#slightly flippant way of putting it but i mean it

[tyrannuspitch]

few people understand the possibilities of the humble mundane AU. people think that grounding the story has to mean taking away the characters' crimes, but it doesn't. it could just mean taking away their excuses

[writtenbymoonflower]

hey lovey!! 💐 I just wanted to say I ADORE ur writing & I'm currently binge reading all of them <⁠(⁠///￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠///)⁠>. but I did want to request something silly, since I've been thinking about poly!marauders being with the reader. and her calling them "girl" accidentally instead of their usual endearment 😭. and the reason is because her friends use it a lot and it just kind of rubbed off on her ?! I would just like to imagine their confusion 😭 anyways pls have a lovely day/night <33

I love this! Also sorry this took so long. I left my computer charger at home while I was at uni but I got it back!

wc 710

You were laid on the settee, still slightly sweaty from your hot walk back from class. You would’ve reached for Sirius if you didn’t think you would make his clothes damp as well. He was doing some kind of work on his computer next to you while James was in the kitchen fixing you both something to eat. These little quiet moments were sometimes your favorite, just being comfortable in each others silence. Especially considering how your boyfriends could be such chatterboxes.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t enjoy rambling to them, though. You just didn’t feel the need to fill comfortable space with flippant comments. You were almost asleep when you heard the click of the door being unlocked.

Remus stepped inside in his usual meticulous way, hanging his coat neatly on the coatrack, unlacing his shoes and lining them up by the door rather than kicking them off, and placing his crossbody bag carefully on the bench by the door. All before calling out a gentle “I’m home.”

“How was work, love?” James responded from the kitchen, scrubbing his hands in the sink.

“Long.” He groaned. “I’m going to shiv Michael. His unplanned vacation is really disrupting my schedule.” He grumbled. “Going to have to catch up on my classes too.” He sighed, more resigned than annoyed.

“Want me to go to your work when he’s back and give him a hard time?” Sirius said mischievously, beckoning the sandy-haired boy over.

Remus just chuckled softly in response before kissing him on the top of the head. He turned to you, face etched with exhaustion and affection. “How was class today, dovey? Did I miss anything?”

You reached for his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Nothing important. It was just a catch up day.”

He hummed in satisfaction, reaching to stroke your jaw. You leaned into his touch sleepily before your eyes popped open and you jolted upright.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you. Girl, you will not believe what Molly said to me today. I-“ You were cut off by a surprised, if not amused look on Remus’ face and a barking laugh from the kitchen.

“Excuse me, what?” James choked.

You turned around, looking at him confused. “What?”

Sirius was also smiling, holding back a laugh. “What did you just say to Moons?”

You paused, eyebrows raised in confusion. “I said that he wouldn’t believe what Molly-“

“No no no.” James chuckled, cutting you off. “What you said before that.” At your continued bewilderment he clarified. “Angel, you called Remus ‘girl’. Did you not mean to?”

At the realization on your face Sirius breaks down. Shaking with nearly silent laughter. Remus’ eyes just roll into the back of his head, clearly amused but not willing to put on a spectacle.

“Sorry Rem.” You said, sheepishly. “It was unconscious.”

“Unconscious!” Sirius hoots. “Is that what you call us in your head, gorgeous? Are we your gal pals?”

“I think we are. I didn’t realize this was a girl’s gossip sesh in, lovely.” James teased. “I would’ve bought ice cream and wine.”

“The two of you.” Remus admonished, looking at your still shy expression with terrible kindness. “You don’t need to apologize, dove. It was just funny. You’ve never been one to say that before.”

“Not to you.” You said quietly. “I’ve just been talking to my friends a lot lately-“

“You don’t have to defend it. We want you to talk to your friends.” James jumped in to comfort you.

“I’m glad you consider us your friends, baby.” Sirius said, half kindness and half joke. “It shows that you’re comfortable with us.”

“I am.” You reiterated. “But I won’t call you it if it upsets you.” You said sincerely.

“It hardly bothers me, dovey.” Remus reached over to squeeze your hand.

“I just can’t believe Remus is the girly.” James chuckled, forcing his face into a pout. “I’m offended, sweet thing. I thought I was your gossip buddy.”

“You are!” You said severely. “You all are.” You reached for your other two boys. “Now can I please tell you what Molly said?”

“Of course, girl. Spill the beans.” Remus said, deadpan.

It took you a while to stop laughing before you could continue the story.

[aceyalonso]

we're both winners, sweetheart - LEWIS HAMILTON

pairing : lewis hamilton x fem!reader | READ PART 1 HERE

summary : Y/n and Lewis going through the typical struggles of marriage (or in other words, the struggle of keeping up the charade of being married)

warnings : THE ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE STORY IS FAKE!!! swearing, kinda angsty, drinking, nail-biting, talking about sex (nothing too detailed), discussions of raising a family, 11-year age gap (reader is 28 years old), smut, hair pulling, unintentional overstimulation, choking, unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!)

face claim - gracie abrams

word count : 18.6k

song : agora hills - doja cat

a/n : this isn't proofread and SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, I WAS DEALING WITH SO MUCH PERSONAL STUFF OMG (this was supposed to be fore my 300 followers celebration thing | i might make a separate series for lyka and lando…………………………

July 8, Monday, 7:09 AM

Toto Wolff sits behind his desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern. Y/n and Lewis sit on the other side, both looking a bit sheepish and on edge. Toto looks at them, a moment of awkward silence hanging in the air before he finally speaks. "So," he begins, his voice cautious. "I have to say, this is... quite a situation you've gotten yourselves into."

Lewis clears his throat, his gaze meeting Toto's. "Yeah, we kind of... didn't see this coming," he admits, a hint of humor in his tone. "It was a very unexpected development, to say the least."

Y/n fidgets in her seat, her fingers massaging her forehead. She glances at Toto, his expression still unreadable. She tries to sound calm and rational, but her voice betrays her nervousness. "We weren't... fully sober when it happened," she offers lamely, as if it's an excuse.

Toto's eyebrow quirks at this revelation, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Not fully sober," he repeats, his tone heavy with incredulity. "You got married... not fully sober?"

Lewis grimaces slightly at the bluntness of his words but doesn't deny it. "That... that's correct," he affirms, his voice a bit strained. "We were both a bit... impaired when we tied the knot, let's put it that way."

Toto rubs his forehead, seeming to struggle with how to respond to this information. He gathers himself and looks at them again, his expression more somber now. "And what exactly were you doing that led to this... marriage?" he asks, his tone slightly stern.

Lewis and Y/n exchange a glance, both knowing the answer will likely not help their case. Lewis speaks up first, his voice a bit sheepish. "We, ah... we were at a club. A very lively club, if you understand."

Toto leans forward in his chair, expression now a mix of thoughtfulness and strategy. "Okay," he says, "this is clearly a situation that will need some serious damage control if it gets out. We'll need the PR team to make something, anything to spin this in a way that... minimizes the impact on your image, Lewis, and the teams' reputation."

Y/n coughs, breaking the silence in the room and drawing everyone's attention. She clears her throat, feeling a bit awkward under the weight of Toto and Lewis' gazes. "Um, forgive me," she apologizes, her voice a bit hoarse. "But what... what are you suggesting?"

Toto's eyes shift to her, his expression still calculating. "Well, we need to control the narrative," he explains. "We need to get ahead of any potential media storm and craft a story that… makes this look less like a drunken mistake and more like a… a romantic love story, perhaps."

Lewis can't help but scoff slightly at this, his mouth tugging into a wry smile. "A romantic love story, huh?" he muses, skepticism in his tone. "Do you really think anyone's going to believe that?"

Toto's gaze hardens at Lewis' flippant comment. "At this point, any narrative is better than the truth," he says, his voice firm. "We need to protect your image, Lewis, and the team's reputation. We need to control the damage, and that means spinning this in a way that… makes you both look as good as possible."

Y/n mutters under her breath as Toto and Lewis continue their discussion, unable to hide her growing concern. "My dad is going to kill me," she whispers, her voice a mixture of dread and resignation. She imagines her father's reaction to this news, the fury and disappointment in his eyes.

She finally speaks up, her mind turning to her own interests in this situation. "Wait," she interjects, cutting into Lewis and Toto's discussion. They both turn to her, surprised. "If we're going to go along with this… PR plan, I want something out of it too."

Toto and Lewis look at her, a bit taken aback by her unexpected request. Toto quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And what is it you want, exactly?" he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

Y/n takes a deep breath, her mind racing as she formulates her request. "I want this to benefit me too," she says, her tone firm but tentative. "I don't just want to be a pawn in this charade. I want my own image to be protected, and… I want it to have a positive impact on my future, on my family's company."

Toto and Lewis exchange glances, both surprised but also understanding the logic in her request. Lewis turns to her with slight admiration, a small smile playing on his lips. "That's… very practical of you," he says, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Y/n's response is matter-of-fact, and her expression is a mix of determination and practicality. "Business is business," she repeats, her tone resolute. "If we're going to play this game, we might as well use it to our advantage, right?"

Toto nods slightly, appreciating her mercenary approach. "You're not wrong," he concedes, a grudging respect in his voice. "If we can use this situation to our mutual benefit, then perhaps it won't be a total disaster."

Lewis looks at Y/n, a gleam of admiration in his eyes at her business-mindedness. "You've got guts," he remarks, a smirk playing on his lips. "I can respect that."

Y/n chuckles a bit at his comment, the humor beginning to shine through despite the seriousness of their situation. "Well," she says with a small laugh, "if you want to get technical, that is one reason we got married, isn't it?"

Toto glares at Y/n, his gaze is stern and reprimanding. Y/n's eyes widen in response, and she immediately feels a pang of regret, realizing she has spoken out of turn. She mutters a quick "Sorry, too soon," her voice a whisper as she shrinks down in her seat.

Toto sighs, his expression softening slightly. "Let's remain professional, please," he reminds her, his tone a bit weary. "We need you to be present at the next Grand Prix, okay? Because by then we'll have the PR statement announced. Lewis can send you the details."

Y/n nods, a bit chastened but also understanding. "Okay," she apologizes again, her voice sincere. "I'll check my schedule if I'm free on... whatever day that is."

Toto nods in acknowledgment, his expression is still weary but slightly less stern. He turns his attention back to Lewis and continues the discussion, the mood in the room now more serious and focused.

With the focus of the conversation now shifted to Lewis and Toto, Y/n pulls out her phone, sensing that she isn't needed in the immediate discussion. She scrolls through her phone, trying to distract herself from the ongoing conversation. Occasionally, she glances up, listening to bits and pieces of the talk, but mostly just biding her time.

Y/n scrolls through her Twitter feed, her eyes scanning over the various news and Tweets. Suddenly, something catches her eye, causing her to stand up from her seat and exclaim a surprised curse word.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Y/n exclaims, her voice laced with disbelief and shock. She stares down at her phone, the blood draining from her face as she processes whatever she has just seen.

Toto and Lewis' heads snap in her direction at the outburst. They look at her, startled and alarmed by her reaction. Toto's brow furrows in concern, and he asks, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Y/n holds out her phone to Toto, her face still etched with shock and disbelief. Toto takes the phone from her, his eyes widening as he looks at the screen. Lewis leans over to look as well, his expression turning serious as he reads whatever is on the screen.

Toto's jaw clenches as he looks at the image, his expression hard and guarded. He glances at Y/n, then back at the phone screen, seeming to be processing the implications of this photo.

Lewis shakes his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. "That's just perfect," he mutters sarcastically. "As if we didn't have enough to deal with already."

Toto continues scrolling through the tweet and reading comments from fans and media alike. He pauses, seeing several comments speculating that the woman in the photo is actually Y/n. His expression darkens with concern as he reads these comments.

He glances at Y/n, then at Lewis, and sighs deeply. "This is really bad," he says, his voice a low grumble. "If people start connecting the dots… we're going to have a PR nightmare on our hands."

Y/n is silently freaking out, her mind racing with thoughts and worries. She gnaws anxiously on her nails, a nervous habit she has when feeling overwhelmed.

Toto notes her distress but focuses on the practicalities of the situation for the moment, exchanging a few more words with Lewis.

Toto and Lewis quietly discuss the next steps, trying to come up with a damage control plan. Toto occasionally glances at Y/n, noticing her anxious behavior, but doesn't interrupt his conversation with Lewis for the moment.

Y/n suddenly pipes up, interrupting Toto and Lewis' conversation. "Wait," she interjects, her tone a bit frenzied. "What if we lied? What if… what if we said we've been married for almost a year? Like, we got married during the winter break?"

Toto's expression softens slightly as he contemplates Y/n's idea. "It's a possibility," he muses, his voice measured. "Getting married during the off-season would make sense, given the hectic schedule of the drivers. It would be more logical that Lewis would take time off for a wedding rather than a drunken elopement."

Lewis nods, seeing the logic in Y/n's suggestion. "It could work," he agrees, his tone less skeptical than before. "It would at least make the whole situation seem less impulsive and foolish, and more like… a planned commitment."

Y/n continues to gnaw anxiously on her nails, her eyes flitting between Toto and Lewis as she waits for them to make a decision. The weight of the situation, the impending lie they are about to concoct, hangs heavily on her mind.

Toto notices her distress but is still wrapped up in the discussion with Lewis, he decides to address it once they have a plan. "Let's work out the details," he says, his tone business-like. "We need to make sure our story is ironclad, and our timelines line up."

He turns to Y/n, his expression stern but not unsympathetic. "And I suggest you stop chewing on your nails," he remarks matter-of-factly. "We'll need to present a united, calm front, and that doesn't include nervous fidgeting."

Though Y/n stops biting her nails as Toto advises, her anxiety doesn't diminish. She transfers her nervous energy to her palms, starting to scratch and pick nervously at the skin, leaving slight crescent-shaped marks.

Toto notices her new anxious habit but doesn't address it directly at the moment. He and Lewis continue their discussion, fine-tuning the details of the lie they are going to spin. The atmosphere in the room remains tense, but there seems to be a rough plan coming together.

As the meeting draws to a close, Toto excuses himself to take a call from the head of PR. He motions for Y/n and Lewis to wait, and they remain silent in Toto's office as he steps out to take the call.

When Toto returns, he appears even more tense than before. He bids both Y/n and Lewis a rushed farewell, as he needs to deal with the situation with the head of PR. The two of them are left standing in the office, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of the day's events.

Lewis glances at Y/n, her face slightly pale and tired from the stress of the situation. He can tell that she's still anxious and tense, and he reaches out to gently squeeze her hand, offering a small gesture of comfort. "Hey," he says in a soft voice, "it's going to be okay. We're… we're going to get through this."

Y/n looks up at him, her eyes weary and full of worry. She tries to force a small smile, appreciating his attempt at reassurance. "I hope so," she replies, her voice a bit shaky. "I just… I hope we can pull this off. The lie…"

Lewis nods in understanding. "I know," he says, his tone sympathetic. "It's a lot to take on. But we don't have many options at this point. If we don't control the narrative, someone else will, and…" he trails off, the implication clear.

Y/n nods, knowing that he's right. "I get it," she mutters, her voice laced with resignation. "I just… I didn't sign up for all this, you know? All this… lying, and spinning stories, and… pretending."

Y/n lets out a humorless chuckle, her voice resigned. "You're telling me," she says sarcastically. "I didn't even sign up for this marriage, not while I was sober at least... and now I have to lie about it, pretend it was pre-planned, and… play the part of the dutiful wife."

She shakes her head, the absurdity of the situation weighing heavily on her shoulders. "It's just… surreal," she continues her tone a mix of disbelief and frustration. "A few days ago, I was a private person, living my life, and now I'm suddenly… a married woman, the center of a media shitstorm, and I'm expected to lie about it all like it's no big deal."

As they walk down the halls, Y/n is still somewhat zoned out, her mind preoccupied with the stresses and worries of the day. Lewis is right beside her, his hand occasionally on her lower back, providing silent moral support. They pass by other team members and staff, and more than a few curious glances and whispers follow them, aware of the situation unfolding but unwilling to speak openly.

They reach the parking lot, and Lewis turns to Y/n, his expression concerned. "Do you want me to drive you home?" he asks gently, his tone sincere. "You look exhausted."

Y/n nods, her fatigue clearly visible in her eyes and demeanor. "Yeah," she replies, her voice a weary whisper. "That would be great, thanks. I'm… I'm feeling pretty wiped out."

Lewis nods in understanding and leads her towards his car. The trip to her home is mostly silent, both of them too emotionally drained to talk much. Lewis occasionally glances at her, checking if she is okay. Y/n just gazes out the window, her thoughts far away.

He follows the directions given by Y/n to her apartment. The car ride is quiet, neither of them speaking much due to the weight of the situation on their minds. Once they arrive at her apartment, Lewis parks the car but doesn't immediately get out. Instead, he turns to her, his expression a mixture of worry and concern.

Lewis watches as Y/n unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. Before she can open the door, he turns to her and asks, "You're going to be okay, right? You'll be okay alone? I can stay with you if you want."

Y/n offers a weary smile, touched by Lewis's concern. "I… I'll be fine," she assures him, her voice soft but strained. "You don't need to stay. I just… need some time to process all this. Alone."

Lewis accepts her decision to be alone, though his expression remains worried. "Okay," he says softly, "Take care of yourself, alright? And… call me if you need anything. Anytime, okay?"

She nods slightly, appreciating his offer. "Thanks, I will," she replies. "I'll… I'll be fine. I just need a bit of space to clear my head."

Y/n exits the car, her movements slow and weary. The weight of the situation seems to hang heavily on her shoulders as she stands outside her apartment, looking up at the building.

Lewis watches her from the driver's seat, a mixture of concern and sadness on his face. He waits a moment to make sure she gets inside safely before driving off.

July 8, Monday, 10:37 AM

As Y/n begins to unlock her apartment door, she hears the familiar sound of her cat meowing on the other side. The sound is both a comfort and a further reminder of her responsibilities, and she feels a pang of fondness mixed with exhaustion.

After unlocking the door, she pushes it open and is immediately met with the soft sound of her cat rubbing against her legs, meowing for attention. Y/n bends down and scoops up the cat in her arms, holding it close to her chest, seeking comfort in its presence.

She holds her cat “Extra Virgin Olive Oil” (“Evoo” for short) close, the familiar warmth and weight of her furry companion a soothing presence. The ridiculousness of the name, a result of yet another drunken decision, momentarily brings a bittersweet smile to her lips.

Y/n walks into the apartment, closing the door behind her and making her way to the living room. She sits down on the couch, setting her bag on the floor before setting Evoo down on her lap and gently stroking his white fur. The soothing motion and rhythmic purring of the cat help to calm her tumultuous thoughts.

As Y/n sits on the couch, gently stroking her cat, she begins to speak to him in a soft, quiet voice. Although it’s not unusual for people to talk to their pets, there’s an undertone of vulnerability in her words, unloading her worries to a receptive but silent companion.

“Hi, baby,” she begins, her voice laced with exhaustion. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” She continues to idly pet the cat in her lap, the gentle motion seeming to soothe her as much as her cat. “I… I’ve gotten myself into a real mess, you know? Things are… complicated, to say the least.”

She leans her head back against the couch, her fingers continuing to absently run through the white cat’s fur. “I know you’re just a cat, and you probably don’t understand what I’m saying. But it helps, talking to you like this. It helps to get it all out, even if you can’t talk back.”

As Y/n continues to talk, the words flow out of her in a rushed confession. “And… that’s not even the craziest, Evoo,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly. “I got married. Can you believe that?”

Her cat, as if responding to her words, looks up at her with its large eyes, seemingly bewildered by the revelation. It tilts its head as if asking “What?!”

Y/n lets out a soft, humorless chuckle at her cat’s reaction, continuing to stroke its fur. “Yeah, I know. It’s crazy, right?” she continues, her voice still heavy with exhaustion but holding a hint of irony. “I… I got married, and I don’t even remember most of it. Isn’t that just wild?”

She pushes aside her exhaustion and moves from the couch, placing Evoo gently on the nearby rug. She then remembers to change her cat’s water bowl, her actions automatic and routine. As she fills the bowl from the kitchen sink, she glances back at her cat, still resting on the rug.

“Don’t worry, bud,” she calls out, her voice slightly less weary, “He’s… he’s a good guy. I think.”

After refilling the water bowl, Y/n returns to the living room, her mind still swirling with the day’s events. She glances at Evoo, who is now lapping up the fresh water. For a moment, she wishes her life was as simple as a cat’s, where the most pressing concern was the next meal, not an unexpected marriage and a web of lies.

Y/n rubs his head one last time before straightening up. “Alright, buddy,” she says, her tone softer now that she’s attending to her cat’s needs. “I’m going to take a bath. Be a good boy while I’m gone, alright?”

She sits in the bathtub, the water warm and comforting, surrounding her tired body in a soothing embrace. An iPad is placed on a wooden bath tray near the edge of the tub, playing a movie that she’s only partially paying attention to.

In her hand, she holds a glass of lemon water, taking small sips every now and then as she there, letting the hot water work its relaxing magic.

The scent of lavender from a bath bomb fills the room, adding to the atmosphere of calm and tranquility. However, despite the peaceful setting, Y/n’s mind remains restless, the events of the day still weighing heavily on her thoughts. Despite trying to focus on the movie, she finds her mind wandering back to the marriage, the lie, the future.

As the stream from the bath billows around her, Y/n takes another small sip from her lemon water, her mind still spinning. The bath was intended to relax her, to wash away the tension of the day, but her thoughts stubbornly refused to let her rest. She tries to force herself to watch the movie, to focus on something other than her worries, but the events of the day keep flooding back.

The heat of the bath, combined with the subtle fragrance of the lavender, should be lulling her into a tranquil state, but her mind is too chaotic, too filled with worries and regrets. She takes another sip of her lemon water, the tangy taste reminding her of the sourness she feels inside, the unease that hasn't let her go since this whole mess began.

Y/n is wrapped in a towel, her wet hair sticking to her shoulders as she steps out of her bedroom and into the living/dining space. She's surprised to see Lyka walking in with a bright smile, a stark contrast to her own weary state.

Y/n, still wrapping the towel around herself, glances up at Lyka through wet strands of hair. "You seem unusually cheerful," she remarks, her tone slightly teasing as she reaches the kitchen and sets her glass down in the sink. Evoo brushes against her leg, seeking attention, and she gives the cat a gentle pat before turning back to Lyka. "What's up?"

Lyka's eyes sparkle with excitement and a hint of pride. "The best night ever," she echoes, her smile widening. "You won't believe it, Y/n. I hooked up with the DJ."

Y/n raises her brows in surprise and recognition. "Oh, Lando?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her tone. "I saw you dancing with him at the booth last night."

Lyka blinks in surprise when Y/n says Lando's name, her excitement now mixed with a touch of curiosity. "Yeah!- Wait, how do you know his name?" she asks, her expression a mix of surprise and intrigue.

Y/n settles onto a bar stool, opening the wrapper to a small piece of chocolate. She takes a small bite of the chocolate and continues talking to Lyka as she munches on the sweet treat. "I became friends with one of Lando's friends last night," she explains, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Her playful smile fades as the memory of her marriage hits her like a ton of bricks. She chokes mid-sentence, the taste of chocolate turning bitter in her mouth. "I... um..." she stutters, her mind racing to find a way to explain.

"I... I have something to tell you," she manages to continue, her voice a bit strained. She sets the chocolate bar down, her appetite suddenly gone. "And... it's kind of a big deal. Like, a really big deal."

Lyka's expression changes as she senses the seriousness in Y/n's tone. Her eyes widened slightly, and she leaned in, her face replaced by a look of concern. "What is it?" she asks, her voice low and worried.

Y/n takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the reaction that's about to follow. "I..." she starts, her voice faltering as she struggles to find the right words. "I... I got married."

There's a moment of stunned silence as Lyka processes Y/n's confession. Her eyes widen even further, and her hand grips the countertop, her knuckles turning white. "You... you what?" she manages to stutter out, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief.

"And... it may or may not have been a friend of Lando's...." Lyka's eyes widen even further when Y/n clarifies that the person she married is a friend of Lando. "Wait..." she starts, her mind spinning with the implications. "You married one of Lando's friends? Who..."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallows hard, preparing herself for the fallout. "Lewis," she finally manages to say. "I... I married Lewis."

As Lyka tries to remember if Lando mentioned anything Lewis, a flicker of recognition appears in her eyes. "Wait..." she says, her soft soft as she recalls the conversation with Lando. "Lando mentioned something about a party of celebrate one of his friends' win. Was that Lewis?"

Y/n doesn't trust herself to speak, so she just nods in affirmation. She can see the pieces falling into place in Lyka's mind, her friend digesting the information with a mix of surprise and confusion.

Lyka lifts her hands in a gesture of disbelief, her voice filled with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. "I swear, the universe has a weird sense of humor when it comes to you and alcohol," she says, shaking her head. "Seriously, the weirdest things happen to you when you're drunk. It's like you're attracting weirdness or something."

As Y/n gets up to change, she can't help but notice that Lyka is wearing a hoodie she doesn't recognize. She decides to bring it up later, as they have plenty to discuss when they regroup in the kitchen.

"Alright, let's change and meet here in five," Y/n suggests, her tone a bit lighter now. "We'll compare our crazy nights, and you can tell me about your new hoodie too," she adds with a smile.

Lyka flushes furiously as Y/n hints at the hoodie she's wearing, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. "Oh my god, shut up," she giggles, trying to hide her embarrassment. "It's just a hoodie, okay?"

Y/n grins knowingly as she responds, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, it's Lando's hoodie," she teases, emphasizing the name for effect. "And you're blushing like crazy."

Lyka buries her face in her hands, still blushing profusely. "Ugh, I swear, you're the worst," she groans, half-heartedly swatting at Y/n "Why do you have to point it out like that?"

Y/n laughs, enjoying the sight of her flustered friend. "Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing," she says, her voice filled with amusement. She moves towards her room, still smiling at Lyka's reaction. "You get changed, and I'll do the same. Meet you in the kitchen in five."

Y/n sits next to Lyka, a soft smile on her face. As they settle into their seats by the counter, Lyka begins recounting her night with Lando. Her cheeks are still a little flushed, betraying her excitement.

"So, about last night..." she says, her voice slightly giddy, "I had the best night ever with Lando."

Y/n takes a chip from the bowl on the counter, chewing on it as she listens to her friend's story. "Yeah?" she prompts. encouraging Lyka to continue. "Tell me more. What made it the best night ever?"

Lyka emphasizes her point, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "His hands were skilled," she repeats, her voice lowered to a whisper. "Seriously, Y/n, you have no idea. He was so fucking good."

"His touches, his moves, everything just... wow," Lyka continues, the memory clearly relived in her mind. She takes a sip of her water, her gaze distant for a moment before she focuses on Y/n. "I swear, it was like he knew exactly what to do, and how to do it."

Lyka's excitement reaches a whole new level as she starting bouncing in her seat. "Oh my god," she exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and excitement. "When he was-" She suddenly breaks off, her words catching in her throat.

She cuts off her own sentence, biting her lip as if holding back a secret. There's a mixture of delight and surprise on her face. "He... he was just-" she stammers, struggling to put the experience into words. "It was incredible," she finally manages, her voice full of awe.

Y/n listens intently, smiling at her friend's enthusiasm. She can tell that whatever Lando did, it clearly surpassed Lyka's expectations. "Incredible, huh?" she teases, raising a brow. "Sounds like Lando's got some serious skills there."

Lyka takes a moment to fan herself, the memory of her night with Lando still fresh in her mind. "Yeah... yeah I was," she says, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I was shaking like a leaf by the time it was done."

She looks down at her hands as if reliving the sensation. "It was tense," she adds, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like, seriously intense. I don't think I could have handled much more."

Lyka lets out a shaky breath, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief in her voice. "Yeah," she replies, her face still flushed. "He just... he just kept going, even when I thought I couldn't take anymore. It was... it was too much, but in the best way possible, you know?"

She takes another sip of her water, her body still feeling the after-effects of Lando's touches. "He knew exactly what he was doing," she adds, a hint of admiration in her voice. "I've never experienced anything like it before."

Y/n can't resist teasing a little more, a sly smile on her face. "Well," she says, raising a brow, "Maybe Lando was just making up for the disappointing performance your ex put on."

Lyka, still flushed and giggling, enthusiastically agrees with Y/n's assessment. "ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY!" she exclaims, her voice loud and clear. "Lando was the complete opposite of my ex. He made up for that shitshow tenfold."

She takes a moment to catch her breath, her face still glowing. She can't help but gush about Lando's attributes, her voice filled with awed excitement. "I swear, he was HUGE," she says, her voice filled with excitement.

Y/n laughs, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. "Shh, shh, keep it down," she shushes her friend, laughing as she glances toward the wall shared with their neighbors. "The whole building doesn't need to know about Lando's... size."

Lyka, still caught up in the memory of her night with Lando, continues to rave about his skills and his 'size' ''I don't even know how to describe it," she gushes, her voice filled with admiration. "There's just... no comparison. Lando's in a league of his own."

She's so caught up in her praise that she practically glows. "I never knew it could be like that," she admits, her flushed cheeks a clear indication of her satisfaction. "He knows how to handle everything."

Lyka's voice softens as she reflects on the night, her face now taking on a more tender expression. "He was so gentle and caring afterward," she says, a hint of fondness in her tone. "It was like he knew exactly what I needed."

Y/n, curious about the tender side of Lando, asks how exactly he was caring after their night together. Lyka's expression softens even more as she continues. "He was really sweet," she explains. "He held me close, and told me how amazing I was. Kept asking if I was okay, and if I needed anything. Just really took care of me, you know?"

"Oh, and he left me a shit ton of hickeys too," Lyka mentions, causing Y/n to involuntarily spit out her drink in surprise. Y/n's eyes widen as Lyka casually mentions that detail. She was taking a sip of her drink at the same moment, causing her to almost choke on the liquid, spurting it out in surprise. "Hickeys?" she exclaims, her voice slightly strained. "Lando gave you hickeys?"

Lyka grins widely, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She shifts the collar of her shirt to reveal several small, purplish marks on her collarbone and neck. "Yeah," she says, her voice a bit smug. "He marked me up, good."

Lyka lets out a cheeky giggle, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, yeah," she confirms, her voice slightly lower. "He left some on my thighs too, but Lando said those were for his eyes only."

Y/n can't help but stare at her friend in disbelief. Her mouth is still slightly agape, her eyes wide as she processes the information. "For his eyes only, huh?" she manages to say, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

She shakes her head, a little bemused by Lando's possessiveness. "Sounds like Lando wants to keep you all to himself," she teases, grinning. "No sharing allowed."

Lyka grins, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, absolutely," she confirms, giggling. "We made a deal. He wants to be my friend with benefits," she says, using air quotes, "And I just have to look pretty and make him feel good." She adds with a coy smile, paraphrasing Lando's words.

Lyka brightens up even more, her voice eager and excited. "Oh, and I'm going to his next race too!" she exclaims, bouncing a little in her seat. "I'll be in the McLaren garage, of course. Lando said he wants me there."

Y/n nods, a smile on her face. "I'll be there too, slightly against my will," she confirms, "But I'll be in the Mercedes garage." She glances at her friend, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "This is gonna be fun, watching the race from opposite ends of the garage."

"So... what about your night?" Lyka asks curiously, looking at Y/n with amusement through her eyelashes.

Y/n takes a moment, her mind flashing back to the events of her night. "My night…" she muses, her voice a little dreamy. "Well, it was… eventful, to say the least."

She lets out a soft chuckle, the memory of the night still fresh in her mind. "So, I was on the dance floor, just dancing, and Lewis came up behind me," she recalls, her voice laced with a hint of excitement.

Y/n glances at Lyka before continuing, her voice taking on a wry tone. "Yeah, it was around the time you went to dance with Lando," she says, clearly amused by the coincidence. "Lewis just appeared out of nowhere, tapped me on the shoulder, and we started dancing."

She smiles, her cheeks slightly flushed as she describes the night. "We were talking, flirting a bit," she says, her voice holding a hint of excitement. "He bought me drinks at the bar, and we just… connected, I guess."

Y/n lets out a light laugh, her cheeks flushing a little at the memory. "Yeah, so… eventually… we may have found a secluded spot and, you know, things got a bit heated," she explains, a coy smile playing on her lips. "And I may or may not have told him I'd marry him as a joke."

She shakes her head, still amused by the audacity of her own words. "I don't even know where it came from," she says. "Just a spur-of-the-moment thing, you know? A little drunken banter."

Y/n continues, her voice filled with amusement. "Well, Lewis just chuckled when I said it," she recounts. "I mean, he knew I was just joking, right? But then he just… playfully agreed, you know? Like, he said something like, 'Sure, why not? Let's get hitched.' It was all just goofing around, really."

Y/n sees the look on Lyka's face and knows her friend is judging her, but it's in a friendly way. She laughs, shaking her head. "Hey, don't give me that look," she says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "It was just a joke, you know that, right?"

Lyka gives Y/n a sly smile, her voice filled with mock disbelief. "A joke that turned into an actual marriage," she repeats, her tone dripping with cheeky sarcasm. "Wow, I hope Lewis doesn't mind waking up to your morning breath every day."

Y/n playfully smacks Lyka's arm, laughing. "Hey, my morning breath isn't that bad," she protests, her voice light with feigned offense.

She then swats at Lyka again, her smile broadening. "And for the record, I would make an amazing wife," she boasts, her voice half-joking, half-serious.

Y/n straightens her shoulders, posing theatrically. "I'd be, like, the perfect trophy wife. I'd look good standing next to Lewis during his press conferences and podium interviews."

Lyka laughs out loud at Y/n's confident declaration. "Oh my god," she snickers, her voice filled with mirth. "You're actually picturing yourself as a trophy wife? Standing there, looking pretty while Lewis talks about racing strategy and tire compounds?"

Y/n grins, raising a brow at Lyka. "And what about you?" she asks a hint of challenge in her voice. "Can you see yourself doing the same for Lando? Standing there, looking gorgeous, while he talks about car setup and track conditions?"

Lyka nods with conviction, a sparkle in her eyes. "Absolutely, yes," she affirms. "I can totally picture myself looking all cute and pretty, with a whole wardrobe of amazing outfits courtesy of Lando's earnings. It's all about the perks, you know?"

She grins mischievously. "Besides, watching Lando on the track, all focused and intense, and then coming home to spoil me rotten? Sounds pretty damn good to me."

Y/n nods, her lips curving into a smile. "You know what, you have a point there," she admits, her voice laced with a touch of envy. "Getting to watch Lewis race, all focused and competitive, and then having him come home and… well, show me just how much he appreciates me… yeah, I could get used to that."

She quirks an eyebrow, glancing at the calendar. "Alright, when's the next race again?" she asks, her voice slightly impatient. "I need to check if I'm free that day, cause Toto- his team principal, I believe? said that I have to be there. Some PR bullshit."

Y/n pulls out her phone, quickly searching for the race schedule. "Lemme see," she murmurs, scrolling through her screen. "There we go. The next race is two weeks from now... Let's see… yep, I'm free that day."

She puts her phone away, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "All clear," she affirms. "I'll be there, cheering on Lewis every lap of the way."

Lyka smirks, her voice dripping with playfully sarcastic praise. "Oh, you're such a good wife," she teases. "Making sure you're always available to support your husband's racing career. That's true devotion right there."

Y/n laughs, returning the teasing with a sly grin. "And what about you?" she asks, raising a brow. "Ready to be Lando's arm candy, showing off all those designer outfits he'll buy you?"

Lyka nods vigorously, her face already picturing the fancy outfits she'd wear. "Oh, absolutely," she declares, her voice oozing with enthusiasm. "I'm so ready to be Lando's arm candy, strutting around in all the gorgeous designer outfits he'll spoil me with."

Lyka takes a moment to swallow her chip and then adds, "And hey, speaking of Lando's stuff, I actually need to return that hoodie he lent me. Gotta make sure he gets it back."

She grins mischievously. "Although, maybe I'll 'accidentally' keep it a day or two longer just to remind him of me."

Y/n tsks, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Oh, wow," she chuckles, her tone laced with feigned surprise. "That's such harlot behavior, keeping a guy's hoodie just to remind him of yourself."

Lyka looks at Y/n in exaggerated shock, her mouth dropping open in mock offense. "Harlot? Really?" she exclaims, her voice filled with laughter. "Out of all the words you could've chosen, you went with harlot! That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Y/n shrugs, unable to keep a straight face. "What? It fits!" she replies, her voice laced with mirth. "You're deliberately keeping his hoodie longer just to keep his attention on you. If that isn’t harlot behavior, then I don't know what is."

Lyka rolls her eyes dramatically, a playful grin on her face. "Oh, please," she exclaims, batting her eyelashes dramatically. "It's not harlot behavior, it's strategic flirting. There's a difference."

Y/n chuckles, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay," she concedes, her voice still tinged with laughter. "You can call it whatever you want. Strategic flirting, friendly teasing, whatever floats your boat."

July 8, Monday, 4:51 PM

Y/n is in the middle of preparing dinner, peeling potatoes and chopping veggies, when her phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. She glances down at it curiously, setting down her knife for a moment.

After a few moments, Y/n finishes replying to Lewis' message, a small smile on her face. She sets down her phone, the conversation with Lewis momentarily distracting her from her cooking preparations.

Y/n continues chopping vegetables, her hands moving deftly as she's suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka's phone ringing. She stops for a moment, looking up as Lyka grabs her phone.

Lyka's face lights up with surprise as she answers the phone, hearing Lando's voice on the line. "Oh! Hey, Lando," she replies, her voice already cheerful.

Y/n can't help but smile at Lyka's reaction, hearing the change in her tone. She continues chopping vegetables as she listens to Lyka's side of the conversation.

Lyka's voice is filled with excitement as she responds to Lando's question. "Yes, I'll get the tickets for the flight myself," she confirms, her voice slightly giddy. "I'll be there by Friday, no problem."

Her face flushes with a rosy hue as Lando brings up the subject of his hoodie. She lets out a soft, nervous chuckle and replies, a hint of playful charm in her voice, "Ah, about the hoodie… Well, I was actually thinking I might hang onto it a little longer."

Y/n, unable to contain her amusement, lets out a soft giggle, drawing Lyka's attention. She glances at her friend, a sly smile on her face.

Lyka continues the conversation with Lando, her voice taking on a flirtatious tone as she playfully teases him. "You know, if you miss the hoodie that much, you'll just have to come and get it from me yourself…"

Y/n stops mid-preparation, her eyes widening as she eavesdrops on Lyka's conversation. She gapes at her friend for a brief moment, surprised by the boldness of her response.

She can't help but chuckle to herself, thinking, "Lyka's really turning on the charm. Lando's going to be all over her when he gets that hoodie back…"

Lyka continues the conversation, her voice dropping to a sultry tone. "It seems like you miss this hoodie more than you miss me, if you're that desperate to get your hoodie back, maybe we should meet up tomorrow…"

Lyka smiles widely as Lando agrees to meet up the next day. "Great, I'll send you my address in a moment," she replies, her voice a mix of anticipation. "I need to go now, though. But I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Y/n watches the exchange with a mixture of amusement and surprise. She can't help but shake her head in disbelief as Lyka ends the call, a cheeky smile on her face.

"Wow," Y/n says, her voice filled with admiration. "You really have Lando wrapped around your finger, don't you?"

Lyka grins, her cheeks still flushed with a hint of a blush. "What can I say? I have my ways of persuasion," she replies, a coy smirk on her face.

Y/n laughs at Lyka's response, amused by her friend's confidence. She continues preparing dinner, adding the ingredients to the pot and stirring it together in the pot, her mind temporarily preoccupied as she focuses on her cooking task. The kitchen emits a warm, savory aroma, the spices blending together to create a mouthwatering scent.

Y/n is suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka spitting out her tea, accompanied by an annoyed meow from Evoo. She looks up, slightly startled, setting down her spoon to look over at her friend.

"Whoa, what happened?" Y/n asks, looking at Lyka, who's wiping her mouth with a napkin. Her eyes move to the cat, who's also looking slightly grumpy from the unexpected spray.

Lyka, still catching her breath, quickly points at Y/n's phone, which is on the kitchen counter. "Check your Instagram," she says urgently, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Y/n grabs her phone from the kitchen counter, a look of curiosity on her face. She swipes through her notifications and opens Instagram, as per Lyka's instruction.

Y/n scans through her Instagram timeline and her heart skips a beat as she catches the first article. The statement from Mercedes about her marriage to Lewis is plastered right on her screen. She reads through it, disbelief and surprise etched across her face.

mercedesf1

liked by lewishamilton, george_russell, lyka.val and 563,447 others mercedesamgf1 Following the recent victory at Silverstone, unauthorized images of one of our drivers and his private life have been leaked. We respect our driver’s privacy and are addressing the situation with the seriousness it deserves. Here’s Toto’s reaction to the matter.

user44 HE'S WHAT? FOR HOW LONG?

lewishamiltonfan446427 who the fuck is y/n.... ↳ george.jpg i just searched her up, she used to be a model! she's still active on social media so it isn't that hard to find her account

mercluvr I'M SORRY???

nepobbylver ms rabbit has fainted.

y/nfan1 I'M GOING INSANE??????????????????????????

lewis.hamiltons.gf does this mean i have to change my username...?

y/nfan2 WHEN DID THEY MEET WHAT

y/nfan3 WHEN WHERE WHAT HOW WHEN HUH

rockstarlewis this is some 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 shit dude

wtfmerc so it WAS y/n

A mix of emotions floods through her as she continues reading. She feels a wave of shock, followed by a pang of confusion. Y/n grips her phone tighter, her eyes glued to the words on the screen.

Y/n looks up from her phone, her voice quivering with surprise and a hint of concern. "I didn't know they were releasing this statement today," she replies, her words tinged with a mixture of confusion and anxiety.

Her voice becomes more frantic, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. "It was just an idea I pitched! The whole 'married for 6 months' thing- it wasn't supposed to be taken seriously, not this soon at least!"

She paces around the kitchen, her heart pounding with worry and uncertainty. "I never thought they'd actually make a statement about it without speaking to me first," she mutters, her voice betraying her growing anxiety.

As Y/n continues to pace anxiously, biting on her nails, Lyka takes action. She stands up from the counter and gently grasps Y/n's shoulders, trying to anchor her in the moment.

"Hey, hey," Lyka says in a soothing tone. "Take a deep breath, okay? Panicking isn't going to help the situation."

Y/n nods, trying to steady her racing thoughts. She takes a few deep breaths, letting the air fill her lungs and gradually slowing down her frenzied heartbeat.

Y/n is snapped out of her anxious thoughts as her phone rings loudly in her hand, jolting her back to reality. She glances down at the screen, wondering who could be calling her at this moment.

Her eyes widen as she sees her father's name on the caller ID. She stares at the screen for a moment, her mind swirling with thoughts. Taking another deep breath, she swipes to answer the call.

"Hello?" she says, her voice slightly shaky as she brings the phone to her ear.

She listens intently as her father's voice comes through the other end of the line, waiting anxiously for whatever he has to say. Y/n's father's voice is stern but concerned. "Y/n," he begins, "Have you seen the statement released by Mercedes?"

Y/n holds the phone a little tightly, her heart rate increasing again. "Dad," she begins, "Yes, I just saw it on Instagram. But listen, it's not what it seems-"

Her father's voice cuts her off, filled with disbelief and disappointment. "Not what it seems? It says you've been married to Lewis for 6 months. Explain that."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her mind racing to come up with a viable explanation. Feeling cornered, she decides to go along with the lie, knowing that the truth will lead to even more disappointment and shame from her father.

"Okay, okay," she says, her voice quivering slightly. "Yes, it's true we got married. But Dad, please understand, it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing. We wanted to keep it quiet, that's why we didn't tell anyone right away…"

Y/n listens to her father's scolding, her heart sinking further with each question. "I know, I know," she responds, her voice filled with guilt and remorse. "I should have told you sooner. But Dad, you have to understand, Lewis and I wanted to keep things private at first. The public attention can be overwhelming, and we wanted to enjoy our newlywed bliss in peace…"

Y/n feels a lump form in her throat as she hears the disappointment in her father's voice. This is a first for her—she's never had to lie to her father before, and the guilt starts to weigh heavily on her heart. Fresh tears well up in her eyes, but she tries to maintain her composure on the phone.

Lyka sees the tears in Y/n's eyes and immediately takes notice, her face filled with concern. She walks over to her friend and starts rubbing her back soothingly, a silent show of support and solidarity.

Y/n's father continues to press, his tone slightly more subdued now, "And when can we meet Lewis? Your mother deserves to meet him as soon as possible. We can't just be finding out about your husband on social media, for goodness sake!"

Y/n swallows hard, the weight of the lie becoming more palpable. She racks her brain for an answer, trying to come up with a believable timeframe. "Uh, well, we're actually not together right now... he's still... with his family...," she says, her voice still shaky. "Maybe… Maybe this week? Or when their summer break begins?"

Her father remains silent for a moment, mulling over the proposed timeline. "Very well," he finally responds, his voice still edged with disappointment. "We'll plan something for next week then. I expect a proper introduction and explanation. No more secrets, understood?"

Y/n nods, even though her father can't see her. "Yes, Dad, understood. No more secrets," she mutters, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and resignation.

After the call ends, Y/n closes her phone, a deep sigh escaping her lips. The weight of the lie and the disappointment from her father hang heavily on her shoulders. She feels like a guilty teenager all over again.

Lyka sees the distress etched on Y/n's face and quickly strides over to her, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting hug. "It's going to be okay," she whispers softly, trying to soothe her friend's troubled heart.

Y/n takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts and trying to rein in her emotions. She then looks over at Lyka, a newfound determination etched on her face. "I need to let Lewis know about the situation with my father," she says, her voice steadying slightly.

She swiftly opens her phone and navigates to Lewis' contact. She knows she needs to inform him about the recent turn of events. Her fingers grip the phone tighter as she starts typing a message to him.

Y/n closes her phone and sighs, her body still feeling the emotional toll from the conversation with her father. Seeing that Lyka has taken over the cooking, Y/n moves to a nearby chair and plops down, still mulling over the recent developments.

While sitting on the chair, she takes a moment to mentally process everything that has happened. Her mind is filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions - the lie, the need to maintain the facade, the guilt of deceiving her father, and the impending meeting with Lewis and her parents.

July 14th, 5:34 PM

The two sit in the car, the engine idling in the driveway of Y/n's childhood home. The atmosphere in the car is tense, and both of them are dreading the upcoming meeting with Y/n's parents.

She takes a deep breath, stealing a glance at Lewis before speaking up. "Okay, here's the plan," she begins, her voice a mixture of conviction and anxiety.

Y/n goes over the 'story' again, recapping the timeline of their 'relationship.' "We met during my vacation- your Christmas break of 2022, and became friends for about two months before you started courting me for three more months," she reminds Lewis. "We started dating after that, dated for five months, got engaged for around two months, and then got married in mid-January. Got it?"

Lewis nods, taking in the timeline and details of their fictional relationship. He's clearly trying to commit everything to memory, fully aware of the importance of maintaining a consistent story in front of Y/n's parents.

Y/n takes another deep breath, her hand fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Just remember, the key is to stay consistent and make it believable," she adds, her voice a tad shakier than before.

Lewis reaches out and takes Y/n's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We can do this," he says, his voice filled with determination and reassurance. "We just have to stick to the story and not let our nerves get the better of us."

Y/n nods, reassured by Lewis' words and the gentle squeeze of his hand. "You're right," she says, her voice steadier now. "Stick to the story, stay cool, and we'll get through this."

Lewis turns off the ignition, and the engine falls silent. Both of them unbuckle their seatbelts and get out of the car. Standing in the driveway, they take a moment to glance at each other, preparing themselves for the upcoming interaction.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she and Lewis approach the front door. The familiar surroundings of her childhood home bring back a mixture of emotions—nostalgia, nervousness, and the weight of the lie they're about to perpetuate.

She reaches out and rings the doorbell, the sound echoing through the peaceful neighborhood. They wait for a few moments, the anticipation growing with each passing second.

The maid opens the door and greets Y/n and Lewis warmly. "Hello, welcome," she says with a friendly smile. "Your father is still in his study doing some paperwork and your mother is helping the chefs with the dishes. They should be finished soon."

Y/n thanks the maid and glances at Lewis, a hint of anxiety in her eyes. She leads him into the house, the familiar scent of her childhood home filling her nostrils.

She takes Lewis' hand and leads him into the living room. The spacious room is tastefully decorated with a mix of antique and modern furniture, a reflection of her family's taste and style. She guides him to a cozy sofa and motions for him to take a seat.

As they settle onto the sofa, the maid follows behind them and asks, "Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, water, perhaps?"

Y/n turns to the maid and responds, her voice a bit tense. "I'll have cold water, please. Thank you."

She then turns to Lewis, trying to keep a semblance of normalcy despite her inner turmoil. "Would you like anything, Lewis? Water, coffee, tea…?"

Lewis looks at Y/n and then at the maid and replies, "I'll have tea, please. Thank you."

As the maid exits the living room Lewis sidles closer to Y/n on the sofa, draping an arm around her in a comforting gesture. He leans in and whispers something in her ear, his voice low and barely audible to anyone else.

In a quiet voice, Lewis whispers to Y/n, "Are there any cameras in the living room?" He asks the question, his gaze subtly glancing around for any visible signs of surveillance equipment.

Y/n is slightly taken aback by Lewis' arm around her, but she collects herself quickly. In a hushed tone, she whispers back, "Yes, there are cameras. They're hidden in various spots around the room, my father has access to the cameras from his study."

Lewis places a soft kiss on Y/n's temple and then pulls her closer, his voice a low murmur. "I know, I probably should have asked for your permission before doing that, but I thought it might help our act. For all we know, your father could be watching us on those cameras at this very moment."

Y/n can feel her heart rate increase a bit at Lewis' proximity and his reasoning behind the kiss. She glances at the hidden cameras, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She nods subtly, understanding the necessity of keeping up the act.

The two of them maintain their close position on the couch, trying to appear as a married couple who are comfortable in each other's company. Y/n glances around discreetly, wondering how her father is handling the surveillance footage.

Just as they are about to continue their conversation, the maid re-enters the living room, carrying a tray with their drinks. She sets the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, placing a glass of cold water next to Y/n and a steaming cup of tea next to Lewis.

The maid arranges the drinks on the coffee table, the sound of the glass clinking against the tray cutting through the silence in the room. She then smiles politely at them before discretely exiting the living room again, leaving Y/n and Lewis alone with their beverages.

Y/n watches the maid exit, her heart rate slightly elevated. She picks up her glass and takes a small sip of water, her mind racing with a million thoughts. The sound of Lewis' tea cup being placed back on the coffee table breaks the silence, drawing her attention back to him.

As Y/n starts to bite her nail, Lewis reaches out and gently moves her hand away from her mouth, his gaze meeting hers with reassurance. "Hey," he whispers "It's going to be okay. I'm here with you, every step of the way. We'll get through this together, alright?"

The simple act of Lewis gently stopping her from biting her nail serves as a small anchor, bringing Y/n back from the edge of her nervousness. She glances at him, his steady presence offering a small sense of comfort. She nods subtly, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and anxiety.

Y/n's breathing remains somewhat labored, the anxiety still coursing through her. Lewis takes her hand in his and begins rubbing his thumb against hers, a soothing motion that seems to ease her nerves, if only a little.

As she gazes at their intertwined hands, her eyes move up to the rings and tattoos adorning Lewis' fingers. The sight of them adds another layer to their carefully crafted pretense, the evidence of her supposed marriage right there on display for anyone who looks closely enough.

Their moment is interrupted as Y/n's mother walks into the living room. Her mother's presence brings Y/n back to reality, and the nerves come rushing back. She straightens up immediately, letting go of Lewis' hand to brush off any dust on her shirt and pants.

Y/n's mother enters the living room, her eyes lighting up as she sees her daughter and Lewis sitting together on the sofa. A warm smile graces her lips as she approaches them. "Hello, you two," she greets them, her voice filled with genuine affection.

As Y/m/n approaches, Y/n rises from the sofa, her movement slightly jerky due to her nerves. She tries to force a smile, hoping to appear normal, but the tension in her body is palpable.

Lewis follows Y/n as she nods, his hand gently moving to rest on her back, a small comfort in the face of the inevitable confrontation with her father.

He extends his hand towards Y/n's mother, his demeanor is polite and friendly. "Hello, it's lovely to meet you in person," he says with a warm smile. Y/n watches the interaction, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.

The introduction occurs, Lewis offering his hand in greeting and Y/n's mother shaking it warmly. Y/n stands nearby, the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears drowning out almost everything else.

As Lewis shakes her mother's hand and exchanges greetings, Y/n's heart pounds louder in her ears. Her eyes flicker between the two, the casual interaction between her mother and Lewis standing in stark contrast to the turmoil of emotions churning within her.

Y/n watches as Lewis engages in pleasantries with her mother, and the polite exchange is a far cry from the anxiety that grips Y/n's insides. The sound of their voices and the sight of their interaction blur into the background as Y/n struggles to keep herself together.

Y/m/n gestures towards the dining room, saying, "Follow me to the dining room, please. Your father will join us in about five minutes." With a nod, Y/n and Lewis follow silently behind her, the nerves tightening in Y/n's stomach.

Lewis takes Y/n's hand again, his touch providing a source of comfort in the midst of the mounting tension. With a subtle gesture, he begins rubbing his thumb against hers, offering a silent reassurance.

The gentle, soothing motion of Lewis rubbing her thumb helps to ground Y/n, and the simple action is a small balm against the anxiety that threatens to consume her. She glances at him, silently expressing her gratitude through her eyes.

They enter the dining room, and Lewis takes a seat next to Y/n, his presence a silent comfort. Y/n sits down across from her mother, leaving her father's chair vacant. The sight of the empty chair sends a jolt of anxiety through Y/n, her palms beginning to sweat.

Y/n sits across from her mother, her eyes darting to the empty chair that her father is bound to occupy shortly. The sight of the vacant seat is a ghost of the man who is about to confront the facade they've created. Y/n's palms begin to sweat, and the nervous energy builds rapidly within her.

The silence in the dining room is nearly deafening. Y/n's mother makes small talk, but Y/n's mind is elsewhere, consumed by the impending arrival of her father. She glances again at the empty chair, the seconds ticking by like hours as they wait for him to join them.

The wait seems endless, Y/n's mother's attempts at small talk falling on deaf ears as Y/n's mind races with thoughts. Every sound seems magnified, and every breath echoes. The empty chair looms over the table like a storm cloud, its absence speaking louder than any words could.

It seems almost too well-timed. Just as the silence is about to become unbearably awkward, the butlers enter the room, gracefully serving the meals that have been prepared. The aroma of the food fills the air, but Y/n's stomach is in knots, the thought of eating almost impossible.

As they express gratitude to the butlers, Y/n's father proceeds to place food on his plate, his hands moving deftly. Still in the midst of his task, he begins to ask questions, his voice laced with authority and curiosity.

Y/n's father continues to plate his food as he asks questions, his words almost nonchalant, but his tone hinting at hidden scrutiny. "So, Lewis, how did you and Y/n meet?"

Lewis responds calmly to Y/n's father's question, his tone matter-of-fact. "We met back in 2022, during Y/n's Christmas vacation," he says. "It was a coincidence, really. We just sorta bumped into each other and started talking."

Her father nods, seemingly taking in the information, still focused on loading food onto his plate. His next question comes with a hint of intensity, "And when did you decide to get married?"

Y/n's father's question about their marriage takes her slightly off-guard. As her mind races, she accidentally drops her spoon, the metallic clatter bouncing off the walls of the quiet dining room. Her heart sinks, the unexpected question leaving her feeling even more exposed.

Y/n apologizes for the dropped spoon, her voice a bit shaky. Lewis takes over, answering her father's question calmly. "We decided to get married after being engaged for two months," he explains. "We actually got married right before the off-season started. It was quite a whirlwind, to be honest."

Y/n's mother interjects, curious about the term 'off-season.' "What do you mean by off-season?" she asks, her tone casually curious.

Lewis responds to Y/n's mother's question, his tone casually informative. "The off-season is sort of like Christmas break," he says. "It's the time of year when school is out, and everything kind of slows down for a while."

Y/n's mother nods, absorbing the explanation, and then proceeds to take a bite of her food. She seems reasonably content with the answer, her focus shifting back to her meal.

Y/n's father, seemingly unsatisfied with the previous answers, resumes asking his questions. His gaze remains fixed on a spoonful of soup, but his voice drips with a sense of authoritative interrogation.

He continues to question Lewis, his eyes focused on his bowl of soup as his voice pierces the air. "So, you're an athlete, correct?" he asks, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

Lewis nods in confirmation, his demeanor still poised. "Yes, I am," he answers, his response firm.

Y/n's father persists with his questions, delving into practicalities. "How are you going to provide for Y/n when you're constantly traveling and training?" he probes, his tone skeptical.

Y/n's mother chimes in, gently nudging her husband and scolding him playfully. "Darling, you're acting as if Lewis is going to be your personal assistant," she admonishes, adding a little humor to the conversation.

Lewis chuckles lightly, finding a bit of humor in the situation. Y/n, on the other hand, lets out a somewhat awkward laugh, the tension still palpable beneath the facade of casual banter.

He responds to her father's question, his tone confident. "I have a well-established career, sir," he says. "I'm well-paid, and I can certainly provide for Y/n and any future family we might have."

As Lewis mentions potentially having a family, Y/n is caught off-guard and inadvertently causes herself to cough, the water going down the wrong pipe. She quickly composes herself while both their parents look at her in concern.

While Y/n recovers from her coughing fit, Lewis gently pats her back, a look of concern etched on his face. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Y/n responds nervously, her voice a bit shaky. "Yeah, I'm fine," she reassures, trying to brush off the incident, her eyes darting between Lewis, her parents, and the water in her glass.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone light yet curious. "So, have you two thought about how big of a family you'd like to have?" she inquires, her eyes flitting between Lewis and Y/n.

Lewis expresses his thoughts on starting a family, his voice filled with warmth and optimism. "I'd really like a big family," he admits, "maybe 2-3 kids or more, and a few pets too. But ultimately, it'll be Y/n's call since she'll be the one carrying and giving birth to the children." He smiles affectionately at her, adding, "It's her decision, and I'll support whatever she chooses."

Y/n's gaze softens, her heart warmed by Lewis's words. Despite the awkward family setting, the way he looks at her, coupled with his last statement, touches her deeply. It's a small but significant gesture, emphasizing his support and understanding, something she didn't fully anticipate.

Y/n's father nods in approval, clearly satisfied with Lewis's response. "Good man," he remarks, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind Lewis's words. "Always considerate of your wife's feelings, as you should be."

As Y/n's father praises Lewis, a sigh of relief escapes her lips. The approval from her father seems to ease some of the tension, and she shoots Lewis a grateful glance, silently expressing her relief.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone casual but slightly concerned. "Have you two thought about moving in together soon?" she asks. "I recall Y/n mentioning she's still staying with Lyka."

Y/n responds, her voice laced with a hint of anxiety, explaining the reasons behind their decision. "We haven't moved in together yet," she begins, "due to Lewis's job. With him traveling all over the world for most of the year, it would be quite lonely for me. I have some of my stuff at his place, but we agreed that I'll stay with him when he's home and stay at my apartment with Lyka when he's away."

The explanation seems to make sense to both Y/n's parents and her father nods in understanding. He seems to comprehend the challenges that come with Lewis's job, and the reasoning behind their living arrangement makes sense in their circumstances.

The dinner gradually comes to an end, and Y/n and Lewis bid farewell to her parents. There's a sense of relief in the air, mixed with a hint of lingering tension. As they part ways, Y/n's mother gives them both a warm smile, while her father offers a firm nod.

"Thanks," she says, smiling at his gesture, appreciating the small act of chivalry. She pulls out her phone from her bag before taking a seat in the car, the soft leather of the seats molding to her body.

As Lewis closes the car door, Y/n notices Lyka's name popping up on her phone's screen. She taps on the answer button, the phone pressed to her ear. "Hello?" she says, her voice slightly weary.

Lyka's voice comes through the line, sounding a mix of anxious and excited. "H-hi," she greets, her tone bordering on the guilty, like a child trying to conceal their mischief.

Y/n listens to Lyka's nervous greeting and responds, curiosity in her voice. "What's up?" she asks, setting the phone on speaker and placing it on the dash. Just as she does so, Lewis gets into the car, and they both focus on the now-speaker conversation.

Lyka's voice, sounding a bit unsure, asks, "Are you heading home now?" The question lingers in the air, suggesting that there may be something on Lyka's mind.

Y/n shoots Lewis a glance, their eyes meeting briefly as he maneuvers the car out of the gates. She's silent for a moment, contemplating Lyka's request and the implications of staying over at Lewis's place tonight.

Y/n turns her attention to Lewis, asking the question aloud, even though he had already overheard the conversation. She takes the phone off the dashboard, holding it in her hand as she speaks, her voice quieter than before. "Lyka's asking if I can stay over at your place tonight because Lando is a bit too drunk to go home."

Lewis responds, keeping his focus on the road, his voice calm and unwavering. "Sure," he says, seeming amenable to the idea. "You can stay over at my place tonight."

She relays the response to Lyka, conveying the okay from Lewis. "Okay," she says, her voice a bit lighter now. "I can stay at Lewis's place tonight."

Lyka's voice comes through the phone, brimming with gratitude and a hint of apology. "Thank you so much," she expresses, her tone sincere. "I'm really sorry for the sudden request. We just, uh…" Her voice trails off, leaving the rest unspoken.

Y/n chuckles, still on the phone with Lyka, and teases her gently. "Yeah, yeah, just make sure you take care of your 'boyfriend,'" she says, a hint of playfulness in her voice. "I'll be with Lewis."

Lyka's embarrassed screech comes through the phone, her voice full of flustered denial. "DUDE, SHUT UP!" she practically yells, her annoyance tinged with a hint of humor. "HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!"

Y/n responds, a playful tone in her voice. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Lyka," she teases. "You can tell that to the flowers he's been sending you every day." Her tone takes on a mock serious note. "Anyways, I've gotta go now."

Lyka's frustrated scream comes through the line, her voice muffled as she probably covers her face with her hands. Y/n laughs, having heard this reaction countless times over the years, knowing it's a clear sign of Lyka's embarrassment. "Bye," Lyka manages to say, her voice still tinged with flusteredness before ending the call.

Y/n looks at her phone, opening the text messages app to find the flurry of texts Lyka sent just moments ago before the call. Her eyes scan over the screen, curious to see what kind of messages her flustered best friend sent, no doubt venting about what was happening.

Lewis breaks the brief silence that had settled in the car, starting with a casual, "So…" His tone is conversational, suggesting he has something to talk about. He keeps his focus on the road, but his voice is filled with curiosity and a hint of anticipation.

Y/n sighs, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and uncertainty. She closes her phone screen, resting it on her lap before responding. "Honestly, I'm not even sure," she admits, her tone reflecting a hint of frustration at her friends' complex relationship.

Y/n tries to explain the complicated nature of Lyka and Lando's relationship, her voice trying to convey the complexity of it all. "They're more than friends, but less than lovers," she clarifies, her tone thoughtful. "It's a bit confusing, really. They're stuck somewhere in between."

Lewis chuckles, reflecting on the implications of the "stuck in between" situation. He offers a playful observation. "Well, that could go one of two ways, right?" he muses. "Either it's really good, or really bad."

Y/n smirks, agreeing with Lewis's assessment. "Yeah, you're right," she concedes, her voice hinting at the complexities of Lyka and Lando's dynamics. "It's either going to work out amazingly or explode in their faces."

The car falls back into a moment of silence, the low hum of the engine filling the space. Lewis keeps driving, his focus on the road, his mind likely contemplating the complexities of relationships and the uncertainty of the future.

Y/n breaks the silence again, her voice carrying a hint of hesitation. "Uh…" she begins, her tone a bit uncertain, but there's a question lingering behind it.

Y/n's voice softens with gratitude as she addresses Lewis, her tone sincere. "Thanks," she says, her appreciation evident. "For, you know, not making a big deal about me staying over."

Y/n's voice takes on a more grateful tone, her appreciation clear. "And thank you for saving my ass at the dinner," she says, a hint of relief in her voice. "I really appreciate you having my back."

Lewis responds with a warm smile, his tone easy and hospitable. "It's no problem, sweetheart," he says. "You're always welcome at my place, even when I'm not around. I'll give you a key soon so you can come and go as you please."

Y/n turns her head swiftly, her gaze now locked on him. She repeats his term of endearment, "Sweetheart?" Her voice is tinged with a hint of surprise, her head slightly tilted to the side as she processes the familiarity of the word coming from his lips.

Lewis's eyes widen momentarily upon hearing her question, clearly surprised by the inquiry. He quickly recovers and responds, his tone questioning yet gentle, "Oh, is it okay if I call you that?" His voice carries a note of concern, clearly wanting to ensure he hasn't crossed any boundaries.

She lets out a soft laugh, the tension easing away. "Yeah, it's fine," she assures him, her tone tinged with a hint of amusement. "It's actually better that way. I won't be caught off guard when you call me that in public. It'll make our act more believable for the press."

Lewis nods, the concern in his eyes replaced by a hint of relief and a touch of playfulness. "That's true," he agrees, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It'll make it more convincing when we're around people. Plus, it's kind of nice…" His voice trails off, a slight implication behind his words.

A smile dances on Y/n’s lips, and she decides to tease him a bit. “Oh really? I feel like you have a big crush on me Sir Lewis,” she asks, feigning surprise, her tone lighthearted. Her eyes glimmer with playfulness, expecting him to respond with a playful banter.

His voice takes on a playfully challenging tone as he responds to Y/n’s teasing question. “And what if I do?” he says, his eyes briefly meeting hers before turning back to the road. “What would you do about it?” There’s a hint of a challenge in his tone but also a flicker of genuine curiosity, as if he’s eager to see how she would react if her teasing was based on truth.

Y/n responds with confidence, her eyes locked into his. “Oh, I have a few ideas,” she says, her tone dripping with a hint of mystery. Her voice drops lower, filled with playful tease, as if she’s already planning something.

Lewis raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued by Y/n’s response. He can’t help but wonder what kind of ideas she has in mind. “Oh yeah? And what ideas do you have in that pretty mind of yours, sweetheart?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

Her smile widens, her eyes glimmering mischievously. She remains coy, not revealing too much. “Oh, I can’t give away all my secrets,” she teases, her voice playful. “You’ll have to wait and find out.”

Lewis chuckles, enjoying the banter between them. "Fair enough," he responds, his tone playful. "I guess I'll just have to wait and see what you have up your sleeve, sweetheart."

Y/n smirks at the term of endearment, the name rolling off his tongue with a familiar ease. "Oh, you'll see," she teases back, her voice filled with confidence. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

Lewis brings the car into the parking lot of the condominium building, the wheels smoothly coming to a stop. He turns off the engine, the sound of the vehicle falling silent as he shifts his gaze over to Y/n sitting next to him.

"We're here," he announces, his tone casual. He unbuckles his seatbelt and glances over at Y/n. "Ready to head inside?"

Y/n nods, the teasing banter settling into a comfortable quiet. She unbuckles her own seatbelt and prepares to get out of the car. "Yeah, let's go."

Lewis opens the car door and steps out, stretching briefly before closing the door behind him. He then walks over to Y/n's side and opens the passenger door for her, offering his hand to help her out of the car.

She smiles appreciatively, taking his hand and stepping out of the car. "Thank you," she says, her voice tinged with gratefulness. She then follows him as they head towards the entrance of the condominium building.

As they walk into Lewis's penthouse, the faint sound of a low thumping becomes perceptible. Y/n glances around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. She looks over at Lewis, a quizzical expression on her face, silently asking if he hears it too.

Lewis catches Y/n's curious look and can't help but smile to himself, fully aware of what's about to occur. He says nothing for a moment, amused by the fact that she hasn't figured it out yet.

Out of nowhere, a chubby bulldog appears, sprinting toward Lewis with excitement. Its short, muscular legs carry it swiftly across the floor, its paws creating a thumping sound as they hit the ground. The bulldog clearly recognizes its owner and makes a beeline straight for him, tail wagging joyfully.

Lewis crouches down to meet Roscoe, his face breaking into a wide smile as the dog happily rolls onto his belly, begging for some attention. Lewis laughs and begins to scratch the dog's belly, his fingers rubbing the animal's belly fur affectionately.

"Hey, buddy," Lewis coos affectionately, his voice filled with warmth as he speaks to Roscoe. "Did you miss me?" The bulldog responds with a slobbery grin and continues to wiggle his short, stub tail on the floor in bliss.

Roscoe looks up at Lewis with big, soulful eyes, his tongue hanging out, clearly thrilled to be in the presence of his owner. He playfully licks Lewis's hand, expressing his happiness in the only way he knows how.

Roscoe, in the middle of his display of excitement towards Lewis, suddenly halts, his furry head tilting to the side as he notices Y/n's presence. His wide eyes focus on her, his gaze inquisitive and a little cautious, as if wondering who this new person in his home is.

Y/n stands there, a mix of surprise and uncertainty on her face, not quite knowing how to greet the curious bulldog. She looks over at Lewis, silently seeking some guidance on how to approach his pet.

He notices the change in Roscoe's behavior and the puzzled look on Y/n's face. He stands up and gestures for her to come closer, a reassuring smile on his face. "It's okay," he says, his tone comforting. "He's just curious. Come closer."

Y/n steps closer, her nerves palpable as she admits to Lewis that she isn't particularly fond of dogs. "Um, is this a good time to say I'm not really a dog person?" she mumbles, her voice tinged with slight unease.

Lewis chuckles, a mix of amusement and understanding in his eyes. He glances down at Roscoe, who is still sitting and watching Y/n intently. "Oh, really? Well, that might be a problem," he teases jokingly.

She cautiously moves closer and gives Roscoe a tentative pat on the head, her touch light and tentative. The bulldog responds by closing his eyes in the pleasure of the unexpected attention, his stumpy tail wagging once again as he basks in the affection.

Lewis watches the interaction and smiles, finding the scene amusing yet endearing. "See?" he says, his voice encouraging. "He likes you already."

He stands up, motioning for Y/n to follow him into the kitchen. "C'mon," he says, gesturing towards the kitchen. "I'll grab us some drinks."

Y/n follows Lewis into the kitchen, her face transforming into a surprised smile as she asks a question. "Why do we need drinks?" There's a hint of curiosity in her voice, as if she's secretly hoping for a particular reason.

Lewis uncorks the bottle, taking out two wine glasses from the overhead cabinet. As he pours the wine into the glasses, he glances over at Y/n, his eyes holding a playful twinkle. "Besides," he says, a sly smile on his lips, "we need to celebrate our marriage properly, don't we?"

He passes a wine glass to her, his fingertips lightly brushing against hers for a moment as he does so. The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly feels a tad heated as the implications of his words hang in the air between them.

Y/n takes the offered glass, her heart skipping a beat as their fingers touch briefly. The look in his eyes and the undercurrent of flirtation in his tone are hard to ignore. The words "we need to celebrate our marriage properly" echo in her head, causing a flutter of anticipation in her stomach.

Lewis pours himself a glass of wine, then pours another for Y/n as she settles into her seat. He moves around the counter, the wine glass in his hand, and takes a seat next to her. The silence is comfortable, but the air is charged with a simmering tension, the earlier flirtation not yet faded.

Y/n holds up her wine glass, lifting it slightly in his direction. "Cheers," she says, her voice carrying a note of excitement. The clinking sound of their glasses meeting fills the air, the act oddly intimate and charged with unspoken desires.

Their eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, the moment charged with a mix of tension and anticipation. Y/n takes a sip of her wine, the liquid smooth and cool as it touches her lips, but it's the man sitting next to her that leaves her feeling flushed and warm.

Time has passed, and the wine has taken its toll. Both Y/n and Lewis are visibly tipsy, their cheeks flushed and their inhibitions lowered. She finds herself in a slightly drunken state, her speech more slurry than Lewis's. They're exchanging stories, the wine loosening their tongues and making them more susceptible to sharing their secrets and embarrassing anecdotes.

Y/n continues her story, her voice a bit slurry from the wine but filled with amusement. "So, there I was, planning to go grocery shopping, right? But then Lyka calls and invites me out for drinks. And well, as you can imagine, one drink turns into several, and the next thing I know, it's been three hours. I completely forgot about the grocery shopping. Then, instead of coming home with actual groceries, I end up bringing home this stray white cat I found. And thus, my cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil was born."

Lewis can't help but chuckle lightly as he listens to Y/n's story, finding it both absurd and endearing. He leans his face against his palm, his elbow propped up on the counter, his eyes sparkling with tipsy amusement. He glances at her, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "You named your cat what?" he asks, his voice tinged with playful disbelief.

His laughter continues, the image of Y/n coming home with a cat instead of groceries amusing him more than it probably should in his current state of drunkenness. "You named your cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil because you forgot about grocery shopping and got drunk instead?" he asks, grinning widely, clearly finding the situation hilarious.

Y/n grins widely, nodding enthusiastically in affirmation. "Yep, that's right," she says, her voice filled with tipsy mirth. "Extra Virgin Olive Oil. And let me tell you, he's the most spoiled cat ever. All because I couldn't stick to my grocery shopping plans."

She feels a sudden brush of fur against her leg, her gaze dropping down. But before she can even react, Roscoe takes off like a shot, darting away with one of her high heels clenched in his mouth. Y/n's eyes widen, and a tipsy laugh escapes her lips.

Y/n jumps out of her seat, a tipsy grin on her face. "Roscoe!" she yells, giggling as she tries to catch the dog who's now prancing away with her high heel. Lewis watches the scene unfold, his laughter joining hers, finding the whole situation hilariously adorable.

Y/n's pursuit of Roscoe continues, her steps a bit unsteady from the alcohol. She tries to catch him, but her foot catches on the edge of the rug, her already tipsy balance getting the better of her. She trips over, her body stumbling forward, a yelp of surprise escaping her.

Lewis sees Y/n's fall, her carefree chase after the dog abruptly interrupted by her slip on the rug. He gets up from his seat, a slight worry crossing his face. But before he can make a move, Y/n raises an arm up from the floor, and yells out, "I'm okay!" Her voice is slightly slurred but there's a sense of pride in her tone, as if she's proud of her resilient demeanor despite her tipsy state.

As she stands up with a wide smile on her face, she doesn't realize the small cut on her elbow until Lewis points it out. Y/n glances down, noticing the slight trickle of blood on her arm. She touches the spot, a little surprised, but the alcohol has numbed the pain, giving her a false sense of invincibility. She giggles, looking at the cut with amused detachment.

Despite her stumble and the small cut on her elbow, Y/n's demeanor remains carefree, her eyes blinking in a slightly confused manner. The alcohol has dulled her senses, so pain feels distant and the reality of the fall hasn't quite registered in her mind yet. She looks up at Lewis, a slightly bewildered expression on her face as if she's not quite sure how she ended up on the floor in the first place.

Lewis lets out a small, playful exhale and saunters over to Y/n, gesturing for her to sit on the couch. "Alright, come on, sit down," he instructs, his voice laced with a hint of amused frustration. He guides her over to the couch, steadying her a bit as she clumsily flops down onto the cushions.

He turns away, giving her a warm smile, and says, "Okay, sit tight. I'll be right back. I'll get a bandage for that cut on your elbow." He strides out of the room, leaving Y/n slumped on the couch, a little drunk and a bit bewildered.

Y/n lounges on the couch in a slightly disheveled manner, her body stretched out like a starfish. She looks like a ragdoll, her limbs flung about in a completely comfortable yet chaotic way. The alcohol has made her feel relaxed and carefree, completely unbothered by the fact that she's lying haphazardly on the couch, waiting for Lewis to return with a bandage for her now-forgotten cut.

After 5 minutes, Lewis enters the room carrying a small first-aid kit. He looks over at Y/n, noticing that she's a bit more composed compared to a few moments ago. The alcohol's effect seems to have subsided a bit, perhaps due to the short break in time. He walks over to her, sitting down on the couch next to her, the first-aid Kit in his hand.

"Seems like you're getting a bit more sober now," he observes, his tone gentle as he opens the first-aid kit. He takes out an antiseptic wipe and a small adhesive bandage, preparing to clean and cover the cut on her elbow.

"Hold still for a moment," he says, his voice soft. He gently takes her arm and begins cleaning the wound with the antiseptic wipe. The cool touch of the solution stings a little, but he's careful not to cause her any unnecessary pain.

Y/n winces a bit as the antiseptic wipe touches the cut, a small "ow" escaping her lips. The alcohol has numbed her a bit, but the sting of the antiseptic still registers. She looks at her arm, watching as Lewis carefully cleans the cut, his touch light yet deliberate.

"It's alright," he soothes, his tone gentle. "I'm almost done." He continues to clean the cut, making sure it's free of any dirt or debris before gently placing the bandaid over the cut. His touch is light and careful, his fingers grazing the soft skin of her arm.

Once the bandaid is placed, he gently pats the area around the cut, securing it in place. He then releases her arm, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He looks up at her, a small, reassuring smile on his lips.

Y/n gazes at Lewis, her eyes studying his face intently. She takes in every detail - the curve of his lips, the flecks of gold in his eyes, the slight stubble on his chin. The alcohol still in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more observant. She continues to stare at him, not saying a word.

Lewis notices Y/n's unwavering gaze, her eyes taking in every feature of his face. He raises an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his expression. Seeing her silent observation, he jokingly asks, "Got something on my face?" His voice is light, and his words are filled with humor.

Y/n shakes her head, continuing her silent observation, her gaze still fixated on his features. And then, in a surprising move, she leans forward, her lips brushing against his in a soft, slow kiss. The alcohol in her system lowers her inhibitions, making her actions more impulsive and carefree. The kiss is unexpected but filled with an undercurrent of desire and affection.

Lewis is taken aback for a moment, caught off guard by her unexpected kiss. But then, he relaxes into it, his eyes closing as he responds to her contact. His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his fingers lightly brushing through her hair. The kiss deepens, the alcohol in their systems making it heady and impulsive.

Y/n, emboldened by the alcohol and the heat of the moment, makes another bold move. Without breaking the kiss, she shifts her position, straddling his lap, a leg on either side of him. Her body presses against his, her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer as she continues kissing him, her actions driven by a combination of intoxication and desire.

She suddenly pulls away from the kiss, the reality of her actions sinking in. Her blush spreads across her face, a mixture of embarrassment and desire filling her. She looks at him, her eyes wide, her breathing slightly ragged from the intensity of the kiss. The alcohol in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more impetuous, but she still feels a mix of shyness and confusion at her own behavior.

Lewis looks at Y/n, a hint of confusion and surprise in his eyes. He gently cups her face with his hand, his thumb tracing the contour of her cheek. He asks her softly, "Why did you stop?" His voice is a mix of curiosity and tenderness, his gaze holding hers as he waits for her response.

Despite the buzz of alcohol in her system, Y/n hesitates, her actions and her desires at war within her. The kiss had been spontaneous, driven by a heady mixture of alcohol and desire, but now she feels a sense of self-consciousness and insecurity. Her blush deepens under his touch, and she looks into his eyes, trying to find the words to explain her sudden break in their intimate moment.

"I…I don't know," she stutters out, her voice small and unsure. "It's just…I don't know…" Her gaze flickers away from his, unable to hold his intense, questioning stare. The alcohol and the heat of the moment have made her impulsive, but now she feels exposed, vulnerable in her straddling position, her guard faltering under his soft but insistent touch.

Lewis gives her a reassuring smile, his hand still cupping her face. Seeing her hesitant, he gently draws her back towards him, his other hand coming up to rest on her hip. He pulls her down, bringing her face closer to his, and kisses her again, his lips pressing against hers with a soft but determined pressure. The kiss is slow, tender, and deliberate, his tongue slipping out to caress her lower lip, seeking more.

With a swift movement, Lewis stands up, still not breaking the kiss, his hands holding onto Y/n's thighs to keep her stable. The shift in positioning causes her to tighten her arms around his neck, and their bodies press even closer together. Lewis's grip is firm but gentle, his strength evident as he holds her up with ease, the kiss continuing unhindered.

He walks with purpose towards the bedroom door, his strength and balance holding Y/n securely in his arms. In a move that seems completely effortless, he keeps one hand on her thigh, supporting her weight, while his other free hand reaches out, unlocks the door, and swings it open. He strides across the threshold, carrying her into the room, the kiss never once breaking.

Inside the bedroom, he kicks the door closed behind them, shutting out the rest of the world. The only sounds filling the room are the soft gasps and sighs exchanged between them as the kiss deepens, fueled by a heady mixture of desire and alcohol. Lewis shifts his grip slightly, his hand sliding from her thigh to her waist, holding her steadily as he guides her towards the bed.

Lewis gently sets Y/n down on her feet, helping her regain her balance. Then, with a soft yet firm pressure on her shoulders, he eases her backward until she sits on the edge of the bed. He stands in front of her, his body looming over hers in a way that is both dominant and protective. He looks down at her, his gaze darkened with desire, his breathing slightly heavy.

With a subtle but deliberate action, Lewis's hand moves up to Y/n's neck, his fingers wrapping around the delicate skin in a light but firm grip. He squeezes gently, not enough to cut off her air, but enough to assert a sense of control and possessiveness. The kiss that follows is quick, fierce, and possessive, his tongue invading her mouth in a dominant, needy manner.

Y/n whimpers into the kiss, the sound caught between a protest and a moan of pleasure. Lewis's dominant grip on her neck, the way he claims her mouth in a possessive kiss, fuels the fire within her. Her hands come up to cling to his shoulders, the mixture of pleasure and submission washing over her in waves.

Too caught up in the intensity of the moment, she grips the loops of Lewis's pants, her fingers hooking onto them as if anchoring herself. The action is both needy and desperate, a silent plea for more as she looks up at him, her eyes burning with desire and anticipation.

Lewis glances down at Y/n, noticing her fingers gripping his pant loops, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. Teasingly, he leans down, his face close to hers, and whispers, "So needy, aren't you?" His voice is a low, gravelly murmur, his words carrying a hint of possessive satisfaction.

She looks up at Lewis with wide, innocent, doe-like eyes, her expression a mixture of need and submission. She doesn't respond, her voice caught in her throat, but her grip on his pant loops tightens just a fraction, her body silently begging for more. The contrast between her innocent gaze and her needy actions is striking, and the heat in her eyes speaks volumes.

Lewis continues to look down at her, his eyes taking in her beautiful, vulnerable expression. He reaches out a hand, tracing the line of her neck with his fingers, but the touch light is barely there. He can hear her soft, ragged breaths, can feel her pulse quickening under his touch, and his own need, his own desire, increases exponentially.

He leans in, his lips moving to her ear, his breath against her skin as he whispers, "You're so gorgeous like this, so needy for me." He kisses her ear, his lips moving down to her jaw, leaving a trail of soft, hot kisses down the delicate curve of her neck.

Lewis continues to kiss along her neck, his mouth nipping and sucking gently at her skin, his tongue darting out to taste her sweetness. His hands slide down her body, caressing her sides, his touch both tender and possessive, his own need growing with every soft sound that escapes her lips.

He bites gently at her pulse point, a small, possessive act that makes her gasp and whine softly. His hands move to the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing the line of exposed skin, his touch both gentle and firm. "I want you," he whispers against her skin, his voice rough and full of desire, "so badly."

His hands slide underneath her shirt, his palms pressing against her skin, feeling her warmth and softness against his touch. He feels her shiver at the contact, her body responding to his touch like a perfectly tuned instrument. He kisses her collarbone, his mouth moving down to the hollow of her throat, his lips trailing along her skin with increasing need.

His hands move higher, his fingers tracing the contour of her stomach, her ribcage, her breasts. He feels her arch into his touch, her body craving more contact, more of his touch, his caress, his attention. He can feel her need, her desire, the way her breath hitches at his touch, and it only fuels his own fire, his own burning need for her.

Lewis pushes her gently back onto the bed, his body hovering over her, his weight propped up on his forearms. He looks down at her, his eyes roaming over her face, her body, taking in the sight of her beneath him, soft and yielding, yet filled with an undeniable fire and desire.

His fingers move to the buttons of her shirt, his touch slow and deliberate as he unfastens them one by one, revealing her bare skin inch by inch, his lips following the path of his fingers, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin.

Y/n's breathing becomes ragged as Lewis' hands reach the last button, freeing her breasts from the confines of her shirt. She pushes the fabric off her shoulders, tossing it aside, her nipples hard and aching for his touch.

Lewis' hands cup her breasts, his thumbs teasing her sensitive nipples. Y/n moans, her head falling back as she arches into his touch. Her hands roam over his body, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

She slides her hand inside, gripping his erection through his boxers. Lewis groans, his hips bucking into her hand. Y/n pulls him closer, their lips meeting in a rushed kiss as she fumbles with his boxers, freeing his hard cock.

She strokes him slowly, her thumb rubbing over the head, making him moan into her mouth. Lewi's hands leave her breasts, training down her sides to her waistband. He hooks his thumbs into her pants, pulling them down her legs, leaving her completely naked.

Y/n steps out of her pants, her body trembling with desire. Lewis' eyes roam over her, drinking in the sight of her before he pulls her back against him. He reaches around, unfastening his braided belt, letting it fall to the floor.

He pushes her onto the bed, following her down, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, his hand guiding his cock to her entrance. Y/n's breath hitches, her legs parting, welcoming him.

Lewis positions himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers, filled with lust and desire. He pushes inside her, slowly at first, allowing her body to adjust to his size. Y/n gasps, her nails digging into the sheets as he fills her completely.

Y/n bites her lip, her eyes widening as she feels the full extent of Lewis' size. "Fuck, you're huge," she hisses, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through her.

Lewis smirks, his hands gripping her hips as he begins to thrust, his rhythm slow and deliberate. "Like it sweetheart?" he growls, his voice deep and seductive.

Y/n nods, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusts to his size. "Yeah, I... I love it," she admits, her voice breathy and needy.

Lewis grins, his hand sliding around Y/n's neck, applying gentle pressure. "Good," he murmurs, his thrusts growing faster and more forceful.

Y/n's eyes widen at the added sensation, her body arching off the bed as her arousal intensifies. "Lewis," she whispers, her nails digging into his back, "don't stop."

He doesn't, his thrusts becoming more aggressive, his hand tightening around her neck just enough to heighten her arousal. Y/n's moans grow louder, her body trembling in anticipation of her impending orgasm.

Y/n's voice is barely a whisper as she gasps, "I'm... I'm close, Lewis."

Lewis, however, is lost in the sensations, his focus solely on the feel of Y/n's tight, wet pussy wrapped around his cock. He continues to thrust, his hand still tightly around her neck, his body moving in perfect unison with hers.

Y/n's orgasm hits her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she cries out, her nails digging into Lewis' bicep. Her walls clench around his cock, milking him as he continues to thrust.

Lewis' thrusts grow more erratic, his grip on Y/n's neck tightening as he feels her orgasm grip his cock. Her shaking only serves to fuel his desire, his release drawing near.

He pulls out of her, Y/n's protest cut off by the loss of his cock. He positions himself at her entrance once more, his cock glistening with her juices. "On your knees, sweetheart," he commands, his voice thick with lust.

Y/n obeys, her body still trembling as she gets onto her hands and knees. Lewis lines up his cock with her wet pussy, thrusting back inside her, this time from behind.

His hand leaves her neck, instead gripping her hair, pulling her head back as he begins fuck her with renewed vigor. Y/n's moans fill the room, her body responding to her every thrust,

Lewis' thrusts become more rushed, his breathing heavy. "You're such a good girl, taking my big cock like that," he praises, his voice thick with desire.

Y/n's body shudders, her arousal building once more as she feels him fill her from behind. "Mmm, Lewis," she moans, her voice thick with lust.

Lewis' hand tightens in her hair, his thrusts growing more urgent. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum for me one more time," he says, voice a mixture of command and desire.

Y/n's body responds to his words, her orgasm building once more. "I... I'm close," she gasps, her nails digging into the bedsheets.

Lewis feels his own release building, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Come for me," he demands, his cock pulsing inside her.

Y/n's body convulses, her orgasm washing over her like a tidal wave. Lewis can no longer hold back, his cock pulsing as he releases his hot seed deep inside her. He collapses onto her back, his breathing heavy as he tries to regain his composure.

Her body shudders, her mind swimming in the aftermath of her orgasm. Lewis slowly pulls out of her, his cock leaving a trail of cum between her legs. He rolls off her, pulling her into his arms, their bodies entwined.

They lie there, their bodies intertwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Both are out of breath, their hearts still racing from the intensity of the experience. Lewis is holding Y/n close, her head resting on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. The room is quiet, the only sound being their ragged breathing, the sound gradually slowing and evening out as they regain their composure.

Y/n breaks the silence, her voice a bit hoarse but weary. She looks up at Lewis, her head still pillowed on his chest, and says, "That sobered me up real fast." Her words are a mixture of exhaustion and satiation, the aftermath of their passionate encounter leaving her both depleted and fulfilled.

Lewis gives a soft laugh, his fingers still tracing patterns on her back. He nods, agreeing with her words. "I guess that's one way to sober up," he replies, his voice still a little breathless. He gently brushes a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch soft and affectionate.

Y/n jokes, a weary but playful smile on her face. "Well," she says, "that was like our very own little honeymoon night, wasn't it?" Her comment, although lighthearted, carries a hint of seriousness, a nod to the intense and passionate connection they had just shared.

Lewis chuckles softly, a smile on his lips. He gently pulls her closer, his arms tightening around her. "I guess you could say that," he responds, his voice warm and gentle. "We definitely made some memories tonight." He looks down at her, his gaze filled with tenderness and affection.

Y/n hisses as she adjusts her position, a slight wince on her face. Her body is likely still sensitive from their passionate encounter, and she moves gingerly, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Lewis notices her hiss and the wince on her face, his expression immediately becoming one of concern. He asks her gently, "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His voice is laced with worry and concern, his fingers lightly coming up to caress her cheek.

Y/n shakes her head, her eyes meeting his. "No, I'm alright," she reassures him. "Just a little sore, I guess. But it was worth it," she adds with a sleepy smile.

Lewis continues to look at her, his eyes searching her face for any signs of discomfort. He asks again, his voice filled with concern, "Are you sure you're alright? Soreness is normal, but I don't want to hurt you." He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch tender and caring.

Y/n nods, a small smile on her face, and jokingly says, "Well, I guess there's an easy fix for that. Just take me out on a shopping spree, and I'll feel like a million bucks again." Her tone is light and humorous, indicating that she's not entirely serious but also hinting at her desire for some pampering and shopping therapy.

Without hesitation, Lewis reaches for the nightstand near the bed and grabs his wallet. He opens it and pulls out a credit card, then hands it to Y/n with a smile. "There," he says, his voice lighthearted, "your ticket to feeling a million bucks. Go wild."

Y/n's eyes widened as she took his credit card. She playfully gasps, a mischievous smile on her face. "Are you serious? You're giving me carte blanche with this?" she says, holding the card up and examining it like it's a precious gem.

Lewis nods, a smirk on his face. "Dead serious," he confirms, leaning back against the headboard. "Go nuts. Buy whatever you want, and don't hold back. It's on me."

Y/n places the credit card on the nightstand, her smile playful. "Oh, it can definitely wait till tomorrow," she says. "I think we should both rest and recover from tonight's… activities." Her tone is teasing, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Lewis chuckles, a knowing smile on his face. "I agree," he replies, his voice deep and gravelly. "We definitely need some rest after tonight. But tomorrow…tomorrow is all yours. Shopping sprees, pampering, the works. I can't have you sore for too long, can I?"

Y/n smirks at his words, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "You know, you might be starting to regret giving me that credit card already," she teases. "You're creating a little monster here."

Lewis laughs heartily. "Oh, I'm fully aware of the monster I'm creating," he replies, still sporting a smile. "But honestly, I find it kind of hot. The thought of you going on a shopping spree, spending my money without a care in the world… it's strangely alluring."

Y/n teases, a mischievous grin on her face. "Oh, don't worry, I plan on getting something for you too," she says. "After all, a good shopping spree isn't complete without a little gift for the guy who's footing the bill."

Lewis pulls her back towards him, drawing her close against his chest. He settles back against the pillows, his arm wrapping around her in a protective, comforting embrace. Y/n's head rests against his chest, her body tucked snugly against his, and he gently kisses the top of her head. "Sweet dreams," he whispers, his voice soft and affectionate.

yn.ln

liked by lewishamilton, lyka.val, george_russell and 644,819 others yn.ln Shopping sprees, a hot best friend, and an even hotter husband? I'm winning. tagged lewishamilton, lyka.val

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[muddyorbsblr]

team loki pt1

See my full list of works here!

inspired by this TikTok POV

Summary: Thor poses a question that puts you in an uncomfortable situation, and causing you to give him a desperate and thinly-veiled half truth

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: one (1) cuss word (nope, not sorry, Rogers); other than that…none? i think? this is mostly fluff with a side of slight angst?

Things to be aware of: mutual pining, idiots in love, Thor being a himbo

"Lady Y/N, may I ask a rather…personal question?"

You made sure to shut your Kindle before you looked up at Thor, bracing yourself for whatever the god of thunder might throw your way. However, nothing could have prepared you for the next words that came out of his unnecessarily nosy mouth.

"Are you in courtship with my brother?"

The common area filled with the sound of your sputtering bumbling reaction, as well as the borderline derisive laugh from Loki, who sat beside you. In fact the question caught him so off guard that he'd carelessly slammed his book shut.

"Are you out of your mind?!" you blurted out just as the raven haired god said, "Brother, don't be absurd."

Bitch please, only in my dreams, you finished in the safety of your mind. He could do so much better than me and he probably knows it.

What you didn't know is that Loki kept quiet his own sentiment. I should only be so fortunate. Every shake of your head and flippant denial felt like a dagger burrowing deeper into his heart.

"We're friends, Thunder," you answered, again biting back the words of Of course I'd love to be more, but that's neither here nor there. "That's it and that's all."

"I see…" Thor replied, the fond smile growing on his face putting both you and his brother in discomfort. "I'm glad."

"Excuse me?" you managed to croak out despite the lump that suddenly formed in your throat.

"Well if my brother is not what you fancy then that could only mean--"

"Whoa whoa whoa hold on there, buddy," you stopped him before he could even think of finishing the sentence. "I'm not into you like that, can you believe this doofus?" You looked to the god seated beside you, who surprisingly seemed even more tense than you were.

Jaw tense, eyes slightly squinted as he assessed the blond seated across from you. His entire body language suggested he was readying himself for a fight, which had you confused to no end. What stake did he have in this situation?

"Lady Y/N, I am no 'doofus', I promise you that," Thor said haughtily, shifting his posture to puff his chest out. "I will have you know that back in Asgard many a--"

"Well you're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy," you quipped. "I know you're gonna find it hard to get through that thick skull of yours, but not every woman with a pulse here wants to throw themselves at you pussy first. This isn't Asgard. And some people just like…different things."

You didn't dare even sneak a glance at the god of mischief beside you. But if you had, you would have seen that for a split second, his face lit up at your words. That for even a fleeting moment, he felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps because your fancies didn't lean towards his blond oaf of a brother, then there was even the slightest plausibility that he had a fighting chance to capture your attentions.

"Does that mean that you prefer…urgh what was it that Stark said about these unnecessary pedantic terms?" the blond Asgardian sighed. "Something about teams…?"

Your hand slapped down on the sofa, and you let out a frustrated groan. If he kept on prodding it wouldn't take long before he'd circle back to his brother and both of them would figure it out in record time. "Fine, Thor," you said, exasperated, throwing your hands in the air. "Yes. Not that it's any of your goddamn business, but yes. I am on the other team."

You really were. In a way. Just not in the way that Stark probably meant, considering that the billionaire genius didn't spend all that much time on social media these days.

So there was no way for him, or most of your teammates really, to know that the "teams" you were referring to were actually "Team Thor" or "Team Loki". Yes, the Internet was a messed up place that you wouldn't ever bother to understand at your fully grown age, but sometimes one of its considerably saner corners were mildly entertaining.

And in this case, that corner managed to wiggle you out of a near "egg on your face" situation.

"In that case, I hope you'll accept my sincerest apologies, Lady Y/N. For breaching on your privacy so--"

"Ham-fisted?" Loki spoke up, the slightest sneer still on his face. "As you always are?"

"Yes," he murmured. "Precisely. I hope this does not affect our friendship irreparably."

"Awww Thunder, of course it won't," you said with a click of your tongue, slightly feeling sorry for the goof that currently looked like a human embodiment of "sad wet dog". "Just give it a few weeks for that awkwardness to go away…because buddy you got me real worried there."

You stood up to take your leave from the common area, wanting nothing more than to get a drink and try to put all memories of the exchange behind you. Maybe if you acted fast you could hack your brain into not having to hold on to the trauma of watching how Loki's face curled up in disgust over even the thought of you two being perceived as a couple.

"Ohh! Lady Y/N, I distinctly remember that Lady Olivia in Research is also--"

"Appreciate the offer to wingman, Thor, but I'm all good, thanks!" you said over your shoulder, walking even faster to get out of there and return to your apartment.

Once you were out of earshot, Loki turned to his brother, conjuring a dagger in his hand pointed at the oaf. "What in the Nine was that, Brother?" he nearly hissed the last word. "This will be the last time I ever make the mistake of confiding in you who it is I wish to court. Norns, you cannot even help yourself, can you? Your ego is as fragile as rice paper that you have to prove that somehow everyone I ever set my sights on will prefer you."

"Loki, I--"

"Well in this rather unfortunate and might I say humiliating turn of events, at least I have been granted the fleeting consolation that she prefers neither of us. Perhaps I can derive some form of happiness from that--"

"Brother, I apologize," Thor blurted out. "I did not set out on this foolish endeavor of mine to scorn you and thieve away Lady Y/N's affections for myself. Though now I do understand how my actions may not translate consistently with my intent."

"No, no they really hadn't, you oaf."

"At the risk of my friendship with Lady Y/N, I posed those questions in hopes that perhaps she would have shown some inkling that your desire to have your friendship become something more was…reciprocated," he confessed. There was a somber look on his face as he continued on, "I truly am sorry for not bringing forth a more desirable outcome."

Loki stewed in his seat. He'd never known his brother to express even the most minute trace of allegiance to him in their youth. "All the others," he said accusingly. "When we were in Asgard, you consistently stole them away, why am I to believe that this time was different?"

"Brother, I know you may not believe me now, but please hear me when I tell you this. Those actions were not done out of greed. They were a test of loyalty. Theirs. To you. And each and every one failed," Thor explained somberly.

Just before he could let out a barb that in your case, the only failure was his own, the sounds of junior SHIELD agents' voices floated into the common area. "Look Sierra I get it, okay? We can all have different tastes and like different people, but we can also be wrong about some things. Like honestly after everything we've seen both of them do with our own damn peepers, how can you not be Team Thor?"

"I don't have to explain my choice in men to you, Ellie," the second agent spoke. "Besides you've always known that I like brunettes and I prefer the color gree--Ohh hey, you two!" The area filled with the grating sound of their heeled boots squeaking on the floor as their steps halted upon seeing the Asgardian brothers still seated on the couch.

"Ladies," Thor addressed them with a wide grin and a wave. Both women scampered off in the opposite direction, audibly flustered before they returned to their conversation.

Loki could pay them no mind, however, for their exchange suddenly gave new meaning to your words from earlier. "I am on the other team," he quoted you. When he looked up at his brother, it seemed the blond had come to the same realization, his face lit up with excitement as he stood to take his leave.

"It seems Lady Y/N has passed my ham-fisted test after all," he said triumphantly, clapping a hand down on his brother's shoulder. "Your lady."

Manners and decorum were the furthest thing from the god of mischief's mind as he stood abruptly, shrugging off his brother's hand. "I have somewhere to be," he mumbled, his mind racing with endless scenarios of how he would go about seducing you. Of where and when and how it would commence. If he should shower you with gifts, or perhaps whisk you away to one of Midgard's more picturesque destinations to create a breathtaking backdrop to his confession.

To the consummation of your affections for one another.

But then images of your features when you both brushed off Thor's prodding questions flashed through his mind, particularly the way you winced and squinted your eyes when he'd told his brother to not be absurd. And he knew that the only right scenario would be no tricks, no illusions. To come to you here and now.

He'd waited long enough. You both had.

A/N: Merry Christmas, everybody! This is yet another one of those ideas I had where I kept on shaking my brain hoping for some loose change in the form of ideas on how to get to my next story point, before ultimately realizing that this needed to be a 2-parter. Though who knows when part 2 will be posted because as my Discord status says, I am forever ✨drowning in a sea of WIPs✨ But just know that I'm fully intending for part 2 to be mostly some smuttery between these two 🤭

This might be my last story for 2024, but let's see where the final week of the year takes me. Anyways, I hope y'all have an amazing holiday with your families, I'm going back to working on 'the gallery™️'

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814

[supermarketbae]

Billy smut where he’s mad at you for wearing a mini skirt with no panties at a party showing off his goods so when you guys get home, super rough sex and brat taming.

pussy spanking, brat taming, degrading, all the nine yards pls and thank you🫶🏻

ooooo anon I love your thoughtss (I’m so not completely normal about this 🖤) gif isn’t meant to represent skin tone of reader

The Little Black Dress

warnings: rough sex (all kinks mentioned above), enemies to lovers, jealous! Reader, jealous! Billy, choking, praise, edging, anddd that’s about it (unrealistic time period???)

You knew what you were doing when you get ready for Jason’s party. Twirling in the mirror you put on a sultry smile before laughing at your own antics, finally happy with your appearance. A short, tight, mini dress clung to your confident frame. Shrugging on a cropped cardigan you slip on your heels and check the time. 30 minutes late.

You mused.

Perfect.

What you were trying at, was a dramatic enterance and Billy Hargrove’s attention which ended after a new girl named Chrissy moved into town and completely stole your spotlight. I mean, you didn’t blame Hargrove completely. She was a gorgeous girl, but it was frankly obvious that her eyes were set somewhere else when she immediately turned him down.

It was surprising when the flirtatious advances from Billy stopped. Even though you classified each other’s relationship as ‘enemies’ you’d come accustomed to the flirting remarks he flung your way— only your way in fact— he’d stopped dating other girls a while back. You’d never be as pompous as to chalk it up to him being absolutely enraptured by you. But he was…

Every flippant reply and every confident eye roll you gave back to Billy’s lewd attempt at flirting had him stumbling over his next words in badly concealed affection for you. You’d just refuse to see it. So, in yet another misinterpreted attempt, Billy started flirting with Chrissy in an effort to try to make you jealous. Billy knew she didn’t want him, but the first look of seething contempt on your face was worth it. But soon, when your contempt turned to ignoring him all together… Billy knew he fucked up.

And as he saw you walking in, decked out, confident and without glancing at Billy even once (sidestepping him in the process). Slinking through the crowd you grimace when you see Jason Carver motioning for you to come over. But a glance over your shoulder and the daggers that Billy was glaring into your soul made you smile widely sauntering to his scrawny form.

Before you can even reach a reasonable distance Jason whistles at you lunging out and  putting an unwelcome, unsteady arm over your shoulder. “Welllll hellooo Gorgeous glad you made it !” Jason slurs to your slightly recoiling form. “I’m just peachy.” You try to purr back but your voice trembles a bit from badly hidden disgust. “Well that’s lovely, much like yourself doll.” Jason hiccups at your fake simpering giggles.

 As you allow him to slip his hand down your back you smile in triumph when you see Billy pushing through the crowd. His eyes trail up your figure as he barks “Fuck off Jason. If you want to keep your head, hands the fuck off her!” The blatant possessiveness in Billy’s voice had you biting your lip in anticipation. So as Jason grumbled, knowing his place enough to walk away, you truly simper when Billy grabs  you gently, yet still dominating and pulls through the crowd to the upstairs of the Carver residence.

As the door to the room closes— Jason’s room you realize in a sickening sweetness. Billy bites out “What the fuck were you playing at with Carver!” You’re somewhat stunned into silence at his scolding but manage to snark “what do you mean—“ you gasp as he grabs you roughly tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him. And before he can say anything else: “I’m not fucking yours. Why do you care?” You bat your eyelashes innocently feeling a warm heat when Billy smirks down at you. 

“Really sweetheart?” Billy mumbles trailing a hand down your excited figure “Oh but you could be…” Billy whispers. You blush heavily taken aback by his forwardness. “Don’t you want to be?” He says slightly softer and you find yourself nodding. Suddenly his lips are on yours, and you find yourself asking why you didn’t kiss this infuriating boy sooner.

In a whirl of lustful kisses and groping hands you find yourself pressed on a plush king bed, pillows falling as you wrap your legs around Billy’s waist. You keen softly as Billy reaches low intent on pleasuring you through your panties. He grunts when he finds that they aren’t there. “Naughty fucking girl.” Bill sighs, lowering himself onto his forearms, caging himself around you. You realize you’re shaking when Billy chuckles. “such a fragile thing darl’” the low rumble of Billy’s voice goes straight to your cunt. Your brows furrow in need as Billy pushes a finger inside of you. “Actin’ like a fucking slut out there but you can’t fucking take it?” Billy’s question has you writhing at the degradation. You shake your head vehemently biting your lip as Billy quirks his lip into a smirk.

You squeal loudly as he gives a sharp slap to your clit. “Jesus sweets,” Billy drawls pinning your hips open with a large hand. “Fucking dripping for me.” You jolt as Billy places another electrifying slap to your throbbing pussy.

“You know what I’m gonna fucking do sweetheart?” Billy kisses up your neck as you flounder, whimpering and gasping as you try to answer. So ever aware of your already needy state Billy rasps “I’m going to fuck you until your pretty little cunt remembers the shape of my cock.”

Your head cocks back at the vulgarity of his lewd musings. Your legs shake as Billy adds another finger to your fluttering heat. “Billy—a-ah-s’much I can’t!” Your mewls only spur Billy to thrust his fingers deeper into your cunt. “Awh baby, you think I fucking care that it hurts?” His cruel groan has you whining clinging to his bicep in an attempt for him to stop— or keep going, you didn’t know.

“fucking hell you want to cum?” Billy says index finger coming to play at your swollen clit. You nearly scream when he pulls his fingers out of your sloppy hole licking at your arousal that’s glistening on his fingers. “Taste like heaven darl’ s’a pity brats don’t get to cum.” Billy chides meanly to you. “Puh-please—ah- Billy needa c-cum!” You moan raggedly as Billy hurriedly undoes his belt, each clink of silvery metal cause a shiver to rack your body. You nearly cry as Billy fucks his length into you easily bottoming out in a smooth thrust that has your mind reeling in drunken pleasure.

“this what you needed—fucking shit your so tight- you n-needed to get dicked down huh?” You nod whining as Billy’s hand wraps oh so deliciously around your throat. The haziness making it all the more intoxicating at his bullying pace. You felt like you were coming apart at the seams. Billy’s other hand finds your hip gripping it strongly to pull you even closer to him. He needed to fuck you on his cock until you screamed.

You wail as his hips continue to piston into yours at a brutal speed, and somehow he just keeps going. Again and again hitting the spot that has you clenching around him and forgetting your own name. “Billy—mmm—please I’m-oh- im gonna cum-f-fuck me!” Your delirious sighs punch out a responding moan from Billy, who grips your throat tighter, adding to your already immense pleasure. “Yea-gonna cum on this cock? Gonna be my good girl? About fucking time my little cumslut.” All it takes is a final roll of Billy’s hips for you to go hurtling over the edge, lips parted in a wide ‘oh’.

Overstimulated, you try to shakily scoot away from Billy’s hard thrusts but moan as he grabs your waist, biting at your neck “I never said I was fucking done darling.” “loved the dress by the way.”

[jozor-johai]

I noticed a little subplot happening in the background of ADWD, and I’m wondering if anyone has any theories on where this is going. I have my own theory, which I'll explain in full at the end, but is essentially this: I think that GRRM is placing these Dothraki khalasars strategically along the Rhoyne and telling us about them in ADWD so that if Dany commands the loyalty of the entire Dothraki in TWOW, she'll already have loyal armies in place right by the Free Cities, rather than having to wait transport troops anywhere—even though the Dothraki aren't a threat now, the Dothraki will be in place to attack the Free Cities while the Free Cities have sent all their armies to fight Dany's forces at Meereen.

I'll explain my reasoning, and where I think GRRM is putting the pieces into place here—under the cut, since it's a slightly long post with maps.

We first hear of Dothraki along the Rhoyne in ADWD Tyrion III:

“Griff means to strike downriver the instant we are back. News has been coming upriver, none of it good. Dothraki have been seen north of Dagger Lake, outriders from old Motho’s khalasar, and Khal Zekko is not far behind him, moving through the Forest of Qohor.” The fat man made a rude noise. “Zekko visits Qohor every three or four years. The Qohorik give him a sack of gold and he turns east again. As for Motho, his men are near as old as he is, and there are fewer every year. The threat is—” “—Khal Pono,” Haldon finished. “Motho and Zekko flee from him, if the tales are true. The last reports had Pono near the headwaters of the Selhoru with a khalasar of thirty thousand. Griff does not want to risk being caught up in the crossing if Pono should decide to risk the Rhoyne.”

As a reminder, Dagger Lake is where the Rhoyne in the east meets the Qhoyne in the west to make the full-force Rhoyne that we know and love.

Illyrio dismisses any reason to be concerned with these particular Dothraki, and perhaps he is right. But we do get our first preview into the concerns of Khal Pono, and the premise of Dothraki along the Rhoyne. Are they doing to be placated by gifts, like Illyrio says? Or is something different afoot?

Next we get an update in Tyrion VI, by Selhorys.

Haldon Halfmaester explained. “On the way down from the Sorrows to Selhorys, we thrice glimpsed riders moving south along the river’s eastern shore. Dothraki. Once they were so close we could hear the bells tinkling in their braids, and sometimes at night their fires could be seen beyond the eastern hills. We passed warships as well, Volantene river galleys crammed with slave soldiers. The triarchs fear an attack upon Selhorys, plainly.”

Another reminder for geography, Selhorys is significantly south from Dagger Lake. Like, further than King’s Landing is from the Trident. Once again, we have this concern: will Khal Pono cross the Rhoyne for Selhorys?

That concern is brought up again in Tyrion VI:

“Three,” Qavo allowed, “against thrice three thousand enemies. Grazdan mo Eraz was not the only envoy sent out from the Yellow City. When the Wise Masters move against Meereen, the legions of New Ghis will fight beside them. Tolosi. Elyrians. Even the Dothraki.” “You have Dothraki outside your own gates,” Haldon said. “Khal Pono.” Qavo waved a pale hand in dismissal. “The horselords come, we give them gifts, the horselords go.” He moved his catapult again, closed his hand around Tyrion’s alabaster dragon, removed it from the board.

As predicted by Haldon in Tyrion III, here is Khal Pono across from Selhorys. We hear that Qavo is unconcerned with Khal Pono, despite Haldon’s concerns.

This might be a bit of a meta opinion, but whenever someone is as flippant as Qavo is being here, expect them to be wrong. They definitely aren’t going to go away with gifts, Qavo is totally jinxing it—that’s my prediction.

Then we get another update later on, in The Lost Lord:

Haldon’s horses did not please him. “Were these the best that you could find?” he complained to the Halfmaester. “They were,” said Haldon, in an irritated tone, “and you had best not ask what they cost us. With Dothraki across the river, half the populace of Volon Therys has decided they would sooner be elsewhere, so horseflesh grows more expensive every day.”

By this point, they’re in Volon Therys, which is only barely outside of Volantis—think roughly the distance between King’s Landing and Duskendale, for comparison. And here, too, there are Dothraki on the other side of the river. Are these the same Dothraki, are they traveling south at the same pace as Tyrion/JonCon? Or is this yet another khalasar? We haven’t heard any update from Qohor, and this is the first time that we’ve unexpectedly encountered a khalasar—are they here to meet with the Volantenes about Meereen, like Dany’s advisors fear? Or are they here for another reason? Is it possible that Illyrio and Qavo are wrong?

The last update we get is in ADWD Victarion, when he captures a ship from Myr heading for New Ghis and Yunkai:

Sailing out of Myr, the Dove brought them no fresh news of Meereen or Daenerys, only stale reports of Dothraki horsemen along the Rhoyne, the Golden Company upon the march, and others things Victarion already knew.

Unfortunately, this is stale news for both Victarion and we the readers—this is like a snapshot back to Tyrion II/III, when the Golden Company broke its contract and started marching east, and when we first heard about the Dothraki on the Rhoyne in my first quote.

However, despite this being a snapshot back in time to old news, I wonder about GRRM’s choice to include this again so close to end of the book—is this a reminder for the readers about these Dothraki on the Rhoyne? We’ve learned why the Golden Company marching ended up being important, could this passage from Victarion be a reminder of these tidbits of news because they will continue to matter moving forward?

I am doubly interested because it’s in this same book, in the very midst of all this talk of Dothraki on the Rhoyne, that we hear the tale of a previous time the Dothraki came. This is back in ADWD Tyrion IV, between the reports of Motho and Zekko on Dagger Lake and before the talk with Qavo about Pono. I’ve bolded the relevant sections, because it’s long, but left the rest for context.

“The war left the Disputed Lands a waste, and freed Lys and Myr from the yoke. The tigers suffered other defeats as well. The fleet they sent to reclaim Valyria vanished in the Smoking Sea. Qohor and Norvos broke their power on the Rhoyne when the fire galleys fought on Dagger Lake. Out of the east came the Dothraki, driving smallfolk from their hovels and nobles from their estates, until only grass and ruins remained from the forest of Qohor to the headwaters of the Selhoru. After a century of war, Volantis found herself broken, bankrupt, and depopulated. It was then that the elephants rose up. They have held sway ever since. Some years the tigers elect a triarch, and some years they do not, but never more than one, so the elephants have ruled the city for three hundred years.”

Maybe this wasn’t just to set the stage for the Volantene elections, but to remind us that the Dothraki can come out of the east to wreak havoc…. when the Free Cities are weak. And boy, is Volantis looking undefended right now: the Golden Company is gone to Westeros, other sellsword companies have gone to Meereen, the Volantenes have sent their fleets to Meereen.

Before I continue, here’s a map of the locations of the Dothraki khalasars along the Rhoyne:

Why we should care

We can be almost certain that Dany has to return to Vaes Dothrak to visit the Dosh Khaleen. Though we don’t know for sure if Khal Jhaqo’s forces are going to outpower Dany and Drogon, Dany is already envisioning the future where she returns to Vaes Dothrak when she sees Jhaqo’s outrider at the end of ADWD:

One rider, and alone. A scout. He was one who rode before the khalasar to find the game and the good green grass, and sniff out foes wherever they might hide. If he found her there, he would kill her, rape her, or enslave her. At best, he would send her back to the crones of the dosh khaleen, where good khaleesi were supposed to go when their khals had died.

Of course, we ought to already have known this from Dany’s vision in the House of the Undying:

Beneath the Mother of Mountains, a line of naked crones crept from a great lake and knelt shivering before her, their grey heads bowed.

If Dany was truly seeing her future—and I believe she was—then we know we will inevitably be seeing her return to Vaes Dothrak to accept the homage of the Dosh Khaleen.

However, this creates a bigger problem: we need Dany to get to Westeros, and potentially have time to also reach both Volantis and Pentos (though whether or not Dany will actually go either of those places is purely speculation, however well-founded). Vaes Dothrak is in the entirely opposite direction from where she is now—that would be heading east, away from Westeros, not closer to her end goal.

For some readers, this isn’t a concern: we might trust Quaithe, who reminds Dany that:

To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.

Some readers, though, wonder about the time and ability for TWOW to contain this storyline within its time. GRRM is realistic about how long travel time takes, which is great for the realism, but presents immense logistic problems.

Dany doesn’t need to worry about the time it takes to travel long distances as mucha as she used to—if she can begin to control Drogon, she can fly around at will. However, that’s only her; if Dany does gain the allegiance of the Dothraki at Vaes Dothrak, how can she actually leverage that in a meaningful way when they’re constrained to horseback? While the AGOT timeline is largely unclear, we can use Dany’s pregnancy to at least be sure it takes months to get from one side of the Dothraki Sea (in Dany III) to Vaes Dothrak (in Dany IV). Does Dany have months to mobilize Dothraki from one side of the Sea to the other?

With the Dothraki along the Rhoyne, though, she doesn’t need to wait for anyone to ride across the sea. Conveniently, they’re already there. If there’s some way to send a message that the Dosh Khaleen have decreed that the Dothraki will follow Dany, that she is the Stallion Who Mounts the World, then she has a ready-made army just waiting for her word to cross the Rhoyne after all, and take the Free Cities. Then Dany can fly over there on her own and just meet them.

I know we’re all looking forward to Dany taking Volantis, so I don’t want to propose something too contrary, but how about this: sicne we’ve been hearing all through ADWD that there are a ton of Dothraki already in place, conveniently for story purposes, ready to accept their regular gifts… or perhaps ready to act if, for example, word came that the Stallion Who Mounts The World has come after all. That might speed things up a bit. We know Volantis is only weakly defended, we know there are Dothraki outside of Selhorys, Qohor, and Volon Therys. Dany has spent five books searching for home and finding one among the people she’s freed. Maybe this is how she makes sure it’s the Volantene slavers who don’t have a home to go back to this time.

[buggyboba]

Hypnotized

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𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖

↳ ▣ | Hi my loves, sorry it took forever, but we did it! surprise! anyway I really said this man whines, and enjoys praises. I don't think I really gendered reader, so this is in fact for the girls, the gays and the theys~ It is smut so like mdni, proceed with caution. I did do TWs, so there is that. I could use some comments, I was really flippant about this one, like ya'll almost didn't get it, I almost scrapped it, but we are here so hopefully you all like it~

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ | Dhawan!master x Reader (GN)

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪

↳ ▣ | Anon asked | The reader and the master are together in the library and the reader confesses to the master some things that they want to try in the bedroom to heat things up (including sexual hypnosis) and how the reader would like to be in control. The master agrees, and they both then go into the bedroom and do those things. After a while, the master snaps his fingers, revealing that the reader had been hypnotized the entire time. the reader the master never left the library (its up to you if the reader remembers or not.) Either way the master now knows the reader's hidden desires and wants to try them for real sometime soon.

𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ | SMUT, unprotected sex, not really gender descriptive. Hypnosis. petnames, hand job briefly.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥

↳ ▣ | 2700

𝔸𝕠𝟛 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜

↳ ▣ | x

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The library was peaceful, and the fire that you two sat in front of warmed your bones; it was nice after a long, stressful day of running and crime. Maybe crime was putting it mildly; it could have been war crimes, but he kept you out of it on a need-to-know basis, and you didn’t need to know. You looked through an old book, thinking on some things, and one thing had been on your mind lately: you enjoyed being physical with him when he let you; he was oddly touchy lately. Like right now, he was leaning against your shoulder as he read his own book, fixing the glasses he wore every so often. The silence between you two was comfortable, the crackle of the fire and low music from the record player. Classical; sometimes it was rock or 70s pop; sometimes it was ‘current’ pop. The Master had a wide range of musical interests, but the classical music was fitting for the mood. You lazily let your fingers trail through his hair; you swore he shifted to move into the touch, but you knew better than to say anything.

“I've been thinking.” You started.

“Oh, that's dangerous, pet.” He smirked, not looking up from his book; he licked his thumb and flipped the page.

“Hey! Seriously, I want to try some…” You paused, trying to form the words correctly, to articulate exactly what you wanted. “New things.” You continued.

“New things? Is space and time travel getting boring to you, dear?” He mused and looked at you, snapping the book closed.

“No! No, not no.” You shook your head. “That is still very exciting, and I adore traveling with you.” You clarified quickly. “And before you get ideas, I enjoy you, adore you, but there are some things in a more intimate setting that I would like to explore with you.” You said it felt like you were trying to do a proper negotiation with him. He chuckled and sat up.

“What proper words for saying you have some deeper kinks.” He teased, and you cleared your throat, a blush against your cheeks. “Oh, go on, I'm sure I've heard worse.” He grinned and patted your knee, leaning back. You nodded and took a breath in, trying to decide exactly what you wanted to say.

“Well, it’s something that will benefit us both.” You started; he tilted his head slightly, looking at you with those dark brown eyes.

“You don’t have to bargain with me, you know this, My Dear.” He said there was almost a slight pout. You gave a weak, breathy chuckle and shook your head; of course, you knew you could just say what you wanted and hoped he would oblige.

“Well, I mean, I…have a few requests.” You settled on and nodded, “I would like to explore being the one in control. I know it’s a big ask, considering your whole thing is ‘The Master.’ But I think it could create a new dynamic, and then there is an opposite of that. I know you, um... hypnotize,” you said, searching his face.

“I can…in fact do that, yes…it’s a fun little thing I can do.” He said his face was unreadable, and you hated that; you wanted to know what he thought of your requests. “Is that all, pet?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because the way you made it sound, it was like you were going to ask for something heavy…not that I mind heavy.” He looked pensive for a moment before he gave you that charming grin of his.

“I mean, for the moment, yes.” You gave a sort of curt nod, and he frowned.

“You know if you want something, you can ask; we have been…intimate.” He decided on the word; you knew he viewed such acts as beneath him, but you also knew that wasn’t the full truth; he could say that, but his actions spoke louder than words, just like how he would say he had a human allergy, but then you would be trapped in his arms when he decided he finally needed sleep or craved contact. You found he was like a cat; everything had to be his idea, and he liked to pretend that you were just a passing fancy or a companion that he could prove his brilliance to and show off that he had one too. “And being open can lead us down some interesting paths,” he continued.

“Yes, I know that.” You nodded.

“And I do like to know everything about you…” He grinned; it was light, but also held a sort of sinister air to it, though that was something you had gotten familiar with. There were always little red flags; hell, the man himself was a red flag, but he would look at you with those eyes or say something so sweet it knocked you off your feet, and you told yourself the feelings you got weren’t just one-sided; you were his human, and while he was a killer and brute, the same hands that were stained in eons of blood would touch you with soft reverence. He always kept you safe; if he had wanted you dead or didn’t feel something, you would have been dead by now. You watched him shrink a man just for looking at you. Possessive came with the territory, but it didn’t matter at the end of the day; you loved that violent, funky alien.

“Well, one thing at a time, you know. Maybe later we can get into heavy things; right now I would be interested in starting slow, figuring out that dynamic a bit, maybe.” You said, He hummed watching you; he was silent for a few moments before he nodded. His hand moved up your arm, to your shoulder, and then to cup the side of your neck. You felt his fingers drum against your pulse point, a subconscious one-two-three-four, though now it was just an old habit for him. He leaned forward, and your lips parted softly, but the kiss you expected didn’t come. He chuckled at your over-eager action and how you melted, softly.

“You are a needy thing.” He whispered close to your lips, so close you felt his lips brush against the corner of yours, his thumb stroking your jawline. “But you are my needy thing.” He smirked, his nose crinkled up before his mouth was capturing the space between your jaw and neck. His tongue pressed, taking in the taste of your skin. He made a throaty growled sound as he pressed closer to you.

Your mind felt foggy, your body warm at his actions; you let a breathless chuckle escape, his fingers trailing down your arm, before gripping your wrist as he nipped at the spot his mouth pressed against, before sucking a deep mark into your skin. Your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed out at the feeling; his teeth grazed your skin, biting just enough to give some pain before he pulled away, which pulled a sad sound from your throat, but his hand moved to grab yours, fingers tangled together as he stood up, pulling you up with him.

“You wanted to be in control, no?” He asked, looking you in the eye. You nodded a bit, and he moved to lead you out of the library; your head was spinning, hazy from the feeling, and your neck stung a bit from the love mark. Love bite? From whatever he had done to your neck. He opened the door and motioned you in, and you happily entered the familiar bed awaited, dark covers of black and sheets of deep purple. It was a good color combination, one that had been consistent between Missy and him; you didn’t know about the Lumiat; he barely talked about that time; he called it his ‘phase’ and left it at that.

You turned and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into a kiss that was more biting and tongue than anything as you pulled him towards the bed. He grinned hungrily, kissing you back, his hands cupping your cheeks. As he let you lead him, he was mindful to not let either of you fall. As your hands moved to undo his shirt, barely breaking the kiss, his hands moved down to pull up your shirt, casting it aside. He broke the kiss to kiss the other side of your neck as you worked on getting him free from his pants and boxers. His arm wrapped around your waist as you quickly got out of your pants and underwear. The movements felt ravaging, unbridled, and passionate. You moved to push him against the bed; a low growl escaped his throat, and you were on him, straddling his hips as you captured his mouth, his hands moving to your hips and up to hold your waist, his fingers splayed across your lower back. You trailed your kisses to his neck, biting him, returning the favor of the earlier love bites. His fingers tightened against your back, and a low sound rumbled in his chest.

The sound turned higher, almost a whine, as you rolled your hips against his with a cheeky grin. You hadn’t expected that sound from him, but goddamn, you wanted to make him make it again. You peppered a few kisses against his lips, pulling back each time he tried to kiss you back, producing an annoyed sound from his lips. “You are a needy thing,” you hit him back with his line from earlier. He blinked at you, a scowl crossing his lips, but you kissed him again before he could say anything back to you. His hands ran up your back, and you took that as a sign to roll your hips again, slowly starting to rut against him; you could feel his arousal.

His breath hitched a bit as he slid his hands back down to your hips; clinging to them, he tried to pull you down more, and one of your hands grabbed his throat. You knew nothing would come of it, but it gave him pause at the display of control. “Nuh-uh.” You sounded your other hand, grabbing one of his wrists. “You get what I give you,” you warned; his eyes widened, and then he gave a sort of weak nod, watching you.

You hadn’t felt like this before, being the one in control, getting to set the pace, setting what pleasure that both of you were allowed. It felt good, him shifting beneath you; the way he pressed against you, you knew he couldn't handle giving control up for a long time, so you would take what you could.

“Say please.” You grinned as you moved your hand down your fingers wrapped around his aching member, his hips jolting as you grabbed him. The command registered in his mind barely; at least you weren't asking for him to say something nice.

“Now darling—” he began, with a low hiss as you stroked him, your thumb rubbing under and over the tip. “You expect me to beg?” He practically whined again. “I do not—” he was interrupted by your grip getting a bit tighter, and you moving to position above him, letting him tease against your entrance.

He wanted to thrust, to bury himself in your warmth; he could too; he could take control back and take what he wanted, but this was for you, he had to remind himself. He breathed out when you let the engorged tip sink in some. “Please!” The word came out quickly, almost desperately. It surprised both of you.

The foreign word from his lips caused you to grin more. “What was that?” You had moved your hands to his hips, holding them down so he couldn't push up into you. He looked at you, his features softened, looking at you with those soft, dark brown puppy dog eyes.

“Darling!” He started. “I…please!” he said, sounding exasperated at having to beg but needing to move, so he would play your game for now.

“What a good boy!” You purred out; his eyes flashed something, longing, excitement, at the praise. You filed that away for use at another time, something to see about later. “One more time, puppy.” You let your fingers graze his cheek. He had called you plenty of pet names; it was time you got to call him one. You liked this, being in control, bringing him down to this level; it made you feel good.

He frowned, “Stop teasing.” He breathed out, trying to buck up, but your one hand was firm on his hip. “Ah fine, please, Bunny, please.” He relented.

“See, not so hard, and I am benevolent; I won't make you beg more like you do to me.” You allowed yourself to sink down fully. A low moan escaped your lips; his hands moved to your thighs, holding them as if to anchor himself. His hips rolled up and drew another moan from your throat; you moved up, sinking back down, and finding your rhythm. His fingers dragged across your skin, moving up your sides and back down your stomach as you moved. Soft sighs and growled-out groans escaped him. He watched you bounce his eyes hazed with lust and something darker, yet his touch remained almost reverent, worshiping in his own way. He moved his hands to your arms as you put your hands on his chest to keep yourself steady, and he pulled them forward so you would lean down, his mouth capturing yours, his tongue tangled against yours, taking in your taste. His hands moved one at the nape of your neck and the other around your waist as he picked up the pace. His mouth swallowed your groans, and yours swallowed his; you felt the pooling tightness in your stomach, the pleasure starting to push at the edge. Your hands tangled in his hair as your sounds pitched higher, the kiss broke, and the cacophony of sound was freed; your cheek brushed against his, the stubble on his cheeks scraping against your skin as you panted and whined into his ear before your body shook and tensed. You groaned a low ‘Master’ into his ear as your pleasure washed over you. Your eyes closed, the hazy pleasure feeling washed over you and cleared.

When you opened your eyes, the crackling of the fire caught your attention; there he sat fully clothed, that cheeky smirk edging at his lips as he was reading his book. You were also fully clothed, though you felt the stickiness between your thighs, and your heart was still pounding. There was confusion in your eyes as you looked around, then back at him. “What?” you stammered.

“What?” He parroted and looked at you, closing his book again. “Oh…that…yes…you wanted to be hypnotized.” He said, Looking at you. “So I did. Then I wanted to see how far you would go and what images you could be guided to see, not hard to do, of course. And my, my, what a naughty pet.” He grinned.

You didn't know what emotion to land on, and your brows furrowed as you looked at him. “You mean…” you trailed off. How should you feel knowing that it wasn't real? God, it felt so real.

“Yeah. I wanted to know what would happen, so I indulged you, formed a hypothesis, and the results are quite interesting.” He grinned, looking at your thighs. “You asked, and I delivered.” He shrugged. “Funny how you picture me whining. I don't whine,” he mused. “Begging was a fun choice too. Did you like playing in control? Of course you did,” he said, shaking his head.

You scrunched your nose up and made an annoyed sound before you leaned over and bit him hard on the neck; the whine that turned into a hiss startled both of you, and he pulled away quickly. “Ah…yes, well…point made, Dear.” He muttered and put his hand to his neck, rubbing the spot where you bit.

You moved to get up, to go bathe and change, but before you got to the door, he called out. “Maybe tonight I'll indulge you with the real thing, pet.”

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[loveinhawkins]

Part 1

“Shit,” Eddie hisses, “shit, shit, shit.” He grabs Dustin, pulls him up, shakes him by the shoulders, “Dustin, can you hear me? Dustin, wake—”

His voice dies. He feels himself freeze, useless; for a second too long, he’s thrown right back to his living room, to the lights flickering, to Chrissy—

“M’fine,” Dustin mumbles, lifting his head and wincing like it’s too bright. “Ugh, don’t need to shout. Just… dizzy.”

“Dizzy,” Eddie parrots, frantic. “Okay, okay, so—water, right? Right, water, water.”

He scrambles for a glass, pushes the bedroom door wide open so he can keep looking back. Dustin stays put right on the mattress as if in an attempt to reassure Eddie, but seeing him so still is just—it’s wrong.

“Here,” Eddie says. Water spills on his knuckles as he passes the glass over.

Dustin drains the whole thing, but it looks like it hurts to swallow. Like it sticks on the way down.

In his panic, opening and shutting cupboards as if he was a stranger in his own home, Eddie had found a scrap of a bandage in an old first aid kit.

He tightens it around the back of Dustin’s hand, but it’s not even bleeding anymore, just dried blood around the bite—can’t stop thinking that he hasn’t helped at all.

Dustin clearly takes pity on him; he nods at the bandage, says, “Good idea,” like Eddie’s a fucking genius—when Dustin’s the one who cracked a riddle in, like, the first session of Hellfire he attended when it should’ve taken the whole campaign; who reads out Eddie’s homework assignments in the cafeteria, says offhand, “Have you tried…?” and nine times out of ten, he’s right, or pushes Eddie down the right track, at the very least; who Robin calls “Einstein” and “genius child” with a teasing smirk, but she means it; who led Eddie out of utter terror in the boathouse, introduced a world of monsters like it was nothing, like a fucking duck to water…

Eddie picks up the walkie. “Hey, uh, I know we said no deviations, Wheeler—shit, like, we haven’t, but—just, we’ve got a problem, just please say you’re there, please, please.”

Silence. Nothing but static.

“Of course,” Eddie gets out through a shuddering breath; he has to laugh otherwise he’s going to—“Of fucking course. Uh, gonna need to help me out here, Henderson. I’m, like, so far out of my depth it’s not even—”

Dustin snorts. “Blind leading the blind here, dude,”—English essay due next week, Eddie thinks reflexively, stupidly—“hey, maybe you should be taking notes, like, this is a scientific discovery—”

“That’s not funny,” Eddie snaps, “that’s not even fucking remotely funny.”

Dustin falls silent.

Immediately, Eddie feels a cold wave of guilt; Dustin needs someone well-versed in all this shit, not an amateur—needs one of the others, someone who can be flippant and cool-headed. Needs Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “Fuck, just ignore me.”

Dustin nods, lips twitching into a dry smile, yeah, that’s what I usually do. There’s still an air of himself there, a spark in his fever bright eyes that reassures Eddie only slightly. Because there’s fear on his face too, of course there is—like the poorly received joke he’d made had really been for Eddie’s benefit. Like Dustin was trying to calm him down instead.

Jesus Christ, get it together, Munson.

“Hey,” Eddie manages after several deep breaths. “We’ll work it out, okay?”

He lifts his hand up and Dustin, after a pause, high fives him, the gesture not nearly as enthusiastic as before. His palm feels cold, tacky with sweat.

“Yeah,” Dustin says quietly. “Yeah, we’ll…”

He wobbles slightly, like the high five’s knocked him off balance. But that can’t—Eddie was so careful, he’d barely—

“We can just look at the stars,” Dustin says nonsensically.

Ice forms in Eddie’s gut.

“What?” he says loudly, swallows back bile—tries to sound like they’re just at Hellfire, and Dustin’s said something particularly off the wall. “That doesn’t—woah, no, stay sitting up, you hear me? Hello, earth to Dustin?” He clamps down hard on Dustin’s shoulders. “How about, uh, more water,” he babbles inadequately, “yeah, you just—no, no, don’t move—”

Dustin’s frowning, squirming beneath Eddie’s hands. “Can’t you see them?” he says, so unsure, Eddie’s never heard him sound so… “They’re right…”

All at once, he freezes.

Eddie instinctively looks up, half convinced that another nightmare’s come crawling through the Gate, but—

“Steve?” Dustin says. His voice cracks. “Steve.”

“He’s coming back,” Eddie says quickly, “I swear. I—I just couldn’t reach them on the walkie, but—”

“Steve,” Dustin repeats, louder now. Builds into a scream, fighting against Eddie’s hold, “Steve!”

His eyes, too wide, too bright, slide away into the distance, like he’s watching something Eddie can’t see.

And Eddie’s right; he’s so far out of his depth, he’s practically drowning. But somehow he knows that—

“It’s not real,” he says, wraps an arm tight around Dustin; he can’t let him—“Dustin, I promise, it’s not—”

As Dustin wails incomprehensibly, he grabs the walkie. It’s just static again, but he’s desperate. Lost.

“Help,” Eddie whispers.

[wordsandrobots]

So I've never seen anyone badmouth Gaelio as often as you, besides the ones that rightfully complain that he shouldn't have come back. Not that I wholly disagree, but what are your reasons?

Oh, anon. No, no, no. No, you have to understand, I *adore* Gaelio. He's perfect, vengeance arc and all. He is my absolute favourite chew toy. I wouldn't have spent so long writing fanfic focused on what happens to him, mentally speaking, post-canon if I didn't love the obnoxious lavender-tousled prick to death.

Gaelio Bauduin is a man fucked over by his social position, a sweet kid scarred by having been born into an aristocracy, who nevertheless retains enough of a moral compass to change for the better. He learns. He grows. He cares for those closest to him with an earnestness that belies his snobbish, flippant attitude. He genuinely, uncomplicatedly commits to justice and loyalty in ways his upbringing ought by rights to have beaten out of him.

He is additionally the single biggest reason the story ends as badly as it does, on account of being the most hideously self-absorbed dipstick on the face of the solar system.

(Second most hideously self-absorbed, we do have to factor in Iok.)

In another story, Gaelio's gradual dawning realisation that the attitudes he was taught are bullshit would be a process of redemption. His experiences with Ein, his compassion towards Carta, his vitriolic semi-mentor/semi-friend relationship with Julieta, his apology to Mikazuki -- these are the markers of someone learning to be a better person. In another story, he'd be learning to be a hero.

But in this story, his slow personal journey isn't what's important. What matters is how it interacts with a world too cynical to run on heroic narratives. Elion uses him as a political wedge. Tekkadan do not give a rat's arse about what he thinks. McGillis allows no room for an epiphany concerning their friendship until it is far, far too late. In imagining the scales had fallen from his eyes, he railroaded himself into the biggest screw-up of his life.

It's not completely his fault. As I said, he's used and rejected by others, and McGillis did have a damn good go at murdering him. But if he had been slightly more open-minded, slightly more willing to put his money where his mouth was when it came to his disapproval of Gjallarhorn's actions, and slightly less prone to making everything about his feelings -- well maybe he wouldn't have ended a broken, wistful shell of his former self, voluntarily disabling himself and regretting everything he didn't understand.

It's *beautiful*. Seriously. The tenor of your question leads me to believe I should restate my opinion that Iron-Blooded Orphans is a near-perfectly executed tragedy. When I say Gaelio is 'Always Wrong (TM)', I mean that is the part he plays in the tale. The man who makes every possible mistake he could in the course of getting exactly what he thought he wanted. It's a narrative role and he is a fantastic way of filling it because unlike Iok (who exists entirely as a hate-sink), Gaelio *does* have redeeming characteristics. He's loyal and principled. Passionate and determined. Able to adjust his world-view based on his experiences. Ultimately capable of swallowing his pride and admitting he was wrong.

And it doesn't matter one single jot. Things still end in flames, not just in spite of his attempts to do right by those he accidentally doomed but because of those actions.

Also he's a melodramatic brat who canonically used to flirt using Norse mythology, repeatedly injured people on his own side by mistake, got his arse handed to him by children (again, repeatedly), adopted the most on-theme moniker he could while wearing a doofy mask for months on end, and spent Season 1 with a crush on the world's least-hinged cop-brained class-traitor. I denigrate his character in precise proportion to which it is presented as lamentable.

Anyway, to lay off the verbosity for a minute, please also understand that if my opinion on a character is negative in the sense of 'I think the writers fucked this up', I'm unlikely to spend much time creatively cussing them out. For instance, to pick another Gundam example, I don't enjoy Shinn from SEED:Destiny. I get what the writing is going for with him and I think it's a neat plot concept, but I find the actual result grating. It's the same for a lot of the cast. Overall, I just don't rate that show very highly. So I don't talk about it, and I don't expend effort to dig into narrative roles, how characters come across, what that means for other parts of the story, etc. To put it bluntly, it's not worth my time, especially when there are people who *do* like SEED and don't need me raining on their parade.

But I enjoy watching Gaelio and that's exactly why I bad-mouth him. It's more than a passing joke; it's part and parcel of what I love about how Gaelio is implemented, that he's that much of an aristocratic nitwit, and that even when he's making moves towards the broadly 'good' end of the moral spectrum, he's still got a deeply hierarchical attitude. This is a man who, in the middle of quite understandably wanting to get back at somebody who tried to assassinate him, reflects on enjoying being in the heat of battle again after having just beaten-up/killed a bunch of workers trying to break free of colonial rule. There is a *lot* you can dig into about what (and who) Gaelio sees as important and how his attitudes are a perpetual work-in-progress, constrained both by his assumptions and by the alliances he has to make in order to pursue his revenge.

It's well executed, as I said, and I happen to find it extremely compelling. Certainly more so than if he hadn't been resurrected because the show-runners liked his voice actor's performance.

[little-lost-lamb]

22. Growth/Change, 26. Horror Movie

CW: GN!MC, Chapter 16, PTSD, Choking, Hurt/Comfort

“MC. Please. We need to talk about this.”

“About what?” You muffle through the snacks in your mouth. You casually avert Belphegor’s pleading gaze and grab another fistful of devilbee honey popcorn. You shove it into your face, making slightly over-the-top moans of delight as you chew. Beelzebub’s eyes flit back and forth between you on his right and his brother on his left. Beel sets down the remote he had used to end the movie and puts his arm around your shivering form comfortingly.

“MC.” Beel coos, gently moving the popcorn bucket away from you and into his lap, unable to stop himself from taking his own fistful. “You’re not okay. Look at you.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly despite your attempts to mask it with deep, slow breaths. You fought back the tears resting precariously on your lash line, their salt stinging your eyes. But there was no way to hide the shaking. Attic Club Sandwich Night had become a favorite ritual of yours since the twins reunited, but tonight had taken a wrong turn, and it was all because you picked this stupid movie. Final Destination was a human realm must-watch for horror lovers, but you hadn’t seen it since the incident. And you forgot some of the deaths. 

It started when the breath was ripped from your own lungs as the rope dug into the character’s neck. It happened too slowly, agonizingly, and as the blood vessels popped in the character’s eyes, your body remembered. All that was missing was the deafening cracking of bone. A strangled cry was ripped from your breathless throat before Beelzebub’s quick reflexes and emotional intelligence saved you. As quickly as your trauma reemerged, Beel had snuffed it, swiftly turning off the TV.

“What does it matter? It’s okay now. We made a pact. You can’t hurt me.” You resigned weakly, still not looking at Belphie. “Not intentionally. Not…physically.”

Belphegor’s eyebrows furrow, and when he reached a hand across his twin for you, you subconsciously cower into Beel’s chest. Belphie’s hand retracts.

“I don’t know how else to say I’m sorry, MC. You know I did what I did to protect my brothers. I know you can understand that, you love them too. I…” Your head raises and your furious eyes fall on him. Yes, he was protecting them. Yes, you would have protected them too. But you know it’s not the only reason he murdered you. He swallows the painful lump in his throat. “And I…was angry. I was suffering. I thought they were going to suffer too. Part of me knew how much they thought they loved you. I just didn’t realize how much they actually did. Not until…I felt that way too.”

He watched you from beneath long, thick, cow-like lashes. His doey, purple eyes sparkled as the fairy lights in the attic reflected from them, amplifying the sincerity in the rest of his face. You take a deep breath and raise up a bit from Beelzebub’s chest. 

“I know how much you regret it, and I’ve forgiven you, Belphie. But I won’t be able to forget. Probably ever.” 

“Me either.” He responds, picking languidly at his cuticles. “I won’t be able to forget what I did either. But we are a part of each other now, and I want to use this experience to grow and change with you. To heal with you.”

You’re still a moment, moved by the sincerity the ordinarily flippant brother’s words. A small smile spreads across your face as you clamber over Beel and into Belphie’s embrace. You know he means it. You can feel it in your pact. Your last embrace had ended in disaster, but this time he held you tenderly, as if cradling something precious to him. 

“Let’s put on this one instead.” Beel interjected. He smiled and held up a copy of Devilcat’s Big Adventure, an unassuming children’s movie. You and Belphie smile at each other, then nod to Beel.

Usually, the Attic Club Sandwich is stacked as follows: you snuggle up against Beel’s chest, Belphie drapes over you from behind. Tonight, you cling to Belphegor as Beel rests his head against your shoulder. He didn’t mind being the top bread tonight.

[loyaldeserter]

There's slightly less grace than usual in Legault's approach-- a light unevenness to his gait left over from walking back to the bunker on an injured foot.

"Quite the shopping trip we've had."

Heath looks worse for wear, too. How many tangles had he gotten himself into out on those streets? Legault remembers the sight of broken glass and scattered petals on the cobblestones. He can't recall what color they were, but...

"Say, you didn't happen to lose your--" He curls a hand around the space at his own neck where a necklace chain might rest if he wore one. With the shape of Heath's cuirass, he can't tell if he's wearing any jewelry beneath. "...Nevermind."

Legault has a noticeable limp, carried well but still rather pointed. Heath had heard Leif and Legault were involved in conflict he'd missed, but he'd hoped it had treated them better than the tavern brawl. Wishful thinking, of course.

"Indeed. I was at least able to get a new weapon, though it's seen some significant use already." Heath sighs, unconsciously hovering over the handle of his axe. He'd been prepared for conflict upon entering the city, and he's no stranger to taking lives. He's gotten soft. He can practically hear Vaida scolding him. "It felt more like a combat deployment than a supply-gathering one, near the end."

Legault is a difficult person to understand, even after years of knowing him. He says things like he means them, then laughs them off, flippant with a heaviness behind his eyes. Talking to him is like unraveling a spool of mysteries in the shape of a man, sometimes. Even now, he starts like he's going to say something, but discards it; is he scared of Heath's answer?

It's easy enough to put together the puzzle pieces after a little thought this time, at least.

"The pendant, you mean?" Heath hadn't known what to do with it, at first. Just leaving it in his room felt like disrespectful, to Legault and to the memories of a Bern worth fighting for. But keeping it in plain view is just too much. He settles for looping it around his belt, not plainly visible and mostly obfuscated by a tasset, but tangible and present. "I have it. I keep it on my armor. I was patrolling when the attacks hit, so..."

It's frankly a bit embarrassing, fumbling with the way he's secured it. But the pendant is there, smudged and a bit knocked around, but safe, the flowers inside preserved like a memory.

[obsidiancreates]

The Fabric Of The Universe Is A Little Coarse (1 Out Of 5 Stars) Part 1

(Content warning for a psychic-induced seizure-like state and sensory overload-like experience).

“Alright, Mr. Spencer.” The chief gestures at the girl sitting in the interrogation room. She’s young, maybe mid-twenties, with short curly hair like a black-and-white movies actress gathered around her cheeks like ginger clouds. “You have ten minutes.”

“All I need, Chief, and I’ll have time for a game of Eye Spy before I leave.”

“It’s I-Spy, Shawn.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you said Eye Spy.”

“What difference are you hearing exactly, Gus?”

“A clear one!”

“I can’t do this with you right now. Chief, I’ll be back in less time than Lassie spends on his hair in the morning.”

“Hey!”

“You’re right Lassie, that isn’t fair, you’ve stepped up your game a lot in the last few years. Keep at it buddy. Someday, you’ll be on par with me. Or more likely just slightly below, because, well.” He chuckles and gestures at his own hair with a flippant gesture, and ducks out to the door of the interrogation room before Lassie fully processes the tangent. 

He shakes himself loose and steps into the room, looking through the one-way glass and grinning straight at Lassie. He can’t see-see his friends on the other side, exactly, but he knows where they are and how they're moving. He really doesn’t get why every interrogation room has these ‘one-way windows’– or how there are people who can’t ‘see’ through them. Just another obvious thing that he’s the only one who picks up on, somehow.

He whirls around and smiles at the girl, who looks confused to say the least. “Hello. My name is Shawn Spencer, head psychic of the SBPD–”

The confusion turns into horror so quickly it leaves Shawn actually, physically reeling back. The girl puts her hands over her head and screams, pushing her chair away! “NO! NO NO NO! I WON’T TALK TO A PSYCHIC, NO!”

“Whoa, whoa, I’m not–!” Not what? Not psychic? He can’t finish his sentence with that. Not a ‘bad’ psychic? This girl obviously had some bad experiences in the past, he gets the feeling she won’t accept that claim, especially not from him. Not going to read her psychically? Then there’s no reason for The Chief to keep him on the case!

He doesn’t have to worry about that last part much longer, because Lassie storms in and grabs him by the bicep, dragging him out of the room and into the observation area again.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Lassie says. “Great job keeping the witness calm and cooperative, Spencer.”

“Really, Lassie? I didn’t even do anything but introduce myself! Clearly, she had encountered psychics with much less strong morality than I possess.” He ignores the looks Gus gives him at ‘strong morality’. “I can hardly be blamed for the poor behavior of my psychic brethren.”

“We can blame you for not ‘sensing’ that beforehand.”

“Lassie. You realize if you do that, you’re also saying you believe me?”

Lassie snaps his mouth shut, and then scowls. He points a finger in Shawn’s face, but no rebuttal comes out of his mouth. Instead he turns, barking for his partner to come down and join him on the interrogation.

“Well, it looks like your services are no longer–”

“Wait, wait, Chief. Listen, even if I can’t be in there to ask the questions, I can still read her from out here. Let me stay to watch, at least.”

“Well… fine. But given her strong, aversion to you, you are not to give any sign you are still here, understand? That means no… shouting questions at Lassiter and O’Hara, or barging in when they’re finally making progress, and no–”

“Interrupting?”

She levels him with an unamused glare. Shawn holds up his hands in surrender, but can’t help the slight chuckle that escapes him. The Chief just shakes her head, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and turns to leave. She passes Lassie and Jules on her way out, and Shawn and Gus settle into place to watch the interrogation.

“What do you think happened to her to make her react to you like that?” Gus whispers as Jules and Lassie sit down and introduce themselves.

“I dunno. Maybe scammed her?”

“Seems like a strong reaction for scamming.”

“Yeah… maybe Lassie and Jules will clear it up.”

Sure enough, after the main bit of questioning is over (the girl is nervous and fidgety the whole time, but Shawn clocks that her necklace is one of those chewable toys usually used for anxiety or autism, and the hem of her shirt is wrecked from constant tugging and picking over a long period of time– she’s not lying about anything, she’s just legitimately stressed out) Jules leans in.

“So, before you leave, can I ask something a little more… personal?”

“Um, I-I guess.”

“My partner told me that when you met Shawn, you–”

“Panicked.” She looks around again. “He um– he said he’s psychic.”

“He says that, yes.” Lassie’s entire being screams about how he doesn’t believe it, and Jules ignores him.

“He’s been working with our department for a few years now, and he’s helped us solve a lot of cases. It’s pretty likely he’ll work on this one, too.”

The girl tugs at the hem of her shirt. “Years? 

“Yes. And I can assure you, personally, that’s he’s actually a very good person. … Annoying, more often than not, and a little egotistical–”

Lassie laugh-scoffs.

“Okay, more than a little egotistical–”

“Does she know we’re still listening?” Shawn whispers to Gus.

“– but a good person.”

The girl chews her lip for a second. “Sorry, I’m not… saying I don’t believe you. It’s just… well, I’ve had a lot of experience with psychics, Detective. I worked as a researcher in the field of metaphysical studies for a time–”

“That’s a field? Who the hell is deciding where funding goes these days?” Lassie seems more perplexed than anything else.

“It is a field, Detective, and a viable one. Yes, most of the psychics we saw were fake, but some were real. And they were…”

“... Were?”

“... It’s not… their fault.” She seems to be choosing her words carefully now. “All of them shared traits of manipulative tendencies, compulsive lying, depersonalization.”

Shawn scoffs. “Now she’s making up words.”

“Depersonalization is a real thing, Shawn.”

“What?”

“It means viewing a person as not really a person, including yourself. Like, treating them like a game.”

“Oh. … All the time?”

“I dunno. … What? I only read one article!”

Lassie looks a little too delighted at the table. “Really? What about, oh, I don’t know… a need to always one-up someone?”

“Sort of, yes. Psychics are… you’re going to think I sound crazy.”

“Oh, if you had spoken with Spencer, you’d know we’ve had to develop a high tolerance for crazy talk.”

“... Well, they’re sort of… the universe’s favorites. We tracked patterns of incredible luck, not just from having visions, but generally impossibly lucky situations all around. By the time I left the program because of my experiences, the theory was that because they were so much more closely connected to the primordial and essential makeup of the universe itself, it made sure to keep them, for the most part, safe and successful. That’s not to say they never had hardships, just that… things would always work out in the end.”

“Yeah, but that’s just life.” Shawn shrugs. 

“Not for most people, Shawn. You just have some of the weirdest luck in the world.”

“Gus, I’ve been shot and punched and pistol-whipped, some of those more than once. I don’t think that’s lucky.”

“You haven’t gotten killed yet though.”

“What do you mean yet?”

The girl goes on. “And because life sort of bends around them, they… play. With people, usually. Not maliciously, but… they don’t experience things the same way we do. Does your psychic seem to align with that?”

“Absolutely.” Jules sighs. “Shawn never follows the rules, but everything always goes his way in the end. It’s impressive, and usually very helpful to us, but…”

“Irritating.”

“I was going to say difficult to work with at times. … But my partner isn’t wrong.”

“Seriously, do they know we’re here?” Shawn reaches up to knock on the glass, but Gus grabs his hand before he can directly disobey The Chief like he usually does.

The girl nods. “Like I said, it’s not entirely their fault, but it means you should be… cautious. He’s the only psychic you’ve ever known, right?”

“He is.”

“You can’t really believe whatever he presents himself as to you. Think of the universe like a… a woven rug. Not knitted or woven with little threads, but like… one made of long, inconsistent scraps of old clothes, or blankets, things like that. It’s messy, and unsymmetrical, and it seems chaotic, but it’s actually carefully crafted.”

Shawn tilts his head. “That… sounds familiar.”

“It does?” Gus frowns. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard this analogy in my life.”

“And what, you’ve heard all of them?”

“Most of them. I took a philosophy class for half a semester in college.”

“Man, you took that class because of all the hot nerdy girls and barely paid attention.”

“How did you–”

“Uh, I know you, and have since forever? Just, trust me, man, I’ve… I’ve heard this before. Somewhere.” 

Jules is nodding as the girl talks. “But what does this have to do with why you’re afraid of Shawn?”

“Well, all of us, everything we know, this physical world, isn’t actually in the weave. Imagine us like… appliqués. We’re all existing on top of the base of the universe, apart of it but not truly one with it. Life happens around us, and we can influence it in ways, but most of what we experience is already woven tight.”

Shawn isn’t sure when he started leaning in to listen– he only notices he’s moved when Gus has to put a hand out and keep him from falling into the glass. 

“Shawn, are you okay?”

Shawn blinks. The room is tilting a little, and he feels…

He flexes his hands. Something is under them. He can feel a faint scrape against his fingernails, but they’re itching at nothing but air. “I uh… yeah, buddy. I just… swear I’ve heard this before…”

The girl has spread out an old sheet of paper on the table, and put her chew toy on top. “We’re all here, on this top layer. But psychics aren’t. They’re born with a deeper connection to the universe at large. To put it simply, while we’re all applied on top, psychics are–”

“– woven directly in.”

Shawn sits in his grandma’s lap as she makes a little rug out of his old baby clothes. He’s two years old at the most, probably younger, chewing on his thumb and trying to grab the scraps of fabric away from his grandma’s hands. He’s never remembered anything far back before.

“Someday you’ll be able to feel it,” she says. “I wish I could tell you when, but it’s hard to see. Everything else is a layer, easy to observe and pick apart, but you and I are side-by-side. I can’t follow your… well, this isn’t exactly thread, is it? Cord, how about?”

“And because they’re woven directly in, they can manipulate the cords around them.” Shawn hears the girl, but almost distantly– he’s also facing the floor now, and Gus’s arm is bracing his chest, and Gus is saying his name but Shawn isn’t sure he can answer because he’s not sure he’s here right now.

He flexes his hands again, feeling his nails scrape against thick bundles of fabric tightly bound together, hearing the faint sound of dull bumping even though he’s not touching anything but air.

“When they have a vision, or an intuition, it’s–”

“– the universe sending a signal. It’s like it’s… asking us for help, to change something. It wants to change something, but it can’t just unravel itself. It needs us to help it change shape and–”

“– shift outcomes. They can follow cords in all directions, moving throughout the weave itself, which manifest as their psychic abilities. They can follow it back to what was, forwards to what will be, and side to side to what is. Even when they aren’t aware of this connection–”

“– you’ll still feel it. I know your father has… specific plans for you, so you probably won’t be able to distinguish one gift from another. You’ll be drawn to certain details, know by instinct what will be important later even if there’s no reason it should seem important now. You’ll know things you shouldn’t be able to know, and won’t even realize you shouldn’t.”

Shawn’s breaths are coming in gasps. He feels it pressing in, the tight cords and bundles, feel them wrapped around his hands and running through his skull–

“For things like mind reading, knowing about people on a personal level, think of the underside of an appliqué. It’s not the polished, presentable side, it’s the mess that shows what goes into the whole image. The underside is where you’ll find the messy threads, the jumbled colors, the weird patterns that go into the clear picture of the finished product. Psychics can–”

“– look at what fundamentally makes up a person, the nitty-gritty details, not just the whole picture. We can see what other people can’t. Even the person we’re reading might not know everything that goes into their makeup, and we can see them better than they see themselves.”

Shawn isn’t facing the floor anymore. He’s facing the ceiling, and Gus, who’s shaking him. Is he shaking him? Shawn is shaking. He’s shaking and he’s bound up tightly in cords and scraps and threads and it’s not concrete under his hands but a rug and his fingers can’t stop scraping it over and over and over, bump bump bump bump–

“Shawn!”

He wants to say something but his mouth won’t work. There’s a cord running through it, and another, and another, through his whole body, he can feel each one and he can see them and as he runs his hands over more it’s so much.

Bump. He tastes chicken parmesan and asparagus and knows it’s the last taste someone will ever experience. Bump. He smells old-lady perfume and smoke and it’s arson, the perfume is the accelerant, he chokes on the smoke and the heavy floral fragrance. Bump. He sees a red car speeding down the road and someone is on the phone, they’re not paying attention until they hear the roaring engine and by then it’s too late–

“It’s easy to get lost in. Sometimes we’re pulled apart, when we get too encompassed by the weave, and our physical bodies can’t really handle it. That’s why it’s going to be very important that you find people who care about you, Shawn. It’ll be tempting to toy with everything and let it work itself out, but you can’t rely on that all the time. The universe is on your side, but it doesn’t always know what’s good for you. You need to make a good life, good choices, good relationships, or else you won’t–”

“– snap out of it!” Shawn’s not here. Gus is screaming from somewhere else. He’s caught in the tight cords but he’s shaking too, and he can’t stop, and he’s somewhere else and his eyes aren’t focusing and he can’t feel anything but he can feel everything, the cords running through his body thrumming with the whole wide world and more and he’s more and it’s too small a space for so much–

“Guster, what the hell are you–! Holy–”

“Oh my god, Shawn! Gus, what–”

“I don’t know! He just collapsed and started seizing!”

“MCNAB! CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

“Has this ever happened before?!”

“No!”

“Shawn, Shawn try to focus on me–”

Jules’s hands touch his face and he feels the already tight cords snap into a specific pattern, and the ones in his mouth finally loosen up and he’s still not here but he is and he’s everywhere all at once and her whole life travels along the top of one cord and it’s running right through his skull–

“Stay with us Shawn, don’t go, oh my god don’t go we need more time, there’s so much we still have to work out–”

It’s not Jules saying it aloud. Her eyes go wide as Shawn recites every frantic thought running through her head, the words pouring into him and spilling right back out.

Her hands pull away and his head can’t steady itself and a new hand catches his face and–

“Don’t you dare leave me Shawn! I need you, I need you, I can’t imagine my life without you in it, don’t you dare leave me alone out here it’s supposed to be us against everything not just me–”

Gus’s hand pulls away with a whispered “Oh my god,” and a sound like crying but they’re too close for Shawn to see their faces, everything’s close and far and here and there and Now and Then and Happened and Happening and it’s So. Much.

“Oh my go– Carlton, get the first aid kit! He’s bleeding!”

“What?!”

“He’s bleeding, Carlton! From–from his his nose and his ears, I don’t–”

“MCNAB! WHERE THE HELL IS THE AMBULANCE?!”

“It’s easy to get lost in. Sometimes we’re pulled apart. It’s easy to get lost in, sometimes we’re pulled apart. It’s easy to get lost in sometimes we’re pulled apart It’s Easy To Get Lost In Sometimes We’re Pulled Apart.”

Shawn sees Lassie’s face join Jules and Gus above him, all three twisted with panic and fear and care.

And then.

He Unravels.

[basingstokemercury]

Minute detail analysis: Death At Dawn, after the saloon speech

I was planning just to look over the final shot, but things spiralled as I watched closely and Pernell Roberts is just too good an actor for me not to follow every nuance of his decisions. So uh here goes, it'll be long because I'm going through just about the whole scene.

The blocking and cinematography in this moment always breaks my heart just as much as the dialogue and acting (note that Tubi's subtitles are slightly inaccurate but it doesn't change anything major). But let's start from the beginning.

Hoss is genuinely trying to understand here, but Adam's inner conflict is bad enough without having to try and analyse his own state...

And when the topic shifts from "why are you so adamant (lol) about this" to "are you sure it's the right thing", he's trying so hard to keep control - avoiding eye contact, hiding his expression, speaking in a flippant way that means "if I put emotion into this I'd break"...

Just look at the way he's gone from looking down (thoughtful) at the beginning of the scene to diagonally up (staring at something else to keep himself together) when Hoss starts the new line of questioning - and when he himself speaks, staring straight ahead, completely disconnecting himself from Hoss's eyes...

And then the final direct question is just too much even for that. He snaps, his voice breaks, he can't stay in the conversation.

This is the first time we even see Joe's face in this scene, looking after Adam with concern. He and Hoss exchange looks as they follow, both feeling the gap and neither of them knowing how to close it...

And Adam sets off across the square, the static shot's composition accentuating his loneliness by showing only him in frame, with a long shadow stretching ahead towards the desolate late-night streets...

Even though the others follow, they're at a distance. He's already disappearing down the street by the time they come into view - and before we see them, we see their shadows. Somehow just those shadows behind him, clearly recognisable but without their owners in sight, make the scene feel even lonelier than when he really was alone.

This scene (and episode) captivated me ever since I was ten and watching for the first time. I'm just glad I can finally give it the attention it deserves, with the knowledge to understand what makes it so great.

[zillyeh]

From the Cracks

companion piece to this one

Characters: Zipper Anthem, Castel Baclef

The near open walls of the Serpent’s Hands breezy cathedral let in every sound from the Old North. The repairs that had been done over the sweeps were never structurally sound enough to keep out the elements. It seemed like this time the ON was really putting in some effort, though. They had the funds and manpower for it now. Crumbled walls had real supports jutting out from the top, reaching past where there once may have been stained glass windows to touch the well abused roof.

At the base of the construction, looking far too long and gangly on the floor, squatted a purpleblood. The old drone-brick that still stood strong behind the pulpit interested him, much to the chagrin of the Undertaker.

She thought she was doing enough for him- keeping his uppity little south city bakery from getting Smiles branded bricks through his window- but no. His little bestie twisted her arm with another bribe to let him up here. In her church. 

If money weren't such a problem she never would have entertained this.

"Have you found what you're looking for yet or what?" Undertaker Anthem demanded, her voice rough and annoyed through her mask. Castel flinched at the sound of her voice, but let out a gentle hum in response.

"I may be getting close," he said, leafing through his old, battered book. "It is supposed to be low enough for the damage not to have reached…" The lilt of an Enfaris accent kissed the edges of his words, making Zippie grimace more. Clowns. He lacked the paint, but that didn’t matter. It couldn't. She couldn't afford to not be on edge.

"You could always help," he continued, "It might be-"

"No. I'm staying parked right here." For all her posturing and glares, her voice nearly gave way to the fear underlining her behavior. 

"Relax your shoulders, then." 

"Excuse me?"

"I feel your tension from here," he said with a flippant wave of his hand. "Even if I did bite, my teeth are rather flat, no?"

When she didn't respond, he turned. He flinched once more, struck by one of the daggers she was glaring into his head. He huffed, making some show of not looking away, pretending she wasn't scary. She was. Even seeing past the hardness in her silvery eyes- to her exhaustion- didn't change that.

Castel tilted his head curiously, fixated on her for a moment,  before shaking his head back to the bricks.

“It’s a spiral of names,” he started as if she’d asked. “Small, barely meant to be noticeable. Etched with an errant piece of metal off of one of my ancestors’ companions’ hands.”

Ancestors. The ones that truly existed were nothing but trouble. Bessba’s? Jackass. This guy’s? Forcing him into her church to look for more clues about his silly little existence. Those who could trace their lines like that- who knew that someone specific was responsible for them- were just so…

Annoying.

He traced his long, skinny fingers along the brick, continuing to talk to her (or himself, it was hard to tell) as he scooted further down the wall.

“It's supposed to be at about sitting height, thank goodness. It would be helpful if these walls weren't so dusty, but who am I to- oh!”

Castel's sudden noise and spring to action made Zippie jump. The purple grabbed a brush from his pocket, enthusiastically sweeping at a cracked brick near the middle of the wall. Zippie clenched her teeth, watching him with something beginning to approach curiosity. Some dusty graffiti was that exciting?

“Find what you're looking for, finally?” Zippie asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Shush- I mean yes, sorry, I just don't want the integrity of the brick to be compromised. Oh look at that, that must be all of them…” It sounded like he found what he was looking for. As much as she didn't want to turn her back to him, she had other things to do. He'd be done soon enough. Zippie turned back to her pulpit as he talked to himself, sketching in his notebook.

“Baclef of course, Payark, Sclera, Humera… Goz…. jam or is that silent? H sound maybe, Aarika-”

 Castel’s mumbling suddenly felt like a brick to the back of the head. For a moment she thought she misheard him, but the goosebumps on her arms were too solid for that to be the case.

“What did you just say?” she asked lowly, dangerously. She did not turn to face him.

“...Aarika? Sorry, I know I shouldn't speak that name too loud, but-”

“Before that.”

“Oh! Goz-Gozjam?” The sitting purple adjusted his glasses on his long broad nose. “Am I pronouncing that incorrectly?”

“No, you're not,” Zippie said before she could stop herself.

“Okay!” he said cheerily. He then paused and looked to the Undertaker, who'd turned to face him. The purple's fear of her had been overridden with curiosity. He looked at her, really looked at her and said:

“Your eyes… your pupils are teardrop shaped.” Given his tone, that meant something to him. Zippie hissed lowly behind her mask, straightening her posture further. He flipped through one of the weathered old journals he brought with him, but didn't look like he was reading it as he continued.

“‘It's a funny thing, seeing Gozjam with her eyes uncovered. Rare a sight as it is. So many of us have heavy eyes, it's the nature of our species, but the droop of her lids and the shape of her pupils truly ice the cake of her melancholy. Were she anyone else, I'd only call them droplets- but with her? To refer to them as anything but tear drops would do a poetic disservice to her character.’”

“Stop it,” Zippie ordered as he took in another breath to speak. He stubbornly opened his mouth again.

“‘It's a shame she has to hide them, and the unfortunate rest of her face. She is more lovely than-”

“I said enough,” she snarled this time. She felt something dangerous under her skin. Electric. Defensive. “Are you done over there? Did you get what you wanted? I didn't say you could be here all night.” He paid her bristling no mind, fully facing her on his knees. Examining her from his distance away. Seeing her.

“You don’t even know, do you?” There was something soft to his voice that made her want to punch him. “Anthem, my intention is not to distress you, but-”

“You’re failing, Baclef. I think it’s time for you to go.” It didn’t sound like she’d take arguing well. He sighed, glanced back at the wall, and began to stand. In that same instance, something dawned on her that turned her blood to ice- and her behavior violent. She tugged him up by the collar while he was still knelt down. Her eyes were wide now, showing off the entirety of those teardrops.

“What else does it say about her in those books of yours?” she asked with a panic that didn’t suit her. The rasp in her voice was more prevalent when she raised her voice like that, making her all the more terrifying. Castel stammered. He was unused to being roughhoused, even more so at this angle.

“N-nothing, they were friends that’s-”

“Physically,” she growled, shaking him again. He let out an honest-to-Messiahs eep. 

“He didn’t- tall? Skinny, robot arms-” Another shake interrupted him. He frantically searched his memory for the correct answer. When he looked her in her eyes, damaged red sclera and silvery pupils above a tight leather mask, it clicked.

“Oh, oh- nothing, nothing. I swear on my life he never described her past shape. It was a secret that he kept until they destroyed this place. I always thought it was rather obvious, since- ah!” 

Zipper shoved him back, looking like a snake about to strike. Castel dusted himself off, scrambling back towards the wall as she approached. Unbidden sparks lit up the rivets at the back of her neck, letting off small, ribbon-like bursts of electricity.

“I could be wrong?” he offered, clearly wishing he was less motor mouthed. “I could be way off. It doesn’t matter. Even if I knew I wouldn’t- I couldn’t. For the obvious wrong it would be of course, but-”

“But?” she said through clearly clenched teeth behind that zipper. Her sparking wasn’t getting worse, but it wasn’t stopping.

“...Our ancestors were friends.”

That stopped her in her tracks. The Undertaker swayed on her boots, clenching and unclenching of her fists without taking her eyes off of the heap of giant purpleblood on the ground.

“Get the fuck out of my church,” she said, something almost airy about her tone this time. The shift startled him enough to grab his things in one swift motion.

“Yes ma’am. Sir. I’m- I’m sorry.” Castel scrambled to his feet, still making her wince when he was drawn to his full height. He nearly dropped his books in his haste to leave.

“I’ll have, um, our mutual contact compensate for the trouble,” he called back as he strode towards the doors. “I really am-” He stumbled a bit over a piece of rubble that hadn’t been moved yet, making more of a show of leaving than this already was. 

Zippie stayed unmoving where he left her, staring at that corner of wall. The slam of the church doors woke her back up, and with a shake of her head she said:

“Annoying.”

[radianceholy]

Owlcatober 2024 - Fake Names

Arueshalae engages in personal exploration through creative roleplay, with some unexpected company along the way. cw: some implied history of abuse, slightly flippant gender talk maybe, some alcohol use

His hair was short, trim, neat; he was a man of some means, perhaps, with all of the care taken to his appearance. His boots polished to a shine, the brass buttons of his doublet catching the flickering lamplight of a tavern edging ever closer to nightfall. Though it wasn’t the finest of material - nothing was, this close to the Worldwound, supply lines strained and any given luxury coming at a substantial premium - it was, perhaps, flattering. The look of a wandering poet, or maybe a fresh-faced merchant. Bright-eyed, slim, youthful. He was, no doubt, a stranger to these lands; an anomaly among the hardened veterans and knock-kneed recruits alike. He was, perhaps, uncertain if alcohol was to his taste, either. Wine, like fine fabrics, was rare enough; good wine ever more so, and he wasn’t so sure he knew to tell the difference, bringing the goblet to his lips as though its contents might just poison him. It was what one does in a tavern, though. What any mortal would do, certainly, provided that mortal wanted to be there in the first place. The question was, did he want to be there? “Studying the color of your drink, hm? Or transfixed by your own reflection? I can’t say it’s terribly hard on the eyes.” His gaze shot up, back straightening immediately, a familiar voice that put him on edge and made his heart jump into his throat. (No, jumping was good, right? Was it really jumping? Were those the right words for the feeling…?) He laughed. “My, my. You’re that flustered? That’s really not much of a challenge.” Daeran waved his hand, and it was hard to tell if he was dismissing him, or offering reassurance. “It’s dull here, with only the company of sub-par wine. And I’ve never seen your face around here before, so there's surely a measure of curiosity to be sated. But if you’d rather while away your hours gazing into your own eyes…" It was a feeling much more akin to anxiety, perhaps. It was’t as though he’d let a few unkind words sway him from his path (he often told himself that, again and again, like a prayer, hoping it would prove true), but he took no pleasure in mockery of his path. He couldn’t trust himself with anger or revenge, so those feelings had to be placed up on a high shelf in his mind. Not inaccessible, but far enough away that he wouldn’t reach for them the very moment something went wrong. It made it all the more upsetting that this man (the man that was now chatting him up) was the one that had decided to sit down, right at his side. Here, of all places. Tonight, of all nights.

…But right now, he wasn't that person, right? At least… for the role he was currently playing, he wasn’t the sort of demon that would be fun to tease and provoke. He didn't have to apologize for his own wickedness. “...I’m sorry. I’m… new here.” “Oh, that was established.” Daeran smirked, insufferable. It was a calculated twitch of his lips, to let him know that he was a huge asshole on purpose, and he really wasn’t quite sure why that should make a difference. Mortals are impossibly strange. “I know-! I know that you just said it, you know. It’s just that I’d rather say it myself,” he huffed, defiant, though that only seemed to earn him another laugh. “Callus. My name is… Callus.” “Indeed? And what, pray tell, has brought you to this den of misery? Idealistic enough to volunteer what limited means you have available to the Crusade?” “I suppose you could say that,” he murmured in reply. “I’m… a poet. From Mendev. I'm here to practice my art, on the subject of the Crusades themselves.” 

“I would hate to see the grim prose you’ve spun from this dismal subject. Dedicate poem and verse to overstuffed Paladins and their lopped-off limbs, with tearful praise for their great sacrifice and honor in the face of impossible odds…" That didn't sound so bad to him, but Daeran said it like it was the most boring thing he could imagine. "Unless you’ve a sense of humor about it, I suppose. Throw in a bawdy limerick about Balors, perhaps?” “I don't think anyone would enjoy that. It would be considered a tasteless joke, at best.” “Yes, it would. Naturally, I’d pay handsomely, as a patron of the arts.” He pouted. “...I just wanted to see a different perspective of the Crusaders. Something closer to them. Not mock them.” “Different, you say? Different from what? Parades and preachers? Wide scale recruitment of the idealistic and foolish alike?” He grinned, leaning in, close enough that the room seemed to fade but for his gaze. “You're much too vibrant to waste whatever talents might be at your disposal on that. I, on the other hand, could offer far more stimulating subject matter.” His eyes opened a bit wider. He had never seen his face this close before. His eyes were bright. Warm. They reminded her of that beautiful song, and the flights of butterflies. He knew Daeran quite well, in their travels - he’d said a hundred wretched things to him a hundred times over each, always with this awful tone of detached mockery. Sosiel often said that anything good or beautiful in the world becomes foul through the eyes of the Count. The smug mockery, pressing his boot against the back of someone at the edge of a cliff as though it were the most delightful of jokes; the gentle warmth of someone who felt he might be among equals, sharing in delight with one another, however fleeting it might be. Or, perhaps, willing to humble himself however briefly to give that impression. It’s what he’d have done, as a succubus. He knew that trick. He knew it. And even so, in his eyes– “In all of Elysium,” he whispered, “there’s truly nothing more beautiful. No one, nothing.” He trembled, stroking her cheek and tracing her chin with his delicate fingertips. His face was pale, sickly. He looked like he might just throw up on the spot, but the gentle smile was as genuine as ever.She had, of course, poisoned his drink. She could recognize it instantly. Her insides twisted and burned. Her body twitched, and for once, she couldn’t find the words. No twisted ultimatums or wicked lies. No cruelty could spring forth from her lips. It was the first time he’d ever poisoned hers, in turn.He wrenched his gaze away all too suddenly. Any trace of comfortable mirth was gone. He felt sick. 

“Oh? Here I thought we were getting along. I suppose I must have offended. And I wasn’t even trying all that hard to do so.” “No. No, no, I’m sorry. It’s not you.” Daeran leaned away, and he felt like he could breathe once more. A knot of guilt twisted in his stomach, but that was nothing new. “I suppose there’s such a thing as coming on too strong.” “...You reminded me of someone. Um, I guess… an old boyfriend.” “Now that would explain it. And it does spare my ego for a turn, so all the better for it. The wound is still fresh, is it?” “You could say that,” he said, voice small. “Well, well. I’ll leave you to your night, in that case. But should you be compelled to look me up again, say, when it becomes more of a scab, my name is–” “Count Daeran Arendae,” another chimed in. (Mortals use full names and titles when they’re upset with one another, he knew. But only sometimes. How confusing!) He flicked his gaze towards the new voice a little too quickly, forgetting himself. (A mortal shouldn’t act like a frightened fawn, should they? And he’s a friend. Maybe not Callus’ friend, but… wait, Was Sosiel his friend? He should really ask–) “It’s no surprise to find you here, haranguing a newcomer. Can’t you see how overwhelmed he is?” He scoffed. “I am nothing if not perfectly accommodating of the gentleman’s boundaries!” “He obviously doesn’t know you well enough, if he believes such a blatant lie. You’ve clearly upset him.” “For a priest so transfixed with beauty and inner goodness, you are remarkably unforgiving and dour, aren’t you? I’m almost proud to bear witness to your overbearing hypocrisy, day after day.” “It's okay,” He said, softly. ‘Callus,’ the name. It didn’t fit. It really didn’t fit. He wasn’t really a poet from Avistan, and– “...Daeran did nothing wrong,” he sighed, despite the smug ‘Ha!’ that came just from his right. “...I owe you an apology, then. The look on his face was simply…” “...Oh, don't act so contrite. I’m sure you were pleased as ever to come in on your high horse.” “And– and my name,” he continued, despite the bickering. “...I’m not Callus.” Both men glanced back at him.  “...You know, a false name doesn’t have much meaning if you're someone I’ve never met before in my life.”

Sosiel shot a glance towards Daeran, and then another towards Arueshalae. A look of understanding crossed his face… much, it seemed, to Daeran’s annoyance. Silence lingered between them all for a few moments.

“Naturally, I expect thanks,” Daeran hummed. “For my role as muse and inspiration in this whole performance.”

“A performance, really?” Sosiel interjected.

“It’s all performance,” he shot back.

Arueshalae adjusted his collar, letting out a sigh. “Even if I doubt it was your intention, you did give me the idea.”

“As disappointed as I am,” he mused.

Sosiel shot him another glare, resting a hand on Arueshalae’s shoulder. “...I’m sure you must have been nervous. And I am glad that the count truly did respect your boundaries,” spoken as a warning and eliciting an eyeroll, “and I wanted to assure you that nothing but good can come of exploring yourself in such a way. Find the beauty within yourself, and share it with the world.” He smiled warmly.

“...It was still based on a lie,” he replied. “I’m not a poet.” He wrapped his arms around his waist, hugging himself. He was as skilled at changing form as ever, but despite despite his skill in doing so, his tail had reappeared behind him once more, swaying and twitching to betray his feelings.

“I’m sure that you could learn. And I’m sure that the world would be better with your poetry in it, regardless of your precise origins.”

“Well, then-!” Daeran rose to his feet, the sincerity repelling his presence as sharply as ever. “It is, unfortunately for me, a night wasted. I’ll have to be wary of every willowy gentleman I come across from here on out, and that’s certainly going to cut into my personal time–”

“Wait!” Arueshalae spoke up. His horns had grown in the span of a moment, without even realizing it. “Ah… thank you.” He murmured.

“Really? No one’s ever embarrassed themself before you, I suppose? That seems unlikely.”

“...No. No, not that. No one’s ever–” he rubbed his arm, still hugging himself. “–no one’s ever backed off so willingly. I suppose it made things more pleasant than I expected.”

He looked, for once, like he was taken aback, an acerbic word choked to silence in the back of his throat. He let out a dramatic little sigh, some effort at saving face, and he was soon gone, leaving Arueshelae behind with Sosiel.

Sosiel offered a hand to Arueshalae, and he took it, rising up beside him. Hunched in on himself, his wings – there they were again – folded in as close to his sides as they could, a protective shelter. “This place is rather crowded, isn’t it?” He offered gently, gesturing towards the door.

“...It is.”

“Would you like to talk? I can provide what guidance I can, of course, but we need not speak in absolutes."

He nodded.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, the last light of the day beginning to fade. The stars above would soon be clear, ready to offer guidance, as they always had. The weather was chill, and in the beauty of night, the world felt more calm and still than it ever had before. Somewhere in the darkness, there was an answer to that elusive question.

Who are you, Arueshalae?

[coraniaid]

🔥Scooby Gang

Unpopular opinion ask game

(Better two months late than never?)

So … my slightly flippant answer is that I think “the Scooby Gang” is honestly not the best of names for the group of Buffy’s friends who know about her being the Slayer and help her out sometimes.  Partly because I think it’s a bit clunky to actually say it, but also because, well, try googling it.  Any group name where you have to specify the name of the source material is just a bit rubbish, I think.  

Also the reference itself doesn’t really work, does it?  The original Scooby Gang travels around the country, proving that supposed supernatural hauntings are actually hoaxes being carried out by mundane criminals and property owners, and they don’t really have an obvious leader.  The Buffyverse Scooby Gang … are all stuck in one place, the monsters they investigate are real, and they do have an obvious leader.

They should’ve stuck with Willow’s original suggestion of the Slayerettes.

A bit less flippantly … uh. I don’t think I have an unpopular take on the Scoobies as a collective, actually.  I mean, I think people who complain about them being bad friends or not really caring about Buffy are wrong – or at least viewing their actions in a deliberately uncharitable light in a way I don’t agree with – but at the same time I don’t think this is actually a majority opinion.  Or at least I curate my dash well enough that I see people arguing against it more often than I actually see the take itself.

So quick fire unpopular opinions about each of them, in no particular order, below the cut:

Jenny: I like Jenny a lot, but I kind of hate the retcon that she was sent to Sunnydale to spy on Angel and make sure he didn’t get his soul back.  Partly because of the jarringly racist way this retcon is presented and handled, partly because it’s so obviously nonsense (Jenny mentions Angel all of … what, once, before this retcon?) and partly because it ruins the much more interesting version of Jenny Calendar the technopagan with a life of her own that the show had implied existed before this.  And for what?  To deliver some exposition that the show could have presented dozens of other ways?  So that Giles and Jenny can break up again and Giles can be sad when she dies? 

Oz: I was genuinely surprised to see how well Oz did in the recent character polls because he is just kind of flat and boring to me.  He’s one of the more laid back people in the show, sure, and if he was a real person I think he would be fun to hang out and exchange terse monosyllables with, but he doesn’t really have any character arc to speak of until … well, whatever off-screen stuff actually happened that ended up with him getting written out in Season 4.

(I think there is a potentially interesting character to be made out of the fragments of Oz we see, but I don't think the show ever puts them together in a way that means anything.  He’s just Willow’s Nice Quirky Boyfriend, then he decides he needs to leave town and he’s gone forever.)

Cordelia: I like Cordelia, both on Buffy and on Angel, but she’s often really genuinely unpleasant in the early seasons of the show and it’s kind of grating when people pretend she isn’t?

I mean, I think I get why people talk about her the way they do (it’s partly that people are instinctively prone to like the character because of what Charisma Carpenter went through because of Joss Whedon; it’s partly because Cordelia gets a lot of character development and emotional growth and does become one of the most well-realized and heroic characters in the setting; and it’s partly because as early as Season 1's Welcome To The Hellmouth we are primed to sympathize with Cordelia because of the way Jesse acts around her).  Cordelia is always somewhat likable.  But she’s not nice.

When Cordelia bullies Willow for dressing badly or not having any friends, or when she brings up Xander’s abusive family or poverty in order to humiliate him in front of his friends, or when she ostracizes and shames Buffy for being different from everyone else (“I have to call everyone I have ever met, right now”), it’s not because she’s just a pure-hearted innocent who isn’t afraid to tell the truth.  It’s because she’s trying her best to be hurtful and being good at it.  It feels like it’s belittling the actual character growth she goes through to pretend that this isn’t what’s happening.

Tara:  Uh.  I don’t think I have any unpopular opinions about Tara.  Honestly I’m not even sure what unpopular opinions about Tara a person could have.  Tara’s great.

Okay, not an opinion about Tara herself as such, but I get kind of irked when people try to talk up Buffy/Faith by talking down Willow/Tara.  I mean people who complain about the latter being boring or being censored by the network.  (The latter take especially is weird, because however sanitized one thinks Willow and Tara’s relationship is, it’s a lot more textual and explicit than whatever Buffy and Faith have going on.)  

I don’t actually know how common that is outside of my dash, but I’ve seen it a few times and it just feels kind of tacky to me.  Sure, Willow and Tara have a different dynamic than Buffy and Faith, and it’s not quite as compelling from a narrative perspective to many people – including me! –  but they are nice.

Anya: I like Anya; I think she’s often poorly served by the narrative and I think her death is really stupid and unsatisfying but … well, I guess those aren’t unpopular opinions. 

I do think the frequent jokes about Anya being an ardent capitalist are kind of grating and don’t really make sense.  Anya isn’t some time traveler from The World Before Shops: she’s centuries old and clearly spent a lot of her time as a vengeance demon blending in with ordinary humans, as we see in Season 3's The Wish and then again in various flashbacks.  She shouldn’t suddenly be surprised by how the 20th century works, because she lived through it.  If she’s weirdly obsessed by capitalism (or what the Buffy writers think capitalism is), that should be an interest going back centuries.  She can’t possibly just have noticed it after becoming human. Her very first scene in the show, while she's still a demon, establishes she knows things about fashion and buying clothes! Well enough to impress Cordelia!

(Yeah, a lot of this is just that the Anya from Season 4 onwards isn’t really the same character as Anya from Season 3, I know.)

Giles: So it annoys me a little to realize this about myself, but the truth is that Giles is one of two characters in the show I’ve accepted that I like quite a lot less because of how the fandom at large talks about them.  I don’t particularly like being a contrarian, and I do still like Giles as a character, but I don’t like either flavor of Fandom Giles (either Giles the Perfect Dad or the Giles Who Is Compelled To Do Bad Things But Is Just So Sad About Them).

Whenever I see posts that focus exclusively on how tragic it is for Giles that he just had to drug Buffy and lie to her about it and almost get her killed, or how awful he must have felt when he abandoned her in Season 6, or how Jenny’s murder was so sad because of how it made Giles feel  I just think … okay, you’re not exactly wrong, but you wouldn’t talk about a character who does half the things Giles does in this way if they were a middle-aged woman.  And I know that for a fact because I’ve seen the way the fandom talks about Joyce Summers. 

Xander: I think the idea of Xander as a (very) repressed bisexual teenager makes a lot of sense of what we see from the character: things like his constant interest in how attractive Buffy’s boyfriends are and his repeated attempts to prove how “manly” he is.   It is a reading I believe is at least somewhat intentional, it is a reading that I like, and it is one that (combined with the hints we get about what his family are like over the course of the show) makes some of the way he behaves in the early seasons a lot more sympathetic.

However. I simply don’t believe there was ever any chance of the show having Xander actually come out.  I know that the official line is that one of Willow and Xander was always going to be gay, and that the decision as to which of them it was was made very late on, but I think that’s just a (fairly obvious) self-serving lie.

Look at how the show treats Larry – literally the only out gay man on the show in its whole seven seasons (except, maybe, Scott Hope).  Comes out in season 2, dead by the end of season 3, never once seen dating or expressing romantic or sexual attraction to another man, never mourned.  There are several other characters (Ethan Rayne and Andrew Wells being the obvious two) who are strongly implied to be attracted to men, sure, but this is always, aways played for laughs.  (Even Larry coming out is treated like a punchline.)

I think the chance of the writers having Xander ever start seriously dating other men (or even talking about finding them attractive in ways that couldn't be played off as a joke) was always basically zero and honestly it’s a little disingenuous to pretend otherwise.  The show is simply too mired in the period-typical homophobia of late 90s network television for things to be otherwise.

Willow: Sort of an inverse of the Oz take earlier: I was surprised by how badly Willow did in the recent character contests.  I think she’s pretty clearly the second-best written character in the show (just after Buffy herself).

That said, I guess my most unpopular Willow take is I think it’s kind of sad that she doesn’t go to a better college than Sunnydale U?  I think it is entirely in character that she would go to the same college as Buffy, and even that she would try to convince herself this wasn’t just because she was trying to help Buffy, but I still think it’s a mistake that she comes to regret.  If I were Willow’s friend in Season 3 – or, perhaps more to the point, one of her teachers – I would have tried pretty hard to talk her out of it. 

The show tries to present Willow’s decision to stay in Sunnydale as being an unquestionable positive, at least in Season 3’s Choices – and not just an excuse for Alyson Hannigan to stay on the show – but I’m not really convinced.  Okay, Willow doesn’t just want to help Buffy, but wants to “fight evil, help people” and “what better place?” is there to learn magic.  Let’s pretend to believe this is why she's staying in town.

The thing is though – as Season 4 makes clear – Sunnydale U is actually a terrible place to learn magic.  It’s only by luck that Willow meets even a single other witch, while off in England there are whole covens who would be delighted to teach her.  And the idea that fighting evil means staying in Sunnydale is a bit hard to defend too, given that this is the season of the show that establishes that there are other Hellmouths (in The Wish) and given that the season ends with Angel leaving town for LA to … uh, fight the forces of evil.  Which it turns out you can do pretty much anywhere.  Including, presumably, in places like Harvard or Oxford (where, in reality, there’s quite a lot of evil to be fought).

I don’t think this is an intentional reading of the show, but I do think you can see this choice as a sign of how little positive adult guidance there is in Willow’s life.  (We see just enough of her parents to know how neglectful they are.)   The show tells us that Giles wants Buffy to be able to go to Northwestern and get out of Sunnydale, but he doesn’t bat an eye at Willow turning down the chance to leave?  Other than Buffy, does Willow have anybody to discuss her choice with, even if she wanted to?

Yes, sure, in real life you don’t have to go to the “best” colleges just because you can and academic prestige isn’t the most important thing in the world and blah blah blah.  I agree!  And I know some people think this choice the show makes is empowering or inspiring.  But I think Willow personally would be happier somewhere where she was actually academically challenged, or somewhere she could actually be taught magic properly rather than illicitly teaching herself against the advice and wishes of her girlfriend and her ex-librarian.)

Again, I’m not saying the show should have had Willow leave.  I understand why they didn’t (even though part of me loves the idea of a spin-off Willow series where Willow goes to Oxford and the Bullingdon Club play the role of Wolfram & Hart).  But I’m not really on board with the popular idea that Willow going to the same second-rate college that Buffy is forced to settle for (and that Buffy gets to be sad about having to go to!) is actually a good thing.