the tub’s jet streams rush hot water against him. It lights a fire in his belly and leaves him looking Steve up and down like he is something he could just eat right up.

Because the thing is, in this heat – with Steve’s perpetually warm body – the whole atmosphere is giving his beautiful skin a delicate sheen that is both arousing and oh-so-shiny. Like Steve is some precious thing made of gold. A God, even.

Eddie settles in close, his cheeks burning up as his arm touches Steve’s, sending a bolt of electricity through his body. Down his body.

“Steve,” he breathes, leaning into his partner’s neck.

“Eddie, this isn’t a porno,” Steve deadpans.

“You sure about that?” Eddie teases, reaching down to cup Steve through his boardshorts and rub.

It gives his boyfriend a jolt and Steve chokes out this stifled little whimper and all Eddie can do is chuckle into the bare skin of his shoulder. He bites him for good measure, earning a hiss. But Steve melts at the touch, sinking down a little in his seat.

“Eddie,” he whispers, screwing his eyes shut – damn his willpower, “You cannot jerk me off in my parent’s Jacuzzi.”

“Oh,” Eddie grins, pretending he is utterly scandalised by such a suggestion, “Who said it was going to be a mere handjob?”

Steve reaches down and wraps his meaty paw around Eddie’s wrist. He brings it up to the surface and interlaces their fingers.

“That so?”

Eddie narrows his eyes.

“Smooth operator.”

“Dork,” Steve leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek, “Wanna go upstairs?”

“After we finish our beverages.”

Eddie pushes himself off from their side of the hot tub and accidentally propels himself a little too hard to the other side. He reaches out a flailing limb to catch something in a desperate search for purchase.

But his hand knocks over his Pina Colada, spilling it directly into the hot tub. He grapples for the edge of the tub and momentarily dunks his entire goddamn head beneath the surface.

“O-ops,” he splutters when he comes up for air, spitting bubbly, hot water from his mouth.

He shakes drenched hair from his face, only to be met with Steve’s frown.

[unikron-kitten-kat]

His wings hold you close.

His large but gentle hand petting your head as he plays with your hair.

His other arms hugging you loosely.

He is humming, his voice low and deep, but so beautiful.

It echoes. It lulls.

Your eyes are growing heavy listening to him hum.

You two are sharing a spot on the rug next to the fireplace, the warmth from the fire adding to his making you even more sleepy.

You had been attacked earlier. Your leg is broken as a result.

Fen didn't even leave a chunk of flesh. All that was left of the woman was blood spatters on the walls and ground of the alley way.

The wavy stripes and logs of redish-purple on his otherwise snowy complexion compells you to trace them. And you often do when you too are snuggling like this.

The pattern on his shoulder is your favorite to trace. The stripes and heart shapes make a clownish face, with hearts for eyes and a wry smile.

Both the hearts and wiggly smile are surrounded by smaller and shorter stripes. Those are fun to trace.

The curling stripes that frame his torse bring an intricacy to his patterns that you love.

The ones on his face resemble that of scars. One striking through his eye, even being painted on his eyelids, with a few smaller scratches of color.

There is another on his face, resembling that of a small cut over the lip.

His eyes are closed. Only non-peaceful about him currently is his angled brows and small frown.

His wings aren't plain either. Being a dull navy blue, like a trenchcoat of sorts. But the darker patterns are sporadic, like that of a zebra, while still having conformity to them.

The tentacles wrapping around the back half of his neck, mimicking that of a trenchcoat collar, are lying limply around his neck, the webbing between them stretching to accommodate.

His eye blinks slowly open, a reaction to you tracing the smaller strikes of color on his face. His eye glows so intensely, but right now it is but a dull glimmer. The snake slit pupils rounds, focusing on you.

You bring him peace.

You inquisitively freeze as he leans down closer to you. He plants a kiss on your head.

You kiss his cheek.

He purrs, the sound rumbly but small and content. He resumes humming.

You continue tracing the pretty and intricate, but not overwhelmingly so, patterns lacing his arms and chest.

His hand flits through your hair again, and he leans down again to rest his face in your hair, a place where your scent is more potent.

He inhales deeply before snuggling you tighter, his wings closing more securely around you.

His shortened tail wraps as mucb of itself as it can around you. You notice more pattern to trace on it.

The patterns on the tail seem to be the most sporadic, some of the strands and strips of deep maroon/magenta seeming to have no rhyme or reason to their placement or direction.

He stops humming.

You make a noise, feeling him gently pull up the pant leg to your broken leg. He is using two hands, he is just checking the splints and wrapping.

He makes a satisfactory humpf, before returning his arms around your body and resuming humming.

Your tired eyes unfocus as you go back to tracing his markings again, you mindlessly following the trails of magenta with your fingers as your eyes grow weary and blurry.

He shifts, and you recognize the relaxation of his body, and the long silence of his voice. Fen has fallen asleep.

And you soon follow, the warmth and comfort of the fire and him finally pulling your eyes closed.

[commodorebuzzkill]

A bit of distraction for us left-leaning military nerds.

Let's play a game... AND YES, I STOLE THIS SCENARIO FROM THE NAFO GANG ON YOUTUBE, SO SUE ME! You are now in charge of the procurement of military equipment for the nation of Elbonia, a nation that as of now (being around 1956) has had its government overthrown by an authoritarian communist coup (meaning the not fun kind of communism). Headed by El Jeffe, our glorious leader (who has all the meglomaniacal tendencies you'd think he would), the revolutionary army is now looking to fill itself out to a well-rounded modern army and air force with all the bells and whistles. But here's the catch. You are actually a CIA plant, and your job is discreetly sabotage the revolutionary army and revolutionary army air force with equipment that looks cool but is pretty much garbage. If you fail to deliver sufficient coolness, El Jeffe will have you shot. If it actually turns out to be perfectly serviceable, the CIA will have you shot. Thus, the game is this: Select one or more categories of military equipment, and then propose a weapon designed or produced before 1956. This can be something that went into full production, something that died in the prototype phase, or something that never escaped the drawing board. Eastern Block, NATO, Former Axis Powers, doesn't matter, so long as it's before 1956, it's fair game.

I will offer my first entry:

Category: Light Bomber/attack aircraft

The Douglas A2D Skyshark.

Looks a lot like an A-1 Skyraider, don't it? Well, on a basic level, it's a heavily modified Skyraider with a giant turboprop in the front. Said turboprop put out a whopping 5100 shaft horsepower, plus an additional 810 lbs of thrust from the exhaust, attached to a contra-rotating propeller. That means the A2D's top speed is 492 mph! So, El Jeffe, I present you the reliable frame of the A-1 Skyraider, but better in every way! Just look at this big, mean, bruiser of a ground pounder. It doesn't need the giant runways of modern jet aircraft, and the rugged construction and beefy landing gear will allow it to operate from grassy fields. Or even from small aircraft carriers if the glorious navy of Elbonia is provided with them. And now the bad stuff. The Skyshark has about half the maximum bomb load of Skyraider, reduced from 10,500 pounds of underwing ordinance to 5,500. So, that kinda sucks.

But it ain't got nuthin' on the Skyshark's real fatal flaw. That giant turboprop is the Allison XT-40, possibly one of the worst turboprops ever made. The XT-40 isn't really one engine, it's two turboprops coupled together and made to drive a single shaft through a deeply tortured gearbox.

This lead to the destruction or near-destruction of two prototypes. The first XA2D-1 was lost in December 1950, when the starboard power section of its engine failed while the pilot, Cdr. Hugh Wood, was attempting to land. The failed section of the engine failed to de-clutch, and most of the power of the remaining half of the engine ended up going to the compressor of the dead half. Hugh Wood was unable to check the rate of his descent and crashed, unfortunately dying as a result.

Then there was an incident in 1953 when test pilot C. G. "Doc" Livingston was performing dive tests in another XA2D. In the process of pulling out of a dive, his Skyshark made a loud bang, and his front windscreen was covered in engine oil. Doc Livingston then managed with the help of his chase plane to land his now powerless skyshark intact. Upon examining the front of the aircraft, he found that the prop and gear box had wrenched free of his aircraft, yeeting the planes means of propulsion whirling off into the sky.

Not a year after that, the prototype for the Douglas A-4 Skyhawk flew for the first time, putting an end to the misery of the Skyshark program.

So, I can guarantee the CIA that Elbonia won't have much luck with this one. I'd predict lots of engine trouble and maintenance problems all around, with a high accident rate and low operational readiness rate. But since it looks cool, I think El Jeffe will go for it.

And I will pass this one along to @hms-exeter.

[thehues-home]

Elevating Home Offices with Heat Blocking Curtains

As more people continue to work from home, creating a comfortable and productive home office has become essential. One often overlooked but crucial aspect of designing a functional home office is managing temperature. Heat control window curtains offer an excellent way to optimize comfort by regulating indoor temperatures while also enhancing the room’s aesthetic appeal. In this article, we’ll explore how to match heat blocking curtains with different home office designs for a balance of style and functionality.

Why Choose Heat Blocking Curtains for Your Home Office?

Heat blocking curtains are specially designed to control the amount of heat that enters or escapes through windows. Made from dense, insulated materials, these curtains help maintain a stable indoor temperature, making your home office comfortable year-round.

Here’s why they’re perfect for a home office:

Temperature Control: Whether it’s a hot summer day or a cold winter morning, heat control window curtains help create an optimal environment by blocking excessive heat and preventing drafts.

Energy Efficiency: By reducing the need for heating and cooling, these curtains can lower your energy bills.

Light Control: Many thermal insulated blackout curtains not only block heat but also control natural light, reducing glare on screens and creating a focused work environment.

Matching Heat Blocking Curtains with Different Home Office Designs

When choosing heat blocking curtains for your home office, it’s essential to find a design that complements your workspace. Let’s take a look at how to match these curtains with different home office styles.

1. Modern Minimalist Home Office

Minimalist design is all about clean lines, neutral tones, and simplicity. For a modern minimalist home office, choose thermal insulated blackout curtains in soft shades like white, grey, or beige. These colors maintain the sleek and uncluttered look of a minimalist workspace while ensuring maximum temperature control.

Curtains that keep cold out can be paired with minimalist metal or wooden curtain rods for a streamlined appearance. Avoid heavy patterns or bold colors that might disrupt the minimal aesthetic. Opt for smooth, matte-finish fabrics that blend seamlessly into the background, allowing other elements in the room to shine.

2. Industrial-Inspired Office Spaces

Industrial home offices often feature raw materials like exposed brick, metal, and wood, creating a rugged, modern vibe. Heat control window curtains in darker shades like charcoal, black, or navy can complement the bold and edgy feel of an industrial workspace.

For an added touch of style, opt for curtains with grommets in metallic finishes that match the industrial decor. Heavier fabrics like canvas or thick cotton can add a functional yet stylish layer to the space, blocking drafts while reinforcing the industrial look.

3. Scandinavian-Inspired Home Offices

Scandinavian design emphasizes natural light, airy spaces, and a sense of calm. To maintain this tranquil vibe, choose insulated curtains in light, neutral tones such as soft greys, light blues, or creams. These colors allow natural light to filter in while preventing heat loss during colder months.

For a Scandinavian office, layering is key. Pair your heat blocking curtains with sheer drapes to balance light and temperature control. Opt for natural materials like linen or cotton blends that align with the Scandinavian love of eco-friendly and sustainable designs.

4. Traditional Home Offices

For a traditional home office with rich woods and classic furniture, thermal insulated blackout curtains in warm, earthy tones like burgundy, forest green, or deep brown can elevate the room’s timeless elegance. Choose curtains with textured fabrics like damask or velvet for a more luxurious feel.

Incorporating curtains that keep cold out in a traditional home office ensures both comfort and sophistication. These curtains not only provide insulation but also add a layer of refinement, complementing ornate desks, antique chairs, and book-lined shelves.

5. Contemporary Home Office Spaces

Contemporary design often incorporates bold accents, modern furniture, and open spaces. For a contemporary home office, consider heat blocking curtains in striking colors or patterns that stand out while still offering functionality. Geometric patterns or bold stripes in shades like navy, mustard, or dark green can add visual interest to the room without compromising on practicality.

To enhance the modern look, choose curtains with sleek hardware or motorized options for added convenience. The combination of smart design and heat control window curtains creates a perfect balance between style and functionality in a contemporary workspace.

Key Benefits of Heat Blocking Curtains in Home Offices

Let’s take a closer look at how heat blocking curtains can improve the functionality of your home office:

1. Improved Focus and Productivity

A comfortable workspace leads to improved focus and productivity. Heat blocking curtains prevent temperature fluctuations, ensuring your office stays cool in the summer and warm in the winter. By maintaining a stable indoor climate, you’re less likely to feel distracted by discomfort.

2. Light Control for Screen Work

Many home offices struggle with natural light, which can create glare on computer screens and cause eye strain. Thermal insulated blackout curtains not only regulate temperature but also help control light, making them perfect for home offices where screen work is common.

By reducing glare, these curtains create an environment conducive to working without interruptions from bright sunlight.

3. Energy Efficiency

Heat control window curtains help reduce the need for air conditioning and heating, especially in rooms with large windows. They act as an insulating barrier, keeping your workspace at a comfortable temperature while minimizing energy consumption. This can be especially beneficial for those working long hours in a home office.

4. Enhancing Privacy

If your home office faces a busy street or neighboring houses, insulated curtains provide an additional layer of privacy. You can work without the distraction of passersby or the feeling of being on display, which is particularly useful if you hold video calls or meetings.

Tips for Choosing the Right Heat Blocking Curtains

When selecting heat blocking curtains for your home office, keep the following tips in mind:

Choose the Right Fabric: Look for dense fabrics like polyester blends, velvet, or triple-woven layers that provide effective insulation. Avoid lightweight fabrics that won’t block heat or cold effectively.

Pick the Correct Length: For maximum efficiency, choose curtains that fully cover your windows and extend past the frame. Floor-to-ceiling curtains provide the best insulation and create a more polished look.

Consider Layering: For added style and functionality, layer thermal insulated blackout curtains with sheers or lighter drapes. This provides flexibility in controlling light and temperature while enhancing the room’s design.

Conclusion

Heat blocking curtains are an essential element of any well-designed home office. Not only do they improve comfort by regulating temperature, but they also enhance the overall look of your workspace. Whether your home office features minimalist, industrial, or traditional design elements, there’s a perfect set of heat control window curtains to match your style. By choosing the right curtains, you can create a space that is both functional and visually appealing, ensuring optimal productivity and comfort.

[ohmygodshesinsane]

Hey Finn! Hello! An anon recommended I drop “September Sprinkles” in people's askboxes sooooo here is yours. Obviously I could not say no to such a good and smutty idea 😂 Here you go lovely xx

Guess what I’m not wearing right now.

👀👀👀 I love this, thank you so much for sending it! Here’s my take…. (I hope it’s spicy enough to count!)….

“Lily?” A knock came at the door. Lily cast a quick charm on the bubbling cauldron and pushed her goggles to the top of her head. Her workstation was crammed with teetering books and phials of vibrant liquids and finely crushed porcupine quills.

“Come in!” she called back. The door to the cool underground room opened, and Nita stuck her head through the archway, smirking mischievously. Lily groaned. “Oh, God. What now?”

“Floo call for you,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. Lily pulled her goggles over her tied-up hair and dumped it on the table.

“Who is it?” Marlene, Peter, Mary, Sirius, and Remus had already called, and of course she’d seen James this morning, when he’d woken her with breakfast in bed and a steaming cup of tea.

“I’m not allowed to tell you,” Nita said, her smile widening. Lily stretched her arms above her head as she followed the receptionist down the hallway. Two hours remained until she could clock off, and go home to properly celebrate her birthday. Not that her day had been all misery; the new tincture they were developing was proving an exciting challenge, and the hours had been punctuated by well-wishes.

They climbed the stairs to the cosy reception, with its wood-panelled walls and pots of blooming aconite. The fireplace on the nearest wall cast a warm orange glow across the round edges of the desk and the navy Persian rug. Nita’s eyes glittered as she slipped into her seat. Lily’s brows furrowed curiously as she knelt before the crackling coals, searching for a face.

Of course.

“Happy birthday,” her boyfriend beamed.

“James,” she said, trying not to smile. Her lips fought furiously against her better instincts. “You couldn’t wait another two hours?”

“No,” he said. “Unless you’re doing something important?” Her heart rushed with gratitude.

“Nothing as important as you,” she said, lowering her voice, though she knew Nita would never tell. “Is this some warning not to come home, so you can better set up my surprise party?”

“You adamantly said ‘no surprise parties’. I respect that.”

“Then…?”

“Then…? I just wanted to tell you that I love you.” But even when his face was made of shifting embers, she recognised that twist of his mouth. Her stomach fluttered.

“Well, I love you too. Is that all?”

“Well.”

“Well?”

James’s teeth skimmed his lower lip. “Do you want to play a game?” The tone of his voice made her look over her shoulder. Nita hummed as she organised a stack of parchment.

“What kind of game?”

His eyebrows arched. “I want you to guess something.”

“Azerbaijan.”

“No.”

“Thirty-two.”

“Not that either.” Lily couldn’t help but snort, and James laughed too, until he was coughing up coals. “Shit. Ow. No, Evans. Guess what I’m not wearing.”

Her heart jumped in her throat, but she kept her expression cool.

“Shoes,” she replied.

“Technically correct.”

“Got it in one.”

“Good girl.” Lily’s breath cut short, heat flooding her cheeks. “I’ve got something for you, when you get home. A present.”

Despite herself, Lily leaned closer to the flames. “Oh?”

“D’you remember Boxing Day?” Her stomach contracted sharply. How could she forget? Drunk on mulled wine, under the tree, James’s hands in her hair, his tongue on her…

“Yes.” Lily tried to focus. “Which part?”

“I couldn’t distract you from your work.”

Lily bit the inside of her cheek. Work had quickly fled from her mind. “Which part, Potter?”

James’s eyes twinkled. “Is that a guessing game you want to play? It’s something you’ve said you’d like. What do you like, Evans?” A shiver ran down her spine.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I’ll show you.” His voice was warm and rich, like gold whiskey. Lily’s fingers hovered over the reddened wood, a string in her heart pulling tight as she longed to touch him.

“Go on, then.”

“Nah.” The fire shifted, and James had obviously moved back, for now his features were less focused. “Tonight. You can’t wait another two hours?”

“I can’t get a hint?” A kind of frustration coiled within her… the sort that would make measuring the reactions of porcupine quills to diluted essence of hellebore much less interesting. James had a way of narrowing her world to only one type of chemistry.

“I gave you a hint.” He shrugged, carelessly cool. “Boxing Day.”

“James -”

“I love you,” he said quickly, cheekily. “I’ll see you soon. Happy birthday.”

“I love you. But -” His face vanished from the fireplace, leaving only burning charcoal. Lily leaned back on her heels, breathing raggedly. Her eyes darted to her watch.

One hour and fifty-two minutes.

Fuck.

[expatesque]

Referring to your recent post, would love to see some of the fun things you’ve bought! You have the best taste 😊

Aw thank you.

So the main categories of things have been home stuff and fashion stuff. I do have a tag (of course) but haven't posted everything so to summarize...

Home stuff

Living room: The swan table (an icon, a queen, the inspiration for the room), the insane green velvet chair (we love her, gotta keep it eclectic), snake rug (hiss hiss), a fundamentally impractical sofa (Ikea, concessions had to be made somewhere. I'm going to restuff to make it look more fluffy and expensive). I'm keeping my vintage curio cabinet, 1960's referencing 30's circular bar cart, black arched lamp, and big rubber plant. The inspiration is somewhere between this 1930's Thorne miniature room and hummusbird. I need some paintings, a little table for under the window to display a great vase (got this one in ivory, tbc if it's the right size), and some big new throw pillows (I'm thinking dusky pink). Oh also I'm getting a fish to go in the bookcase (I wanted a white Betta but my dad has said that's a bad idea and suggested a gold fish instead).

Kitchen: An oval marble topped cast iron bistro style table. Keeping my black bistro chairs (2x) and will also use 2 of my armless ghost chairs (like these). Likely to get a small floating island to get a little more counter space. Also bought an insane copper kettle ala my man Rajiv recently.

Main bedroom: I've got a new headboard for my bed (this one), I'm getting rid of the wardrobe in there (using the one in the 2nd bedroom) and will replace it with a vintage dressing table and mirror (I do like this one but would rather not spend that given... everything else) to display my great great grandmother's silver mirror, brush, etc. Need some big Euro shams and perpetually looking for a navy woven blanket that's big enough (I want it like, almost duvet sized).

2nd bedroom: Currently is an office / video game room, turning into a proper 2nd bed. I'll use my meh existing bed, need bedside tables, maybe a new desk chair.

Fashion stuff

It's been a lot of big skirts (my love the Prada one, a really full white canvas-y one, this crazy pink one, a beige cashmere Theory one), a set of heavy ribbed tops with high necks in black and browns (for autumn, this is one of them), a few cropped cardigans (can't find any specific ones that I've bought right now, but short enough to wear with the skirts), a totally sheer cream colored top (that is proving surprisingly versatile already), two cheap Zara wrap vests that I'm waiting to arrive (one in cream and one in black, we'll see the quality when they get here), a Victorian gold charm bracelet (+ a charm of a monkey holding a pearl), a pair of really gorgeous silver and mother pearl earrings from the 50s, some rag and bone soft leather mules, some baby blue Mary Janes, and a set of tiny kitten heels that I really like but am not sure I'm keeping (they're a little narrow but I think I could stretch them). I think there's more but if I think too much about it I'll be stressed (rip my budget). Pro tip: Laura Riley has an incredible fashion newsletter that rounds up what's new and what's on sale -- I've gotten almost everything I've bought on 50%+ off.

[seeringsaga]

CHAPTER 1

            “Is this it?” Elak’s voice jarred Nasha, pulling her out of her trance. She hadn’t even heard him approach. “What’re you standing around for? Let’s kill the girl and get out of here!”

            There was no thought, no emotion, only pure impulse and instinct. Nasha’s wand blasted into Elak’s stomach, killing him instantly. She felt a shred of guilt after doing it, knowing that Dusklight would have her stripped of her rank if they found out she had killed one of her fellow rebels in cold blood, but she quickly turned her thoughts back to the present. The girl’s eyes were somehow even wider, staring at the partially annihilated body on the floor.

            “Can you speak?” Nasha asked the girl.

            “Yes,” she responded in a stronger voice than Nasha had expected.

            “Then do everything exactly as I say.”

            **********

            Minutes earlier, Nasha, Elak, and Nasha’s assistant Nel were stepping briskly down another of the cold, sterile hallways of the Needen scientific facility, led by a round-faced blonde woman who had introduced herself nearly an hour earlier as Director Mar. She wore the traditional navy robes of a Needen military official, cinched at the waist but flared and flowing at the sleeves. Nasha and her compatriots wore the same outfits, but unlike Director Mar, they were not Needen military officials – they were resistance fighters aligned with the rebel sect Dusklight on a mission to destroy this facility.

            Nearly two months ago, Dusklight had received documents from an informant inside a hidden Needen facility deep in the Yuenaw Wastes. The Yuenaw herd-clans only patrolled their respective territories, and this one was tucked just outside the reaches of the Kuriq Hegemony. The facility was developing a weapon that could strip people of their Seering powers, giving the Needen military a monopoly on the psychic arts. All of humanity in the eleventh millennium had some degree of Seering ability, but most considered it simple luck or instinct. Those who had greater command over their abilities could peer into the past and possible futures, divining unknowable information and seeing events seconds before they happen. These rare humans were called Seers, and Nasha was one of them.

            After receiving the documents, Dusklight had tasked Nasha with assembling a team to infiltrate the facility and destroy the experimental weapon at all costs. She recruited Elak, a burly and rugged ex-archaeologist, to act as her muscle and pose as her bodyguard, and Nel, a young woman with burgeoning Seering abilities who Nasha was mentoring to serve as her assistant and scribe. For the second part of her plan, she enlisted the Dukar brothers, a slicer and demolitions-expert sibling duo from the lowest levels of Needen Citadel’s seedy underworld, to serve as her operations inspection team.

            With her team assembled, Nasha had moved to her plan of attack. She would pose as an inspector, sent by the Ministry of Science to do a surprise inspection of the facility. Using flight codes supplied to them by their informant, they piloted a stolen Needen transport skyship that they had refurbished towards the domed, unassuming white building situated between two rolling hills of gray silt. The team of rebels was met with little fanfare. Only the director of operations and her assistant had come to greet them on the landing platform. For the last hour, Director Mar had shown the trio around the facility, looking over its inner workings and trying not to appear too bored to the Director. Mar had sent her assistant with the Dukar brothers to inspect the facility’s exomatter core, but Nasha was able to keep tabs on them via a pocket-sized datascroll she unfurled every few minutes for updates.

            Director Mar stopped in front of a white wall, indistinguishable from any other part of the halls they had been traversing. She pressed her hand against the wall, and immediately a white light began to emanate from it. She stepped away, and the wall made a small squelching sound before turning completely black, so black that nothing could be seen beyond the yawning maw before Nasha. Nevertheless, she knew there was more.

            Nasha recognized this as a purgate, an application of exomatter technology that allowed a person to travel any distance by passing through the Space Between Spaces to reach a connected purgate. This technology was rare even with the standardization of exomatter energy, and it was typically reserved for high-security buildings such as this. Many years ago, during her time in the Needen military, Nasha had heard of people getting stuck in the endless limbo between the purgates. Although this was dismissed by her higher-ups as an urban legend, Nasha had always thought that there could be some truth to it.

            “This is what I imagine the Ministry of Science actually sent you to see,” Director Mar said. She gestured towards the purgate. “After you.”

            Nasha wondered for a second if this was a trick, if the director knew that they weren’t really from the Ministry of Science, and was about to send her tumbling through the void for the rest of eternity. She glimpsed into the murky future, trying to sense any danger or betrayal, but found none. Without thinking too hard about what she was about to do, she stepped into the black portal, and for a single second her stomach dropped as she felt the sensation of falling.

            Just as quickly as it had begun, it ended, and Nasha felt her left foot connect with a solid floor. She stepped out from the nothingness behind her, and moments later Elak and Nel followed suit, with Director Mar close behind them.

            The room they were in now was nearly identical to the one they were standing in before, unremarkable with white plastisteel walls and sterile fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling. Director Mar stepped to the head of the group.

            “This way,” she said, and gestured for the trio to follow her further down the hall.

            As they walked, Nasha glanced down at the tiny datascroll in her hand. She pulled apart the two pieces of metal, barely three centimeters long each and as thin as a fingernail, revealing a semi-translucent blue screen made completely of light. There was an encrypted message sent six seconds ago from Dagan, the eldest Dukar brother. She flipped open the notification and entered the passcode.

            Before she could read the message, a klaxon began to wail, and the white fluorescent lights switched to a dim flashing red.

            “Exomatter leak in the engine core room!” a panicked voice cut over the alarm. “All stations evacuate immediately! I repeat, all stations evacuate immediately!”

            Anxiety shot through Nasha’s body. She knew that the Dukar brothers had failed in their mission, and whatever had happened had caused them to accelerate the mission plan by a few too many steps. Nasha knew she would have to hurry if they were still to succeed.

            Instinctually, she reached into the flowing sleeve of her robe and produced a forearm-length metal rod, cobbled together from bits of mismatched scraps of metal and wiring. She leveled the hollow, open end of the rod at the back of Director Mar’s head.

            “Take us to the experiment,” Nasha said flatly.

            Shock and anger crossed the Director’s face as she turned to face Nasha, her eyes narrowing as she looked down the barrel of her wand.

            “We’re already going to die,” she practically spat. “Why should I help vermin like you?”

            Nasha saw the attack before it happened, but there was nothing she could to stop it. Mar had already levelled her beamer at her and fired a ray of white-hot plasma that lit up the eerie red hall like a crack of lightning. With her unnatural instincts, Nasha was able to leap out of the way at the last minute, singeing only the flowing sleeve of her robes. Nasha fired her wand, and a great blast of black energy crackled through the air. Director Mar flew backwards, her body flung like a child’s toy down the hallway.

            “No! Nel!”

            Nasha turned behind her to see the young woman slumped against the wall, her brown hair framing a lifeless face. Her head hung at an odd angle, and smoke poured from a hole in her chest. Elak knelt over her, and pressed two big fingers under her neck to feel for a pulse. He turned to Nasha and shook his head.

            This was not the first time she had lost someone she considered a pupil or a friend, nor would it be the last. Nasha turned away from Nel’s corpse and back to Mar’s. She walked to it and stood over what was left of Mar – an arm that ended just above the elbow, the top half of a head, a bit of lower torso attached to two legs, and a few loose fingers. This was the devastating power of the wand: by channeling her own Seering abilities into it, she could pull exomatter through the device and funnel it into a powerful blast that annihilated anything it touched. In principle, all exomatter engines worked in this way. They opened a tiny portal into an alternate dimension and sucked matter from that dimension into ours. Upon contact with matter from our universe, the alien matter and ours were both immediately annihilated. The energy from the resulting reaction was so great that it could power entire cities, without producing any waste or byproducts like energy sources of the past once had.

            Nasha picked up the Director’s arm and strode towards the end of the hall, where there was another plain white wall, unremarkable aside from its location at the end of the hall. Nasha poured energy into the dead limb’s cells, commanding life back into it. The Director’s fingers began to twitch, and Nasha pressed the undead hand into the white wall. Please work, she silently prayed.

            With a snap and a hiss, the wall slid aside, revealing a small room, furnished only by a small mattress atop a raised platform. Sitting cross-legged on the bed was a girl in her late teens or early twenties, thin to the point of malnourishment, with straight white hair that stuck out at odd angles like it had never been brushed before. Her skin was so pale that it was nearly translucent, making her blue-black veins visible. The girl stared at Nasha with too-wide eyes that lacked pupils. There was something uncanny and almost simian about her face with its small, flattened, slightly upturned nose. She wore nothing but a form-fitting mint-green jumpsuit, leaving only her head, hands, and feet exposed. Nasha noticed her feet only had four toes, and her hands also lacked a fifth digit. Neither of them spoke, but for some reason Nasha knew that this woman would be important not only to her, but to all of humanity.

            That feeling blossomed into a full vision, taking over her senses and transporting her to a place beyond the present moment. She saw the divergent paths of the future spreading out before her like tendrils diverging from the roots of a great tree. Horrible fates unfurled into worse ones. Entire cultures and civilizations bloomed and wilted in this young woman’s wake. Nasha saw the planet utterly destroyed, healed and mended, and thrown into chaos all at once. The experience was overwhelming, and her eyes began to water and her lips trembled. A realization crept over her: this girl could be the answer to all of the world’s problems, or she could spell its disaster.

[azaanfashionnbd]

THE 15 RULES ALL MEN SHOULD LEARN - AZAN FASHION

1. WEAR A SUIT WELL

The key to a suit looking good is fit. If you’re buying off-the-peg, focus on the fit across the shoulders because getting the chest and waist altered is a relatively easy job according to Davide Taub, head of bespoke suits at Savile Row tailor Gieves & Hawkes. “Be cautious about wearing a period suit unless you’re pursuing a total period look because in isolation the suit starts to look like a novelty,” he adds. Classic is best and most useful – dark, two-button, single-breasted, moderate in details. “It’s not boring. A suit is a uniform. The idea is to think of this suit as a canvas to build different ideas of individuality around. It’s the way you wear it, not the label inside, that impresses.”

2. INVEST WISELY IN A WATCH

“A watch is like a piece of art,” argues Don Cochrane, managing director of British watch brand Vertex. “Choose it because you love it, not because you think it might make money. Watches are personal, it marks your passage through time. But you also have to be practical.” Aesthetic, functional, rugged sports models go with anything and can take the hard knocks of everyday wear. Yet, a watch still has to fit you. It should feel comfortable and be right in terms of size and depth relative to your wrist as well – 40mm is considered the ‘Goldilocks’ size.

3. DON’T SHY AWAY FROM COLOUR

Whether it’s on casualwear or formalwear, indulge in a bit of colour. “Most men are unjustly scared of it – they’re intimidated by anything that isn’t navy or grey,” says menswear designer Oliver Spencer. “But colour can be timeless too.” A green suit, for example, can look particularly rakish, while Spencer also recommends pinks, greens, mustard and brighter shades of blue as especially versatile year-round shades that will lift your entire outfit. But he adds that, when it comes to colour, less is still more: “You just need a bit of it, in one garment.”

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[kanatanabramovic]

☑ 144. Feeling Good Today !! by kanatan Abramovic Via Flickr: 2023 06 06 Blog...~ le soleil ~ See the blog for more details ♥ ٩( ᐛ )و Thanks so much for your time !! Thank you for always having lots of Fav ♥ Thank you to all my friends who love to watch and take snaps !! ♥ love it ♥♥♥ [ - Outfit - ] ☑ Fameshed Hair: [monso] Chanty Hair ☑ The Arcade Gacha Dress: 1.[SHIFUKU] Boho chic Lace dress / Legacy RARE Tops: 6.[SHIFUKU] Boho chic Denim Top / M blue / Legacy Inhaler: .AZARAN - WISHES INHALER. Choker: *::.who what.::*-Yukineko choker- Silver Pants: RKKN. Kara's Shorts Navy Nails: Ascendant - Fly Girl Nails 06 Gauged: pecheresse. holy gauge (Swallow Gauged S) FEMALE [ - Makeup - ] ☑ Ota.Con ( May round ) Skin: (Enfer Sombre*) Berrie skin {LeL EvoX} ➥(Enfer Sombre*) LeLutka EvoX Skin - Cream - Berrie Blush: (Enfer Sombre*) LeLutka EvoX Blush - Berrie Eyeliner: (Enfer Sombre*) Soft Eyeliner {LeL EvoX+HD} Tattoo: pecheresse. victoria tattoo (body edition) pack 2 Eyes: {S0NG} Blinded Eyes - V2 [ - Decoration - ] ☑ At the fifty ( April round ) Decoration: -DRD- Funky bathroom - ' Death Row Designs ' DRD - Funky bathroom - Modular wall - tiles M DRD - Funky bathroom - Modular wall - brick M DRD - Funky bathroom - Modular wall - tiles small wall DRD - Funky bathroom - Floor tiles DRD - Funky bathroom - Bathtub - PG DRD - Funky bathroom - Rug DRD - Funky bathroom - sidetable DRD - Funky bathroom - Toilet rug DRD - Funky bathroom - Toilet DRD - Funky bathroom - Frame - Funky toilet art DRD - Funky bathroom - Frame - Shit DRD - Funky bathroom - Toilet roll DRD - Funky bathroom - Frame - 5 star DRD - Funky bathroom - Frame - Butt napkins DRD - Funky bathroom - Small sink DRD - Funky bathroom - Ugly mirror DRD - Funky bathroom - Ceiling light DRD - Funky bathroom - Plant DRD - Funky bathroom - Towel shelf Lamp: Soy. Mashroom Table Lamp Curtain: Soy. HM Various Beads Curtain [Tied] Metallic Hanging: Soy. Hanging Succulent [Donky's Tails] Hanging: Soy. Hanging Succulent [Ruby Necklaces] Fan: Soy. Vintage Desktop Electric Fan