#welcome to the city of queues

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

The Gray Fox: You know you've made it when you see your picture everywhere you go.

Nymphthea Grey: Those are wanted posters!

[imxthexhandler]

"If you know what's good for you ... I would back off this case. There is alot more going on behind the scenes and if you continue down this road you may not make it out alive. " The Red Hood warned her as more then half of the police force was in the black masks pocket currently

(@fallen-sons)

( @fallen-sons )

Amelia took in a breath, her body tensing as she kept her eyes on him. Oh yeah, there wasn't a soul alive in Gotham who did not know about the infamous Red Hood. When you were a cop, sooner or later, you wound up bumping into one of the masked vigilantes-- She was just hoping it'd be Batgirl in her case.

She shook her head no. "I can't," Amelia began, "This is a missing person's case, and if there's a chance I can find this girl--" (Technically an adult, at nineteen, but still younger than her) "--alive, then I owe that to her family. I'm not backing down."

Granted, yes, she knew a lot in the precinct were corrupt. The question was just which criminal was bank rolling them. But her family came from a long line a cops--good ones. Her grandfather was the officer that trained the now Commissioner Gordon. And when Amelia made the decision to follow in her late father's footsteps, it was because Gordon was still there.

She waited anxiously for the Red Hood to respond. "If you're going to shoot me, can you just make it quick? I've got work to do!" she snapped, trying to sound braver than she felt.

[worldly-diversity]

@nights-fear​ ○ 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕩 𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕦𝕩𝕚𝕒 ○

          ⤷  『  “You can beg better than that, I think.”  』

The words light a different kind of fire in him, one that makes his eyes narrow and his jaw set in a way that denotes his stubborn desire to do the exact opposite from what is being asked of him. After all, what does it matter if he's being obstinate? Even being cooperative will not guarantee his freedom, certainly not after how spectacularly he failed to usurp Xemnas…

Still, this isn't to his advantage either. Saix knows exactly how to wind him up by now and had in fact gotten him so far as to say please, to beg for relief from the pain and the pleasure mixing so potently within him as to leave him a gasping and disheveled mess.

Gone was the meticulously well-kept man who had once ruled the halls of Castle Oblivion, in his place arose a man with wild rose locks and a piercing gaze that radiated more heat than mocking these days. He was more marked too, if not with scars then at least the bruises his tormentors left him with.

"I'm sure I can." He answers, a veneer of calm lilting his tone. They both know it won't last long. "A pity I won't be satisfying your demands." He will be, they both know it. Such is their cycle after all… Saix comes to torment him, hurting him and fanning the flames of his arousal and desire only to make him beg pathetically for relief, the very action of which raises Marluxia's hackles and makes his heels dig down in defiance, from which Saix subsequently takes great enjoyment as he proceeds to break that stubbornness with growing skill and expertise.

He leans forward in his chains, bruised and battered and horny and yet ever blazing as he speaks, soft and biting against the blunet's lips.

"So make me, then."

.

[strictlyoc]

@emmaxmeyer asked: “Hurry up before you go and get old.” (For Jace’s cyberpunk verse lol)

[ ♠ ]

"Hey, you can't rush perfection."

[arachnaesfurie]

TAG DUMP

[sunsburns]

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going—"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

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[catiuskaa]

reggaeton & champagne.

PAIRING! lee minho x reader x bang chan

SUMMARY: you knew better than to go down to the club alone. and that guy should’ve known better than to mess with minho and chan’s property.

REQUESTED! by my pookie @sharonxdevi who requested this here! and it’s such a good idea, tysm for trusting me with it<3

CW: the boys may come off as a little possesive, there’s a touchy douche in the club, mentions of alcohol, it ain’t spicy but surely it’s nsfw.

WC: 2.3k

A/N: so i’ve never even thought of writing poly!skz relationships until now, but i think it came out nicely! (and if you kinda recognize the title— i just spend an unhealthy amount of time watching skz edits on instagram lololol)

[🔹☆💠☆🔹]

The sign of the club glowed with bluish neon lights at the entrance. There was also a man, notebook in hand, receiving IDs prior to welcoming the long queue of people. Although it was not the most expensive nightclub in the city, you could see the difference between it and the rest of the clubs in town, in the sense that the establishment was very tidy and clean, with security personnel scattered around the corners, watching that everything was going out smoothly.

It was unusual for you to want to go out clubbing, but considering the boys’ schedule, any chance to make plans together was welcomed with open arms.

Especially by Minho and Chan, who would never force you to go out, but their lingering stares and their arms that would sneakily clung to your waist or your shoulders —and in some cases, to lovingly slap your ass or thighs—, were meant as a way of encouragement when you dressed up and went for it.

And a way to say that, as always, you looked fine as hell.

You had chosen a short silver-coloured dress that reached your mid-thighs, accompanied by a pair of matching mesh thigh-highs with cute little clips that allowed them to stay in place, only because you knew how to entertain your public, and loved every single second their eyes stayed glued to you as you danced your heart out.

The music pounded against the walls and reverberated through the floor, but not as much as how the booze traveled through your veins, only giddy enough to celebrate how well their last tour had gone, and merely to have some well-deserved fun.

Minho’s hands grasped you by your waist, pulling you off Chan’s arms and smirking as he pushed your back flush against his body.

One of his hands remained in place, but the other one moved slowly, tempting fingers heading down to your thighs, as if walking, the motion almost ticklish. You could feel his cat-like grin from behind you as you looked at Chan, who wasn’t mad at all, rather cheekily enjoying the other man’s antics as you kept dancing against him, following the rhythm of the music.

Chris got closer to the both of you, taking your arms and settling them on his shoulders as he approached even further, now the two gentlemen dressed in fine clothes towering over you.

“Our princess is feeling good today, huh?” His hand cradled your face, holding your chin in a tender grasp, unlike Minho, who started to play with one of the clips on your high mesh stockings.

You were about to say something, but Minho tugged at one of the straps and chuckled next to your ear, slapping it back. Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, feeling the blush rising to your cheeks, the light foundation you had applied not being able to cover it.

Chris snickered, and Minho lightly bit the shell of your ear, and they both laughed as you squirmed in between their arms.

“Ok, ok—!” You giggled, out of breath due to the tickling and else. You didn’t want to leave just yet, but didn’t want to stop teasing your boys either.

Tugging on Chan’s collar, you propelled him forward, his hands ending on Minho’s shoulders by reflex. You moved your body in between both of them, swaying your hips, playing with Chris’ hair as you turned your head to face the man behind you, and chuckled, biting his lip.

They both felt a rush of blood heading to their face—and downwards—, but you stopped Chan for pushing you against Minho even more, one of your soft hands nonchalantly moving from the back of his neck to his chest, cheekily stroking his toned upper body.

“I think we can use some more drinks, gentlemen.” Your tone was filled with an enticing mockery only powered by their presence, and you licked your lips, feeling Minho’s slender fingers playing with the rim of your dress, tapping your thigh gently.

“I think we should head to the VIP lounge.” He grunted against your ear, his breath tickling your there, but the gentle yet lust-filled kisses he left right below started driving you a bit crazy. “Whaddya think, Chan?” Minho smirked, swiftly lifting his head from your neck to stare at the older man.

With all the mix of bright coloured lights, you could notice slightly how Chris’ eyes grew darker. Almost so dark that they could fuck you themselves, and you squeezed your thighs at the thought.

“I think our little brat needs to learn that teasing won’t get her anywhere, hyung.” Minho’s slender fingers playfully traced mindless shapes on your thigh.

The older man swallowed hard, his breath deepening.

“Guess you’re on thin ice, princess.” He leaned in, and pecked Minho’s lips from above your shoulder. He then turned slightly, and spoke in your ear. “You have ten minutes to go get those drinks. Go up the VIP platform right after, like the good girl you are, mmh?”

His hum almost echoed through your body, falling into an endless pit of arousal that those two gorgeous men had created, now able to make you feel hot and bothered in just a cheeky wink or a deep look.

Making you oh so weak for them. Only them.

“Heard that, kitten?” Minho smirked, lovingly kissing your cheek, as close as he could to the corner of your lips. “Ten minutes. Tick-tock.”

You tried heading towards the bar without your knees giving out as they both moved away, and instantly missed their warmth and strong hold on your body. But before you could even try, Chris tsked, pulling you back to him and almost fiercely planting a deep kiss that lit fire on your body, and almost made you whine when he pulled away, biting your lip.

“Fuck.” He gasped, feeling breathless. “Make that five minutes for daddy, yeah?”

And with a tap on your hips and a teasing wink, he left, following where Minho had gone.

You were unable to wipe the giddy smile off your face, feeling your cheeks get hot, and you patted them, hoping that your slightly cooler hands would do something to low it down.

Shaking your head lightly, you waved at the bartender, a tall, blond and handsome young man, and he gave you a kind smile. You sat on the stool closest, and he approached you, leaning on the counter.

“Nice seeing you here for a change.” He said with a snicker.

“Wish I could say the same, Hyunjin.” You wiggled your eyebrows almost dramatically, making him laugh.

“Your three usuals, beautiful?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. “Comin’ right up.”

You watched as he gracefully started to show off his abilities, passing drinks and metal cups and bottles in flashes and zooms, controlling every move so swiftly.

But then, you felt a hand on your waist.

“Sorry, scooching up real quick…” said a low voice from behind you.

His hands brushed your back, making you shiver. But it was a bad shiver. One that swiped away the giddiness your boys had left, but not as quickly as your smile took off.

The bold man dizzily sat on a stool that could’ve easily been a foot or two away, and your body relaxed easily at the new-formed distance.

You stared at him in a mix of slight disgust and raw astonishment. Used to your boys and the rest of the group, or people like Hyunjin, one could easily forget that people weren’t always respectful, nice and kind.

He noticed your blank stare, and misinterpreted it as interest. With a wide smile, he bent down, grabbing one of the legs of the stool you were sitting on, and smoothly moved it closer to his.

Another shiver ran through your back, goosebumps showing on your skin.

He smiled, and you held back a frown.

“Besides looking that sexy, what else do you do for a living?”

…

yikes.

That line didn’t only give you the ick, but you also noticed Hyunjin physically flinched, which made you snort, quickly covering your mouth.

The man was so drunk. You could smell it on his breath, and the guy looked rather pathetic. You didn’t feel too sorry for him, but wanted him as far as possible, and you moved to the edge of your stool.

The man looked proud of your giggles, but grew restless when you didn’t reply, so he took a sip from the glass of whiskey in front of him, kind of as if he hadn’t had anything to drink in a while.

You sat up straight, glaring at Hyunjin so he’d call security if things turned complicated, and he winked at you as a form of reassurance.

“Do you, eh, come here often?” He blurbed out.

You looked at your hands, staring at your nails, and waited for a second before giving him a side-eye from above your shoulder, slender eyes looking uninterested.

Quickly going back to your nails, you shrugged. “Enough to know that you don’t.” You brushed off coldly.

If you did, you’d know that I’m happily taken.

He stammered, his breath hitched, and you could almost feel him start getting even more nervous, as well as slightly angry.

“Huh? Why’s that?” He scoffed, eyebrows raised at you, who again, didn’t bother to look at him, a bit wary of his moody attitude.

Hyunjin smiled at you, coldly glaring at the clueless man next to you as he swiftly left the three drinks in place, pressing the red button underneath the counter to call for help.

The man smirked, going back to a confidence you didn’t want to know where he had gotten.

Placing his arm sneakily on your waist.

Huh?

“All those for you?”

Before you could react and slap him for his unrequested bold actions, you heard a grunt behind you.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

At that moment, Chan wasn’t so sure if he was the pacific one in your relationship.

He trusted you and your ability to set your own boundaries, by any means necessary, even if it meant slapping someone across the face.

And he knew them by heart. He had watched how you grimaced, trying to take this drunkard’s hands away from you.

So he helped you by slapping them off your body.

As ‘gently’ as he could.

“Move aside.” He said in a low growl, failing to relax until you moved your hand and took his, squeezing it as a way of thanking him.

Instead of getting the hint, the man frowned.

“Hey, if you can’t tell, I was trying to—”

Minho scoffed, appearing behind the man.

“Keep babbling around our girl and I’ll give you a story to tell.” He said in a dark, low tone of voice, eyes and tongue so sharp that they could almost pierce right through the man. “Now shoo.”

Security came by a minute after and apologized for not taking care of him before, then fined him, following the nightclub’s rules and finally kicked the man out.

One of the security guys approached the three of you, and bowed swiftly, apologizing.

“I’m really sorry. This guy has already annoyed some other customers before. I’ll speak to the owner of the place and see if there is something we can do regarding his situation. As for you, miss…” He gave you his card, and you smiled at him, bowing your head gently.

“My name is Seo Changbin. If you ever need anything…” he sighed, a hand to his nape, the buff man slightly flustered. “Don’t hesitate to call me. I can’t think of another way to compensate you…”

Chan smiled, and shook hands with the security guard.

“No need to worry, mate. It’s fine now.” He stated calmly, his other hand still engulfing yours.

Minho bowed at him, his arm around your waist, as if trying to erase any marks or traces of the drunkard’s touch.

“Home, love?” He said in a gentle whisper, kissing your temple after you nodded. “S’okay.”

Minho opened the door to the car for you, and Chan’s hand never left your thigh the whole way back home.

As soon as you got back, you let out a tired sigh.

Chris hugged you from behind, and you melted under his touch. With a soft grin, Minho ushered Chan’s arms away from you, and swiftly took you in his arms.

“Sleepy?” The older one asked, but you shook your head. You didn’t want the night to end on this note. “Then I’ll go get something. You guys get going.” He smiled at you, eyes soft as he lovingly stroke your cheek, your face resting on Minho’s shoulder.

With a slight smirk, he patted Minho’s butt, and headed to his studio.

“Bang Chan!” He whisper-yelled, ears red, and you chuckled lowly.

“Cheeky little baby.” Minho cooed at you, heading to your shared room, and you giggled softly, hiding your head on the crook of his neck. “Let us take care of you, yeah?”

You moved your head from his neck and pecked his lips. Minho took you to bed, and tenderly took your heels off.

“Shower?” He asked softly, but you shook your head no, so he nodded, taking off your dress. With a cat-like grin, his fingers went back to your thighs.

“You have to wear these more often, you little tease.” He snickered, and you smiled, blushing softly. “You look so good in everything.” He said, stroking your cheek.

Chan quickly came back, fluffy blankets and laptop with him.

“Movie night!” He smiled, almost childishly, and both your and Minho’s heart tugged on your chests.

They took their fancy clothes off and put on sleeveless shirts and the matching pyjama pants you had gifted them for Christmas, who were at first meant as a joke, but remained being used just because how comfy they were.

There, snuggled between Chan and Minho, you smiled, taking both of their hands.

“I’m hungry.” You said, pouting unconciously.

“We can make popcorn if you want.” Christ suggested, pausing the movie.

You sat in your knees, looking at them with a smirk.

Minho smirked back, starting to guess where this was headed.

“What do you want to eat, kitten?”

You snickered.

“I want to have ramen.”

~kats, who hopes everyone understood that kdrama reference just now ;););););)

[lnfours]

Hi so I’m just wondering if you could write some fluffy smut with lando (if that makes sense) and I love your work it’s my favourite ❤️ have a nice day!

i’m not okay. i need this man in ways that would set back feminism 100 years.

i got carried away 😅 smut warning

lando brainrot? lando brainrot.

the sun had set hours ago, the city lights of monaco and the moonlight lighting up the bedroom through the half closed curtains in your shared bedroom. the room was silent apart from the giggles and soft moans as your boyfriend hovered over you, his lips attaching to the skin on your collarbone.

you were sure it was going to leave a mark, but you didn’t care. you couldn’t care, actually. everything about what he was doing to you just felt too good and it had been way too long since he touched you like this.

but it wasn’t the hungry, needy kind of sex that normally unfolded whenever he came back home. this was the heart clenching, soft and giggly kind of sex you two loved. the kind where you just cared about taking care of the other, subsiding the urge to get off.

your hands were in his curls, still damp from the shower he had taken after getting home from the airport. you twisted them around your fingers, his lips traveling down your stomach as they reached the top of your pajama pants. you caught the glance he sent your way, blue eyes with a hint of green meeting yours as they squinted, the silent queue telling you that he was smiling against your skin.

sure enough, the suppressed giggle sounded through the room as he continued kissing your skin, leaving little marks here and there as a reminder that you were his. something he didn’t do often, but enjoyed doing. he loved looking over your body in the morning and finding the love bites he had left the night prior, a reminder of what the two of you had done, which never failed to get him worked up.

you lifted your hips up as he pushed the material down your legs, tossing the pants to the floor as he backed down the mattress, spreading your thighs, “missed you so much,”

you let out a content sigh, a smile on your face as he peppered kisses on the insides of your thighs, “missed you too, baby.”

he groaned, the pet name being his weakness, especially when it was falling from your lips in a soft breath with his head between your legs. it was his favorite thing. the best ‘welcome home’ he could ever get.

he didn’t waste any more time, his lips kissing on your core as you breathed in a shaky breath, stomach clenching at the feeling, “i love you.”

“i love you, too,” you smiled, watching as he dove in. his tongue separating your folds as he licked a stripe up your cunt. you let out a moan of his name, which only got him more worked up as he moved to spread your wetness with his fingers.

he carefully slid a finger into you, your back lifting slightly off the bed as you moaned, “god,”

“yeah, baby?” he hummed, finger fucking you as his lips brushed against your clit while he talked to you, “doesn’t feel as good when you do it, does it?”

your mind went back to the week beforehand when you had him on the phone, the line filled with pants and moans and whispered dirty words as you chased your highs together. you had told him how much you missed his fingers and mouth, wishing that the ones that were pumping in and out of you quickly were his. how you wished it was his tongue on your clit instead of your own middle finger.

he had said similar things, wishing it was your mouth on his dick instead of his hand. wishing it was you who was getting his dick wet rather than his own spit. he was craving you more than ever and he was making it known when he whimpered your name through the phone.

now you were here, your boyfriends face between your thighs, a smirk on his face as he leaned back down to your core. his tongue found your clit with ease, having your body memorized like the back of his hand. you moaned when he slipped another finger in, filling you more. he curled them up, hitting just the right spot as his other hand traveled up your body, twisting one of your nipples between his fingers.

“lando, fuck,” you couldn’t form a complete sentence, “gonna— shit… gonna come.”

“yeah, baby, c’mon,” he continued thrusting his fingers, moving up to meet your lips in a kiss, “come all over my fingers.”

it didn’t take much more before you were clenching him, his lips smiling against your neck as you shook under him. he loved watching you like this knowing he was the only one who was able to give you this mind blowing of an orgasm.

once you came down from your high and he had gently removed his fingers from inside you, you grabbed his face, kissing him passionately. he hummed into the kiss, letting you push him down on the bed as you placed your hands on his shoulders, hovering over his frame as he smiled up at you.

his hands were on your hips as you ground down on his dick, a moan pushing past his lips as he moved you against him, “shit— wanna ride me?”

you nodded, “yeah,”

you lifted off him to let him get rid of his boxers, which also ended up somewhere on the hardwood floor. you rocked your hips back and forth, grinding against him as you spread your slick over him, letting him help you before you lowered yourself down onto him. the moans that left both of your mouths were almost pornographic when he finally bottomed out.

you smiled, slowly starting to rock your hips back and forth to give yourself some more time to adjust, “you’re so pretty like this.”

“shouldn’t i be saying that to you?”

you shrugged, “maybe.”

he laughed softly, “well, then you’re gorgeous like this.”

you smiled, leaning down and meeting his lips in a kiss as he helped you rock back and forth on him. you leaned back, hands on his knees as you started to slowly bounce. his face had contorted at the new angle, mouth hanging open and eyebrows furrowed before his fingers moved down to connect with your clit. you moaned, eyes rolling back as you sped up slightly.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned, “so fucking hot and taking me so well. you’re mine.”

you let out a moan when he slapped your ass, grabbing it after as he kneaded the skin. he drew tight circles around your clit, your moans only encouraging him to meet your hips up in thrusts.

pretty soon, you were clenching around him for the second time. he helped you though your orgasm, the moan of his name that you let out pushing him over the edge. he came inside you, riding out your highs before you gathered up the strength to get up.

he didn’t waste any time, his hands finding your sensitive core again as he spread your legs wide. he watched his cum slowly start to leak out of you, his fingers moving to collect it before fucking it back into you softly. you moaned, “fuck-“

he smiled softly, “don’t want to waste any of it, baby.”

you nodded in agreement, “keep fucking me like this and i don’t think it’s gonna take long.”

he laid between your legs, head resting on your stomach as you played with his curls, “doesn’t matter, i just can’t wait to see how gorgeous you look while pregnant with my kid.”

you laughed softly, “excited for the mood swings and weird food cravings that come with it?”

he nodded, “everything’s worth it for you,” he met your eyes now, his head adjusting to properly look at you, “and for hopefully our little family one day.”

you smiled, hand caressing his cheek, thumb tracing over the small freckles and moles that littered his face cutely, “one day, babe. hopefully one day soon.”

you couldn’t wait for that day to come.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Nerull, The One Who Sorts The Bones

It's said they found the god in the old tombs, in that forgotten quiet where long eras had worn away all the epitaphs. They drew in a breath of the still air and on their exhalation the god took flight into the world on vulture's wings. -The Silent Testimonies, book 1

A god not of death, but of the dead, Nerull presides those aspects of the mortal coil that lay beyond the Raven Queen's domain of mourning and memory. Someone must keep vigil for the departed long after their names have passed from the memories of the living, and so that duty falls to Nerull, who's chosen people are the spirits that have lingered in the world far longer than they were ever alive.

Beyond the dead, the vulture’s faithful are an eclectic lot. Itinerant gravetenders, scholars of forgotten tongues, Bonesetters who's experience with embalming helps them minister to the living.  To Serve Nerull you must first die, though this is often symbolic.

Unlike his fellow carrion-bird death god, Nerull's following does not frown on the use of necromancy, or the existance of undead. Ghost stories, whether vengeful or sorrowful are considered holy for the way their memory transcends time. The exception to this reverence of course are those trapped in suffering, and the "hungry" dead who feed on the living. Pain and want are after all the purview of life, and Nerull dispatches hunters and psychopomps to ease such spirits along their way.

Adventure Hooks:

While out on their travels the party encounters a procession of grey pilgrims, masked and shrouded, all silent save for the leader of their procession who carries a staff jingling with bells and welcomes the party to sit by his fire. He tells tale of conflicts across the realm, new and old, shared with her by her flock, and invites the party to walk along with them the next day if they wish to see something splendid. Should the party agree to such unsettling company they will walk until sunset when they come to a hillside dotted with loose stones, where one by one the pigrims will walk out and begin constructing their own cairns. The procession leader will thank them for their observance, not many are so kind to the unnamed dead, and will reward them with answers to five questions before departing on pallid wings.

After inexplicably befriending one of Nerull's agents (and possibly his daughter?) during one of their adventures, the party are liable to be put out when they don't see their favourite psychopomp for a while. Queue sightings of a foreboding spectre that's knocking one by one on the doors of the city at night, sending people into a panic. Imagine their surprise when it turns out this wraith has a message for them... their favourite omen of doom has been kidnapped by a necromancer and her boss (dad?) wants them to get her back.

The Vulture's work is never done, and this time he's decided to enlist the heroes for aid. Perhaps there's an undead spirit that needs to be quieted, perhaps there's something sinister at work in a ruin once consecrated in his name, perhaps it's just making sure they clean up after themselves after their latest stint of tombrobbing. Regardless, Nerull can offer the heroes something far beyond coin... closure with the dead, ensuring visitation with a loved one for some much needed closure.

Titles: The Vulture, The Bonesorter, Dead Ned, the weary reaper, the vagabond end.

Signs: Plants too dry to rot, the voices of the departed carried on the wind, skeletons rearranged into trees or gardens.

Symbols: A scythe or sickle entwined with flowers.

[toomuchracket]

falling for you (flatmate!matty x reader)

promptober day 10, and there was nobody else i could have written this for. a fluffy but slightly angsty pining lovesick moment, before the two of you are actually flatmates and you're just babies on nights out in manc. i hope you enjoy!

p.s. yeah, i know the pic is the wrong era for this, lol. but it's alllll about the vibes <3

matty's trying his damnedest not to stare at you right now.

he's failing miserably, though. the copious amount of alcohol in his body is rinsing all the sense out of his brain - well, what little you hadn't already stolen from him when you met him earlier outside your halls of residence, all made-up and glowing - and he really cannot tear his eyes away from you, saying bye to your friends at the door of the nightclub.

matty blinks, and self-awareness hits him like a freight train. nah. he's being weird. he needs to get a grip.

but then you turn towards him, waiting on behalf of both of you in the cloakroom queue, and you smile, and all thoughts about stopping looking at you fly out of matty's head. how can he be expected to focus on anything but that face of yours? the vodka's made your beautiful eyes softer, and a combination of marlboros and mac lipstick have made your lips pouty and kissable. well, more so than usual, matty thinks.

he's so distracted by your beauty that he almost doesn't hear the cloakroom attendant shout him up to the window. stumbling slightly - he'd say over his own feet, you'd say due to drunkenness (and you'd be right) - matty exchanges his two tickets for the jackets you and him had been all but forced to wear to prevent the freezing october air getting to you, and wanders over to you. wordlessly, in a well-rehearsed routine, he slings his own jacket over his shoulder as he helps you into yours.

you murmur a thank you. "you hungry?"

for you, yes. for a kebab, no, matty wishes he could say. but he can't, so he just shakes his head.

"neither am i," you say, helping him zip up his leather jacket. your dexterity has been diminished by your drinking, and one of the fringes on the sleeve of your own coat gets stuck between the metal teeth of his. clearly, your brain has also been affected by the alcohol; you frown at the zip, unable to see why it won't move. "huh?"

matty smiles, moving to help you. "got caught on your coat. sorry, darlin'."

"oh, s'fine. thanks," you reply, as you're unstuck once again. with a smile, you hold a hand out to matty. "shall we?"

like he'd ever say no to you. "we shall."

and the walk back to your uni begins.

if it had been raining, matty would have done the gentlemanly thing and sprung for a taxi. but it isn't, for once; actually, he thinks, it's kind of a perfect night. the sky is inky-black, devoid of any clouds, and the two of you are just drunk enough that the streetlights look just as pretty as the stars you can't see from so far into the city like this. he's more thankful for the cold air now than he was before the two of you went out - after the close heat of the nightclub, and the internal glow of the however many shots you did, the coolness is welcome. that, and it forces you to secure matty's hand in your own for warmth, which is maybe the most perfect aspect of the night, in his opinion.

naturally, then, a pang of heartbreak hits him when you break the hold to rifle through your handbag. when you procure a half-empty pack of cigs, though, it dissipates.

"want one?" you ask, holding the open end of the packet towards matty.

"no thanks, sweetheart," he says. he isn't lying: the thought of anything clouding his vision of you, even cigarette smoke, is unbearable. but then a spark of an idea crackles somewhere in his brain - whether it's in spite of or because of his tipsy state, matty isn't sure, but either way it tells him he shouldn't be so quick to refuse. so, tentatively, he continues speaking. "i'll gladly share one with you, though."

you take your time answering, slowly pulling a cig from the pack and shoving the rest back in your bag, then digging around for your lighter. matty chews his cheeks during this performance, terror that he's overstepped a friendship boundary of some sort beginning to creep up his spine. but then you shrug, and say "alright", and he's fine.

well, he's not fine, actually - the next words that leave your mouth are "need your help to light it, though, matty". 

fuck. his hands so close to your jaw, close enough that he could take hold of it and kiss you before his brain could convince him that it was too much of a risk to your friendship? that's dangerous.

god, he's so drunk. and so definitely in love with you.

what matty is first and foremost, though, is a good friend. shoving down any and all romantic and/or sexual thoughts about you and your lips as best he can (which is, admittedly, not very well), he turns to face you and takes the lighter from your hand. "c'mere then."

when you oblige, silently, and look up at him with your lips parted and those sparkly doe eyes of yours, matty bites the inside of his lip so hard he feels it bleed. christ. this was perhaps a bad idea.

but the cig is right there, waiting to be lit, so he takes a deep breath, cupping the lighter as he flicks the flame into existence and brings it to your mouth. the orange glow illuminates you quite beautifully, and suddenly matty's head is filled with thoughts of you across from him, like you are now, but sat at a candlelit, white-clothed table with a glass of wine and a fancy dinner before you. and, if he's being honest, also with thoughts of you underneath him, face blissful and softly lit by the candles dotted around the room as he fucks you slowly and tenderly.

for fuck's sake. you're his best friend. he can't be thinking of you like that. why can't he stop thinking about you like that tonight? maybe he's going insane. he has no idea. but whatever is compelling him seems to lessen as you step back and exhale the smoke. "thank you, babe."

babe? that's new. but not unwelcome, not at all. matty feels his heart flutter at the pet name.

"s'alright," he smiles. now it's his turn to hold out a hand. "shall we keep going?"

"mhmm," you quickly take another puff of the cig, before sliding it between matty's lips with a giggle and taking his hand; you have to tug him forward a few paces before he regains control of his brain, but he quickly manages it, and the walk home continues.

for the most part, it's uneventful, aside from the alien feeling of your hand constantly in matty's. that is, until he tries to be clever and inhale the cig mid-conversation, and ends up exhaling directly in your face when you turn to listen to him without him fully noticing.

you cough a little bit when the smoke hits you, and matty panics (and internally facepalms. what a fucking idiot he is) as he throws the cig on the ground and stamps it out. "shit! i'm so sorry, sweetheart, i didn't mean that! you alright?"

"s'ok, i'm ok, don't worry," you assure him, waving away both his fretting and the lingering smoke. when it clears from in front of your face, matty's heartbeat increases as he takes in your amused smile and your even-more-sparkly-than-earlier eyes. you're beautiful. you're fucking glowing. and you're tucking yourself under his arm and cosying into his side as you walk. jesus christ. "this is a lot better for us, don't you think?"

matty's cheeks lift into a smile. "definitely."

it really is better, matty thinks, walking towards the front door of your halls with you snuggled into his chest. much like every other aspect of matty's life, you fit seamlessly into his side - you just feel so right there, so natural, as if the two of you were biologically designed to be together. maybe someday, he hopes, you will be; not two best friends traipsing into uni accommodation for a post-night out sleepover, but a pair of lovers heading home after a date.

he doubts that'll actually happen, given that he'd have to go through the impossible task of telling you how he feels first, but still. it's a nice distant daydream, one he's still giddily thinking about when you unlock the front door and pull him through several more until you reach your bedroom.

you groan when you flick the light on and see the state of your bed, makeup palettes and hair products and failed outfit options strewn across it. matty immediately jumps into problem-solving mode; anything to stop you being unhappy, after all. "where do you want all this stuff, darlin'?"

"the fucking floor," you grumble.

"so… where i'm meant to sleep?"

your head snaps up, and you catch matty's eye in the mirror as you take your earrings out. "well," you turn to face him, your expression… nervous? "you could just, y'know, share the bed with me."

oh. matty can feel his heart pounding in his ears, diminishing the volume of your continuing (and frantic) monologue: "i mean, i know it'll be tight cos it's a single, and you've always insisted on sleeping on the floor even when i've offered to let you have the bed, but it's really cold tonight and i wouldn't mind the extra heat, and at least if we're sharing i know you won't be freezing and you'll be comfy, yeah?"

"ok," matty says, despite barely registering anything you said in his fugue state. he's drunk, and lovesick, but he's not an idiot. "yeah. we'll share."

your face breaks into a relieved smile. "ok. good. um, before that, would you…?"

"oh, of course," matty darts over to you as quickly as he can, while you turn to face the mirror again and lift your hair up. slowly, with fingers fumbling just as much from nerves as from alcohol consumption, he undoes the zip on the back of your dress. the perfume still lingering on the back of your neck clouds his brain with every breath he takes, and the organ threatens to completely shut down when matty pulls the zip down low enough to reveal a lack of bra clasps underneath your outfit. once he's finished undoing you, he steps back while he still has the ability to do so, turning away from you. "there you go."

"thank you," comes the reply from behind him, followed by the sounds of fabric rustling and drawers opening. matty busies himself with carefully clearing your bed, only turning back round when you tap his arm; he smiles when he sees you in a big t-shirt, hair shoved up messily and makeup half-removed, holding out a pair of sweatpants he recognises as his. "you left these here last time. i thought you might want them to sleep in. and i did wash them, before you ask."

you roll your eyes as matty presses the trousers to his nose anyway as a joke - when he registers that his clothes now smell like you and your washing powder, however, it stops being funny in favour of being lovelorn-inducing. but his smile quickly returns when he properly notices the design on the t-shirt you're wearing. "i cannot believe you're wearing a drive like i do shirt to bed. thought you were more proud of me, to be honest, darlin'."

"of course i am, but it's comfy," you protest, brow furrowing in the most adorable way as you frown. it softens wistfully as you continue. "and it reminds me of home."

weird, matty thinks. you're not from- oh. christ.

he's home, to you. 

what a fucking thought that is. matty's not quite sure how he's managing to stay sane, but he smiles, pulling you into a tight hug and stroking your back. "that's very lovely of you, sweetheart."

"s'just the truth," you reach up on tiptoe to pat matty on the head, before pulling away. he misses you immediately. "you wanna get ready for bed?"

does he ever. 

matty nods, kicking his shoes off and quickly undressing while you climb into bed. despite the fact you've seen him in shorts and nothing else before, he wonders if he should feel self-conscious as he strips to his underwear in front of you; something's definitely different with the two of you tonight, matty's sure of it, and he can't quite tell if that's a good or bad thing. probably good, although that might be wishful thinking on his part, just like the way he's convinced your eyes linger on his torso with interest in the mirror when he takes his shirt off.

anyway. clad in his sweatpants and no more, matty climbs into your single bed. he tries to get as comfy as he can, facing away from and without touching you - whether that's to ensure your space and comfort or to stop himself from agonising over how much he likes you, matty has no idea. he isn't comfortable in the slightest, but he'll endure it.

you, on the other hand, have other ideas. with a sigh of "daft boy", you move forward so your body is against matty's back, slinging an arm and leg over his front and spooning him. "is this alright? i figured it was the best way to keep us warm."

"it's perfect, sweetheart," matty replies, and he isn't lying. despite how much it hurts being so close to you and repressing how he really feels about you, matty's surprisingly chill about the way you're clinging to him. cautiously, but feeling compelled to do so, he brings his hand up to stroke your thigh; when you hum contentedly, matty rests it there. "goodnight."

"mmm, night," you yawn out, the blanket of sleep falling on you fast. "love you."

matty smiles, half sadly, half dreamily. "love you too, darlin'."

the next day, he writes a new song.

[cattimeswithjellie]

Stream Recap ZombieCleo, 6-23-24

((Did I jump the queue with this one and stay up especially late finishing it specifically because DocM77 asked on Twitter for someone to go over the stream with a fine-toothed comb and give him the salient details? MAYBE. I just hope I can figure out a way to get it to him so he sees it. Anyway, it's stupidly late, have a stream recap in which Scar's audio is a main character that never appears.))

0:00 Cleo opens the stream on the Hermitcraft server. She greets the False raiders and the chatters who were already here, even as she types to False in the game chat. She asks False if she is tired, False replies that she is boiling. Cleo suggests living in Scotland, where it is cool in both a literal and metaphorical sense. Cleo asks Chat if they are good. She herself thinks Chat is great because they are here. Cleo does not know if False shows appreciation for her chat enough, but promises that False does really appreciate them, probably. Chat appreciates False. Ren enters the server and gets an OMG HI from Cleo in chat. Cleo and Ren agree they need to play Plate Up again soon. Cleo will also drag False along on this Plate Up adventure, whether she wants to or not.

3:00 A chatter plays hydration check, so Cleo takes a drink and gives chat a bonus posture check as well. A chatter asks which is Cleo’s favorite punctuation mark. Cleo says it is the interrobang (‽) because it is great. The plan for today is to try and do some planning with Chat’s help, because Chat is smart and Cleo hasn’t got a plan. Cleo is also very concerned that Chat engage in self-care activities. They go full-screen vtuber to lead a mini stretching session and tell Chat they are important and loved.

5:10 The plan-planning process requires some signs. Cleo goes to get some while talking about how nice it is to live in Scotland where it’s not so hot. They thank subs and donos and try to make heart-hands after a nice message, but realize they have not put on their hand sensors. Maybe later for that. A chatter plays the Hotdogs On Your Face song. Mrs. Tango raids into the stream. Cleo goes full-screen again to welcome the raiders and give them the same niceness and self-care message. Cleo is feeling especially nurturing today and Chat is vibing with it.

8:20 Cleo stares at the sign she was about to place down and write the plan on, but she has forgotten it. She thanks subs and donos instead and remembers the plan. The plan is to plan out the city and mark places for Shrubberies, which must be pronounced in Knights that Say Ni fashion ((a reference to the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail.)), and other important landmarks. NJCoffeeJunkie raids in, but Cleo’s not doing the nurturing thing a third time in ten minutes. A chatter plays sour jelly bean.

10:30 Cameron, Cleo’s lead mod and partner, raids in. Cleo gives in and gives the full-screen nurturing self-care speech again. Cleo finally writes “Granery Food Storage” on the sign, declaring that she is not a teacher anymore and doesn’t need to spell. She shares the plan for the granary building and says hi to Scar in game chat. More thanks to subs and donos. A chatter suggests Scar has a power beyond this world, Cleo wouldn’t go that far but does agree that Scar is pretty dangerous. ((In Season 9, Joe Hills made it a point to greet Scar whenever he logged on, because otherwise Scar had a tendency to drop by his build and murder him. This may have had a lasting effect on Hermit behavior patterns.)) Cleo has a video coming out tomorrow that also involves Skizz and Joel, and it’s going to be fun.

14:20 Cleo shows off how they have spawn-proofed their front lawn area, mostly using glow lichen, which they insist must be pronounced with a short I sound, as in “finger-lickin’” because otherwise it sounds stupid. A chatter announces they came out to their parents and shouts out the gays. Cleo shouts out the gays, lesbians and all other groups and wishes everyone happy pride. They trail off when they realize that Ren has made a stone… “upside-down T” in one of the marked-off building squares. Cleo takes down the definitely-only-an-upside-down-T and replaces it with a sign declaring it the medical tent/emergency room area. Chat is not sure it was just a T. Cleo marks another square for Delivery of Supplies, right in front of the mailbox.

17:00 Cleo makes a big square for the Tavern, which will also be the town meeting hall. When the drama happens (and she doesn’t mean Theatre Kid Ren), they can come in here and plan. Cleo thinks about what else is needed. A boat dock maybe. Chat agrees that if D&D has taught them anything, it is that a tavern is the best place to make plans. Cleo agrees. Chat also suggests an armory. During this time, Cleo also seems to perceive that it is evening and tries to sleep. It does not work. Eventually Cleo realizes it is still daytime and is a bit confused. Chat suggests that night is an illusion. Cleo thinks about the best place to put an armory without blocking the sight lines of the little town. Chat suggests a school as well, but a town on a war footing does not need a school. She sketches out an armory and puts up a sign for where the docks will be.

22:50 Cleo starts trying to sleep again. She taps the bed for about 25 seconds before finally being allowed to sleep. A kitchen tent might be good on the hill, so that gets sketched out as well. A retaining wall for the hill will probably show up at some point. A chatter asks what era the village is supposed to be, Cleo says it’s going to be Magipunk. There will be motorbikes and magic robots. There might be some ruins as well. A chatter asks about the pile of Ren and False heads in the middle of the build area, Cleo says that’s Ren and False being Ren and False. A chatter suggests adding a watchtower, but that would be on top of the hill and Cleo has other plans for that area.

28:30 A chatter says that Scar needs help. Cleo says that if Scar needs help, Scar can ask for help. It is not polite to go into other peoples’ streams and ask for help for other people. Chat suggests a junkyard or scrap heap, but Cleo thinks this community is very into recycling and mending because they haven’t got much stuff. There will be a bunch of barracks tents, those get squares. Cleo needs one more big building. Chat makes a lot of suggestions. Cleo has run out of yellow wool to make plan squares with. They head to the shopping district.

31:40 Cleo hits up Wool Street and buys four stacks of yellow wool, then goes home. Wool Street does not have an ender chest, a clear violation of the Cub Rule, but Cleo pays anyway. Chat is becoming extremely distracted by whatever is happening in Scar’s stream, to the point where Cleo’s mod bans the word “Scar” temporarily. If Scar needs help, Cleo reiterates, Scar can speak to her himself. ((If this were a video recap, there would be a smash cut here to Scar’s stream, where his profound audio issues are currently causing everything he says to turn into an unbearable auditory hellscape until he is reduced to pantomime and beatboxing just to interact with his Chat. But Cleo has no way of knowing this.))

34:10 Chat finally comes up with the good suggestion of a campfire area in the center of town. Cleo agrees with this and decides a longhouse to go with it will do the trick. They begin sketching it out when Scar puts “cLEO!” “where are yyou?” into the chat. Cleo tells him they are at their base. Chat is extremely riled up by now, telling Cleo to run, to escape, pain is coming, prepare your ears. Cameron has caught wind of what is actually happening and tells Cleo it’s not good. Cleo does not know why they should be expected to run from Scar.

35:30 Scar approaches on foot, wearing his Poe Poe skin and hat. He doesn’t say anything. Cleo says hi to him several times. He continues not to say anything. Cameron lets Cleo know that Scar’s mic is looping all desktop audio. Cleo tells Scar that he’s wonderful and she wants him to know that, but the whole no-sound thing is actually extra-creepy. She suggests that she could make things much worse by going and getting her horns.

36:30 Ren flies in, playing one of his own horns. He is clearly well-informed about the situation and intends to make it as terrible as possible. “Burning in my ears,” he sings, “the mic is echoing! It is absolutely pain, in the earholes!” Scar flies away. Cleo admits she can’t hear Scar at all, but the song has her laughing. Ren says that he and his stream are watching Scar’s stream and it is _wild._ Cleo’s Chat is in emoji-only time out right now because talking about other streams is both against the rules and all anybody wants to do. Scar flies back to the waiting pair and Ren immediately begins chanting the beginning of “My Name Is” but he doesn’t actually know the words and mostly improvises. Cleo congratulates Scar on getting her stream put into emote-only. Scar does not respond ((partly because everything Cleo says is being shredded into the nonsense avalanche of sound looping on Scar’s stream and partially because Scar also hasn’t figured out how to unmute his mic in his current OBS configuration)). Scar flies away again.

38:00 Ren and Cleo discuss the wildness of the current situation. Cameron knows what is wrong with Scar’s audio equipment, but there’s nothing they can actually do. It’s not as though they can reach through the computer and get into Scar’s audio equipment. Scar flies back, having successfully unmuted at least, and yells at them to help him. Cleo reiterates that they can’t, while Ren begins beatboxing. Cleo tells Scar he needs to reboot, but there is no way that is getting through overtop the terrible audio mess that Ren is creating. “If I say something I just echo!” Scar yells. “Echo, echo, echo!” Ren starts beatboxing again, because he is terrible. Scar flies away again. Cleo tells Ren he is mean. Funny, but mean. They are both laughing pretty hard.

40:10 In the spirit of attempting to actually be helpful, Cleo begins writing Cam’s suggestion about the problem into game chat, but is interrupted by Scar flying back while singing “Have you heard the take of Mr. Kirkland and his four-pound pie?” Ren adds backup vocals. Cleo is trying really hard to impart some actual information but it is totally buried under the audio barrage that is completely inaudible on this stream. Cleo tells Scar that he is the best, he has completely derailed everything. That isn’t bad, it’s just funny. Cleo spends a lot of streams just listening to Scar.

41:50 Ren apparently closes or mutes Scar’s stream and heaves a sigh, saying he really feels like he’s been somewhere else. Cleo bets Scar wishes he were somewhere else. A chatter plays sour jellybean. Cleo says the funniest part is when Scar unmutes suddenly to say something. Ren begins playing his guitar over his mic. “It’s getting WORSE!” Scar yells suddenly and flies away again. “You’re a mean, mean man,” Cleo tells Ren. The two of them agree that this is pretty satisfying karma for all the trolling Scar has ever done to them. Cleo shows off some of the planning they have been doing with all the wool squares. Ren looks at the 3x3 square marked off for a tent and suggests dubiously that it is a small space for a tent. Cleo assures him it’ll be fine, it’ll be made out of pants. It takes Ren a minute for figure out that the tent will be an armor stand sculpture, not a build. He thinks it’s cool.

44:30 Scar returns once more! Ren and Cleo sing to him. He flies away again. Ren turns on the stream and reports that the audio is definitely not fixed. He tells Cleo that when Scar comes back, they need to hit him with some Bohemian Rhapsody. Cleo agrees, so long as Ren handles the high parts. Ren wants to do the low parts. They practice. Cleo does have a little uncertainty on the high notes and neither of them are sure of the words, but they do a credible job. Chat is very enthusiastic about it.

46:00 Scar comes back again. His audio is still not fixed. Ren and Cleo sing to him. Chat speculates on how many horns could be made just from the shenanigans of the past thirty minutes. They forget the words and jump ahead to the “MAMAAAA” portion. Cleo decides to actually be helpful and tabs out to start sending information and screenshots from Cameron to Scar that might help fix his problem. While Cleo is tabbed out, there is no visual indicator like a menu screen but the game does freeze, leading to the strange phenomenon of Scar audibly being killed by a drowned, complete with hitting and screaming, while appearing completely fine and motionless onscreen. Chat is confused.

47:30 Cleo tabs back into the game to find the drowned attacking them now. They scold it for being on land and kill it, then survey the bits and piece Scar left scattered around as Ren tries in vain to describe the complete audio chaos that is Scar’s stream. Cleo spots Scar’s _enormous_ Poe Poe hat and starts laughing. Neither of them have any inventory space to pick up any of the scattered belongings. Ren makes a chest and does his best while thinking about other songs that he can loop into Scar’s audio purgatory. He asks Cleo if she knows a song that he describes completely as “Dadadadada, dadadadadada.” Cleo does know it enough to dadada along. ((Chat identifies the song as Sandstorm, by Darude.)) He collects up the Poe Poe hat and puts it on. The effect is striking, especially considering that his skin already has glasses. Cleo is impressed. She tells Ren she’s never said this to anyone before, but he should be a member of the Poe Poe.

49:50 Scar returns, naked but for his spare wings. He asks timorously if he can have his things. It seems possible for a moment that Scar’s audio issues are corrected, but no luck. Ren throws back all of Scar’s items, then absolutely engulfs him in the monstrous entity that is the Poe Poe hat. Cleo dissolves in laughter again. Ren starts in with Sandstorm. Cleo tells Scar that she doesn’t mind if he kills Scar. Scar says Ren might have his axe. Ren does, and throws it back while still “dadadadadada”-ing. Scar sets off several flight rockets, apparently just to add to the chaos Cleo cannot hear. Cleo tells Scar he is awesome, but whatever he is going through, she cannot relate. It is funny that Ren is being the menace right now, she says, because usually that’s Scar’s job. There’s a moment of silence, then Cleo asks Ren how long he thinks it’ll be before Scar mutes them. “Let’s keep complimenting me,” Scar suggests instead. “I like that part.” Ren starts playing guitar again. In chat, Cameron is clearly itching for a way to actually reach through the computer and fix Scar’s audio equipment.

51:50 Scar thinks he’s figured something out. He’s only getting one echo now, which is a big improvement from the four or five he’s been hearing. Cleo asks if Scar’s done the troubleshooting Cam suggested. Scar says he tried, but he’s not seeing any of the stuff Cam said he should see. Ren whispers to his Chat that he thinks they muted him. Cleo says they did not, they’re just ignoring him. Cleo reminds him that they are trying to be nice to Scar, which is quite difficult. Ren doesn’t know anything about that, he is trying to make loop tracks.

52:20 “Oh, like this is your Woodstock,” Cleo realizes. Ren agrees. “What about wood?” Scar asks. Cleo sighs and asks why Scar is like this, but Scar has clearly gotten an immediate dose of karma in the form of an innuendo that will not stop looping in his audio feed. He regrets everything. Cleo asks with some disbelief if he actually understands what he just said. Scar says he does because it won’t stop repeating in his ears. If he hears one more thing about wood he’ll go crazy! Cleo has had an epiphany. Could this be Scar’s conscience, a force that simply repeats the exact things he says back to him?

53:00 Cleo tries to help Scar disable desktop audio. This helps, but does not eliminate the problem. Cleo and Cam believe it is desktop audio and Scar is just not finding the correct source. Ren begins chanting the “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck” rhyme, because he is terrible. Scar gives up and leans into it, telling Ren to do the woodchuck thing again. Clearly those two are hearing a lot that Cleo is not hearing right now.

54:50 Scar is silent for a moment, then comes back and says he may have figured it out. “Oh?” Cleo asks. Scar asks if hypothetically, someone were to have three open sources of their own stream in the background on their desktop, could that cause this. Cleo answers “yes” in the carefully controlled voice of someone who wants to say so very, very much more. In the chat, Cameron has been reduced to ellipses. Cleo reminds Scar that the very first thing they asked him was if he had his stream open in the background. Scar admits he had three tabs of his stream open, but they were minimized so he didn’t see them. Apparently he had some trouble linking when he was trying to tweet out his stream start, and that eventually led to… all of this. Chat is melting down. Ren tells Scar “You are easily in my top ten favorite humans.” Scar cannot hear him because, on top of everything else, he is working with a broken pair of headphones old enough to be starting intermediate school in the fall. Ren types it into the game chat.

56:00 Scar adjusts Ren’s audio and tells him he has pumped him up so he can hear better. Cleo says Ren does not need pumping up, that Ren comes fully inflated at all times. Chat wants a clip of that immediately. Scar claims that nothing like this has ever happened to him before. Cleo says at least they know what the problem was now: ineptitude! Ren admits that he gave up on helping immediately and embraced the chaos. Cleo tries to say that they could help a little by passing along Cameron’s advice, but is interrupted by Scar audibly dropping his headset. Chat is just having the best time right now.

57:20 Cleo asks Scar if he’s going to get a new headset. He says “not yet” in the vocal tone of a talking dog who knows he is the one who ate all the ham. She asks why and he explains he hasn’t decided what he wants yet, and also he hates spending money. Exasperated, Cleo reminds him that this is his JOB. Scar snicker laughs and says he was thinking today that he probably does need to have a burial for this headset. He can bury it in the garage. She suggests “burying” it with a ten pound hammer. Scar says he gets sentimental and weird and very specific things: his sunglasses and this headset. He’s had the headset longer than he’s been on Hermitcraft! ((Scar joined Hermitcraft in Season 4, which started in early 2016, meaning that the headset is a minimum of eight years old and probably older.)) Cleo is appalled and insists that this proves the exact point she was trying to make. At some point the headset was good but now it is ancient and diseased and needs to be put out of its misery. Scar insists that it’s not diseased because he has replaced the ear cups several times. A brief discussion of the Headset of Theseus ensues before Cleo rejects the whole premise.

59:30 Cleo points out that if Scar’s headset is over ten years old, he is going to hear _so much_ better when it is replaces. Scar insists that it’s a good headset and gets very nostalgic about how many Hermitcraft meetings have come through that headset, but Cleo would rather not. Ren suggests that Scar needsto take the headset in a field and deal with it Office Space style. ((A famous scene in the movie Office Space involves smashing a printer to bits with a bat.)) This actually seems to appeal to Scar. The three also discuss the merits and risks of a viking funeral for the headphones. Scar likes the idea because it involves a flaming arrow. Apparently Scar did some archery when he was young and even got a couple bullseyes. His archery career was ended when his brother broke the windows on the shed with an arrow and got the bow taken away. Ren says he is scared of bow and arrows because of a time in boarding school where an older boy bullied the new kids by shooting an arrow straight into the air and making them run away from it.

1:02:00 Scar shoots an arrow into the air to illustrate the story. Ren says that brings back painful memories, yes. Scar tells them that this is the first arrow of the new HotGuy bow, because he fell into lava again yesterday and lost everything. Chat is still pretty hung up on Ren’s story. Cleo sighs that at some point they are going to just have to give Scar some kind of frequent flier discount at the bookshop. Scar clears his throat and says it’s nice that Cleo mentioned that because there is a situation where some snails stole all his diamonds… Cleo asks if he stole books from the shop. He insists that it wasn’t stealing because he is going to pay it back! He paid half at the time and the other half is on layaway, which in his mind apparently involves getting to take the items before you have finished paying for them. Cleo insists that they can’t get a new trophy with layaway diamonds!

1:02:40 Scar and Cleo find common ground over the fact that they are both currently the plaintiffs in server lawsuits. Scar is embroiled in a dispute with some snails and a man named Big Ron who may or may not be Mumbo, while Cleo is suing Doc for killing a pig they had a special emotional attachment to. Cleo’s suin’ papers have been delivered and Ren should expect a subpoena at any point. Ren says he’s not going to appear in court for less than a stack of diamonds, suggesting he is not super-familiar with the subpoena power in general and “things a witness should probably not say” in specific. Scar, confused, asks if Ren is Cleo’s lawyer. Cleo clarifies that Ren is a witness. Skizz is Cleo’s lawyer. Scar is sorry to hear that and offers his condolences to Cleo. Cleo says it’s fine because the other lawyer is Joe. She is also not going to say what she did to the judge. She clears her throat and moves on.

1:03:30 Ren reiterates the fact that if Cleo were to see her way clear to making a substantial amount of diamonds appear in Ren’s mailbox, he might just become a very enthusiastic and helpful witness. Cleo insists that all she really wants is for Doc to suffer. Ren says he just wants to make some profit off the situation. Cleo asks points out that Ren is supposed to be married to Doc. Scar agrees and says that it’s not right to get in the middle between family. He asks Cleo if this is about the pig. “Yeah, it’s about the pig,” Cleo admits, sounding a bit embarrassed about it at this point. Cleo is suing for intentional infliction of emotional distress.

1:04:10 Ren informs Scar that there was A MURDER. Scar knows about the murder, it’s tied into his investigation and he has zero leads and he doesn’t know what to do because Doc is expecting results! Cleo is confused until Scar clarifies that as a member of the Poe Poe, he is charged with investigating the diamond ore thefts that were the instigating incident for the pig murder but he has zero leads and he doesn’t know what to do. Ren immediately tells Scar he’s barking up the wrong tree because Ren of course knows absolutely nothing about the diamond snitcher and can be of no help whatsoever. Scar finds that immediate reaction very suspicious. Cleo doesn’t know from suspicions or diamond filchers, all they know is that there’s a diamond thief and it caused their pig to die. Ren admits that it is possible that his quick denial might have sounded a bit suspicious.

1:05:20 Ren admits that he was trying so hard to sound not-suspicious that he accidentally wrapped right back around to suspicious again. Scar laughs and tells him he “pulled an Impulse,” referencing Impulse’s frequent behavior from Friday Night Among Us streams. Scar decides that he has a new prime suspect. Cleo is not sure Doc will believe Ren took the diamonds. Ren says he couldn’t have thought of the prank and even if he had, he wouldn’t have the follow-through to actually do it. Cleo thinks about it and decides yeah, Ren probably doesn’t have the energy. Scar laughs and protests that he already used that as his excuse and nobody believes him!

1:06:20 Cleo says it can’t be her because she has no energy or patience to poke Doc and then have to listen to Doc rant on and on about how terrible the punishment raining down is going to be, only to have him never deliver. Ren wants to plead his case some more, but Scar is too busy laughing at Cleo’s declaration. He agrees that Doc did dole out some punishment last season, but that the threats are mostly bluster. He does a very terrible Doc impression. Cleo does another Doc impression that is also terrible but in a different way. Scar goes to sleep and Cleo points out that this area is mob proofed. Ren points out that Scar literally just died to a zombie. Cleo has to admit that’s true, but it was a water zombie. Scar points out that he died and they both just LET IT HAPPEN. Cleo protests that she was tabbed out. Ren says he was too busy looping.

1:07:40 Cleo offers Ren the opportunity to tell his story and prove his innocence. Ren goes back to the distant days of Season 8 when he and Doc were living in each others’ pockets, basically in voice chat all day long. Cleo offers condolences for that, but thinks it might make Ren more likely to want to commit a crime. Ren insists no, the opposite! He offers as character evidence the fact that False won Demise this year in part because Ren decided not to target her at the end of the game and in fact helped her although he had no reason to do so. Ren is very loyal to his particular people, and Doc is one of them, so therefore QED Ren cannot possibly be the ore snatcher.

1:08:50 “So you’re saying it’s False,” Scar summarizes. Cleo agrees that is what they got from the story as well. Ren insists that False is way too busy to be doing ore snatching with all the river building, etc. Cleo agrees that this is true, except that Ren just told them it was False. “Did I?” he asks, bewildered. Scar and Cleo both heard it. Scar says sometimes you just need to stop talking because you just keep digging, a subject he himself is well-versed in. Cleo says Ren is incapable of stopping talking. Ren suggests pulling footage of several Among Us streams to prove something about his character, but Cleo interrupts, saying that if they’re pulling footage, Cleo can just pull the bit showing Ren killing the pig. Cleo corrects herself a moment later to say Doc killing the pig, but Ren seizes on the slip as the reason innocent folks like himself get sent to jail. Chat is going to clip that and then everyone is going to think he’s the pig murderer. The soundbite where he says “I’m the pig murderer” in a low sinister voice probably will also not help his clip issues.

1:10:30 Scar moves the conversation along by suggesting more Hermits as potential suspects. This turns into an incredibly lengthy and wide-ranging conversation that is much more concisely summed up in the Reddit document devoted to it. Cub eventually joins in as well to defend himself from some accusations against himself and to throw out some of his own. Joe comes along as well a little later but is less interested in levying accusations and more interested in litigating the unfairness of the fact that he had the idea to mess with the diamond ore first but someone else ran with it and has caused a commotion that could have been his. The conversation lasts for nearly an hour.

2:06:00 The argument turns to whether or not a sophisticated redstoner would be required in order to snatch the ores out of Doc’s machine without breaking it. ((There was an early belief that Ore Snatch #2 did break the machine, but careful video analysis reveals that Doc simply did not notice the ore when it was first removed and that the machine remained unbroken until later on when Ren and Scar came over during Ren’s stream and Ren poked at it. That is actually how the armor stand deployed and the inventory shifted.)) Most of the Hermits present claim to have not even seen the redstone circuitry in question, so a field trip is obviously in order. They all fly over to the armor trim shop.

2:07:20 Scar plays the Poe Poe Siren horn as they fly to the shop, which probably makes this an official Poe Poe visit of some sort. They land outside the shop and Ren worries about spoilers, but most of the shop has been around for awhile. Scar gets distracted by a wandering trader while the rest of the group goes into the shop to look around. Ren points out one of the circuits where a replaced ore block is still visible, commenting that looking down into the circuitry is enough to make him feel panicky. Cleo looks at the armor stands instead and mostly feels offended. Joe points out that most of the redstone circuitry is inert while the machine is not active. As long as one doesn’t touch a block that is powered or, like, pseudopowered? He cannot remember the correct word ((possibly something to do with quasiconnectivity?)) but as long as someone wasn’t removing a block that powered something, they should be able to do it with no trouble.

2:08:20 Cleo abandons the redstone discussion to fiddle with the armor stands that are particularly offending her. One statue has the arm buried inside the chest and that is just unacceptable. She fixes the armor stand to give the statue a more natural posture. Joe says that surely it’s fine and Doc definitely will not get upset about people adjusting things in this room, of all places. Cleo scoffs and says Doc won’t know. The others begin discussing whether the shop is actually open for business, with Joe deliberately muddying the waters by pointing out that the shop must be open because it has no door or anything keeping people from walking inside. Cleo continues making small adjustments to the postures of the statues and is busy with a fish-headed model when suddenly the alarm goes off. It is impossible to tell from Cleo’s perspective who broke the block that triggered the alarm, but all the Hermits who entered the building are still on the main sales floor when she turns around to look. ((Ren’s POV on this is also useless as he was freecamming into the redstone, but Scar’s stream POV shows that Cub placed a magma block at the top of the front doorframe of the shop and broke it, which triggered the alarm. It’s not clear what Cub was doing, but “being a smartass about the is-the-shop-open question” is a fairly safe bet.))

2:09:10 Ren warns everyone to stay up top as the alarm system is dangerous. Scar immediately notices that there is now a Warden in the depths of the machine. Cleo laughs and reminds everyone to be quiet. All the Hermits mill around on the glass display floor to try and get a glimpse of the Warden. Scar asks why it’s not attacking them all. Cleo suggests that it might be distracted by the noise of the alarm itself. Ren says it’s just climbing the stairs and they’d better get going. The world turns black. The Hermits flee.

2:10:20 The Hermits regroup on the grassy lawn well outside Doc’s shop. Cleo is still laughing pretty hard. Ren says “So yeah, that’s the scene of the crime.” Cub wonders if the wandering trader will be killed by the warden. Scar is worried; that trader has gilded blackstone miniblocks and Scar wants him alive. The Warden does not appear to be making an appearance now that everyone has left, though. Cub, Joe and Scar head back towards the building to see what’s happening inside, but Cub and Scar turn back well before the door, driven back by the obnoxious noises of the alarm. Joe goes straight into the building. Ren speculates why someone would want to investigate now, if not to find better ways to get in later. Scar points out that with the alarm already tripped, it’s basically free game now until Doc resets it. Joe only stays inside for a few moments before coming back out. Scar shoots an arrow at him but doesn’t connect.

2:11:40 Somewhat belatedly, the group starts to wonder what triggered the alarm. Cleo suggests that surely someone must have gone down into the redstone. Ren suddenly wonders whether freecam possibly could’ve activated it. Cub pooh-poohs that idea but nobody else is sure. Ren says it’s not a very good alarm if it can trigger just from a customer entering the shop. ((Ren is acting like he doesn’t know what triggers the alarm, which is strange since he helped test it and should know full well that it is breaking blocks.)) Chat knows that the alarm trigger is breaking blocks. Cub admits he placed and broke some magma blocks. Cleo demands to know whether they can set off the alarm so easily, by just setting down a block and breaking it. They are going to annoy Doc _so much _ with this knowledge. Scar suddenly realizes that this means there is very little effective way to pay for items in the shop, since pulling a wallet from a shulker box, placing it down and picking it up again would trigger the alarm. It is not, they decide, a very good alarm system.

2:12:40 Cub decides he’s going in. The others stay outside and talk about whether or not they were scared of the warden, a bell curve that seems to have a lot to do with how much they played the lower levels of Decked Out 2. Cub types in chat that it’s fine, then flies back and tells them that he did get blasted. “Nice,” Cleo compliments. Cleo is of two minds whether they should all keep their mouths shut or leave some kind of sign at the door for Doc. Scar is worried about property damage, but the sonic shriek does not break blocks, only players. Cleo does like the idea of Doc thinking his alarm caught the culprit, then getting linked to the stream and realizing it is just a bunch of bumbling Hermits. They also think it is funny that now the Glitcher actually can do anything they want in the next few hours until the alarm is reset. Nobody else knows the name “The Glitcher,” or at least they are pretending not to. Cleo consults with Chat and passes along the knowledge that the name The Glitcher was provided to Doc on a sign after one of the ore thefts. Scar thinks that this new name sounds a lot like the work of one Cubfan and plays his Darth Vader breathing horn in an attempt to intimidate him into a confession. It does not work. In the background, Joe has left the group and gone back towards the shop, but drops out of sight at the base of the sand pile and eventually flies back around to rejoin the group without actually going inside.

2:15:10 Cub pushes the Grian and/or Scar theory again, but that’s been discussed before. Ren decides that after an hour and fifteen minutes, they are not even a tiny bit closer to figuring out whodunnit. But there is a warden in the shop now, so that’s something? Scar thinks that a warden has got to be bad for Doc’s business, right? Cleo doesn’t believe that Doc cares at all about the success of his business, mostly because he’s being paid in sand. Doc is just being dramatic. Cub circles back around to “The Glitcher” and the quotation marks around it are audible. He asks if it’s true there was a sign. He and Scar both want to see a screenshot from Chat. Chat thinks Cub is pretending a little too hard.

02:17:00 Cleo and Ren both suggest putting up signs purporting to be from the Glitcher, solely for the purpose of trolling Doc. Scar insists that they cannot do that, he is the investigator and he is supposed to be _helping._ Ren thinks it would be very funny to have a sign reading “Soz for tripping your alarm, -The Pincer” (Or Pincher, it’s hard to say.)) Cleo gives him a sign and tells him to have at it. Scar protests loudly again and says they can’t do that. Ren clearly considers it, but then says he cannot do it either, he is Doc’s husband. Cleo grabs the sign and runs for the shop.

2:18:40 Cleo braves the terrible noises of the shop to place a sign in the doorway reading “LOL, Failed Again!” Ren is right behind her and protests that she didn’t add the part about The Pincer. She agrees she did not, because that is LAME. Scar gets the screenshot he wanted from his Discord chat and suddenly remembers Doc talking about these signs. Apparently Doc saw that there was a misspelling on one of the signs and (in Scar’s words) decided to blame the dumbest guy in the crew. Cub also believes that a misspelled sign points in Scar’s direction. The new sign is not going to serve well as a piece of evidence, given that there is a lot of stream evidence about who placed it and why and when, but Cleo doesn’t care. Doc deserves to be wound up, he murdered Cleo’s pig.

2:19:50 Ren has to admit that even though Doc is his husband, he does have something to answer for when it comes to Pig Murder. Scar is paying attention to his chat for once, he tells the others to hang on because an investigation is taking place in his Discord. While Scar is so ostentatiously distracted, Cleo begins handing out a few judicious gifts of diamonds, though the stream lag inherent in a bunch of hermits together leaves a lot of room for them to steal from one another. Cleo becomes convinced that Joe has become the recipient of diamonds they intended to go elsewhere and begins beating him like a pinata in the hopes they will disgorge. In the background, Scar announces that his chat believes Big Salmon is behind the whole thing, but he has no idea what that means. Joe flies away. Scar swears he saw Grian walking around near Doc’s shop, but Cleo has no POV angle to confirm or deny that. Cameron informs Cleo that Ren got the diamonds and is lying about it. Cleo congratuates Grian on some excellent trolling. They go up to the shop, but do not find Grian. Cleo thinks that sneaking in under everyone’s noses for trolling is huge Grian energy.

2:22:20 Ren finds a sign on the sand store that was not there earlier. “Sorry about your alarm, Scar, Chief Investigator.” Scar swears he did not put it there, and indeed he would’ve had a very hard time doing so because he has been moving and talking with the group basically the entire time. Ren insists the sign is there, and it was even glow-inked. Cub says that must’ve been Grian, so Grian is a suspect too. Even as he says it, Joe throws a handful of glow inks out of his inventory and onto the ground. Scar notices it right away. Cleo points the finger at Joe. Joe says he said ten minutes ago that he was going to put up a sign on Scar’s behalf apologizing for the alarm, but nobody ever listens to him. Cleo laughs and says they love it when a plan comes together, they just wish it was theirs. The others are skeptical. Scar points out that Cleo is really pumping the ego of whoever did this and that’s a little suspicious. Cleo says that if they were the culprit, they would’ve told everyone. Joe points out that Cleo could’ve told everyone and it might not have changed anything. After all, Joe told everyone he was going to place the sign and nobody listened to that! Cleo points out that people actually listen to them.

2:24:30 Scar has a thought, forgets it immediately, then immediately remembers it again. He wants to know why his Chat is so insistent that it is Beef. ((Scar’s chat is very devoted to the Big Salmon Theory.)) Why would it be Beef? Cleo laughs and says every single one of them knows why it isn’t Beef right now, and that Beef is too busy to be getting up to any kind of shenanigans. The others agree and warn Scar not to say anything or else there will be real trouble. Scar suggests that Beef’s gonna have a beef with him, but he doesn’t offer any further hints. ((Cleo is obliquely referring to an announcement Beef will make the next day; he and his wife are expecting their first child and thus Beef has way bigger salmon to fry than moonlighting as the Ore Snatcher.)) Cub explains that Beef was part of the Big Salmon consortium that feuded with Doc and Big Wood at the start of the season, but that feud is pretty much over now. They all admire the Big Salmon floating in the Hourglass.

2:26:00 Scar reports that his Chat has turned around on the Beef question, they believe Cleo that it cannot be Beef. The group goes back to trying to decide who the Ore Snatcher actually is, aside from Joe who is still mad it isn’t him. They each go around the circle and give Scar a theory, but none of them seem better supported than the others. Scar says this is all useless, but he’s going to go get a search warrant to search everyone’s storage systems. Ren asks if Scar is going to search his own storage system, perchance? Scar says he’ll have Doc do it. Ren is satisfied by that. Cleo says that’ll definitely work, because nobody on this server except the culprit has deepslate diamond ore, surely.

2:29:00 Scar’s favorite theory is that it was Doc himself, causing drama by stealing his own diamonds. The others think that’s a funny theory. Joe says his favorite theory is that the Scicraft guys got in touch with Karin, Doc’s partner, and gave her detailed instructions on how to carry out the thefts in retribution for unspecified petty wrongs. Whenever Doc is out of the house with Doccy, she’s sneaking onto the server with his account and stealing the diamonds based on detailed tutorials. Scar loves this idea. Ren asks if that means Karin has to come to court. Nobody is sure if she even has a Minecraft account. She might have to make one to come to court.

2:30:40 Cleo laughs and suggests that this has all been a big ploy to jump-start Karin’s YouTube career. Joe is taken by this idea and suggests it would be an amazing spinoff series, Karin and Mrs. Tango and Lizzie Shadow-Beans, but they’re all thieves. Ren puts forth a suggestion from his chat that maybe it _is_ Lizzie, pranking Doc when Joel is out of the house. Cleo thinks Karin is a more likely suspect than Lizzie. Scar admits it’s unlikely, but hilarious. Cleo says that now it is imperative that some Hermit’s spouse begins pranking the server. Joe says that now that his fiance Badgerspanner has heard that, she’s going to demand to be able to do it. Cleo laughs and points out that Joe will get blamed for that. Joe cheerfully announces that he knows, and it’s just going to make more work for Cleo because she’s going to have to explain to him why, when everybody thought it was a funny idea during this stream. Scar suddenly chimes in with “Desperate Hermitwives” from his Chat.

2:32:50 Cleo wants to wrap up, but she stays long enough to hear one more Bdubs theory. Ren wants to know what better way there could be to get people into the court for lawsuits than by causing a bunch of trouble? Cub likes that idea, but Cleo and Scar argue about whether the court actually costs money. Cub is still accusing Scar though, saying that nobody has more to gain from crimes on the server than the Poe Poe. Scar protests, saying he and Bdubs are the Judicial system and devoted to stopping crime! Because the police are never corrupt, right? The argument continues for a moment until Scar finally says “I touched Doc’s boring machine, I blew it up, I banged it too hard, and I’m not interested in banging Doc’s redstone anymore.”

2:34:35 There is a moment of silence. Cleo announces she is leaving. It’s been a lovely stream, they should do this again sometime never. She flies away laughing and insisting that nobody should ever ask Scar why, because No. Cleo apologizes to Chat for getting nothing useful done, but Chat clearly does not care. Cleo goes back to full screen to thank subs and donos, then says that even though she didn’t plan a lot, she did technically plan the plan, which was the plan all along. So that’s something. Cleo raids into Rendog and (with a brief interruption from Joe and his train whistle) ends their stream.

[worldly-diversity]

@questionablemuses ○ 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕫ø ○           ⤷  『  “I’m going to use you like my personal cum dumpster.”  』

How they'd ended up in this situation after the harvest festival was a bit of a blur perhaps. They'd been flirting the entire time the games had been going on, Striker complimenting him when they met had certainly smoothed the way and the guy was cool, a looker and he had a horse, what more's a guy to want huh??

So he'd kept on with the flirting and when he went to find Striker the other had just been chilling in a room, having a drink away from all the people. He'd been invited to join and one thing led to another, among which was another very enjoyable brawl that had ended with Blitzø being pinned under the cowboy and met with a line like that.

So what if he's blushing? Striker's fucking hot, okay??

"Oh yeah? Gonna show daddy a good time, huh~?" He shoots back, eyes trailing down Striker's body suggestively as he licks his lips. Frankly, though he usually tops he's not above letting Striker have this one. They battled for it and he lost, fair's fair. Maybe next time he'll be the one to pin Striker down instead and the roles could be reversed.

But for now he rolls his hips up against Striker's own, stretching his spine and allowing his tail to curl around the other's thigh, clearly encouraging him to keep going. Touch, talk, anything goes. Whatever means he gets to enjoy more of Striker's presence and dominance, attractive bastard that he is~

"Come on big boy, I can take it~"

[capricornlevi]

warm, cool, sweet and bitter

cafe!owner nanami x reader - gn!reader - sfw - wc 1.6k

"not going for the usual?"

nanami's question is delivered casually and carefully, the low tones of his voice carrying across the empty floor of the restaurant.

his restaurant, to be exact. your favourite spot for a late-night cup of tea and the only place in the city that serves sandwiches made with baguettes baked fresh in-house, you find yourself here around 4am at least four days a week.

it's funny; your schedules make it so that the end of your day always coincides with the start of nanami's. he comes in early to put the pastries in the oven, to grind the coffee beans to the correct consistency, to ensure that there's enough stock to last the coming few hours. he's always occupied with some task or another -- for his sake, you're glad you're the only customer at this hour.

though the restaurant is a veritable ghost town whenever you visit, he has told you it tends to pick up around 7am. within the hour, there's a queue out the door.

the popularity doesn't surprise you. nothing beats the welcoming aroma of fresh bread from the oven, the slightly bitter but warm scent of brewing coffee enveloping you into a little bubble sheltered from the usual hustle and bustle of the streets outside.

the bar you work at is just three doors down, and so by the time last call is announced, you're already thinking of the warm baguette you're going to enjoy before rushing home to collapse into bed.

the same baguette every time, with the same blend of tea. you're fairly certain he gives you the same mug every time, too, a beautifully crafted piece of porcelain with little hand-painted yellow flowers decorating the sides.

you've carved out a nice little routine for yourself. but as nanami so astutely pointed out a moment ago, you figure it's time to change it.

some aspects of the routine stay the same; you sit on the same counter stool you always sit at, placed just beside the coffee maker so you can chat as nanami prepares a macchiato for himself. nanami looks the same, dressed in that familiar shirt and slacks that seem perfectly tailored just for him. the smooth jazz playlist plays so quietly in the background that it's barely legible -- you only catch a note or two every few minutes.

but you are going to change one key aspect of this ironclad routine: your order.

"yeah, gonna go for coffee today, i think," you inform him, trying to sound assured in your decision. "a double epresso, please."

"a double? at four in the morning?"

he casts a questioning look your way from over the counter and you shrug, trying to ignore the ache of your muscles as you do so. as he hand-whisks some whipped cream for the pastries, a few strands of his blond hair fall into his eyes. he tries to flick them away to no avail.

you swallow, a lump forming in your throat as you think of how to reply.

"busy day ahead of me, i guess."

nanami nods slowly -- out of politeness, you presume, since there's no way he knows what you're referring to.

your purposeful vagueness isn't to be rude, though, it's just saving you both from extreme awkwardness.

since the reason you're loading up on caffeine is so that you're fully charged to go and break up with your cheating boyfriend.

your pathetic, free-loading, unable to do his own laundry, didn't even have the courtesy to crop you out of the pictures he used on his Tinder profile, miserable excuse for a boyfriend.

in the middle of your lunchbreak you received a text from a girl he'd been hooking up with, who had very kindly spotted your picture on his social media and decided to inform you as to the calibre of man you were calling your significant other.

you thanked her, typed up a three-sentence long text telling your boyfriend it was over, and blocked him.

he had then used his friend's phone to call you, weeping for a chance to explain, snivelling and choking out inarticulate apologies, and you agreed to see him one last time.

just to give him a piece of your mind before cutting him off for good. it'll be good for closure, you figure.

you're more angry than heartbroken -- honestly, you're not sure you ever really liked him. six months into this relationship and you find yourself looking forward to these conversations with nanami more than you do spending time with the man you're actually seeing.

were seeing. past tense, thankfully.

nanami bends down to place the whipped cream in the fridge, dusting some residual flour from his royal blue shirt as he rises again.

"sounds like more than just a busy day," he observes patiently, measuring out some espresso grounds to pull your coffee. "want to talk about it?"

against the odds, your exhausted face brightens with a smile. "there's good customer service, and then there's me taking advantage of your hospitality, nanami."

shaking his head amusedly as he shakes off the excess grounds from the basket, he chuckles, a low, pleasant sound that lodges in your chest.

"it's not taking advantage if i'm offering willingly."

"you don't have enough to do around here?" you grin.

"oh, i do. but hearing about your problem might make me feel better about having to spend three hours doing stock take later this evening."

"ah, so i'm doing you a service moaning about my personal life?"

"absolutely. in fact, if it's tragic enough, i'll throw in a pain au chocolate free of charge."

"high stakes," you reply with a faux solemnity. "you really want to hear?"

"very much so," he answers, the sentence being punctuated by the hum of the espresso machine.

"okay then," you sigh, fidgeting with the rings on your right hand as some vain attempt to distract yourself. "the short of it is that i just wasted six months of my life. half a year. five percent of a decade that i'll never get back."

nanami waits for the espresso to finish pouring, the deep amber of the coffee shot wafting steam up into the air between the two of you.

"wasted how?"

another sigh, wearier this time. "on a guy who i genuinely think has annoyed me since i met him."

silence. this time, it doesn't appear to be coffee-related.

but when you glance away from your rings to see nanami's face, you see that it's more pensive than judgemental. as though he's truly considering what to say next.

"why did you agree to go out with him in the first place?" he asks after another few moments, brows slightly pinched together.

a fair question. one you're not entirely sure of the answer to.

"fear of the alternative?" you hazard a guess, acutely aware of how strange it is to be speaking so candidly with a guy you only know through your shared love for baked goods.

"being alone?" he follows up with a sincerity that cuts through any discomfort.

"i guess."

"i know what you mean," nanami continues, finally remembering the espresso shot that's still sitting on the tray.

he takes the cup -- your usual, because neither of you thought to forego that part of the routine -- and sets it before you, muscles in his forearms straining when he crosses them over his chest afterwards.

"you do not," you mumble instictively. the words fall out without you thinking, but they're not meant maliciously; it's just that nanami is so ... eligible, for lack of better word. handsome, engaging, owns his own thriving café.

he makes fresh eclairs every single morning, for crying out loud. you cannot fathom a world in which people aren't lining up to be with him.

though your blurted words could be perceived as rude, nanami just smiles softly, amusement reaching his eyes as they lock with yours.

"want me to tell you something?"

"is it as embarrassing as my fact?" you query, knocking back most of your coffee in one swig.

"unquestionably."

at that, you set the cup back down abruptly, clinking it against the saucer.

"really?"

he just nods. you sit back on the stool, feeling the plush backing of the stool against your lower back.

"go on, then."

"i don't actually open this early."

your face scrunches into an expression of pure confusion; nanami's lips quirk upwards in response.

"what do you mean? do you open in like ... a half hour?"

he shakes his head, those strands of hair falling loose again.

something washes over you, a sense of recognition, connecting the dots slowly in your tired, over-exerted brain.

"nanami ..."

"yes?"

"... do you not open until seven?"

nanami's weighted silence answers your question.

you breathe in, out. blink haplessly up at him.

you're sure your coffee is starting to get cold, but you make no attempt to drink it.

"i - what - what are you - why do you let me come in here three hours early? why did you never say anything?"

you choke out the words desperately, flooded with a dozen different feelings at once.

he stays smiling, but something else flashes in his eyes. you see the already-tense muscles of his arms tighten further.

"why do you think i never said anything?"

[tswaney17]

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 48

One part left and an epilogue to go!! 🎉 What is lifeeeee? The fact that this story is literally almost over is just insane to me. Thank you to everyone who kept up with this one. I know it's been a long, long ride. Your patience and kind words have meant the world to me. 💜

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 8,481

Elain’s consciousness tugged at the front of her mind, slowly trying to pull her from her slumber. Warmth radiated from the other person she shared her bed with, his cedar and mist scent a balm to her soul. As she slowly came to, she realized that Azriel was not the only one in their bed that morning, her son’s voice catching her attention even though her husband tried to keep him quiet.

“Not so close, buddy,” Az murmured, and she felt Kaden’s small body being pulled slightly away from her. “We have to be careful of Momma’s tummy.”

A little body shuffling jostled her but she kept her eyes firmly shut, simply enjoying the tender moment with her boys.

“Like this, Daddy?”

Her heart melted. The night before came perfectly clear in her memory—how Azriel’s face morphed into quiet joy from Kaden finally calling him daddy. She saw every emotion behind his eyes, every prayer being answered: that their son would finally view him as his father and not just a guardian.

“That’s perfect, bud,” he choked out in a hoarse whisper. It was obvious how much it meant to Azriel to hear that name coming from Kaden’s lips.

Elain knew that her husband was aware of her being awake; he always seemed to sense her presence even before she opened her eyes. He confirmed it when Kaden tried to whisper, “When is Momma going to wake up?”

Az’s answering chuckle was the first indicator, followed by “Soon, I’m sure.”

She took that as her queue, stretching out her aching body—pregnancy really was a bitch—yawning until she opened her eyes.

“Momma!” Kaden shouted in glee, throwing his arms around her shoulders.

Elain let out an “oomph,” laughing as Azriel chastised their rambunctious four-year-old.

“Easy, Kaden.” He scooped his son back into his arms, kissing him all over his face and making him burst out into a fit of giggles.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, smiling at the sweet display. “What time is it?”

Az settled their son between them, his bright eyes glancing at her. “Just before seven. The Moonbeam twins will be here at nine to collect you and Kaden to head to the baby store in Hewn City.”

Elain could see the change in her husband as he spoke. How he wanted them to go with them and that it made him nervous to stay behind while they were in another territory. She reached out, cupping his cheek in her palm, and let her thumb swoop over the apple of it. “We’ll be okay,” she whispered, hoping to reassure him.

He sighed heavily, twisting his head to kiss the inside of her hand. “I’ll be better once you’re both home and safe.”

“Momma, I’m hungry!” Kaden announced, breaking the spell that had woven over them.

 Azriel rose from the bed, turning to face them. “I’ll make breakfast. What do you guys want?”

“Pancakes!” they said in unison.

Her husband huffed a laugh, eyes rolling because that’s what Elain always wanted for breakfast. “Why do I bother asking?” And then he swooped down to toss their giggling boy onto his shoulder. “Alright, free-loader… you’re going to help me make pancakes this morning,” he called out as he threw a still-giggling Kaden over a shoulder and muscled his way out of their bedroom.

“Bye momma!” their little boy called waving at her enthusiastically.

She wiggled her fingers at him, giving herself another moment to lounge in bed. One of the twins stretched out, their little foot pressing against the inside of her stomach hard enough to see the outline of it. She could even make out their little toes. Elain let out a breath, running her hand over her belly to soothe the child. “Make yourself comfortable, little one,” she teased in a soft breath. 

Shuffling herself off the bed, she waddled into the large bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

Forty-five minutes later, she padded her way downstairs to the kitchen in a pair of leggings, one of Azriel’s oversized sweatshirts—because it was the only thing warm enough that fit her at the moment—and sneakers. She found her boys at the stove, Kaden pouring the last remnants of the batter onto a hot skillet while Azriel flipped pancakes to perfection.

Elain took out her phone and snapped a photo of the two of them, intending on getting it printed and framed for the house. She glanced down at the finished pancakes, noticing the wonky shape from her boy’s pouring skills. Her lips turned up into a smile as she made her way to the fridge to grab the carton of orange juice for herself and milk for Kaden.

Azriel caught her movement, eyes quickly looking in her direction before returning to the stove. And then his whole head snapped toward her, taking in every inch of her and what she was wearing.

Truth be told, Elain knew what wearing Az’s clothes did to him. He had always had this masculine pride whenever she paraded around in his t-shirts and such. But she typically wore them around the house, unless he happened to drape something on her while they were out. His eyes darkened, and he stepped away from the stove to prowl over to her.

The look he shot her had a pleasurable chill running down her spine. How Elain could be seven months pregnant with fucking twins and still be turned on by this man was beyond her. But he took advantage of her raging hormones when they could.

A scarred hand reached out to run down the length of her sleeve. “You’re wearing this out?” he asked, voice low and sensual.

She felt herself twinge between her thighs. “It’s big and comfy,” she told him. “Is it all right if I wear it?” Elain knew the answer before he even voiced it.

A growl rumbled from the back of his throat. “Fuck yeah, you can wear it. Look at my wife, knocked up and wearing my clothes. Do you know the kind of message that sends to people?”

She huffed a laugh. “That you’re territorial and a caveman.”

Azriel claimed her lips in a heated kiss, stepping into her space until her rounded belly was pressed against his abdomen. It was obvious he wanted to finish what they started last night, the way his tongue slipped into her mouth and how his palms cradled her body indicated it.

Frankly, she did too. Elain didn’t think Az could be more attentive to her needs, but while pregnant, he managed to kick up his wicked talents until she passed out from coming so many times when they got hot and heavy.

His mouth moved dominantly over hers, prying her lips apart so he could stroke his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

It took a splat sound, followed by an “Oopsie,” from their son for them to break apart.

Azriel whirled around while she stepped to peer around his shoulder at their son holding the spatula in his tiny fist, a guilty look spreading across his face in the form of a blush.

Her eyes glanced down at the floor, finding a half-cooked pancake staining the wood.

“Kaden,” Az started, voice alight with humor. “Watcha doing there, bud?”

Those tanned cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink. “I was trying to flip, Daddy!” he says exasperated.

Her husband let out a chuckle, moving to help their son climb off the stool he was standing on. “Well, it looks like we might need to practice that next time. Go sit down at the table, Kaden.”

Azriel cleaned up the mess in their kitchen while she finished setting out dishes for breakfast.

Elain loved mornings like this. The three of them—soon to be five—sitting around eating their breakfast together. She wanted to make this a weekend ritual, especially when the kids were young. Weekdays were difficult to get all of them around the table and she and Az took turns preparing breakfast for Kaden before he went to school and they to work. Actually, Azriel typically took care of it most mornings now since she was running slower, but this, this sweet family time…Elain wanted nothing more than to have this with her husband and children.

The doorbell ringing pulled her from her reverie, Azriel announced he’d get it, then dropped a kiss on the top of her and Kaden’s heads.

She heard the tale-tell sounds of the Moonbeam twins entering their foyer.

“Good morning, Elain,” Fenrys bellowed, dropping a kiss to her cheek followed by his brother more politely. Both men ruffled Kaden’s hair and took a spot around their breakfast nook.

“Morning, boys. Thanks again for taking Kaden and me to Hewn today.”

Connall flashed a brilliant smile. “It’s always a pleasure, Elain.”

She gestured to the table still full of food. “Please help yourself to breakfast. Kaden helped make the pancakes this morning.”

Fenrys twisted to the little boy. “Kaden, you made the pancakes?”

Her son beamed at the question. “I did, Uncle Fen!”

He grabbed one of the oddly shaped flapjacks and bit into it, groaning. “Well, that’s the best pancake I’ve ever had, isn’t Con?”

Connall took one as well. “I think we’ve got a little chef on our hands,” he said, earning a little blush from Kaden.

She grinned at the conversation, loving how her boy had become more comfortable with their security team over time. One of the babies sent a swift kick to her lower stomach causing her to wince. The conversation stalled as all three men at the table took notice.

Az’s large, scarred hand slid across her belly. “Are they kicking?” he asked with a sweet, hopeful look in his amber eyes.

She nodded, a grin playing on her lips. “They’ve been making their presence known this morning,” she murmured, looking down at her pregnant stomach.

Fenrys rounded the table, looking at where the baby was moving beneath her skin. “May I?” he questioned.

Elain took his hand and placed it right where one of the twins sent two jabs.

The golden twin’s smile took up his entire face. “That’s a strong one you got there.” Both Fenrys and Connall had grown even closer to her since she got pregnant. They often asked to feel the babies kicking if they happened to be active whenever they were around. She was surprised that Azriel showed no displeasure or territorialism when they did. He’d been particularly protective of her, especially around others, and didn’t like when others touched her without asking first.

Rhys found out the hard way a few weeks back, having had his hand snatched off her by the wrist in Azriel’s brutal grip. “Ask first,” he growled at his brother, a lethal look in his eyes.

She had been a bit blind-sighted by the interaction, as was the rest of their family, but not a single one of them touched her again without getting her explicit permission first.

Luckily, both the Moonbeam brothers always asked and she never had an issue with them. 

The commotion around her fluttering belly grew the attention of Kaden who pushed his way around Fenrys’s legs. “Momma, can I touch your tummy too?” His little lip quiver had her reaching for him and tugging him closer.

“Of course you can, sweetheart.” Kaden was the only other person freely allowed to touch her stomach, Azriel often encouraging him to feel them or listen to her stomach so he could connect with his siblings early on. She gripped his small hand and placed it right where one of the babies had been kicking. Up until that point, Kaden had missed every time they kicked; the twins already giving their older brother a hard time.

His brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t feel anything,” he said, deflating.

Her lips quirked up. “Give it a second.��� And as she predicted, a hard kick was sent straight to his palm.

He whipped his hand back, shock plastering his face. “Why are they kicking you, Momma?”

She felt the attention of her husband and security detail on them, listening to his curious mind. “They’re not trying to kick me, baby. They’re just trying to get comfortable with the little room they have in Momma’s tummy.”

His green and gold eyes dragged from her stomach to her face. “Can’t they come out here?” He threw his arms wide. “There’s lots of room!”

The adults chuckled and she reached out to lightly tuck a curl behind his ear. “They’re not ready to come out yet. But they’ll be here before you know it.” Elain tapped his button nose with the pad of her finger.

His face scrunched up adorably. “Why are they in your tummy, Momma?” he asked, head cocked to the side as he studied her moving stomach.

She leaned back in her seat. “Babies need time to grow big and strong. Mommas help them by keeping them safe in their tummies for a while until they’re all ready to come out and join us.”

He seemed to think about that for a minute, then asked, “How’d they get in there?”

Azriel choked on his coffee.

Silence descended upon the kitchen. She glanced at her security team across the table, both of them wearing shit-eating grins, and then her husband who looked conflicted in answering at all. Fucking traitors. “Well, Daddy put them in me so I can grow them.”

There, that was safe, right? Truthful but not explicit.

But of course, their curious son had too many questions and wondered about too many things. “How?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older, son,” Azriel finally swept in with the saving remark.

Seemingly appeased with that answer, Kaden leaned forward and lightly patted her stomach. “I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispered, kissing her roundness like he’d seen his father do so many times.

There was a collective aww from the group before her husband rose from behind her. “Come on, Kaden. Let’s get you ready so you and Momma can go with Uncle Fen and Uncle Con into the city.” He leaned down, whispering in her ear, “Nice save, Mom.”

She shot him a menacing glare as they strolled for the stairs.

Fenrys poured himself a glass of orange juice, snickering behind the cup. “Well, that was fun.”

Elain turned her glare on him. “Oh, yeah. So much fun for me. Thanks for the help, guys.”

“One,” Connall, started, flicking a finger up, “he’s not our kid. And two,” his middle finger joined the first, “I really wanted to hear the sexual education course from an actual doctor.” He took a bite of his pancake, smirking.

She groaned. “It’s far too early for the sex talk.” Elain threw back her orange juice like it was a shot of tequila. “Azriel can have the talk with the boys. I’ll give it to our daughter.”

“Unnecessary because our daughter is never having sex,” Az announced, striding back into the kitchen.

“Is that so?” she questioned, leaning back in her seat.

He nodded affirmatively. “I’m officially joining Cassian on the ‘our daughter is never dating’ pact.”

Elain rolled her eyes so far back into her head, she swore they nearly stuck. “You do realize you can’t physically stop her from having sex, right?”

A thick brow rose. “I’ll scare off anyone who so much as looks in her direction.” He said it so casually, she was starting to get concerned he was serious.

“What if he’s just like you?”

He let out a harsh laugh. “Then he’s definitely dead.”

Elain glanced at the Moonbeam twins for help, but they were dutifully ignoring her pleading looks. Yup, fucking traitors. She pushed herself from her seat. “Azriel, we cannot hold our daughter to a different standard than our son’s. That’s not fair and you know it.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers. “Fair enough.”

“Good.”

“None of them are allowed to date,” he announced like it was the most obvious answer.

“Azriel!” she hissed, swatting his shoulder. “You overbearing, protective man. Stop this.”

He tugged her in his arms, a grin fighting its way onto his lips. “I can’t help it, El. They’re my babies.”

She reached up to cup his stubbled cheeks in her palms. “They’re mine too. But they’re going to need to spread their wings eventually. We can’t protect them from everything and we can’t stop them from living their lives.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed heavily. “A man can dream, can’t he? That they’ll stay little and dependent on us forever?”

Elain laughed softly. “You’re a perfect father, my love.” She pressed her lips to his, sighing into his mouth when he deepened it.

It took a very subtle, but very prominent, throat-clearing to pull them apart. They turned to look at the twins, both wearing mischievous grins.

“Sorry, we weren’t sure if you wanted to give us a front-row seat to the live-action, baby-making ritual,” Fenrys tossed out.

“Jesus Christ, Fen,” Elain muttered while her husband shot him a death glare. “Where’s Kaden?” she asked him instead, regaining his attention.

“I left him to brush his teeth and get dressed. He said he could do it on his own.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you pull clothes out for him?” Kaden was in his stage of throwing on whatever he found first, which meant his outfits of choice would sometimes consist of long pants, a tank top, one rain boot, one flip flop, and the occasional beanie. And somehow, everything was always a different color.

A few weeks back, Kaden had decided to dress for school and ended up in a full meltdown when she said he couldn’t wear his pajama pants with one slipper and a light-up sneaker. She ended up being late for work and Azriel had to leave an early morning meeting from his home office to come help handle the situation when she grew lightheaded enough from the stress.

“His entire outfit is lying on his bed and I told him to put it on after he finished his teeth.” Az planted a kiss on her cheek.

“If he comes down in a T-rex costume, you’ll be dealing with it on your own.”

A brow raised. “Does he have a T-rex costume?”

She shrugged, sighing. “I don’t even know.” They really did spoil their children.

Fenrys and Connall snickered at the exchange. “Do you want us to take the SUV?” the latter asked, redirecting the conversation to her husband.

Azriel guided her back to her chair and helped her sit. “Yes, anytime they leave the city they must be in the SUV.”

Elain nearly rolled her eyes. A few weeks before they bought the house, she and Az had agreed to get a new car since their current one wouldn’t be able to handle the size of their growing family. Elain left it up to her husband, not caring about what he got, but he had some specific requests. It had to have high safety reviews, fit their whole family, and be luxurious. Frankly, she only cared about the former two, but he insisted they should always ride in comfort.

What she did not expect was for him to upgrade every window to bullet-proof glass. The damn thing was safer than what a president or the royal family would be escorted in.

“Just a precaution,” he had told her. “More like overly excessive,” she shot back.

She just huffed out a breath, finishing her juice. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” she asked her husband, eyeing his casual attire.

He flicked her nose, making her hiss. “Meeting’s at ten. I’ll change when you guys head out.” Grabbing her dishes, he padded to the sink to wash them, always taking care of her.

Twenty minutes later, they were loading into the car, Az getting Kaden into his booster seat while she slid into the back. He kissed his son’s cheek, eyes finding hers. “Be safe. Call me if you have any problems.”

Elain offered him a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” He leaned farther in, stealing a quick kiss from her lips, then shut the door.

She watched him speak with the Moonbeam brothers outside of the vehicle, likely giving them the protection order for her and their son. After a couple of minutes and a few nods, they took their respective seats in the front.

Fenrys flashed a grin from the driver’s side. “Ready, fam?”

About an hour later, they pulled into a parking spot outside the large baby store Elain had been dying to get into. She tried to keep most of her purchases to local businesses in Velaris, but there were just some things she couldn’t get there and had to resort to one of the chain stores.

The minute the car was in park, the men jumped out, opening their doors. Connall unclipped Kaden from his booster seat and helped him out, taking his hand until they met on the other side of the car and she could take over.

Their focus was the double-seated stroller, but she did want to look at the pack-n-play for when the babies started to really move around. They still had their co-ed baby shower the following month at Feyre and Rhys’s for any last-minute items.

They slowly made their way into the massive store, Connall disappearing to grab a cart. As they walked, they passed the toy section, and Elain saw how Kaden’s eyes lit up like it was Solstice morning.

“Momma, can I go look at the toys, please?”

She glanced at the golden twin, then back at her son. “Sure, sweetheart. Why don’t you and Uncle Fen go pick out something small for your brother and sister?”

The little boy squealed, taking Fenrys’s large hand in his and pulling him away.

“We’ll be in the stroller area when you’re finished.”

She and Connall continued their perusal through the isles until she found what she was looking for—of course, the prams were at the back of the store. Elain already knew which one she wanted; the stroller was top-of-the-line, grew with the babies, and had the best reviews on the market.

But when they stopped in front of the shelves, she realized their mistake. “I think we’re going to need a flatbed. These won’t fit in the cart.”

Connall stepped up to her side. “Yup, I’m realizing that right now. Damn. Sorry, Elain. Let me go grab the other cart. You okay here?”

Elain huffed a laugh. “Well, I can tell you I’m not walking back to the front of the store and back, so I think I’ll survive the few minutes of your absence,” she teased, flashing him a cheeky grin.

He rolled his eyes at her, a smile toying on his lips. “You’re so sassy pregnant.”

“You’ll do well to remember that.”

Connall chuckled, heading back to the front of the store. He left the cart at her request, just in case she needed it.

She grabbed one of the large boxes from the lower shelves and yanked. The box barely budged. “Oh, come on,” she muttered, trying again.

“Can I help you with that?” a male voice asked, coming up behind her.

Elain whirled, taking an involuntary step back at his proximity,

His lips curled up in the corner. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her eyes ran over the length of him. He was an attractive man. Older than her, likely close to forty if she had to guess. He was tall, well over six foot with golden brown skin and dark hair. He looked familiar in a way that tickled the back of her mind but couldn’t quite place.

He nodded at the stroller box. “Did you want me to grab that for you?” he asked again.

“Oh. Yes, that’d be great.”

The man stepped around her, reaching for the handle of the box and slid it out for her to inspect, the suit jacket he wore stretching over the defined muscles of his shoulders and back. “Here you go.”

She ran a hand over the box, double-checking the name and product code. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said, leaning a hip against the shelves and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “How far along are you?”

Elain tucked her hair behind her ear, looking back up at him. Again, the prickling sensation rubbed at her mind, almost like in warning. “Right around seven months,” she said. It wasn’t too personal to admit to a stranger. Carrying twins, Elain looked ready to pop anyway. “Is your wife pregnant? Girlfriend?” she asked, redirecting the attention from herself onto him.

His lips turned up again. “Sister-in-law.” He let his eyes rove over her form, sending a chilling sensation running down her spine. “I’ll admit it’s been a while since I bought anything from a baby store…any suggestions?”

Her brow furrowed. It seemed odd he’d come into the store without having any inkling of what to get. “What is she having?”

Again, a smile touched his lips, but Elain thought it looked a little more sinister than genuine.

“Twins,” he announced carefully.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her heart began racing in her chest as she started to connect the dots of who this man was. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any suggestions for you.”

He huffed a rough laugh. “No?” His thumb rubbed his lower lip in contemplation. “I would’ve figured you could’ve given me a good idea of what to give her and her husband.”

Elain took a very subtle step away, putting the stroller box between them, but of course, those fucking hazel eyes zeroed in on the movement, his mouth pulling up. “Nope,” she said, popping the p sound. “Can’t help you.”

The man stuffed his hands into his pocket, a casual look of grace and sophistication, but he also radiated a dark and dangerous vibe. A lethal combination…just like her husband. “What was your name again?” he asked casually, head cocking to the side in a predatory-type of way.

“I didn’t give it,” she snapped back. Her red alert sensors were going off in her mind, and here she was, all alone with her son somewhere else in the fucking store. But Elain didn’t dare take her eyes off the man who was looking at her too closely.

He chuckled, the sound sending nerves flooding her stomach. “Smart girl. You’ll have to tell Azriel that Frankie says hello. It’s been a very long time since we last saw each other.”

And there it was. The truth of who had somehow managed to track her down in a baby store in Hewn City. What her gut had been screaming at her since he said he was buying something for his pregnant sister-in-law. She knew she recognized him, he bore some similar markers of her husband and Nicklaus too. The same jawline, the same nose. But where Azriel’s hazel eyes had flecks of emerald, Francisco’s were much lighter, giving him an almost feline look.

Elain took another step back, one he countered with a casual step in her direction. “You shouldn’t be here,” she stated, trying to keep her voice calm and not betray her terror. Because this man, this man was utterly lethal. He wouldn’t hesitate to grab her or her son.

“Shouldn’t I be?” he asked cooly. Too cooly which only made her more anxious. Yup, there went her blood pressure. “After Nicklaus met you, I was quite curious myself about the woman who captured my brother’s black heart.”

“You know nothing about his heart,” she snarled. Her voice turned venomous, something he seemed pleased about.

He chuckled again. “I know he keeps very little in it. You.” Frankie flicked off an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Your adorable little boy, Kaden.”

Elain froze, true terror turning the blood in her veins to ice. “Keep his name out of your mouth.” She had to find Fenrys and her son. She had to get out of this goddamn store. Elain just prayed Fenrys was vigilant in Kaden’s protection, but she knew he would be.

“I’m sure you already know, but in case you don’t, Lorenzo won’t be a problem for you anymore.”

She blinked, the words rattling around in her skull. Lorenzo showed up dead just before Kaden’s adoption approval. “What did you do?” He’d been a part of the Illyrian Mob. It made no sense to kill one of their own.

He shrugged. “I took care of a problem.” His eyes seemed to look through her and directly down into her soul, the filth of his sins leaked from him like blood upon the tile floor, staining her from the inside out. She didn’t like that one bit. “Consider it my present to you and my brother on the adoption of that sweet boy.”

“We didn’t ask for that.”

Again, he raised his shoulders in indifference. “Azriel is my brother—”

“You are not his brother,” she hissed.

That seemed to irritate him, a crack in his calm demeanor for the deadly male to peek out from beneath the mask. “We are of flesh and blood.”

It may have been the most reckless thing she ever did, but Elain squared her shoulders, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “Blood does not make you brothers. Where was this brotherly bond when you held him down as a child while Alec mutilated his hands? While you allowed him to be tortured and burned.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Azriel has two males he calls brothers, but neither of them is by blood.” Where the fuck was Connall?

He crossed his arms. “And here I thought we were making headway, Elain. Perhaps when my gift for the twins arrives, you’ll reconsider.”

“We don’t want anything from you,” she snarled, face going warm in fury.

“They’re going to want to know their Uncle Frankie,” he murmured, quickly taking too many steps forward and reaching out as if to touch her rounded stomach. But a tanned hand shot out and gripped his wrist.

“Do not touch her,” Connall growled, fingers tightening.

A dangerous glint flashed in Frankie’s eyes. “Remove your hand from my presence before I put a bullet in your head.”

Elain thought she was going to pass out. Her chest ached from the racing of her heart. Blood rushed in her ears drowning out everything around her. And then she heard him.

“Momma?”

She chanced a glance as Kaden and Fenrys came around the corner of the aisle, toy in hand. Elain shook her head at Fen, a silent order to keep her son back. She didn’t know what she would do if Frankie tried to grab her boy.

Reading her request, and the fear in her eyes, Fenrys snatched Kaden into his arms when her son tried to get to her, toy clattering to the floor.

“Momma!” he cried, sensing the seriousness of the situation but not understanding what was going on.

Knowing her son was as safe as he could be, Elain returned her attention to Frankie, who was eying the little boy trying to push his way out of his protector’s fierce grip.

Her hackles rose and she took a deliberate step in front of him, forcing his gaze to return to hers. “Connall, let him go.” It was an order, one the dark-haired twin obeyed immediately. She kept her eyes on Frankie; let the frost she felt in her blood come out in her words. “We are not interested in whatever it is you want. If you come for my family, I will kill you myself without even blinking.” His eyes widened imperceptibly, but she didn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “Let’s go.”

Connall moved to cover her back, ready to take a fucking bullet for her and her babies.

Kaden was still crying in Fenrys’s arms and though she knew he was too heavy for her to carry, she took him anyway, propping her as best as she could on her hip while the latter took his place close to her side and protecting her son’s back. Kaden sobbed into her neck, his arms tightening around her neck. “You’re okay, sweetie,” she murmured kissing the side of his head and running a hand up and down his back.

“Are you two packing?”

“Always,” Connall answered gruffly, clearly pissed off at the situation.

She nodded. “Good. That was the head of the Illyrian Mob and I can guarantee there are more in here. Get Azriel on the phone, now.”

Fenrys was already pulling the device from his pocket while Connall stepped up close enough to tell her, “I’m so fucking sorry, Elain. I should’ve had Fenrys come back to you. I should’ve—”

“Connall,” she said, interrupting his apologies. “This wasn’t a coincidence. He sought me out and he would’ve shown up whether you two were there or not,” she told him earnestly. They didn’t have time to dwell on the what haves. “Let’s just get out of here.”

He swore under his breath, still pissed with himself.

“Yes sir, they are both with us. We’re heading back out to the car,” Fenrys said into his phone. He looked at her. “She’s holding Kaden right now. I’ll hand her the phone once we’re securely in the car.”

Something prickled at her skin as they reached the parking lot, eyes darting around the asphalt. That’s when she saw them. One man by the entrance, another near one of the cart returns; two were next to identical-looking SUVs. Everywhere she looked, she saw a suit-clad man just standing there. Waiting… And every single pair of eyes were on them. On her and the distressed child she was carrying.  

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. “We are being watched,” she announced to her security team.

Both of the men reached for their weapons as Fenrys relayed the information to her husband.

Elain threaded her fingers through Kaden’s thick locks, holding his head tucked into her neck so he couldn’t see what was happening.

Not a single man moved toward them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to try anything. The Moonbeam twins were deadly accurate, but it didn’t matter though. They were outnumbered. She had already counted ten of Frankie’s associates, and those were the only ones she could see.

Something flashed in the corner of her eye. She twisted her head to catch a bike flying toward them, coming to a screeching halt right in front of them.

Fenrys and Connall had their guns drawn as the person took off their helmet, platinum white hair swishing as she shook it out. Golden eyes turned on her. “Mrs. Archeron-Knight?” she asked.

Elain blinked, but Fenrys snarled out, “Who the fuck are you?”

She flashed a deadly smile. “My name is Manon Blackbeak. Your husband,” she nodded at Elain, “has asked me and my team to escort your SUV back to Velaris.”

A roaring sound echoed in the distance and then there were twelve other bikes, paired up as they flew across the parking lot to stop behind Manon.

“I—” she stuttered, not knowing what to say. “Who are you?”

“We’re called the Thirteen. He will explain what we do once we get you home.”

Elain was about to demand more of an explanation, but then she saw the men retreating. Every single one of them. Her eyes slid back to the woman in front of her, then down the team she had with her, all women if the body shapes were anything to go by. But then a phone was being placed against her ear and her husband’s voice was speaking.

“Elain.” He sounded terrified. “Love, Manon and her team are on my payroll. You can trust them to get you and Kaden home safely. Please get into the car.”

Just hearing his voice sent relief washing over her. Because if he trusted this woman and her team to keep them safe, then she knew she could too. “Let’s go,” she commanded, moving forward. Only once they were all inside the vehicle and back on the highway did she speak to her husband, reassuring him they were okay and giving him a lowdown on what happened.

He was in the garage when they pulled in, Manon and her team circling the driveway once and then departing with a salute to Azriel and her.

She was crushed in his arms, his mouth kissing her fiercely. “Are you guys all right?” he breathed, holding her at arm’s length and inspecting every inch of her.

Connall pulled Kaden from his booster seat, the little boy running around the car and slamming into his father’s legs.

Azriel wasted no time in lifting him onto his hip, kissing his temple before pulling her back into his embrace.

“We’re okay. Startled and anxious, but otherwise fine,” she reassured him.

He pulled them into the house, the twins slipping in behind them on silent feet. Az set them in the living room, tugging her down beside him while Kaden clung to his strong shoulders.

“How’d you get a team there so fast?” she asked, still trying to figure it out. Fenrys approached from the kitchen, handing her a cup of hot, peppermint tea. She smiled up at him in thanks.

“They were in Hewn for another job. I sent Manon an SOS text that took priority over what they were doing.

She raised a brow. “What other job?”

Azriel took her hand and placed a kiss across her knuckles. “Handling the remaining members of Hybern’s gang. I’ve had them hunting down the last of them since that night in the warehouse. There were rumors they wanted to seek revenge for the killing of their leader.”

The words were bloody and brutal, but she didn’t flinch. Not when those men held her captive in a warehouse, stabbed her thigh leaving a permanent scar on her pale flesh. No, she understood why her husband continued his pursuit of those animals.

She squeezed his hand in the reassurance that she understood why he was doing what he was, that she was okay with it, and that she agreed with his methods. His grip tightened in response.

They spent the following hour going over the next steps in how to handle the situation. Thoroughly exhausted from the ordeal, Kaden had fallen asleep on her husband’s shoulder and was now lying across one of the plush chairs with a blanket. The twins departed not long after Kaden fell asleep, leaving them to figure things out.

“I know you want to keep us safe, Az, believe me, I get it, but we need to figure out a compromise with them. I don’t want our children growing up always looking over their shoulders, just waiting to be attacked or kidnapped.”

He was hunched over, elbow braced on his knees. “There is no compromise with them. Frankie and Nicklaus are utterly ruthless.”

She gripped his bicep. “Everyone has a compromise. We just need to know—” Elain froze, the words falling from her lips.

Az swiveled his head to look at her, sitting up straight at whatever was showing on her face. “What is it, Elain?”

Brown eyes blinked, going back to the conversation she had with the eldest brother. Something he said was starting to tingle that sixth sense of hers. “He has a kid,” she breathed.

Brows furrowed. “Frankie?” Azriel asked, clearly confused. “No, he doesn’t. I would know if he had a kid. There’s not even a whisper of him having an heir.”

She shook her head. “Even if the child was over ten years old? You weren’t involved in their doing when we graduated high school, Az. And even the first few years after. What if he had a kid before then?”

He was looking at her now, eyes flicking between hers as he contemplated her words. “What did he say to make you think he has a kid?”

“He was trying to hint at what to get us,” her husband growled at that and she squeezed his arm again to stop him from interrupting. “But he said it had been a while since he bought anything from a baby store. I can’t see him buying baby things for somebody else, but I can see him doing it for his flesh and blood.”

Az was out of his seat and pacing the length of the living room. “That has to be it. He’s got a kid.” He stopped and turned to look at her. “If they were born when my father was alive, Frankie would’ve done anything to prevent him from finding out. He’d never let the bastard get close enough to hurt something so precious to him.” A colorful curse passed from between his parted lips. “I need to call Ruhn. If there’s a child, he has to be sending money to them and their mother. There’s no way he’d just abandon them, not if he took caution to hide them.”

“Azriel,” she said, rising from her spot on the couch. “If he does have a kid, what are you going to do with the knowledge?”

He met her gaze, and read the underlying question she didn’t need to say out loud. “I’m going to offer him a deal.”

~~~~~

Azriel rode up the elevator to the top floor of the building where the Illyrian Mob gathered to conduct their business. It wasn’t as large or fancy as his empire, but they also didn’t make the money that he did. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug about that.

In the metal box with him were four armed guards. He was stripped of his weapons upon entry and patted down indecently enough that he told the man to at least buy him dinner first. The comment, it seemed, wasn’t appreciated.

Nobody else was with him. He hated thinking about how hard Elain cried last night when he told her that he was entering the metaphorical lion’s den defenseless. Azriel knew that a lot of Elain’s emotions were hormone-based, which was why she couldn’t see his reasoning behind the need to go alone.

“Take the twins. Take Ruhn for fuck’s sake, Az! Just please don’t go in there alone.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

He stooped down to kneel in front of her. “Love, I have to go alone. If anyone else comes with me, they’ll deem it a threat. You know it has to be this way.” He reached up to wipe the tears away with his thumbs.

“I need you, Azriel,” she whispered, terrified. “Kaden needs you. Our babies need you. Please don’t go alone.”

There was nothing he could do but hold her as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Elain.”

It was the only time he’d ever disappoint his wife. Because here he was, weaponless and alone entering the office of the two men he hated most in the world. One of the guards knocked on the large doors, waiting for the snarled, “Enter.”

Like he was the motherfucking king, the guards gave him a double-door entrance, catching both of his brothers off guard.

Surprise, motherfuckers, he wanted to say, instead, settling on a lazy grin.

Nick reacted first, drawing his gun.

But Azriel threw up both of his hands in surrender. “Relax, Nicklaus. I am unarmed. Your guards downstairs made sure of it.” He dropped his arms when his brother lowered his gun slightly. “Do they always manhandle your visitors or am I just special because they know I got the impressive size of the family?” He was asking for trouble, but after getting his cock cupped by the fucker and still hearing his wife’s desperate pleas in his head, he was in a mood.

They ignored the quip. Damn.

Frankie leaned back in his seat. “Well, this is a surprise.”

Az cocked a brow. “Is it, brother? After you went after my wife and child?” He couldn’t stop the iciness of his tone, still raging over what happened a few weeks before. It had taken some time to track down what he needed to have this conversation and since then, he’d been on fucking edge.

“Did I actually go after them?”

He didn’t dare let his mask waiver. “Seeking her out at a baby store, sending an assault-sized team there, seems like an attempt to go after my pregnant wife and son.” He moved to take a seat across the desk from them, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat. “But I am willing to let that go.”

That had him frowning, the other looking equally as puzzled. “All right, I’ll bite,” Frankie said at last. “Why would you let that go?”

Azriel slipped his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, unlocking it and bringing up the image of Frankie’s best-kept secret. “Because of her.”

Silence wrapped around them like a shadow of discomfort as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

Frankie shot out of his chair, gun raised and poised to fire. “What the fuck is this, Azriel? Have you come to threaten me on my own turf? Because I swear to God I will fucking end you here and leave your wife to raise those spawn by herself.”

He let the threat roll right off his back, already expecting that reaction, which confirmed what he knew to be true. “Relax, Frankie. Nobody’s threatening anybody.” Az swiveled his phone to look at the girl on the screen and then began reciting the information he had gained about the girl. “Anya Velasco, sixteen; daughter of Delilah Velasco and,” he paused, glancing up at his fuming brother, “Francisco Matteo. Nice try in the change of the last name. Even on the birth certificate too. As if you could wipe your tainted image from her record” His eyes flitted back to the screen. “She’s pretty. Looks just like her mother, thank fuck, but I can see you there too. Her cheek structure and coloring. That’s all Illyrian.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you here,” Frankie snarled, finger never wavering from the trigger.

Az sighed, like this was the most inconvenient part of his day, tapping on the video call for a number labeled as “Rico’s Pizza.” It was Ruhn’s number, answering the call so that it showed Anya walking between classes at school. “You did a pretty thorough job in trying to hide her, Frankie, I’ll give you that. It took a lot of digging into your financials, but something stuck out to me. A random off-shore account that has been linked to your empire making very large donations and monthly payments to a private school housed deep in the northern mountains.” He grinned; letting a little bit of that darkness out with it. “Well, I for one, thought that seemed suspicious.

“Here’s what I think happened. You got the girl pregnant in high school. Wanting to protect her from father’s wrath, you hid her, I’m assuming with help…” he eyed Nick briefly, but he would’ve been fifteen at the time. “Alec if I had to take a guess. He was father’s right hand and you his. You could trust him. So, you paid off the girl and sent her up north to some remote area, paying her handsomely for her troubles and keeping her hidden for the last sixteen years. How am I doing so far?”

Frankie’s tanned face was flushed red in fury.

Checkmate brother.

“Choose your words wisely, brother,” Nick snapped, gun held tight in his grip. “They may be your last.”

He raised a brow. “Would be a shame if that happened,” Az muttered, clicking the end button on his video call. “Because if I don’t give the all clear to my associate in the next ten minutes, he’s to take both Anya and Delilah and run. And believe me, his resourcefulness means you will never see them again.”

“I thought you said you weren’t threatening,” Frankie demanded.

“I’m not. I said take, not kill.”

The brothers shared a look. “Why are you here?” Nicklaus finally asked.

His mouth curled up in the corner. “I’m here to make a deal. But first, you two need to lower the fucking guns before I get pissed off.”

It took them a few heartbeats, but finally, Frankie lowered his gun, setting it on the table so it still pointed at him. Nicklaus followed not a second after. “What’s your deal?” the former questioned.

Azriel reclined in his seat, fingers steepling together. “No harm will ever come to Anya and Delilah. Not by me or anyone on my crew. And they would have the full protection of the Velaris Mob. Between the two of us, they’d be untouchable.”

Frankie considered this. “And in exchange?”

“You provide the same promise and protection for my wife and children.” Az didn’t expect an agreement immediately, so he tossed out there, “If I found them, that means somebody else could as well. I know you like to keep your cards close to your chest, Frankie, but I’m sitting here with a royal flush and you know it.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “If somebody threatened them—”

“Then you would have my full support to wage war against whoever did so. Just as I would have yours if the roles were reversed.” And he meant it. Azriel had no desire to see harm come to that child, and he’d never allow Ruhn to hurt her or her mother just to get Frankie to agree to this. They would live in hiding, but they would be well cared for. And anyone who tried otherwise would face his wrath.

His brother looked at Nicklaus and sighed. “All right, Azriel. You have yourself a deal.” He reached across the desk, taking his hand in a tight shake.

As he rode down in the elevator, collecting his weapons and making his way to his car, Az sent Ruhn the all-clear signal. He called Elain on the way home, letting her know he was safe. She sobbed into the receiver, her overwhelming relief that he was returning to her. He soothed her as best as he could, but during that call, Azriel saw an image of his life in the future. He and Elain stood watching their little ones running around the backyard of their home, happy and laughing and full of so much life and love that his chest physically began to ache.

Because for the first time in a very long time, the dream Azriel pictured for himself was finally coming true.

~~~~~

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[rojacatmisa]

Novias de vacaciones

Misa Rodriguez x Marta Cardona

ONE SHOT 7K words

Summary : Misa and Marta spend their vacation in the beautiful town of Donostia, enjoying local specialities and attractions together. Maybe they will leave with bigger souvenirs than they expected. 

Fluff, fluff, fluff and a bit of smut +18

English, nor Spanish is my first language, feedback or advices are always welcomed ! Hope you like it !

☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀

“Why did you want to come here, it’s so crowded you can’t drive!” Misa exclaims, braking at once as a group of pedestrians crossed the street recklessly. 

The soft laugh of Marta fills the car and she looks fondly at her girlfriend. “It’s Donostia, middle of July, Misa. Wasn’t it you who insisted visiting the city where I played for two years?” 

The goalkeeper snorts, presses the accelerator again, turns right to the docks to queue behind a long row of cars and releases a long sigh. 

Marta side eyes the moody girl again “Misa! Don’t you lose your temper yet, Holidays hasn’t even started Dios mio!”

“We’ve already been stuck in traffic for hours! I remind you we were supposed to arrive before lunch! It pisses me off we spend another half hour dragging because of dumb guiris!” Misa moans. 

“Maria Isabel!”

“What?!” Misa turns her head to her girlfriend, she knows she’s pissing Marta off too but she’s hungry and has an urgent needs to pee that doesn’t improve her mood. 

“I will not endure the grumpy Misa during the only off week we have in common this summer!” The winger calls out with a hard stare. 

It sends the taller women quiet for the rest of their incredibly slow drive to the hotel. 

After what seemed like a while, they do arrive to a tall fancy building facing the bay. Marta gets out of the car to pick their luggages while Misa goes to park. They meet up at the reception shorty, Marta announcing their arrival at the welcoming desk. 

“Hola, I’ve a reservation for four nights at Marta Cardona de Miguel, por favor.”

The receptionist replied with a large smile. “Hola, yes indeed, room number 224, king sized bed with a view on the bay, no breakfast though, is that correct ?” 

“Sí, that’s it, gracias.”

“Vale, here’s your room card. Have a great stay and don’t hesitated if you need anything”.

The two women thank the receptionist and find their way to the elevator, opened the door number 224 and drops off their stuff in the room, Misa rushing to the WC at once. 

“Lo siento Pollito, I’ve calmed down.” Misa says when she exists the bathroom with a bashful look before she takes her girlfriend hand. 

The shorter women stands on her tiptoes to put a swift kiss on the goalkeeper lips “I’m glad you are… until your next tantrum!” This time Marta is satisfied to see the pout on Misa’s face reappear. 

☀

Misa and Marta eat all they could at a cute Pintxos near the market. They devour toasts of foie gras, shrimp and fish skewers, various croquetas accompanied by two large glasses of sangria. It feels so good to let go of their strict diet and enjoy their no calories counting meal together. 

After lunch, the couple set off to the docks surrounding the bay. On the way, they wandered through the narrow streets of the old city. 

“Oh Pollito! This T shirt’s looking good! I want to go inside the shop.” Misa tells Marta as they pass in front of a showcase with colorful items. 

“Vale, I think I saw a nice ensemble I’d like as well.”

Inside the shop, there are many people and the two girls manage to walk around the shelves to look at the displayed clothes. They shortly select a few items and go to the small fitting room together. 

Marta is the first to took off her clothes to try on the ensemble she spotted earlier and even if she has seen her girlfriend in sexy underwear countless times before, Misa can’t help but feel slightly aroused of the toned curves of the winger reflecting in the mirror, squeezed in the cramped room.

The goalkeeper pulls off her T shirt to hide the burning blushing she’s feeling on her cheeks as Marta bent over to pick up a flowing dark gray pants. Between quick glances, the taller girl grasps a white T shirt with hand-script letters and pulls it over her head. When her eyes emerged from the collar, Misa can only stare at her girlfriend who’s now fully dressed up. 

Marta is looking at herself in the mirror, her short silhouette nicely branded out by the pants and sleeveless top silky anthracite fabric. She sees the reflection of Misa’s dropping jaw behind her shoulder and breaks a large smile before turning over to the goalkeeper.  

Like a teenager, Misa feels herself smiling stupidly as she takes in Marta from head to toes, accentuating the throbbing she’s feeling down. 

The winger leans toward her, her smile has changed to something mischievous. “I guess you like it too, Bebé.” she says and planted a kiss on her lips. It takes everything in Misa not to enfold Marta in her arms to make the kiss last longer when she pulled off to stare at Misa’s own fitting. “I don’t think your T shirt’s worthing the price though. Try this one instead.” The winger says. 

Misa scowls and takes a look at the mirror. The T shirt does seem a bit too adjusted and the letters “Sun hills and bay” too big on the front but she’s not ready to let go. “But the design is brutal! Maybe it’s just too small?”

Marta continue to wag a piece of dark red fabric under her nose “It’s not giving Misa, I’m sure this will fit you better!”

Reluctantly, Misa take off her T-shirt to try on Marta’s suggested cloth. She’s irritated to find it’s fitting her very well, the dark wine red color really matching her complexion and the sleeveless and V-neck shape enhancing her muscular shoulders. She fakes a snort, unwilling to admit the better find of Marta before adding “Yeah, I guess it’s alright”. 

“You’re kidding me, we both know you’re looking sexy as hell in that.” The winger strikes back, pulling a smile from the goalkeeper. “Let’s take those to the cash desk and go the docks at last!” The winger concludes and Misa obediently follows her back in the shop, somehow wishing they’ll be heading back to hotel instead.

☀

When they arrive in front of the shore, the sun is lower and stretches the hundred of tiny shadows of people playing and sunbathing on the beach below. They lean on the guardrail for a few minutes, enjoying the view before they walked all the way to the ocean where they fall at the entrance of the aquarium of Donostia. 

The two women exchange a glance and go in at once. The tickets bought, Misa and Marta enter the dark place. The dim blue light of the tanks barely lightening their faces, they peer at the colorful marine species. 

After a moment, the goalkeeper pulls out her phone to take a picture of a particularly tiny fish with a prominent mouth and big eyes topped by a black stroke. “It’s you Bebé, it has your eyelashes!” Misa teases the shorter girl who just roll her eyes at her and goes over a huge tank filled with hundred of exotic fishes. 

Misa’s joins her girlfriend in front of the glass wall and the two girls loose themselves in the depth of blue water swirling with colorful shapes. Her hand creeps along her girlfriend’s back who quickly respond by resting her head on the taller women’s shoulder. “Es muy bonito…” Marta smiles as she finds Misa’s hand. “I’m glad to be here with you, Bebé.” 

Misa kisses her girlfriend’s temple and squeeze her hand tighter. “Mi tambien mi Pollito. Do you think we could go take ice cream after?” she asks innocently. 

☀

The end of the day goes quickly. They skipped the ice cream (to Marta’s delight, Misa pouted again) to have diner in an intriguing bask mixed asian restaurant-brewery in Gros neighborhood. They order dumplings, fried chicken wings and noodles. Marta convinces Misa who isn’t found of beer to try a sour and fruity one when she’s having a classic blond one. They chat lightly, enjoying every minute of the buzzy and warm atmosphere of the bask city while they eat the delicious food. 

It’s passed eleven when the couple is back to the hotel and Marta has a precise idea of how she wants them to spend to rest of evening. She has put that sexy underwear on purpose, which has already proved been efficient on her goalkeeper earlier. 

Once in their room, Marta goes in the bathroom a moment to check her make up and hair. She has an intense need to drive her goalie crazy tonight, so she goes out the room in underwear ready to jump on her girlfriend without waiting another second.

Marta’s eyes fall on the silhouette of the brunette lying on her side, still half dressed up, in bed. She sighted and watches her fondly. Misa’s eyes are shut tight and her lips parted, the sound of the deep breathing of sleep is filling the room with her chest’s rising up and down. 

☀☀☀

Next morning, Misa and Marta wake up early, not on purpose but rather by habitude, and decide to do a quick work out session at the hotel before going to the beach. The two girls are passionate and rarely miss their sport routine, even during holidays. They like to share it when they can, their combined energy driving each other and their equal dedication pushing the other’s limits.

Then the couple leaves the hotel, grabs a large cafe con leche and set off to the bay. They lay their towel neatly on the sand and change quickly. 

Misa is the first to ran in the waves, the fresh water is barely stopping her to directly plunge into the water as she gets away from the shore. Marta is following her at her pace, a less rushed one, enjoying a moment the contrast between the foam licking at her knees and the sun kissing her shoulders.

Her girlfriend is already far away, crawling in the bay at full speed. Marta looks around her, sighs of ease, and dips in the water entierly. Marta swims fast too, she reaches the goalkeeper in no time and stops a little ahead of her. Misa’s still swimming rapidly toward her and doesn’t slow as she gets closer. 

She dives underwater at the last moment, the goalie’s arms wrapped themselves around Marta’s waist as her head resurface. She wipes the water from her eyes and pulls the winger to her. The ocean is swaying them gently as they exchange a long and salty kiss. 

"You taste better without sea water! We race to the buoy ?", Marta suggests, smiling wide at her girlfriend. 

Misa doesn’t waste a second and propels herself toward the to red floating ball in the distance. 

"Cheater !", Marta snorts under her breath and flings herself in the goalkeeper’s foaming trail. The winger’s powerful arms breaks the water easily, she’s feeling in her element, her moves almost as precise as she is with a ball. It’s not long before she overtakes Misa, the goalie taking a glimpse through the drops in her eyes doubles her effort not to get left behind. She knows Marta’s faster that her but she’s determined to pull up a fight. 

The floater is getting near and the two athletes are elbow to elbow as they put all their strength in the last meters. A hand fall on the buoy and it’s Marta’s. Being out of breath doesn’t keep her from pulling a smug smile at Misa. 

"You win, Flash Cardona !" the goalkeeper acknowledges. Misa’s never mad about Marta being ahead of her and a sparkle of admiration shines in her eyes, pricking with salt, as she remembers how she fell for the winger when they where both at Real Madrid.

Marta let out a soft chuckle at the mention of the nickname fans gave her years ago, from being really fast on the pitch. "That feels so good !", she says. "Now, let’s tan on the beach for hours !"

☀

After an hour of sun tanning, the couple decides to return in the hotel room shortly to get a shower before lunch. Alone in the cabin, Misa’s mind is running wild. She wants to buy her girlfriend a gift and rakes her brain to find the proper present. Clothes or jewels ? Marta has plenty already. Flowers ? Not as long as they’re staying at the hotel. Books ? Marta likes them but the goalkeeper’s not sure she’ll find something accurate. Food ? It’s too complicated with their diets. Misa wants something special and right on spot, and she continues to search her mind as she shampoos her hair. 

“Misa qué haces ? I’m starving !” she hears from behind the door. She has stayed a while under the shower, somehow wishing the water would pour ideas in her blank brain. She finally drops it at the sound of Marta’s impatient voice. 

Wrapped up in a towel, Misa exits the bathroom and her eyes fall on her girlfriend sat at the edge of the bed, wearing the gray ensemble they bought yesterday. A shy smile stretches her mouth and she comes right in front of Marta to look down naughtily at her. “Why did you put that on ? Weren’t you starving ?”

Marta blinks her heavy lashed eyes several times. She pulls out an innocent grin “Yes, I’m starving Bebé, I just got dressed for the rest of the day”. However, the brunette’s hands are already grasping Misa��s towel, the taller women’s just holding her breath when she’s been pulled between Marta’s legs. “Let’s go eat something, shall we ?” the winger asks, her fingers unknotting to towel, which fell on the floor, leaving Misa’s bare stomach centimeters away from Marta’s face. 

The goalie shy smile has changed into pinched lips, her desire growing at an incredible speed as Marta’s lips kiss her abs softly before going up to her breast. When Marta presses her face against the soft flesh, Misa can no longer contains herself. She straddles the shorter woman, cup her face in her large hands and crashes her lips on her mouth. The force and weight of the goalie almost unbalances her completely and she falls back onto her forearms as Misa’s literally eating her mouth.

Breathy whimpers escapes her lips, the two women drags themselves onto the middle of the bed, becoming a mess of brushing hands and moans, Misa’s ones working to take Marta’s fancy cloth off and throwing them in the room with little care now they’re not on her hot girlfriend anymore. Her hands fall onto her chest to caress it a moment.

Lost in a kiss, Marta realizes Misa’s hand has leaved her breast when she feels her palm brushing the inside of her thighs. Her own fingers dip into the goalie still wet hair and Misa’s fingertips are already on her core, making her quiver at the sudden contact. Misa’s rushing and Marta’s not really wet yet but her girlfriend’s eagerness in working her out like crazy. She sighs, and the goalie moans again, wanting nothing more than to please Marta beyond reason, as her hips wriggle under her touch. 

Misa’s caresses are doing their work, her wetness’s coming out abundantly now, and Marta’s hands press the nap of her head to deepen their kiss. The goalie’s fingers slip inside, snatching an obscene cry from the winger. Marta’s body’s arching as waves of pleasure wash over her every time her girlfriend’s going in and out. She’s whining louder and louder, driven by Misa’s own aroused moans and comforted by her warm body moving above her.

Feeling her orgasm building as her body’s being rocked rhythmically on the bed, Marta enclosed Misa’s board shoulders in her arms. Her cries of pleasure fall directly into Misa’s ear who intensifies her trusts inside and out, feeling herself not only getting drenched but drowning in her love and desire for Marta. 

It only takes a couple of minutes before the winger releases a deep whine, breathing out her liberation and melting in the pleasure swallowing her. Her orgasm is still lingering when she feels the goalie lips on hers, soft and demanding. 

Misa’s always tender and caring after love and Marta is too content to be simply cuddled as she relishes on the last notes of her enjoyment. However, Marta has now a precise idea of where she wants to be.

She grabs Misa’s thighs and pushes her upward, sliding down between the women’s legs in the same time. The goalie throaty gasps tell Marta that her girlfriend has guessed her intentions and seems rather appealed by the prospect. Therefore, the brunette doesn’t do any detour and she grasps Misa’s ass, pressing the woman intimacy directly onto her awaiting mouth. 

The goalie’s loosing her head already, not only because of her girlfriend’s tongue doing wonders but also because she’s feeling Marta’s smile spreading and her muffled laugh vibrating softy on her pussy. On her side Marta’s enjoying the ego boost Misa’s giving her by dripping all over her face and making her barely able to breathe. Nevertheless, she continues to kiss Misa’s core in all the way she knows she likes and Misa rises to hold herself onto the head board of the bed as she arches to squeeze herself on Marta’s mouth even more.

Suddenly, the winger slides down to free herself and Misa dare to glance timidly behind her shoulder at her girlfriend regaining her breath. But the tall brunette is not waiting much. Marta comes over the goalkeeper from behind, one of her hands caresses her back as the other slide down between her legs. 

Her fingers dip inside of her easily, her muscled arm find the right pace in no time. Misa’s letting out strangled sounds as she feels Marta hips and thighs pushing against her butt. The winger’s sensing her own pussy throbbing, taking in the gorgeous body of the girlfriend, from her swaying hair to the small of the back, bucking madly in front of her.

“No te detengas !” The goalie cries, chasing her orgasm, and Marta other hand brushes along her flank, passing on her stomach to her pelvis as she keeps filling her from behind. Misa’s pushed over the edge at once as she feels so many fingers working simultaneously on her core. Her sighs fill the room, loud enough to be heard from the adjoining floors but she doesn’t give a fuck, feeling so fucking good from cuming and as soft and loving hands strokes her relaxing back. 

A few seconds later, Misa collapses onto the bed and pulls the winger close to her. Both women smiles mildly, happy and weaken by their work out, swim and now by cuming pretty strongly, moreover when they have barely ate anything since diner. Misa’s belly rumbles and Marta acknowledges in a sleepy voice “Me too, Bebé”.

She shakes herself, Misa grunts as she leaves her arms and gets out of bed. “Let’s go devour another meal full of fat, salt and sugar !” Marta announces happily and the goalkeeper mouth waters in anticipation. 

☀

The couple achieve their ambition by finding a trendy burger restaurant near their hotel. They savor every bits of it, the steak and bacon loaded with sauce, the French fries cooked in duck fat, and even the small portion of sweet and sour coleslaw on the side. 

Digesting their consistent meal, Misa and Marta are so tired the tree coffees they get after can’t prevent a come back in the hotel room for a well deserved nap. They sleep all afternoon, waking up jet lagged and disoriented, only when night is falling. 

“Madre Mia, the firework !” Misa exclaims in a pasty voice. “It’s in ten minutes! We’re going to miss it!”

“We can still be on time, let’s run on the way!” The winger replies as she pulls Misa out of bed after her. 

Marta is right. The couple joggs to the docks effortlessly, trained and rested just fine for that kind of performance, and arrives in the compact mass of people already waiting for the spectacle. Misa grabs Marta’s hand and pushes her way through the dense crowd along the shore. After a few meters, she finds a space in the front just behind the guardrail but only big enough for one person. She pushes Marta in front and settles herself just behind, the winger being that short compared to her she doesn’t block her view at all. 

Marta’s feeling on a cloud wrapped up in the goalies’s strong arms, in the front row to see the show. Warmth fills her when her girlfriend puts a cute kiss on her cheek. 

“It’s starting bébé!” She says grasping Misa’s hands in hers. “Te quiero…” 

“Te quiero bebé” Misa purrs and the first lights of the firework light the sky. 

☀

“Vale, that was dope ! Did you see the ones that were drawing smiley faces ?” Misa’s saying happily as the couple headed back to the hotel. 

“Sì ! So pretty and fun ! Though I’m always bothered by the noise, explosions are so loud. It’s kind of freaking me out every time.” Marta tells her, putting a hand on her forehead. They’re doing a detour the avoid most of the crowd scattering in the streets after the fireworks has ended. 

"We should have taken earplugs for you", the goalie says with a hint of worry in her voice. 

Marta shakes her head, "Don’t worry, I’m not deaf yet… I can even hear that bird or whatever’s doing that mess…" 

"Qué ?" Misa’s looking perplexed at her girlfriend. What is she talking about ? But then she hears it too, high pitched and piercing screeches coming from nearby. “What is it ? It’s close !”

Marta is listening attentively "It’s seems like a mouse or… a kitten !" 

"It does sounds like a kitten", Misa approves, heading toward the source of the noise. The winger’s following her closely and they circle a blue car parked along the sidewalk. The meowing intensify as they get nearer. "It must be under the car", the goalie concludes. 

She crouches and peers at the space between the pavements and the vehicle. Everything’s dark and Misa only sees a small round black shape detaching against the light flittering feebly under the car. The goalie pulls out her phone and turns on the light, she angles it slowly but not directly toward the little bundle, in fear of scaring it away. 

"Pollito ! It’s a kitten indeed ! Come !" Misa tells Marta when the light reveals a really tiny cat meowing restlessly and looking completely panicked. 

"Oh ! Poor thing !" the winger says, almost laying on the road to take a glimpse of the miserable creature looking at them. Misa makes an attempt to calm it and does kissing sounds, speaking softy. "Gatito ! Come over, Gatito ! We won’t hurt you."

"It won’t work Misa, he’s too scared..." But to Marta’s surprise, the kit starts to walk toward them, still letting out terrified squeaks. 

Misa extends her hand to make contact. The kit stops meowing at last and leads its small truffle to sniff the goalie’s hand, almost as big as itself. The two brunettes aren’t daring to speak as the smelling lasts, the kitten deciding if it should trust that large hand coming to it. Without transition, it ends up rubbing its tiny head against Misa’s fingertips. 

"Oh ! That’s it Gatito, come over here !" Misa withdrew her hand while moving her fingers playfully to keep the kitten’s attention. The kit is bitting at the bait and follows her hand until it exists the under of the vehicle, the goalkeeper taking it carefully in her hands before it gets the chance to run away. 

Under the streetlights, the couple can properly look at the poor animal. The kitten is really small, fluffy, brown with black stripes and round filled with fear eyes, its frail body shaking uncontrollably against the goalkeeper torso. 

Misa frowns "He’s freaking out. I bet he was terrified by the fireworks and got lost in the streets !" 

Marta’s bitting her lips, approaches her hand with much care and tries a light stroke on the kit’s head who closes its eyes at the touch. "He doesn’t seem to fear humans at least. What are we going to do ? We can’t let him in the street and it’s far too late to call any pet rescue association…"

"We’re taking him to the hotel and figure it out tomorrow", the goalie decides, holding the kitten a little tighter against her. "Let’s go in a shop to buy at least a can of cat food and something to make a litter for the night."

"But I don’t think the hotel’s accepting animals, Misa", the winger worries.

However, the goalkeeper puts a final word to the discussion. "I won’t let a lost baby all by itself in the streets !"

☀

Misa lays two bowls in the bathroom, one of cat food and one of water. She has put a litter bin a bit further and is now looking, satisfied, at her organization of the room. 

"Stop it, little monster !" she hears Marta chuckling in the bedroom. The shorter girl has taken the kit in her arms which is trying to catch her long hair in its tiny paws. 

"Gatito, Gatito ! Come and see what we’ve gotten for you !" Misa calls from the bathroom and Marta releases the baby cat on the floor which sprang toward Misa at once, its tail risen excitedly. The kit immidialaty drops its head in the bowl of food and starts eating with gluttony. 

"He’s so hungry ! I’m glad we found it, at least he’s safe here until we find a solution", Marta confesses, looking adorably at the little creature. "Let’s go to bed Bebé, I’m tired as if we hadn’t slept all afternoon", she adds with a yawn. 

Misa and Marta undress themselves and slides under the duvet. As they turn off the light , they hear tiny footsteps on the floor, followed by a rustling noise at the bottom of the bed. Shortly, they see the kit’s head popping, clawing its way up the duvet before trotting proudly toward them. 

The kit settles between the two women and begins to wash, licking its paw before rubbing it on its round face, under the softened stares of the couple, Misa bitting her lips when it starts to purr loudly. 

"I guess you found your spot for the night, Gatito", she whispers. "Pero bueno. Buena noche Pollito."

"Buena noche Bebé Misa, buena noche bebé gato", the winger answers with a sight. 

☀☀☀

Marta blinks several times before she fully remembers why she looking at something that cute, straight from waking up. 

Her girlfriend is laying on her side, still fast asleep and snoring feebly, her arms forming a hook in front of her. Inside of that hook is curled a bundle of brown and black fur, a small ear coming out of the perfect round shape. 

Marta’s heart’s melting at the sight but it’s a bitter sweet feeling and she frowns as she imagines how Misa’s going to feel when they’ll bring the kitten to the shelter later.

She gets up silently, goes to the bathroom, and sights of relief when she sees the kit has used the litter to do its business. The winger does a clean up and goes to shower quickly. 

In the bed, Misa is steering as she emerged from a deep and long sleep. She feels a jolt as something prickles her arms and her eyes falls on the kitten stretching awake too. "Oh ! I almost forgot you Gatito ! Dormiste bien ?"

She scratched the kits ear, which purrs at once, and sees Marta exiting the bathroom, "Hola Bebé, look how cute he is !"

The winger comes back onto the bed and look at them both fondly. "You didn’t see the two of you sleeping together earlier. I swear you were so cute it was painful !" Marta lay a kiss on Misa’s forehead, the taller women rises her face to receive another kiss on the lips and smiles.

"He’s beautiful, like an overcooked pan… or like negro chocolate. Un bombon !"

"Oh, pequeño Bombon !", Marta repeats. "Come on Misa, let’s go get breakfast. I’ll call the shelters around Donostia when we’ll be there."

"Vale...", Misa says, although she’s not hungry. 

☀

"Yes, a kitten… Sí, today would be great, we can’t keep him at the hotel anymore…Vale perfecto, esta tarde. Muchas gracias." 

Marta hangs up and crosses eyes with the goalkeeper, who looks away and peers at her cafe con leche quietly. Her heart tightens and she puts her hand onto the goalie’s."He’s going to be alright, Bebé."

"I know, let’s go back to the hotel to check he’s not doing nonsense." 

On the way back, Misa picks up a thin fallen branch with a few leaf still attached to it, announcing "I wanna play with Bombon before we take him away", at the curious stare of her girlfriend. Marta’s getting more tensed, even a bit anxious, she realizes Misa’s becoming really attached to the baby cat in the short last of time. It’s going to be so hard for to let him go…

☀

Misa opens the room door in a hurry. She has barely pushed it a tiny head pops at her feet in the corridor, meowing happily.  

"Bombon !" she greats him before taking him in her arms and entering the room. Marta can only stare at her girlfriend stroking and kissing tenderly the small fur ball, her insides slowly knotting. 

The goalie delicately puts the cat down, waves the branch on the floor and the kitten doesn’t waste a second before running to it and jumping excitedly. "Muy bien Bombon ! Vamos ! Vamos !". The goalkeeper continue to play with him a moment, chuckling at the baby goofy movements. 

"Play with him, Pollito!" Misa encouraged Marta, handing her the branch and the winger quickly finds herself laughing like Misa as she leads Bombon running all around the room. 

To reward his determination to catch it, Marta drops the piece of wood on the floor, the baby cat starting to bit the thiner parts eagerly and tearing the remaining leaves into pieces.

The two women looks at Bombon and then at each other. They know they’re thoughts are connecting right now, Marta bitting her lips again and Misa looking pleadingly at her. 

"Misa… we can’t…", she tries to stay sensible. 

Misa’s eyes are getting shiny now, "But Pollito, we can’t leave him…" 

"We’re traveling most of time, have some reason! That’s why we didn’t take a dog in the first place."

"I know, but precisely, he’s not a dog. Cats are more independent and we have friends to look after him if we’re away. I lived with a cat, it’s far more manageable than a dog."

Marta takes Misa’s hand in hers, and place the other onto her cheek. The goalie’s almond-shape eyes stay locked on hers, unblinking. "Bebé… you like him already that much ?" 

"Yes...", Misa murmurs at once, her voice quivering. To emphasize her words, Bombon comes to rub at her legs, purring like a motor engine. 

The shorter woman’s sensing her resistance ebbing away, "I think he has a crush on you too…" She grabs the small cat and her heart melt again at the sight of his astonished little face. "Qué lindo eres, Bombon…"

"You… you mean you’re ok we keep him ?", Misa dares to ask. 

"I can’t break your heart, Misa… and we found him, maybe it was destiny…"

"Oooh, Bebé !" Misa enfolds Marta in her arms, the baby cat still in her arms, squeezed in the middle of their embrace. A second later, Misa’s surprising herself by feeling tears running down her cheeks and she holds the winger tighter. "Thank you, Bebé. I love you so much..." 

The kit’s fidgeting in her arms and Marta pulls back to let him go. She discovers the goalie’s gleaming face, and feels her own eyes prickling. Marta adorably wipes the tears off Misa’s face. "You’re so sweet, mi portera favorita", she says before kissing her plump lips. 

"I wanted to find a present for you but in the end it's you who is giving me the greatest gift I could have asked for", she confesses with emotions. 

"Bombon is a gift for both of us. As a dog person, I would never have thought of taking a cat if it wasn't up to you !"

Marta’s smile, combined with her words, dazzles the goalkeeper with pure love and happiness and she leads her to the window facing the city’s wide bay before kissing her again with passion, Bombon at their feet, playling with their shoelaces with little care for what is going on up between the two women.

Adopting Bombon is going to shorten the couple holidays. Misa and Marta now have to return to Madrid to deal with everything that comes with taking care of a new family member, and they are super excited about it. 

☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀☀

[fullmoonandstar]

Nine Days in Hell

Chapter 1: An Ignored Invitation

Raphael x afab!Tav Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: R Word count: 1.5 k Cw: masturbation, second-person perspective Summary: Haarlep's frequent use of your form leaves you pent-up and frustrated, but Raphael offers a solution AN: I had my period and was out of my mind horny. Enjoy

You woke up with a start. The dim light from the window barely illuminated your room but it was enough to check for anything out of the ordinary. Your armour and clothing was still where you had left it the evening prior, your weapons on the racks gleamed and you were alone. Nothing was amiss, no threat in sight. When your sleepy mind caught up with your body you felt what had woken you up. Your thighs were damp and your core throbbed with desire. But it wasn’t your arousal you were feeling.

You sighed deeply willing down the dull arch, shoving it into a corner of your mind as best as you could, and crawled out of bed. The cool water in the basin refreshed your spirits enough to start this day. You pulled the curtain on the window back and to in the view over the lower city of Baldur's Gate. It had been six months since the defeat of the Elderbrain and the city was still not what it had been before. Something you had done shortly before was the cause for your uneasy nights. You had broken into the devil Raphael’s home, the House of Hope, and beat him within an inch of his life to steal the Orphic Hammer. To get the hammer, however, you had also made the bad choice and the consequences were still haunting you. You had shared the bed with Raphael’s personal Incubus Haarlep to get information. That’s what you told yourself, anyway. You should have simply beaten that Incubus to death, curse your soft heart. 

You had places to be today so you packed some amour, fresh clothes and a towel. The cold air bit into the exposed skin of your face but you welcomed the distraction from the sticky, warm desire that lingered in your body. 

The bathhouse was one of the oldest buildings in the city but well maintained. Even at this early hour, some people already made their way to the front door, and you joined the queue at the front desk. The air was warm and wet inside the building, and you shrugged your coat off.

"Good Morning, 3 gold please," said the halfling behind the front desk. He wore a robe that was nothing more than an elaborately wrapped piece of clothing. His right breast was exposed and you hurried to pay up because you could feel your overstimulated body react to how firm his chest looked.

"Have a relaxing time."

He said with a bright smile, and you fled. For a moment, you closed your eyes, thinking: "Please get it together. You can't think about bedding everyone -"

You bumped into someone and heard a shriek. 

"You?!" a familiar voice thundered. "Do you not have eyes?"

"Yes, I have eyes, Lord Cummings." you confirmed under the glares of his entourage. "I will make sure to pay attention to the smell of sewage next time."

Lord Cummings was a thin, old hawkish looking man and if it had been in your power you would have chosen anyone else but him to run into. He had high standing with the elite of the city and despite having been one of the biggest supporters of Gortash, he had mysteriously never faced any consequences for it. He was petty and slippery, in a word you hated him. 

Red spots blotched his face, but he held his tongue.

"I will see you at the Lord's meeting, peasant."

He nodded to his escort and they strodded off to the dressing rooms. 

You left your clothes in the dressing room, grabbed the towel eager to cleanse yourself and forget everything. The room opened into the entrance hall where corridors lead to the central pool but also to the smaller more secluded spots. The bathhouse was a place where many deals were made because its secluded smaller pool rooms offered privacy and the house was considered a neutral space, not belonging to any one organization. That day you hoped for some quiet alone time in the relaxing chambers submerged in the clean waves. 

You passed the fountain and made your way down a side corridor checking the rooms for an empty one. The walls transitioned from bricks to chiselled rock as the hallway burrowed into the hill under the upper city. You found an empty room near the end of the corridor and pulled the curtain at the door close behind you. Torches lit the room and their flames reflected in the pool at the centre. The circular hole in floor was about twice your height in diameter, with narrow stairs leading down in to the spring water. 

In the corner stood a small washbasin filled with fresh water to clean yourself before you could plunge into the pool. You grabbed the ladle and rinsed your body. Your hand mechanical splashed the water around your nether regions, and you groaned disapprovingly at the slickness between your folds. You washed it away and when you were satisfied with your level of cleanness you walked to the edge of the pool.

Runes glowed in sea-green at the bottom of the pool, warming the cold spring water to a gentler temperature. You descended into the pool and let its cool embrace sooth your soul.

The light from the torches reflected on the disturbed surface of the pool and you watched the patterns form and fade away, only for new ones to emerge in their stead. You lost yourself in the moment, sitting on the under water ledge and letting the water lap at your hot skin. 

A touch ghosted up your ankle and your eyes snapped down. You were still alone and nothing seemed to be touching you, and yet as you looked you felt it again.

"Oh gods, again?" you hissed.

Your body tingled all over with pleasure that wasn’t yours. Your core pulsed, screaming to be filled. You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, you wanted to wring a neck.

"I’m going to kill that insolent Incubus."

You checked that the curtain was still closed and listens intently for any movement outside, but there was nothing. The hallway was silent, and no sound from the next room either. You could almost feel the stretch of something entering you, but it wasn't satisfying, no, it made your arousal worse. You bit your lips in frustration, but you had already decided on a course of action.  Your hand found its way between your legs, and you pushed them into your hot, slick hole.

After you finished, you lay still on the edge of the water, feeling the opposite of relaxed and clean. Footsteps clattered along the hallway, stopped in front of the curtain and an employee of the bathhouse, a human woman, came into the room, eyes to the floor.

"Excuse the interruption, dear patron, but a letter has arrived for you. I’ll leave it on the table."

She bowed out, before you could ask who it was from, and left you with the mysterious letter. You dried off your hands and picked the parchment up. The paper was heavy, expansive.

"The Lady in pool room 16" was written on one side in an elegant script and dark red ink, but no sender was indicated, just a red wax seal with a design you didn't recognize. You broke the seal and opened the letter. In the same elegant handwriting, the letter read:

"Meet me at Sharess' Caress tonight

   -R."

"R?" you asked out loud. A smell hit your nose, and you held the paper closer to get another whiff. Brimstone.

You were adamant to ignoring the letter and went about your day as if nothing had happened. For the rest of the day you helped out Vicar Humbletoes at the Stormshore Tabernacle, swiping the floors, buying fresh flowers and throwing out one or two troublemakers. Like this, you spent your day and when evening came you went back to your house as normal. While you lit a fire in the oven, part of you expected that your evening would be interrupted, but nothing happened, and you turned in for the night.

Two more days passed without any signs of the devil. That did not mean however that Haarlep gave you a rest, and you wondered who they were luring into their bed all the time, as every few hours a shiver ran down your spine and the arch flared up in your gut. You tried to relieve yourself from time to time, but it seemed to be less and less effective.

In the evening of the third day, after you had received the letter, you were back at the bathhouse in an empty pool room deep in the bedrock, maybe it was even the same one you had accepted the delivery of the letter from Raphael? You had not paid much attention to the room numbers.

The last night had not been very restful and the consecutive day did the rest, you hoped the bath would sooth your spirits. You stepped into the crystal clear water and let its gentle waves cool your heated core. Hopefully, you had a few hours before Haarlep used your body again. You closed your eyes and cleared your mind for a round of silent prayers to Helm, the God of Protectors and Guardians for some peace. 

Footsteps came closer, but you didn’t think anything of it until you heard the curtain rustle and a sultry voice said, "You don’t mind some company, do you, pet?"

Part 2

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