#why emoji next to the titles? emoji are delightful is why

[alfgifu]

Fic analysis 15. Holding out for a hero

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48820009

Word count: 3,811

Chapters: 1

First posted: 24th July 2023

Summary: 

A scarlet mantle redder than the rose flares around tall shoulders; a sky blue tunic stands bold against the night sky; a wild thicket of hair, black and grey and gloriously free, streams out in all directions like a halo - this man has a harp in his hands, and a song on his lips - and a sword at his belt - and he strides over the threshold in a flurry of golden magic that ripples and flows like lava.

Cliopher does not know this person - he does not think he knows this person - he cannot see who this person is, and the pegs are screaming in his mind - he almost does not hear the words, but they resonate on every level so that even his pegboard sings them back to him: "WHERE IS HE?"

(In which the denizens of Sky Ocean should have known better than to kidnap Cliopher Mdang of Tahivoa, however clever and helpful he might be as an ornament to their demesnes.)

How and why this came about

In time honoured fashion, a conversation on discord led into sketching scenarios, which expanded into a livefic.

This was the first time I had liveficced an entire story and it happened entirely on impulse and over a time when I was supposed to be packing to take the kids on holiday. It was the epitome of ‘now I can have some fun’. The thrill of getting near-immediate emoji responses to individual paragraphs was amazing, as was the joy of writing something where the plot was simple and the story was about the ridiculous drama of the situation.

When I finished I was very short of time and knew my internet connectivity would be limited for the following week, so the tidy-up phase was minimal and the title was chosen at random.

I was both surprised and delighted when one of my favourite authors chose to pick up on the heavy hint I’d left in the chat about being open to anybody else taking it forward. 

What worked and what didn’t

Writing fast and in short sections worked well with leaning into the drama of the whole situation. Keeping it in the present tense was new for me but it also worked with the urgency of the story.

Working quickly and staying close in Cliopher’s pov in this situation led to an even-higher-than-usual density of dashes and half-sentences. It works, sort of, but it’s certainly not how I would write this story if I had set it up in a gdoc. It’s also not how I would livefic now. These days if I’m liveficcing I mostly write until the comment box is full and then start the next at once.

What I learned from writing it

I’ve sometimes felt in the past that I needed to ration good bits of worldbuilding, or not let go of an idea or a story because I liked one element even when the other parts weren’t working. This story was all about throwing caution to the wind and throwing in the best or most extra thing I could think of and seeing what happened.

The phenomenon of holding back in case something is too good and you can’t do it again is foolish when you look at it straight on, but it’s easy not to look at it. One of the things I’ve learned over the whole adventure of writing fanfic is that there are always more ideas and more stories than I have time to write. Some of them will be better than others. Some of them I’ll execute better than others. Some of them more people will like reading than others. But the correct filter is for quality, not quantity: write the thing that compels you most in the moment and write it to the best of your ability, and try not to worry about what happens next.

[soccerdailyuk]

Bruno Fernandes sends 'angry' Man Utd welcome message to 'world class' Mason Mount

Bruno Fernandes sends 'angry' Man Utd welcome message to 'world class' Mason Mount Manchester United's prominent player, Bruno Fernandes, playfully mentioned a heated exchange he had with Mason Mount while extending a warm welcome to the new signing for the Red Devils.  After a prolonged transfer process, United has officially announced the acquisition of Mount for a fee of £60 million. Bruno Fernandes, the vice-captain of Manchester United, has become the first player from the club to extend a welcome to Mason Mount, expressing his thoughts through a social media post shortly after the official confirmation of the deal.  In his Instagram post, Fernandes reminisced about a heated exchange between himself and Mount during Chelsea's 4-1 loss at Old Trafford last season, subtly alluding to the prolonged duration it took for the transfer to finally materialize.  Using an 'angry' emoji, the Portugal ace joked: "Why did you take so long to sign? Welcome @masonmount." The picture accompanying Fernandes' post depicted a passionate moment where Fernandes was seen engaging in a heated confrontation with Mount, who had possession of the ball securely tucked under his arm  The two players were known for their competitive battles on the field, and now they will have the opportunity to be teammates at Manchester United, bringing their rivalry to a collaborative setting. Bruno Fernandes playfully questioned Mason Mount about the length of time it took for his transfer to be finalized. The remarks from John Murtough, Manchester United's football director, created a wave of excitement among fans as he bestowed the title of 'world class' on the club's latest signing.  Expressing his opinion on Mason Mount's arrival, Murtough highlighted the midfielder's exceptional intelligence on the football field and praised his remarkable technical abilities, emphasizing that these qualities would make a substantial contribution to the squad. “We have admired his talents for a long time, so we are delighted that he has chosen to take the next steps in his career here at Old Trafford. His style of play and attributes are a perfect fit for this squad, and we all believe that he will only improve further working with Erik ten Hag and his coaching staff. “Mason himself is a world-class player but he also has the ability to improve the players around him through his game intelligence and tactical awareness. We were particularly impressed by his strong desire to join United, and his thirst for further success, as we push to drive up our performance levels next season and beyond.” Mount added: “It’s never easy leaving the club where you grew up, but Manchester United will provide an exciting new challenge for the next phase of my career. Having competed against them, I know just how strong a squad it is that I’m joining, and I can’t wait to be part of this group’s drive to win major trophies. “Everyone can see that the club has made big steps forward under Erik ten Hag. Having met with the manager and discussed his plans, I couldn’t be more excited for the seasons ahead, and am ready for the hard work expected here. “I am hugely ambitious - I know how amazing it feels to win major trophies and what it takes to do it. I will be giving everything to experience that again at Manchester United.” Bruno Fernandes sends 'angry' Man Utd welcome message to 'world class' Mason Mount Read the full article

[saturdaysky]

Thank you for the tag, @burningdarkfire 💖 I no-pressure tag @mithrilwren @ariadne-mouse @mllekurtz @catalists @firefrightfic @aboxthecolourofheartache @callingvoicemail @flammablehat and anyone else who wants to! If "anyone else" is you, please tag me, I want to read it

Rules: List the first lines of the last ten (10) stories you published.   Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. Then tag some friends.

I have 9 published fics, so I'll do those and perhaps snag an opening line from one of my WIPs. :)

Patterns noticed? Hmm, I tend to start deep in a character's POV with a punchy bit of dialogue or narration.

1. 🥀 poisoning the well (Caleb/Essek, Trent)

There is the splish-splash-splash as the Nein travel through the drenched Aeorian tunnel, and then Ikithon’s voice slithers into his head, parting the layers of Caleb's privacy with ease and blotting out all other sound.

2. 🌠 afterimage (Deirta Thelyss/anger at her god)

Deirta’s people did not know, in the beginning, of consecution. When they emerged blinking into the sunlight and cowering beneath the stars, they were like any other creature: they lived and died, and fate took no special notice of them.

3. 😿 the other things that make us (Caleb/Essek)

He and Caleb are-

He and Caleb are comfortable. Friends. Colleagues. Companions, when Essek is able to visit.

4. 🍏 the apple of one's eye (Caleb/Essek)

"I have a surprise for you," Essek murmurs into Caleb's ear, sounding pleased with himself, and perches on a chair to watch him open the gift. Caleb sifts through layers of packaging until he unearths a carefully-folded bundle of glittering cloth.

He shakes it out. "Surprise" is an adequate word for the outfit that unfurls in his hands. The style is stereotypically Zemnian, despite the excessive number of straps and bangles. What's strange is that fabric seems to be missing in some unusual areas...although if he squints, it almost looks like—

5. 📕 A Mind for Literature (Caleb/Essek)

“I am merely providing feedback at Jester’s request,” Essek muttered once his lips were his own. “She sent me an advanced copy.” His cheeks were a very pretty purple, Caleb decided. There should be more color like that in the world.

6. This one is explicit in the very first line, so it will go under the read more. ✌️😎

7. 🥩 Rare Gift (Trent, Essek)

It must be mockery, Essek thinks, to seat him here at this fine table, cozily enclosed in a small private chamber, as though this is an indulgent conversation between friends.

It must be a game, for they had not even tried to chain him when they pulled him from his cell. A spell had been cast, and Essek could not resist it, so he had come when called, like a pet. Perhaps it gave Trent satisfaction to see him so.

8. 🌜 Quiet Night (Caleb/Essek)

The night is peaceful. Inside the dome, it is quiet, comfortably still, and Essek would like to keep it that way. Somehow.

Caleb is very good at being silent; the only hint Essek might have of him being improper is the slightly labored breathing that brushes warmly over the back of his neck.

9. 🖐 Bitter Balm (Caleb/Essek)

“I care for you, Caleb,” Essek says suddenly, as Caleb walks towards the door to the rest of the outpost. “I expect nothing from it, but, ah. We are heading into peril tomorrow, and...honesty is a new habit.”

There’s a bitter edge of amusement beneath his words.

6. 🧎‍♂️ selfish creatures (Caleb/Essek)

"I thought of you," Caleb says. "I thought of you like this: on your knees before me, my cock in your mouth. It has been a thought for a long time."

Essek hums against him, bobbing his head in a rhythm that coils sweet tension through Caleb with every stroke. The stretch of his lips around Caleb's cock is beautifully obscene.

10. ⏳ untitled semi-abandoned shadowgast Your Name/body swap au

There was a note left for him, when Caleb awoke again in the body that was not his own. Three papers rested on top of an ornate purple-wood desk. A single magelight bobbed a few handspans above their neatly-aligned edges. Its green glow was the only light in the compact study, save for a small window high on the southern wall that spilled starlight across the floor.

He unfolded his borrowed frame from its perfectly-postured perch on the divan, and walked the few steps to the desk. When he picked up the first page, the paper felt soft and heavy: arcanist's weight, handmade, in the finest quality.

The note began simply: Caleb. It felt like an accusation. He bit back twin flares of dread and amusement, then by habit fixed the look of the penmanship into his mind in case it became useful later.

Do not leave my towers, the note continued in elegant, forceful strokes. You are unaware of the currents in which I delve, and I do not wish for my body to be killed or myself to be disgraced because of hapless meddling. Last time required significant triage.

The last was a longer bit simply because it would never see the light of day, otherwise. :)

[dailyexo]

[NEWS] EXO’s Best Tracks of 2021

"MTV: BEST K-POP B-SIDES OF 2021

5. Kai - Come In

Kai’s Peaches is a near-perfect, no-skips collection of songs hand-picked like fruit at their ripened peak. “Come In” is the most intoxicating of the bunch. Dreamy in its distortion, the song envelops you in ambient warmth, then uses hypnotic repetition to lull the listener into soporific comfort, like musical ASMR. “I get closer to your ear / So that only my breath can reach you,” Kai murmurs above a pulsing rhythm that slowly begins to resemble a heartbeat. “Don't leave me alone, come into me.”

11. Baekhyun - All I Got

“All I Got” is what the eyes emoji would sound like if it were a song: thirsty as hell. “Two small beds stacked next to each other… On a night when there is nothing to watch on TV / What can we do?” Baekhyun asks innocently before pulling out his ace: a goosebump-inducing falsetto. As the night wears on, his voice rockets to stratospheric heights, his love as expansive as his vocal range.

PhilSTAR L!fe: 21 K-pop b-sides that stole our hearts in 2021

1. D.O. - My Love

My Love is Do Kyungsoo in a song. It’s intimate, alluring, and it offers many layers that entice you to listen more. The acoustic confession doesn’t feature any grandiose instrumentals, however, it draws listeners in from the very first note. Opening your heart to someone who feels like home is not easy, but D.O.’s emotive voice is the best way to express its heartfelt lyrics without holding back.

God-tier: With its vulnerable lyrics and acoustic melody, My Love is proof that you don’t have to be the most extra to draw attention.

16. Baekhyun - All I Got

EXO’s Baekhyun and panty-dropping R&B tracks always go hand-in-hand—and All I Got is one of the clear examples why. The opening beat of the song commands attention as the bass acts as a blank canvas for Baekhyun to flex his vocal abilities until the final note. A satisfying track filled with spectacular adlibs and jaw-dropping falsettos that that only he is capable of doing.

God-tier: Baekhyun starting off the song with his soulful falsetto sent us screaming, “More, Baekhyun!”

Genius Korea: 20 Best B-Sides of 2021 by Genius Korea

10. EXO - Runaway

Inarguably comprised of some of the strongest vocalists in K-Pop, EXO knows how to play to their strengths. “Runaway” is an R&B song with sparse guitar giving space for the group’s vocals. While being a repetitive track in terms of its lyrics which isn’t without purpose, EXO makes sure the track doesn’t turn boring. Each member flexes their beautiful vocal talents on the song, making each segment of the song unique including the chorus. It is a delight for listeners as members harmonize with each other during vocal adlibs and runs.

NME: The 25 best K-pop songs of 2021

16. D.O. - Rose

D.O.’s approach to his solo material has always been a tad refreshing – especially when you consider his releases among the sea of sleek R&B that most male soloists tend to offer (see some of his contemporaries on this list, for example).

While he does dip his toes into trends every now and then, as heard throughout his understatedly splendid debut solo album ‘공감 (Empathy)’, D.O.’s specialty lies in the simplicity, and lead single ‘Rose’ checks all the boxes. No frills, just the EXO singer’s honeyed vocals backed by a perky acoustic guitar, ‘Rose’ puts D.O.’s boyish charms on full display and captures innocent romance to a delightful and magnetic effect.

Best bit: We can’t help it, but the accompanying music video, which follows an oblivious and infatuated D.O. as he casually maneuvers out of every disaster life throws his way unscathed, elevates the song’s lovestruck message in the most endearing way.

The Daily Vox: The ultimate 2021 K-pop playlist

D.O. - Si Fueras Mía

EXO member D.O. made his solo debut this year and as expected it was fantastic. He played to his strengths in the album with some surprising charms. The title track and video were extremely good but D.O truly showed why he is one of the best vocalists in the industry through Si Fueras Mia. It’s a Spanish version of the B-side track It’s Love and it’s truly magical.

EXO - Just As Usual

While the EXO members have been busy, there has been a lot of group stuff in quite a while. However, before Chanyeol and Baekhyun went on enlistment hiatus, they released a special album. As expected from EXO, the album is filled with great songs but this one is definitely special. The B-side track is a warm and healing song about protecting a loved one.

Paper Magazine: The 40 Best K-Pop Songs of 2021

14. Baekhyun - Bambi

Leave it to K-pop's reigning king of R&B to get us all hot and bothered before commencing his mandatory enlistment. If there's one thing Baekyun knows how to do, it's ride a note to an electrifying climax. The man's vocal stamina is unparalleled. "Bambi" follows a sensual groove, but it's the atmospheric guitar and Baekhyun's silky smooth delivery (those exalted melismas!) that leaves us yearning for more.

30. Kai - Peaches

True to its name, Kai's second solo single "Peaches" is both sweet and sensual. It exists on another plane of existence entirely, where desire is expressed through languid motion and hushed whispers. There's a hypnotism to its lo-fi arrangement, which incorporates traditional Korean instrumentation. Like its namesake, "Peaches" is a simple delicacy."

Credit: MTV, PhilSTAR L!fe, Genius Korea, NME, The Daily Vox, Paper Magazine.

[delicrieux]

miss dee. i’m so excited about seán dying his hair green again tomorrow for the thankmas stream, so may i ask for a small jacksepticeye x male/enby reader about reader helping seán dye his hair? maybe reader accidentally stains their hands/seán’s forehead and shenanigans ensue? thank you so much !!! 🥺🥺

･:* ☆ author’s note: 😭💗 cute!! also u referring to me as miss makes me feel so fancy! side note, i have not watched the stream yet, so forgive me for taking some creative liberties xx also i hope they/them pronouns are ok!!!!!!! 

masterlist.｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You have changed your name to Sean’s Little Helper - for this stream, that is. You doubt the name will stick in your day to day life, but right now, sitting in the corner of the frame with a lopsided Santa hat on your head - not unlike a mischievous elf on a shelf - you grin and laugh as the chat echoes the title a thousand times. That’s not a generous estimate. Even after all these years of knowing him, you still can’t quite grasp how he feels so at ease with so many people watching him.

All for a good cause, though. Sean has the biggest heart out of everyone you know. It’s a delight knowing him. That’s why, early in the morning (or more like, very late at night), when he requested you assistance for a “super secret task”, you agreed immediately. Details be damned, you’d be apart of grand theft auto if he offered.

Maybe next time.

The stream pushes past the first few hours. You’re on your second cup of coffee - one for every hour spent trying to make his audience laugh by making faces behind him, or trying TikTok dances you’ve seen on your For You Page - when it’s finally time. Sean is all smiles and exasperated, breathless laughter, half in disbelieve and half excited. 

“(Name)!” He screams, ticking his head to you, almost making you choke on your drink, “Get the dye! Get it, get it!”

You’ve never considered yourself a quick person, but the way you bolt to the bathroom and back with green hair dye and the necessary tools astounds you. You almost scream “Kachow!” as you barge into the stream room, but that would have been too embarrassing. Maybe you’ll work up the courage in a few more hours.

“Welcome to my salon,” You announce, putting on plastic gloves as Sean giggles, grinning at you. “Prepare to go bald.”

“Don’t let them fool you, guys,” Sean interjects, glancing at the camera, “(Name)’s a pro.”

“At pro at failing, definitely. Else? Not so much.” You say, stone-faced, prepping the dye, “If you feel burning or itching, good. Means it’s working.”

“I haven’t dyed my hair in so long.”

“It’s good you’re regressing back to 2016 like the rest of us.”

Your words are met with enthusiastic agreement from the chat. That enthusiasm grows more and more unhinged, from smiling emojis to unintelligible key-smashes as you work on his hair, biting your lower lip to hold in your laughter. Sean’s squirming. Not even a cardiologist would be able to paint precisely in this case. Besides, with the whole elf on the shelf energy, you’re in the mood for mischief, so perhaps that wasn’t a slip up. Something must go wrong. Gotta keep both him and the chat on their toes.

There’s a clumsy green line on the side of his forehead that’s definitely not supposed to be there. You look into the camera, shoulders shaking from bubbling laughter, overly pleased, perhaps a tad embarrassed, wordlessly trying to communicate to the audience “Don’t you dare tell him.”

“What is it?” He questions, raising a brow at your expression. He glances at the viewfinder, his jaw going slack, before he burst into laughter, throwing his head back and your brush almost dabs a generous amount of green on the tip of his nose. “Seriously!?” He bellows, “You weren’t even going to tell me, weren’t you?” He asks it already knowing the answer. All you can offer him is a cool, collected shrug.

“It’ll wash out.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Your fault for asking me to help, then.”

This back and forth continues till you’re done. When you finally return to your resident spot in the corner of the frame next to your abandoned cup of coffee, your mind is already swarming with ideas on how to mess with him more.

.

hope you liked it! xx

.

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 3: Rainbows

Title: We’ve Got Your Back, Jack

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 1,660

Tags: Mild (brief) Angst, Dean Winchester and Castiel are parents, De-aged Jack Kline (he did it to himself), Jack Kline is twelve, Fingernail painting as therapy, Claire is an excellent big sister, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence from 15x18 (twelve years later), Jack has a guinea pig named Nougat

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Claire Novak/Kaia Nieves, Background Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy

On AO3 Here

When Jack is teased at school for wearing his favorite rainbow jacket, his family comes together to help build him back up.

“Sunshine, you gotta calm down.” He moves to stand behind Cas where he’s sitting at the kitchen table and squeezes his shoulders reassuringly. There’s hardly any give; Cas is a single ball of tension.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean sets a steaming mug of tea in front of Cas, who glares at it with such intensity that Dean’s surprised it doesn’t shatter on the spot.

“I can’t calm down,” Cas growls. “He was bullied. The sweetest boy in the world, and they made him feel small. How are you calm, Dean?”

Dean sighs and pulls up a chair. “He seemed fine, Cas. I mean, he is God. He was already talking about changes he wants to make once he comes back into power.”

Cas grips his mug and takes an abrupt, angry sip. “I wish he could make them now.”

“Me too, buddy. But he’s learning. Every shitty person he deals with, he learns something. That’s why he’s doing this whole human thing, remember?”

The kitchen’s quiet for a moment while Cas contemplates. He cups his hand over the tea, steam escaping between his fingers in lazy tendrils. “It’s just my instinct to shield him from cruelty.”

Dean nods. He scoots closer, sliding an arm around Cas’ warm, solid waist. “I know.”

Some of the rigidity in Cas’ posture softens and he leans into Dean’s side. Dean presses a kiss to his temple.

“What can we do?” Cas asks quietly. “For now. I want him to feel happy at school.”

Dean hums thoughtfully. “Not sure. The school already talked to the other kid's parents, so that part’s taken care of, and Jack said it was just the one boy. I think we just gotta be there for him. Remind him he’s awesome.”

“I just want to wear my rainbow coat.”

Dean and Cas turn around to see Jack standing in the doorway, rubbing his eye. He’s wearing the bee-patterned pajamas Cas got him for his twelfth birthday in the spring, and is cradling his guinea pig, Nougat, in one arm.

Cas immediately stands up and beckons Jack over. “You couldn’t sleep?”

Jack shakes his head, as earnest and deliberate as he does everything. He pads across the kitchen and hands Nougat to Dean before sitting down in Cas’ empty chair. It took Dean a while to get used to the guinea pig, to her sharp nails and shrill squeaks, but now he likes having her warm little body against his chest.

Cas flips the kettle back on to make Jack a cup of tea, too. “Did that boy’s teasing start with your coat?”

Jack plays with the strings on his pajama pants and nods. “I don’t understand. When he said those mean things and laughed, he felt—” Jack pauses, blinking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “He felt afraid, like he was cornered. Defensive.”

“His emotions must have been strong for you to sense them,” Cas says gently, pouring the steaming water into Jack’s favorite mug, a blue one with a big sun on the side. Dean slowly strokes a finger over Nougat’s soft brown head. His chest feels tight.

“Yes, they were. I feel bad that he’s scared,” Jack continues. “And I’m going to work on helping people like that when Amara gives me my powers again. But I also just want to wear my coat.”

He’s twelve, Dean thinks. He’s God, and he’s twelve.

“You’re gonna wear your coat, kiddo,” he says, bumping Jack’s foot with his own. “That other kid, it sucks that he’s hearing shitty stuff at home. And it’s not your fault that he took it out on you. Trust me. If you wanna go to school decked out in rainbows, we’ve got your back.”

Cas nods and crouches down next to Jack, handing him his mug. “Dean is right. Our priority is helping you be yourself and be happy during your time as a human.”

Jack shuffles his feet a little. He cups his hand over the mug just as Cas had done. “Um, in that case, can I ask something?”

“Yes, of course,” Cas says.

“Well, my friend Mallary likes painting her nails. They look so cool. But she said boys don’t usually do that.”

“And you’d like to,” Cas prompts. His eyes meet Dean’s for a moment.

Jack nods. “Rainbow.”

Dean stands up, cradling Nougat snug against his chest as the guinea pig emits a startled squeak. “Well, then, you’re gonna have rainbow nails. I know just who to call.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Claire sweeps into the house the next morning — Sunday — in a whirlwind of hair and shopping bags. Even though they heard her coming all the way up the driveway, swearing and dropping things, it’s always a shock when she bursts through the door. Kaia follows quietly, with a fondly exasperated smile on her face. She rolls her eyes at Dean and he stifles a laugh.

Claire stomps into the living room and dumps her mountain of bags onto the couch. “Hi, old men. Where’s my brother?”

“Hello, Claire,” Cas says, lips quirking. “I see you’ve come quite prepared.” He’s leaning in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed, an old t-shirt of Dean’s stretched over his broad shoulders. From his perch on the couch, Dean lets his eyes roam appreciatively; Cas has been ageing ever since he returned from the Empty a human, and the years look good on him. He even has a bit of silver in his wild hair. Twelve years together, and Dean still can't believe his luck.

“Yeah, well, Dean calls me saying my baby bro needs a confidence boost, I’m gonna go all out.” Claire starts emptying the bags onto the coffee table. “I brought every color I could find.”

As if on cue, Jack appears in the doorway next to Cas. His hair is still rumpled from sleep but his eyes are shining, taking in the rows of nail polish that Claire is lining up on the table.

“Wow, is that all for me?” He practically bounces into the room and sits cross-legged on the floor, picking up a blue bottle.

Claire ruffles his hair, disheveling it even more, and sits down next to him. “Hell yeah. And for your dads, too.”

Dean blinks. “Uh— you want us to— yeah, that idea was for Jack, actually.”

This time it’s Kaia’s turn to stifle a laugh, and Dean shoots her a dirty look. Cas chuckles and pushes off the doorframe to join Dean on the couch. He takes Dean’s hand in his own and lifts it up, lightly stroking one finger at a time as he looks at the short, blunt nails. Dean may work hard at the garage, but he’s hygienic and doesn’t bring any grease home, under his nails or otherwise.

Now, he blushes a little as Cas brushes a kiss onto his knuckles. “Dean will look beautiful. Just like Jack.”

Jack whoops and shoots Dean a dazzling smile. Dean can’t really say no to that face.

It’s decided that Kaia will paint Jack’s nails rainbow, a different color on each nail (Jack insists that some should have polka dots, too), and that Claire will do Cas’ and Dean’s. Dean tries to ask for just black, like Baby, but gets shouted down by everyone in the room and grudgingly agrees to a dark green. When Claire is done wiping down his nails and applies the first brush of color to his thumb, he has to admit it looks nice.

Jack keeps exclaiming in delight every time Kaia starts on a new color, and nearly loses it when she reveals that she got some tiny glittery stars to sprinkle on the drying polish.

“It looks like a galaxy,” he breathes, eyes wide, moving his fingers gingerly in the light from the window. Dean glances at Cas, who’s getting his nails painted a holographic blue, and is surprised to see a bright sheen in Cas’ eyes as he watches Jack. He’s smiling softly. Dean reaches over (careful of his own drying nails) and lays a hand on his shoulder. Together they watch their kid — sort of God, sort of not — reclaim his happiness one sparkly fingernail at a time.

Once everyone’s clear coat polish is dry (Dean had no idea there were so many steps involved), they take a bunch of pictures to send to Sam and Eileen. Dean almost considers hiding his own hands, but Jack’s gazing at him so excitedly that he splays them on the table next to Cas’ without a second thought.

They do look cool. Sam even says so in his text, after a string of heart-eye emojis.

Claire and Kaia head out after lunch (Cas quietly packs up about half of the nail polish they brought, pressing it into Kaia’s hands to take back home with them). Jack spends the rest of the afternoon picking out a suitably colorful outfit to match his nails at school tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This was a wonderful idea, Dean. Thank you,” Cas says that evening as they’re back at the kitchen table, Cas nursing his usual mug of tea and Dean packing Jack’s lunches for the week. “He was so happy. I hope he’ll be okay tomorrow.”

Dean slides the last sandwich into the fridge and lays his hands back on Cas’ shoulders. They’re warm and pliant tonight. He digs his fingers in, leaning down to kiss Cas’ cheek.

“He’ll be okay. He knows we’ve got his back.” He’s quiet for a moment and runs a hand through Cas’ thick hair, following a silver strand with his shiny-green thumb. “That counts for a hell of a lot.”

Cas twists around, covering Dean’s hand still on his shoulder with his own and gazing up at him. “You are a good man, Dean Winchester. A good man and an excellent father.”

Dean sucks in a big breath. “All right, sunshine. That’s about all the feelings I can handle today.” He grins down at Cas, though, just to assure him he’s fine.

And he is.

[brrrritscoldinhere]

The bunch of keys in Remus’ hands jingled as he unlocked the glass door, opening the doors to the big space of bookshelves filled to the brim with leather bound books. Turning around, he smiled serenely as he looked around. Sunlight filtered through the gaps of the curtains.

He opened them, light now illuminating the entire bookstore. He sighed as he turned on the air conditioning, letting a cool breeze sweep over the entire shop.

He loved his job. He was surrounded by things he loved and it was all so calm and peaceful. Everything was what it was supposed to be.

Remus went behind the counter, clearing up any dust that had been left behind the day before. He looked at the clock.

“Eight,” he murmured, smiling softly to himself. “Gives me an hour, then.”

He shrugged on his coat, fixed his hair a bit and headed out with his wallet and phone, locking the doors again.

He headed down the street to which he’d just moved into, admiring the cute houses and occasional shop. He smiled brightly when he walked up to the place he’d been coming to ever since he opened his store.

He pushed open the glass doors, the smell of baked goods and coffee making his stomach rumble.

He stepped up behind two people who were queuing, silently pulling out his phone to scroll through Instagram. He smiled at Lily’s selfie with Marlene and Mary in the background. He commented sarcastic eye roll emojis and hearts and put his phone in his pocket when it was his turn to order.

“The usual, Mr. Lupin?”

Remus smiled shyly and he nodded, looking up only to find his breath taken away, as always.

Because in front of him was the cafe cashier, Sirius Black, wearing a white apron and a black turtleneck underneath, hair tied up in a messy bun.

“Yeah,” Remus replied a little breathlessly. “The normal.”

“Iced latte and chocolate muffin!” Sirius yelled to the people manning the food and drinks a few meters behind him. He faced Remus again, shaking his head amusedly. “Don’t know why you still drink an iced latte in this cold ass weather.”

Remus let out a small laugh. “Don’t know either.”

Sirius perked up. “Almost forgot. Now, don’t tell anyone, but...”

Sirius slid a paper bag with two warn double chocolate chip cookies in it. Remus blinked and shook his head, trying to refuse but Sirius pushed him away as another customer entered the store. Remus sighed as he took the cookies and waited at the side of the store for his order. In less than ten minutes, his name got called and he collected his order, sending a fleeting smile towards Sirius and then rushing out of the cafe.

Every day it was like this. Head over to the cafe, buy breakfast, maybe flirt a little with Sirius, run out to tend to his bookshop and be busy for the rest of the day. Only talking to Sirius once every day, and then going to sleep thinking about his smile.

It could be better, but Remus wasn’t going to start complaining.

He sighed as he bit into the muffin, deciding to save the cookies for later.

𓅰𓅰𓅰

Remus woke up late on a Friday, because he’d been up late arranging and sorting out the new delivery of books that he’d ordered. He only collapsed on his bed at two in the morning, not even bothering to change his clothes.

He woke in a panic at fifty minutes past seven and hurriedly got ready and went down his bookstore. His apartment was situated a level above the bookshop, so it was much more convenient instead of having to wake up much earlier and then having to walk. Which meant that even if he woke up late, he wouldn’t be too late.

He managed to run down the stairs, nearly twisting his foot and unlocking the doors only eight minutes late. Thankfully, there weren’t any customers yet. People usually came in in the late afternoons or just before dinner, which gave Remus plenty of time to sort out orders and deliveries for books.

But only after a half an hour, people started coming in, streaming through the doors and browsing the shelves. Remus was surprised; usually only a few people came in once a day. Why so many now, and in such a short amount of time?

“Hey!”

Remus jerked, head looking up and eyes widening.

“Sirius?”

Sirius grinned, now wearing a leather jacket instead of his usual white apron. “Hey, stranger. Noticed how you didn’t come into the cafe today. Here.” He placed Remus’ order of iced latte and chocolate muffin — plus an extra two cookies — and leaned against the wooden counter.

“Nice thing you’ve got going on here,” Sirius commented lightly, smiling at the books. “It feels like it would be calm. Well, calm if there weren’t a crowd of people here right now.”

Remus laughed. “Yeah, sorry, don’t know why either. Usually it’s really quiet until later. And I didn’t head to the cafe because I woke up late. Been up all night sorting everything out.”

Sirius pursed his lips. “I... may know the reason why you’ve gotten a bunch of customers all of a sudden.”

Remus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“I may have... promoted your bookstore a bit? Yesterday?”

Remus blinked. “What?”

Sirius scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I, uh, went onto my cafe’s social media platforms and uh, promoted your bookshop.”

Remus whipped out his phone and went to Twitter, searching the cafe Sirius worked at, and sure enough, a picture of his bookshop, taken while Remus wasn’t in. The light from the sun illuminated the inside through the windows, making the entire shop nearly glow. The caption above stated:

Mr. Lupin’s bookshop is a must to visit once you’ve bought from us! Books and cafe delights are something to bring peace to heart and mind. Check out Mr. Lupin’s bookshop and you won’t be disappointed, with your favorite titles about romance, adventure or fantasy at your fingertips with a cup of coffee right beside.

Remus’ eyes widened and he looked up at Sirius, who smiled sheepishly. Before he could say anything, though, a few customers started to line up. Sirius had to move to the side so Remus could help them.

Once that was tended to, Remus faced Sirius, who had sidled up next to him behind the counter. “You— you really did that.”

Sirius grinned. “I did.”

Remus smiled softly, blushing just a tiny bit. “Thanks. This... really means a lot to me.”

Sirius’ grin turned softer, quieter, more of an adoring look than a smile at that point. “You’re welcome. I’m glad it made you happy.”

An elderly woman came up to the desk, holding a copy of Anne Frank. “Hello dears, how much is this?”

Remus helped her with her payment, and when she had the paper bag in her arms securely, she asked sweetly, “You boys look very sweet together. Reminds me if my own grandson and his husband.”

Remus blushed and became flustered, trying to explain how he and Sirius weren’t together, but he was silenced when Sirius replied, “Thank you, ma’am. I like to think we look good together too.”

She smiled serenely and walked out of the store, leaving behind a stuttering Remus.

“You...”

“Go out on a date with me, Remus Lupin?” Sirius asked quietly, fiddling with his fingers. “I know— we don’t talk a lot, but I’m really smitten with you and I’m hoping—"

Remus cut him off with a chaste kiss, only pressing in a couple of seconds before parting.

“Yeah, I’ll go on a date with you,” Remus breathed. He jumped when a wolf whistle sounded through the shop, and everyone started applauding. Remus blushed furiously and shrunk back, glaring at Sirius who grinned at him and bowed as if he was part of a show that dramatically changed everyone’s lives.

𓅰𓅰𓅰

“So we’re having a coffee date right?”

“Would be wrong not to, to be honest.”

[statticscribbles]

Human

Summary: Mystique/Reader; Mystique and reader are both convinced the other is human while they themselves are a mutant

You’d been surprised when Professor Xavier had let you get off early. “Can you pick up more of that tea you got last time.” He smiles and you sigh nodding; of course he’d let you off to run errands; you’re not surprised being the art teacher meant the kids had the option to take your class at certain times; most preferred in the morning so you were usually free by lunchtime. You like to think you look normal; most of the students have invisible mutations and while you do in a way you prefer not to be too open about your true powers.

You’d been fifteen when they’d developed fully; your gift; your ability to control blood. You’d gotten into a fight; the other person leaving with you a bloody nose and an anger fuelled by pain; the most you can remember is the rage bubbling in your chest and then the blood dripping from your nose took shape and hit into their skin like bullets leaving massive welts. You were avoided after that; the rumors saying you’d pull a knife and hit them with it. Your parents make it known that you’d apparently turned red; looking like you were dripping in blood like something out of Carrie. You’re lost in your thoughts when you bump into a woman who is also getting the same calming earl gray tea. “There’s one left.”

“You take it.” You assure her and she smiles. “Thank you. Are you sure?” “My boss can deal without it for a few days.” You feel the box pushed into your hands. She smiles again and you shake your head trying to give it back to her. “I can’t let you get in trouble with your boss; if you got fired because of me it would be awful.” “He won’t fire me over that; the kids care about me too much.” “Kids?” You can see she regrets saying something and you nod. “I’m an art teacher.” “Oh that’s wonderful.” “Yes; thank you for the tea; you really don’t have to.. Oh here, maybe we could get coffee or a drink, as a thank you.” You offer her your phone number; which is mostly selfish but you can’t help flushing slightly when she takes it grinning and blushing as well.

“Thank you; I’ll see you around then..” “I’m; Y/N; see you around.” You flush more having almost given out your title in the X-men; you knew it was bad enough you were talking so fondly to a human but to almost out yourself would have been a nightmare. When you get back hesitating with the box of tea until Charles grabs it grinning slightly. “What?” “Nothing; did you have a good time out?” “Yes I did.” You huff and he grins more. “I’ll let you take a Friday off then?” “No we have that museum trip; I want to look at the art…” “You can come but not to be an official part of us.” You smile in thanks, surprised when your phone lights up with a text message.

-It’s Raven, the one in the tea shop- You grin and manage to spend two more hours texting back and forth. This continues for the next few days and you manage to meet up for coffee once but she ends up leaving early promising to meet up again. You learn she’s the same age as you; she works for someone in management who has ties to the government. She’s been all over Europe and some of Asia, a fact you’re incredibly jealous of; and that she’d be more than happy to tour the museum with you on Friday in place of just a coffee. You promise her lunch and she sends a laughing emoji. You almost send a heart back but stop yourself; you’ve only known her for a few weeks but you can’t help but be drawn to her. You turn over in your bed feeling a sinking feeling at the prospect of being with a human and having to hide your life from her.

Friday arrives; Charles make a point of starting the tour off in the historical part of the museum leaving you to meet up with Raven in the art section; you realize this means you’ll probably overlap with everyone at some point but for now you’re enjoying walking around and explaining the art to Raven who’s smiling the more you’re talking and you take it to mean she’s more interested in you than the painting.

“We can grab lunch in the cafe if you want.” She grins and you turn away surprised when she grabs your hand. You can hear her blood moving around; you know your powers were improved by touch and you try to fight the impulse to listen to her heartbeat; instead relieved when you sit down and grin at her over the menu. You push the paper away that someone had left and can see her frowning. You scan the page unsure what she’s bothered over and look up asking her. “Those mutants.” She hums slightly and you finally realize the picture is of Mystique and Magneto, they’d help a mutant gathering in central park the other day. “What about them?” You’re relieved your voice doesn’t shake. She seems surprised and frowns. “Well I mean look at them.” You can hear the scorn in her voice and you scowl at her.

“There’s nothing wrong with them?” She seems caught off guard but her face softens a little. “You don’t think mutant’s are bad?” “No, why would I; they’re people just the same. They just have extra abilities.” “Wouldn’t that bother you; someone can shapeshift; you’d never know what they’d look like or who they could be!” She seems to think this has trumped any argument and you chuckle a little. “Appearance wouldn’t matter to me; besides can you imagine being with someone who could read your mind..” She bristles and you wonder if she’s going to be upset with you badmouthing the wonderful professor X. “You’d never be able to surprise them; any type of present instantly ruined!” She laughs nodding at you and you grin folding the paper as you finish your lunch.

“That was very nice; even the little debate.” She grins and you shake your head. “That wasn’t a debate; I really don’t think-” You’re about to continue but she freezes and you turn trying to push down the terror as Charles leads the group towards the cafe. “Did you enjoy yourself?” He grins and you’re about to say something but then Raven hisses his name and you look confused at her. “Oh you don’t know.”

“Y/N; meet Mystique. Mystique; meet our new art teacher.” he seems far too delighted with himself about his exposing both of you to the other but you just stare at Raven, now Mystique. “So appearance does matter then?” She’s tense and your face flushes. “Blue’s my favourite colour.” You try to explain but she just laughs, you know Charles has shared your thoughts with her and you’re partially grateful as you know she won’t misinterpretation your thoughts but you’re mostly embarrassed as all that’s been cycling through your brain is variation of the phrases “Pretty blue girl” and “oh thank god she’s like me”

Support My Writing?

[luvdsc]

ellipsism.

gold is a bluer color than blue.

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: angst / soulmate + high school au word count :: 1,734 words warnings :: gang, blood, violence, death song :: you were good to me (jeremy zucker & chelsea cutler)

You order a chocolate milkshake.

You never had one before, but they were his favorite.

The boy with blue hair drank them so often that they were all you could taste when your lips pressed against his. He would place one hand on your cheek with the other gently grasping you by the curve of your waist, pulling you closer until he kissed you dizzy. The slightest hints of chocolate stained his breath as he whispered sweet nothings that meant everything to you. He mumbled i love you’s between each breath, sang you lullabies before every exchange of good night’s, and called you endearments sweeter than the sugary concoction he found so much delight in.

The drink is placed in front of you. Fingers curling around the base of the glass, you take a small sip, reveling in the nostalgic taste. You smile.

Chocolate milkshakes might be your favorite, too.

The boy with blue hair was a heartbreakingly beautiful enigma wrapped in a well worn leather jacket and a false bravado that fell apart easily beneath your fingertips once you had found yourself occupying every crevice of his heart. He was blue skies turning into cotton candy pink, whispered wishes slipped between birthday candles, vibrantly yellow dandelions peeking out between cracked pavement, the last wisps of dusk settling into twilight, and the nostalgic song that nestled itself within your years of adolescence and yet, you couldn’t remember the title of for the life of you. He was quiet laughter hidden between the dusty bookshelves of a library, kept promises that were sealed with looped pinkies, stolen kisses as the sunset spilled across the sky, and chilled chocolate milkshakes on a warm day.

Falling in love with the boy with blue hair and a heart wrenching smile was never on your list of things to do in high school, and you didn’t think falling in love with you was on his list either, but love had a funny way of working itself out. A chance encounter on your walk home, an innocent offer of tissues towards your usually absent classmate with a bloody nose, and one glance at this vibrant boy who seemed to hold entire galaxies in his eyes were all it took for you to go head over heels for Na Jaemin.

But you’d also have to thank your soulmate—whoever they were—because if Jaemin hadn’t noticed the odd words stating “Save me a milkshake?” tattooed across your wrist in ebony ink, he wouldn’t have offered to buy you a milkshake in return for the tissues. While sitting in the diner on the corner of Camellia Boulevard and Arcadia Street for the very first time, you found out he was much luckier than you as he showed off a neatly written “I promise” on his wrist.

In a world where soulmate signs came in all different shapes and forms, you were fortunate that yours was straightforward and easy-to-hide. It was supposed to be a simple transition of black into gold as your indicator. It was certainly better than Donghyuck’s sign whose hair color changed every few days courtesy of his soulmate. When you told the boy with blue hair about the day your friend was sporting rainbow streaks, the genuine grin gracing his face as he laughed loudly made him look like an angel, and well, angels never hurt anyone, right?

The boy with blue hair never told you why he was sporting a bruised lip and carmine stains at your very first shared interaction, but you were no stranger to all the swirling rumors at school about the wrong crowd he ran with and the affiliations he had with the darker side of the city. However, you never pried, accepting that he would tell you when the time came and he was ready.

And today, he was finally ready. He was ready to leave that part of his past behind, ready to move on, ready to take charge of his life with you by his side. He was going to tell you today.

Friday afternoons were always reserved for you, but unfortunately, he had to meet with someone from his past one final time. He secretly texted you in class, asking you to meet up a little later than usual at your and his favorite diner where the two of you like to argue over the superior milkshake flavor (you adamantly insist that vanilla is better).  When he received your affirmative reply a few minutes later along with a slew of pretty heart emojis, he beamed brightly before sending back a generous amount of cute emojis in response.

He was excited to show you the A he got on his English paper: the one that you helped him outline and that he stayed up all night perfecting. This was the first time he had put so much time and effort into an assignment, and his teacher was more than thrilled when she received the carefully stapled papers with his name proudly stamped across the cover page. His grades were slowly, but steadily improving, and it was all because of you. He even discovered that he really liked his computer science class and began to research potential classes at nearby community colleges.

Clutching his prized paper in hand, Jaemin stood at the intended meeting spot, enjoying the light drizzle of the rain overhead. The sun barely peeked out from behind the darkening clouds, causing the water droplets to glimmer and gleam as they fell. The gentle pattering of tiny raindrops against his face felt refreshing, almost like a new beginning, a quiet reminder of the rainbow that came afterwards.

Jaemin heard the awful squelching noise before he felt it.

It was an uncomfortable pressure at first until it increased in pain and spread across his abdomen, a cold feeling worming its way up and wrapping around his figure. He had found himself dropping onto the damp concrete, curling in on himself as the papers fluttered loosely from his hand, stained in dark shades of cerise that made its way across the ground.

The blurry figure standing above him stood still for a minute before darting off. No loose ends, he could hear his former boss’s voice echoing in his head. It was what he was told the first time he stepped foot on their territory. How naive of him to believe that they would let him go so easily.

Dragging himself towards the wall behind several empty dumpsters, he propped himself up, pressing down on the wound as best he could but the rivulets of carmine spilled much too quickly and easily, slipping between his fingers. It’s futile, and he knew it, the increasingly harsher waves of pain washing over him with every ticking second. He absentmindedly stared at the A and smiley face adorning his paper in red ink, now barely distinguishable from the other glaring hues of vermilion. The rain poured down, turning the paper translucent as it began to tear around the edges.

Mind going numb from everything but the thought of you—you who was still waiting patiently for someone who would never come—he painstakingly pulled out his phone from his jacket, the device almost falling from his grasp. He clumsily fumbled with it for a few moments before he managed to hit the right buttons. You answered on the first ring, and he smiled, small tendrils of warmth blooming from his heart at the sound of your voice. You were the rose among his garden of thorns, the green light on the other side of the shore, and the beacon of light in the midst of a storm.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, taking a deep breath. He hoped that you didn’t notice the way his voice wavered nor the way his breath quickened with every passing second. He hoped that you knew he tried so hard to not fall in love with you, so that you wouldn’t get hurt because of him. He hoped that you could forgive him for falling in love with you anyways. He hoped that you could forgive him for being selfish for the one last time.

“Hey, where are you? Are you alright?” Your worried tone was evident, and he squeezed his eyes shut.  He felt tired, his eyelids drooping slowly, yet he still forced himself to stay awake. He’s sorry for lying to you. “Yeah, I’m fine, just running a little late. Are you already there?”

“Yeah, I just ordered a vanilla milkshake for myself. You know, the best flavor,” you teased him, and he relaxed against the bricks, phone held loosely in his hand.

“Oh, really? I think you’re wrong.”

You scoffed, and he could easily picture the way the corners of your lips tug up into a smile that you desperately try to hide. “ You know what? I’m gonna get you a vanilla one right now instead of chocolate. This is what happens when you’re late.”

“You sure you’re not just buying a second one for yourself?” he laughed softly, and you gasped indignantly. “What do you take me for? A milkshake thief? Maybe I should just drink it myself.”

“No!” He weakly protested, breath growing shallower and weaker. He shakily held up his phone, desperately pressing it against his ear. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if you were right here, talking to him. He could pretend that he was sitting next to you on vinyl covered seats as you share a plate of fries over vanilla and chocolate milkshakes and his fingers shyly brush against yours as he picks up a fry. He could vividly see how your eyes sparkle as you tell him about your day, and he’ll stare at you, enamored and starry eyed, as some retro love song plays from the jukebox in the corner. 

“Can you promise me something?” he said quietly. The pauses between each heart palpitation grew wider and further apart, and he could faintly hear you answer yes over his slowing heartbeats. He inhaled sharply, his breath stuttering, as he forced the words through his teeth, clenching tightly onto the phone like a lifeline.

“Save me a milkshake?”

On the other side of town, in a tiny booth tucked in a corner of a 1950s themed restaurant, four little words started to shimmer in gold.

“I promise.”

The boy with blue hair smiled.

As the sky wept, a splash of gold twinkled innocently against the darkening asphalt.

[shortythescreen]

Learned Skill

Summary: The reader has asked their partner, Bloodhound, to train them so they could compete in the Apex Games. When it proves to be more difficult than they originally thought, they get a little frustrated. Bloodhound is here to help. 

Pairing(s): Bloodhound/reader. 

Warning(s): NSFT/18+ under the cut. Gender neutral AFAB reader, AMAB Bloodhound. Bloodhound eats the booty at one point. Semi public/gym showers sex, though not a ton of emphasis placed on that. Some dom/sub undertones. Mentions of exercise being used as a punishment but it’s very brief and not spoken about in a negative way.

Author’s Note(s): A commission for the lovely @mika-aris! She has been so patient with me between work, school, and this, so what was ORIGINALLY supposed to be 2k wound up being nearly 3! She specified AFAB reader, so I got to talk about some clit action [insert eyes emojis here]. Anyway, she really seemed to like it and I hope y’all do too! 

The worst part about this whole thing is that you were the one that asked Bloodhound to train you.

The worst worst part is that you didn’t think it would be that hard. Sure, you knew that you weren’t the most athletic person in the world, that you would need to have some patience with yourself. But if Caustic, who you’ve seen eat a whole cheesecake when he thought no one else was looking, can do it, then why can’t you? If Octane can do it when he looks like a strong breeze could knock him over, then why can’t you?

Why can’t you?

You expected Bloodhound to beat your ass at every turn. They’ve been the Champion of the Arena more than once, have earned the title Apex Predator. You didn’t think you were going to knock them off their feet in one fell swoop. You didn’t think they would stare up at you with hearts in their eyes, amazed and impressed by your strength and beauty (even if you thought about it a few times). You’re not stupid.

You just. Fucking. Are having a hard time.

“Again,” says Bloodhound. You have no idea how the hell they’re wearing a cloth face mask. Sweat must be dotting their upper lip beneath it and their tinted goggles give you no hint to how they’re feeling. You stand at the opposite end of the boxing ring, panting, your hands on your knees. “Do you need a break, elskan?”

“No, no,” you grunt. “I’m good. I wanna get this.”

“The decision is yours.”

You wonder if they’re annoyed with you. You two have been running this same fucking sequence for four days. It’s really not that hard and you’ve understood every other drill before it. Hound insisted before showing you how to handle weapons, you needed to know your way around your fists.

The overseers make us find our weapons, they said, if you ever intend to compete, you will have to know how to survive with only your wits and your fists. Especially in the event you are paired with Octavio and he throws your squad into the hot zone.

Which, okay, cool. You were disappointed that you weren’t going to be able to spin a Wingman around your finger like Elliott did but you weren’t opposed to learning how to upper cut someone, or whatever. Last week, they taught you about your stance, about basic punches and kicks, how to block. Now, you were combining all of those things. Simple, right? Punch, punch, block, kick, block, punch. Simple.

Yet you can’t seem to get it right.

You fix yourself, putting your fists up, tucking your elbows in. You shift one of your feet in front of the other, your dominant foot forward. Hound copies you and if you weren’t so wound up, you would probably be distracted by the way the muscles of their shoulders contract.

You two circle one another and then you launch yourself forward. Easy. Simple. Punch, punch, block, kick, block-

“Keep your hands up.” Bloodhound says and, fuck, when did they drop? You punch but you’re thrown off, overthinking how high or low your fists are, and instead of hitting their block, you miss them entirely.

“Damn it,” you huff.

“That’s alright,” murmurs Hound, “try again. Remember, if your hands are not protecting your face, your opponent may take the opportunity to hit it. It’s very easy to be caught unaware if you have to deal with a broken nose.”

“Right,” you say, then drop back into position. You got this. Punch, punch, block-

“Fuck!” You hiss, your foot slapping the floor of the ring. It echoes, and echoes, and it probably wouldn’t be fucking echoing if you could just get through this sequence. You throw your hands up, your legs spread in an awkward squat. “I fucking! I just! I need a shower.”

You don’t spare your partner a backwards glance as you stomp to the edge of the ring. You dip under the stretched band, hopping down and hurrying towards the locker rooms, blinking back the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

You huff as you flop down onto a bench in front of the locker you stuffed your gym bag into. You’re yanking it out, digging through it to find your shampoo and conditioner. All you want to do is jump in one of the showers and rinse the grime off you and maybe forget what a fucking failure you are.

That’s harsh. You know it’s harsh. It’s so hard not to feel that way, though, when Bloodhound makes it look so easy. They move with such grace, such agility – they’re a warrior and you’re- you’re just-

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the bench creaks next to you. You look up briefly, seeing that Bloodhound has joined you. They’ve pulled their cloth face mask off, letting it rest on one of their ears as they stare at the lockers, their goggles on top of their head. Which means they can’t see shit. You turn back to your bag and the silence that follows feels stiff, rigid. Congested with the aggravation rolling off you in waves.

“Arthur taught me to hunt when I was a child,” says Bloodhound, breaking the silence. You pause, your fingers stilling in their relentless search. You don’t move, barely breathe.

“As a young one, mistakes seemed… Unimportant. I rarely wanted to understand the tracks of beasts for any other reason than to try and make friends with them.” Your lips twitch up. How adorable. “As a teenager, this changed. For many reasons. I did not want to disappoint my Uncle. At all things I have done, I have wanted to be the best. Though he might have been strict, and unrelenting, Arthur taught me one thing that I hold onto in the moments that I feel the competition within myself flare.”

You finally turn to face them, and you find their eyes on you. Their full lips are curved up at one corner, the softness of their copper colored eyes making your heart squeeze. “Rarely is battle something someone is naturally gifted in. It takes practice, discipline. Patience.”

You sigh heavily, sitting up, resting your hands on the edge of the bench. You press your lips to the side, in an ashamed little pucker. Your knee bounces but Hound doesn’t press, doesn’t force you to speak.

“You’re so… Good at this stuff,” you mutter, “and I want to be good at it too. For it to make sense for you to be with me.”

“Does it not now?” Bloodhound asks and their rough knuckles find the apple of your cheek, caressing the edge of it. You lean into their touch.

“You’re this amazing warrior. Four time Champion of the Arena. Apex predator. And I’m… squishy.” You say.

“You too can be an amazing warrior, beloved,” they say, “but please, do it for yourself. I would love you if you never chose to participate in the games or if you remained… squishy for the rest of our days.”

A laugh tumbles from your lips, unbidden. Bloodhound has the audacity to beam at you, clearly delighted they’ve made you laugh and with a sigh, you careen into them, your head finding their shoulder.

“Alright, okay.”

They loop an arm around your shoulder, resting their cheek on top of yours. “Once, when I kicked a rock in a fit of irritation, Arthur made me run the perimeter of our village three times.”

“Ouch. You gonna make me run, Hound?” They chuckle at your words, their gun calloused fingers blazing a trail down the length of your bicep before they gently grip your elbow, pulling your body firmly into their side.

“No. But I have another idea of how to make you sweat,” their voice lowers with dangerous promise and your breath hitches in your throat. “You meant to shower?”

“Yes.”

“Then go. And perhaps I will join you.”

Oh shit. Ohhhhh shit. The husk of their tone makes heat bolt through you, makes you squirm in your seat. They press a dry kiss to your temple, and you hop up, completely forgetting the shampoo and conditioner you had been digging for in favor of hurrying towards the showers.

You can barely focus on how good the hot spray feels. You don’t know how Hound cleared out the gym today, if they paid someone or just knew the Legends well enough to know they wouldn’t be here today. They did though and now they’re following your training up with fulfilling some of your naughty fantasies. Not that you’ve expressed to them that you’re interested in kind of public, kind of wet sex, but-

Rough hands find the swell of your hips and your breath stutters in your lungs. Shit. When did they even get in here? They waste no time, dragging you back, against their body as naked as your own.

“Do you think it yours to decide whether we have finished with our training, hm?” They whisper in your ear, the brush of their lips on the shell making a little tingle go down your spine. “Do you think yourself in charge, beloved?”

“No,” you say softly, shaking your head, only to tilt it to the side as their lips find the side of your throat, the juncture between it and your shoulder. “No, Bloodhound, I never meant-”

“Never. You never meant,” they nod against your shoulder, their curls sticking to your wet skin. “Oh, beloved, I understand. I do.”

They don’t. They walk you out from under the spray, pressing your front against the tile wall of the shower. Their hands that have been static on your hips move, gracefully migrating down to the tops of your thighs. They part them, nudging them apart and forcing your knees against the tile.

“But I cannot let you play at authority,” they growl out and the slow, steady roll of their hips against your ass lets you feel their cock, twitching and hard between your spread thighs. You gasp, pressing your forehead against the tile. “Keep your legs apart. Do not look back.”

You nod slowly, resting your hands on either side of your head. Hound shifts behind you and the delicious pressure of their dick disappears, much to your chagrin. They must sense this because they chuckle but before you can ask them what’s so funny, wriggle around, their hands grip your ass cheeks, spreading them apart.

Your breath hitches, whatever smart comment that you wanted to make dying on your tongue as your legs tremble. You have to fight the urge to close them, the feeling of being so exposed making you twitch in their hands. They let you sit like that, with your cheeks spread, your breath stuck in your throat like food that’s gone down the wrong pipe.

“Do you remember your safe word?” they ask, and you nod, eagerly. They blow cool air against your puckered asshole, and you shiver, knowing that the water must be hitting their back, knowing that their cock is bobbing between their legs. They say no more, their tongue finding home between the globes of your ass, and you squeak.

Their tongue is relentlessly, working against your tight hole. They flicker the tip against it, before dragging themselves all the way down until their tongue almost touches your cunt. The noise they make into your ass makes you squirm, but you know they have to see how wet you are, how much you want them. How much this is turning you on. They suck their way back up, pulling back to kiss each of your cheeks before their tongue flattens all the way into your ass.

“Hound,” you whine, desperation edging at your tone. They keep teasing you, their tongue flickering close to the wet edge where ass stops and your pussy begins, but they are not merciful. You find yourself panting, your breath joining the steam all around you both.

“Who do you belong to, elskan? Who decides when we are finished?” They ask, lowly. Before you can answer, their fingers find your wet lips and they slide two inside without warning. You absolutely wail at the stretch, at the way that once they have spoken, they attack your ass.

“Hound! You, you, shit, it’s you, please-” You plead, and you guess this must do it for them because they shoot to their feet. Their fingers don’t stop, curled inside of your cunt, fucking up hard and fast into you. You glance over your shoulder but instead of being reprimanded, their lips find yours, forceful tongue parting your lips to find yours as they seal their chest against your back. You squirm, your thighs trembling, aching, before you finally cum with a shout around their knuckles.

Your legs twitch and they barely move away, their breath mingling with yours. Their fingers slide out of you with an embarrassing squelch and you feel wet, sticky, but your clit still throbs when they push their cock between the seam of your pussy lips.

“Can you take me, elskan? Now that I’ve made you cum?” They ask, their soaked fingers creeping around to your front so they can massage your thick clit.

“Fuck, yes,” you whisper, and they grin at your eagerness, all hooded eyes and feral energy. The hand not toying with your clit finds your shoulder and they whip you around. That same hand slinks down and they hitch up your leg over their hip, kneeling just enough so that this time when they grind their hips up into you, their cock catches against your soaked hole.

They whisper your name and in a moment of tenderness, their lips find the apple of your cheek. You smile delicately, meeting their eyes. They give you a serene, sweet smile, before their cock sinks home into your cunt.

The pleasant stretch of them has you throwing your head back, your lower lip catching between your teeth.

“Look at me,” they murmur and it’s with great effort that you open your eyes. The second you meet their gaze they thrust into you hard, abrupt, hips smacking wetly into yours and you whimper. Your oversensitive walls are fluttering around them, squishy and soft from the way they made you cum earlier.

They don’t show you mercy, though, pounding into your wet cunt like they own it. They do, fucking Christ, you swear they do. Your fingernails dig into their muscular shoulders, your teeth weakly scraping across their throat and making them moan your name. They angle their hips just right, tilting in such a way that suddenly they slam into something hot, and deep, and it has you crying out as they groan.

“There,” they hiss. It’s not a question, not when they brutally thrust into your twitching cunt, so deep inside of you that you see stars. You suck hard at their neck, trying to fight back your noises, trying to make them feel as good as you do now. Their nails dig into the thigh they have hostage and to your surprise, they start talking.

Bloodhound isn’t normally a talker during sex, not unless you two are in scene. Giving orders, correcting you, calling you names. That’s usually what they reserve their filth for.

“You are more than worthy of me,” they almost whisper and you sob as they punctuate this with a sharp thrust, “you are the first thing I think about when I wake, the last thing I think about when I sleep. The love-”

They outright growl when your cunt flexes around them in tandem with your nails raking down their back and their hips stutter into yours. Their cock slowly grinds into you and you tremble in their arms.

“The love of my life,” they huff out, their voice deepening, thickening, “you’re mine, forever, I love you, I love you-”

They groan as their hips begin to stutter and clench and the twitch in their dick inside of you has you jerking, so, so close. Their fingers fondle your clit, haphazard, messy, and you whimper as you finally cum a second time around their throbbing cock. They twist their head to press against your ear, panting harshly, and you try to catch your breath too.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

They chuckle softly, squeezing your hip in their hand. Then they kiss your temple, eyes sliding shut as they relish in your warmth against their chill. The water behind you two has run cold by now and the parts of your hair that haven’t been under the spray are drying.

“We should clean ourselves.” They whisper.

“Or we could go again?” You offer and they growl out, sending a bolt of heat straight through you.

“That can be arranged, beloved.”

[blue-heronstairs10]

R&R quotes I tabbed

*RUIN AND RISING SPOILERS*

key:

{…} = thoughts in book

(…) = my commentary

*…* = action

emojis = expressions

[…] = my subtitles

italics = it’s italisized in the books

-…- = not actually said in book

——————————————————————————————————

Apparat: he should not address you so.

Alina: why not?

Apparat: it was the Darkling’s title and is unfitting for a Saint.

Alina: then what should he call me?

Apparat: he should not address you directly at all.

Alina: next time he has something to say, I’ll have him write me a letter.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: are you ever going to name that thing?

Harshaw: she has a name.

Zoya: Oncat is not a name. it’s just Kaelish for cat.

Harshaw: suits her doesn’t it?

——————————————————————————————————

{David and Genya kept falling behind, but he seemed to be the one responsible for the lag. finally, Toyla hefted the huge pack from David’s narrow shoulders.}

Toyla: what do you have in this thing?

David: three pairs of socks, one pair of trousers, an extra shirt. one canteen. a tin cup and plate. a cylindrical slide rule, a chondrometer, a jar or spruce sap, my collection of anticorrosives,-

Toyla: you were only supposed to pack what you need.

David: *nods emphatically* exactly.

Alina: please tell me you didn’t bring all of Morozova’s journals.

David: of course I did.

Alina: maybe they’ll make good kindling.

David: is she kidding? *concerned look* I can never tell if she’s kidding.

Alina: {I was. mostly.}

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: David is oblivious. he’s been babbling about mineral compounds for the last hour.

Zoya: maybe he and Toyla will just put each other to sleep.

——————————————————————————————————

Harshaw: *cuts the sides of his scalp so there’s only hair in a single stripe down the center of his head*

Zoya: *shrieking* what did you do? you look like a deranged rooster!

Harshaw: Oncat insisted.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: everyone okay?

Genya: never better.

David: *raises his hand* I’ve been better.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: I am becoming a blade.

——————————————————————————————————

Ekaterina: I saw the prince when I was in Os Alta. he’s not bad looking.

Nikolai: *in the trees* not bad looking? he’s damnably handsome.

Nikolai: *still in the trees* brave in battle, smart as a whip. an excellent dancer. oh, and an even better shot.

Nikolai: *shoots Luchenko between the eyes*

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: first vomit, then tears. don’t tell me I’ve lost my touch.

Alina: I’m just happy you’re alive. though I’m sure you can talk me out of it.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: thank goodness we had the foresight to be captured.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: Saints, Alina. I hope you weren’t looking at me to be the voice of reason. I keep a strict diet of ill-advised enthusiasm and heartfelt regret.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: we’re heading into Fjerda.

Alina: oh good. enemy territory. and here I was starting to relax.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: it’s good to see you, Oretsev.

Mal: you too. thanks for the rescue.

Nikolai: everyone needs a hobby.

Mal: I thought yours was preening.

Nikolai: two hobbies.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: Baghra, how are you this evening?

Baghra: still old and blind.

Nikolai: and charming. never forget charming.

Baghra: whelp.

Nikolai: hag.

Baghra: what do you want, pest?

Nikolai: I’ve brought someone to visit.

Alina: hello, Baghra.

Baghra: the little Saint. returned to save us all.

Nikolai: well she did almost die trying to rid us of your cursed spawn. 

Baghra: couldn’t even manage martyrdom right, could you? come in and shut the door, girl. you’re letting the heat out.

Baghra: *turns to Nikolai* and you. go somewhere you’re wanted.

Nikolai: that’s hardly limiting. Alina, I’ll be back to fetch you for dinner, but should you grow restless, do feel free to run screaming from the room or take a dagger to her. whatever seems most fitting at the time. 

Baghra: are you still here?

Nikolai: I go but hope to remain in your heart.

Baghra: wretched boy. 

Alina: you like him. *disbelief*

Baghra: greedy. arrogant. takes too many risks.

Alina: you almost sound concerned.

Baghra: you like him too, little Saint. 

Alina: I do. he’s been kind to me when he might have been cruel. it’s refreshing. 

Baghra: he laughs too much.

Alina: there are worse traits. 

Baghra: like arguing with your elders? *turns to Misha* boy, go fetch me something sweet.

(I’m sorry it’s so long it’s just,,, they’re so iconic and cute)

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: how does Nikolai know you’re the Darkling’s mother?

Baghra: he asked. he’s more observant than the rest of you fools.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: I don’t reserve my friendship for perfect people. and, thank the Saints, neither does Alina.

(did mans just insult himself ?? 💀)

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: *talking about how David didn’t look at her before*

David: I know metal.

Genya: what does that have to do with anything?

David: I...I don’t understand half of what goes on around me. I don’t get jokes or sunsets or poetry, but I know metal. beauty was your armor. fragile stuff, all show. but what’s inside you? that’s steel. it’s brave and unbreakable. and it doesn’t need fixing. *kisses Genya*

Genya: 👁👄👁

Genya: *kisses David back empathcially*

David: *kiss ends* *😳😊*

Genya: *☺️😄*

(they’re the sweetest S&B couple don’t @ me)

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: you can introduce him to Ana Kuya.

Alina: I already unleashed Baghra on Nikolai. he’s going to think I stockpile vicious old women.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: but I guess I’m the same selfish ass I’ve always been. for all my talk of vows and honor, what I really want to do is put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another man’s name. so tell me to go, Alina. because I can’t give you a title or an army or any of the things you need.

Alina: goodnight, Mal.

(😳✋🏼)

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: *hits the side of a mountain with the Cut*

Everyone besides Baghra: *claps and whoops*

Baghra: hmph. they’d clap for a dancing monkey.

Nikolai: all depends on the monkey. and the dance.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: does Morozova strike anyone as a little…eccentric?

Alina: if my eccentric you mean insane, then yes. I’m hoping he can be crazy and right.

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Nikolai is growing on me. he’s nothing like his father. and the man can dress.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: if you’re going to jump, at least give me time to compose a ballad in your honor. something with lots of sad fiddle and a verse devoted to your love of herring.

Alina: if I wait, I may have to hear you sing it.

Nikolai: I happen to have a more than passable baritone. and what’s the rush? is it my cologne?

Alina: you don’t wear cologne.

Nikolai: I have such a naturally delightful scent that it seems like overkill. but if you have a penchant for it, I’ll start. 

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: toss him over. break his heart cruelly. I will gladly give our poor prince comfort, and I would make a magnificent queen.

Alina: you actually might, Zoya. if you could stop being horrible for a minute. 

Zoya: with that kind of incentive, I can manage a minute. possibly two.

——————————————————————————————————

{they wanted a Grisha Queen. Mal wanted a commoner Queen. and what did I want? peace for Ravka. a chance to sleep easy in my bed without fear. an end to the guilt and dread that I woke to every morning. there were old wants too, to be loved for who I was, not what I could do, to lie in a meadow with a boy’s arms around me and watch the wind move the clouds. but those dreams belonged to a girl, not to the Sun Summoner, not to a Saint.}

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: the day I curtsy to you is the day David performs an opera naked in the middle of the Shadow Fold.

——————————————————————————————————

Baghra: I am Morozova’s Daughter, and the Darkling is the last of Morozova’s line.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: or a Ravkan heiress or a Grisha like Zoya.

Nikolai: Zoya? I make it a policy never to seduce anyone prettier than I am.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: I love it when you quote me.

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: you’re the prettiest walrus I know.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: turned out I needed a good cry.

Zoya: next time, invite me. I could use one too.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: do you know what Baghra told me at my first lesson with her? pretty face. too bad you have porridge for brains.

Harshaw: I sent fire to her hut in class.

Zoya: of course you did.

Harshaw: accidentally! she refused to ever teach me again. wouldn’t even speak to me. I saw her on the grounds once, and she walked right by. didn’t say a word, just whacked me on the knee with her stick. I still have a lump.

Nadia: that’s nothing. I had some kind of block where I couldn’t summon for a while. she put me in a room and released a hive of bees in it.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: same way Ana Kuhn got me to stop begging her to keep a lantern lit at night. 

Alina: really?

Mal: yes. told me I had to be brave for you, that if I was scared, you’d be scared.

Alina: well she told me I had to eat my parsnips to set a good example for you, but I still refused to do it. 

Mal: and you wonder why you were always getting the switch.

Alina: I have principles. 

Mal: that means, ‘if I can be difficult, I will.’

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: if you’re not up here before I count it ten, I’m going back to sleep and you can carry me to Dva Stolba.

Alina: Mal, if I murder her in the Sikurzoi, will you hold me accountable?

Mal: yes. 

Mal: that means, ‘‘let’s make it look like an accident.’

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: *being mad and realistic then apologizing*

Zoya: maybe you’re hungry. I always get mean when I’m hungry. 

Harshaw: are you hungry all the time?

Zoya: you haven’t seen me mean. when you do, you’ll require a very big hanky.

Harshaw: to dry my tears.

Zoya: to stanch the bleeding. 

——————————————————————————————————

Toyla: he watches her the way Harshaw watches fire. like he’ll never have enough of her. like he’s trying to capture what he can before she’s gone.

Zoya and Alina: 👁👄👁💓

Zoya: you know, if you turned a bit of that poetry on me, I might consider giving you a chance.

Toyla: who says I want one?

Harshaw: I want one!

Zoya: Oncat has a better chance than you.

Harshaw: *holds up Oncat* why, Oncat, you rogue.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: you really didn’t think they were ghosts, did you?

everyone: 😬

Zoya: I am surrounded by fools.

——————————————————————————————————

Harshaw: Oncat objects to the landscaping.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: Mal is the third amplifier.

——————————————————————————————————

[TW: hanging]

{the oak I’d once climbed on a dare still stood, untouched by the fire that had taken Keramzin. now it’s branches were full of bodies. the three Grisha instructors hung from the same thick limb, their kefta fluttering slightly in the wind- purple, red and blue. beside them, Botkin’s face was nearly black above the rope that had dug into his neck. he was covered in wounds. he’d died fighting before they’d strung him up. next to him, Ana Kuya swayed in her black dress, her heavy rings at her waist, the toes of her button boots nearly scraping the ground.} 

Darkling: she was, I think, the closest thing you had to a mother.

——————————————————————————————————

(unfinished)

[soccerdailyuk]

Bruno Fernandes sends 'angry' Man Utd welcome message to 'world class' Mason Mount

Bruno Fernandes sends 'angry' Man Utd welcome message to 'world class' Mason Mount Manchester United's prominent player, Bruno Fernandes, playfully mentioned a heated exchange he had with Mason Mount while extending a warm welcome to the new signing for the Red Devils.  After a prolonged transfer process, United has officially announced the acquisition of Mount for a fee of £60 million. Bruno Fernandes, the vice-captain of Manchester United, has become the first player from the club to extend a welcome to Mason Mount, expressing his thoughts through a social media post shortly after the official confirmation of the deal.  In his Instagram post, Fernandes reminisced about a heated exchange between himself and Mount during Chelsea's 4-1 loss at Old Trafford last season, subtly alluding to the prolonged duration it took for the transfer to finally materialize.  Using an 'angry' emoji, the Portugal ace joked: "Why did you take so long to sign? Welcome @masonmount." The picture accompanying Fernandes' post depicted a passionate moment where Fernandes was seen engaging in a heated confrontation with Mount, who had possession of the ball securely tucked under his arm  The two players were known for their competitive battles on the field, and now they will have the opportunity to be teammates at Manchester United, bringing their rivalry to a collaborative setting. Bruno Fernandes playfully questioned Mason Mount about the length of time it took for his transfer to be finalized. The remarks from John Murtough, Manchester United's football director, created a wave of excitement among fans as he bestowed the title of 'world class' on the club's latest signing.  Expressing his opinion on Mason Mount's arrival, Murtough highlighted the midfielder's exceptional intelligence on the football field and praised his remarkable technical abilities, emphasizing that these qualities would make a substantial contribution to the squad. “We have admired his talents for a long time, so we are delighted that he has chosen to take the next steps in his career here at Old Trafford. His style of play and attributes are a perfect fit for this squad, and we all believe that he will only improve further working with Erik ten Hag and his coaching staff. “Mason himself is a world-class player but he also has the ability to improve the players around him through his game intelligence and tactical awareness. We were particularly impressed by his strong desire to join United, and his thirst for further success, as we push to drive up our performance levels next season and beyond.” Mount added: “It’s never easy leaving the club where you grew up, but Manchester United will provide an exciting new challenge for the next phase of my career. Having competed against them, I know just how strong a squad it is that I’m joining, and I can’t wait to be part of this group’s drive to win major trophies. “Everyone can see that the club has made big steps forward under Erik ten Hag. Having met with the manager and discussed his plans, I couldn’t be more excited for the seasons ahead, and am ready for the hard work expected here. “I am hugely ambitious - I know how amazing it feels to win major trophies and what it takes to do it. I will be giving everything to experience that again at Manchester United.” Bruno Fernandes sends 'angry' Man Utd welcome message to 'world class' Mason Mount Read the full article

[mirahuyooo]

Kidlat | pjm

Kidlat

— You hate storms. Thankfully, you have Jimin with you to calm your nerves.

Word Count: 1,213 Content/s: fluFF, established relationship, y/n doesn’t like storms, jimin is a sweetheart as always Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

A/N: I know it’s another JImin imagine, but it’s the only one I managed to finish in time imsorry ajusbgabfkfjfg anyways, I made this little blurb for my cousin :DDD Our internet was still crappy, but it’s getting better now—I think. I hope you guys liked it! Tell me what y’all think!

P.S.  the title is just the tagalog word for lightning and I just chose it for the p i z z a z z bc I couldn’t think of anything else to title this with sajdhoafubbsgjb

[masterlist]

A flash of light illuminates the dim streets before you for a moment, eliciting a squeak from your teeth-beaten lips. You braced yourself, trembling hands launching forth to secure your ears and rendering your feet immobile as your body stiffens in dreaded anticipation.

As you had expected, the devastated clouds of dark greys let out a deafening rumble while they continued to furiously shed their tears down to Earth right before your eyes. A mist shrouded the city before you, painting it to be akin to that of a hazy dream you had a few weeks ago.

To think that a few hours before all of this you had found serenity in the sound of the gentle pitter-patter against your window pane. It was setting your nerves ablaze even more at how easily your peace had been shattered—especially since you were now out and about on the street, soaked in a manner you didn't quite like. The hood over your head wasn’t doing well to keep you any drier. Your heart paced like a madman, as a grimace deemed itself to be the reigning expression on your face.

Though you could never identify a full reason as to why, you hated thunderstorms with a seething passion. Was it simply born from your childhood fears? Was it, perhaps, because it could easily cause a power outage and you weren’t fond of wandering blindly in your dark apartment because of your clumsy self? Or, was it because you were now exposed and there existed chances you could get hit by lightning at any given moment?

Either way, you were at unease.

And so, you made haste towards the haven of your boyfriend’s apartment that you had so foolishly left the confines of. As you walked into the building, you check the snacks you had come out to get from a nearby convenience store, only to see them safe within the plastic bag—lucky them. Some of the fellow tenants you crossed paths with along the way looked at you in distaste as you left a wet trail at your wake. Though partly embarrassed, you didn't pay them any mind other than giving them an apologetic bow. Your mind right now was set on more important matters—to seek warmth and to get cozy.

“Is that you, (Y/N)?”

You hear Jimin’s voice call out from the living room, followed suit by the soft padding of his feet. “Y-yeah,” you stammered as you closed the door behind you, staying put by the door so as not to get the rest of the floor all wet.

The moment your boyfriend caught sight of you hunched by the entrance hallway with your arms wrapped around your water-logged, hoodie-clad figure, a soft gasp leaves his lips while you only sheepishly smiled at him in return. His expression was rendered into that puppy dog eyes emoji that you often put in your messages with him.

“You forgot the umbrella, didn’t you?” he gently scolded, but as you admitted with a guilty nod, another terrifying sound of thunder rips through the air outside. A whimper escaped your lips by instinct, shoulders hiking up to a vulnerable state.  

Jimin’s eyes softened, taking the snacks from your hands and rubbing your back comfortingly as he presses a passing kiss on your forehead. “Go and change,” he tells you, nodding towards the bathroom. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick now, hm?”

As you crouch to take your sodden sneakers off, you look at the puddle around you. “But—”

“I’ll take care of it,” he assures you before disappearing into the kitchen to sort out the goods you had bought for the supposed movie night. There’d be no point to argue with him at the moment.

With that, you rushed to the bathroom as quickly as you could to prevent any more of the droplets from staining the wooden floors. As your feet touch the tiles, you notice that, much to your relief, the thunder becomes more muffled in the bathroom.

Your hands reached for the sides of the hoodie you had gone out in, which, by the way, was actually Jimin’s. One by one, you removed your clothes, sighing blissfully as you were freed from the weight they had gained from the downpour.

The shower, as soon as you had turned it on, subdued even more of the riot from the heavens, allowing you to shut your eyes and savor the moment as your head space lightly adjusts to set aside your dread for a while. Alas, you had to get out of the shower—otherwise, the water bills would be a wreck for your half of the payments (though Jimin wouldn’t really mind to shoulder the bills for the both of you, you wanted things to be fair and square).

As you wrap yourself in the fuzzy white bathrobe and secure your wet (h/c) hair in a towel twist, you exit into your shared bedroom with Jimin, noticing that part of the floor leading to the bathroom was lightly damp—having been mopped, you assumed. Dressing yourself in pajama shorts and yet another shirt of your boyfriend’s, you made your way out to the living room where Jimin already sat himself by the couch with blankets and the snacks laid out on the coffee table.

Catching sight of your boyfriend waiting on the couch, a smile makes it to your face—albeit it was soiled soon enough by yet another crack of thunder. Jimin sees you, patting the spot next to him with a warm, sympathetic smile as an invitation for a much needed cuddle. Not wasting any more time, you curled next to your boyfriend, gripping the blanket tight as you anxiously wait for the storm to pass.  

In your alarmed state, you fail to notice your boyfriend gently take the towel on your head off and lightly ruffle your hair with the cloth to actually dry it properly. The gesture visibly calms you, however, lulling you to close your eyes and ease your tense shoulders.

As your legs draped themselves over his lap, you nestled your head into his neck. “Thank you so much, Jimin,” you tell him, voice barely audible but your boyfriend still smiled so much that his eyes turned into delighted crescents. Jimin wraps his arms around you to serve as an extra source of comfort and to satiate his affectionate needs.

With kisses peppering your cheeks, Jimin successfully distracts you from yet another roar of thunder and renders your heart thundering for a different reason altogether. “Anything for you,” he coos, resting his cheek on your head as he runs his fingers through the damp tresses you have yet to comb through.

In the serenity of the moment, you notice that the curtains have been drawn close so as not to reveal the storm outside and ruin the soothing ambiance of the whole apartment. You did, however, catch sight of another flash of lightning.

You flinch, but not as harshly as before since you feel Jimin squeeze you reassuringly. He hands you his earphones, connecting them to his phone and playing your favorites. “It’ll be alright, jagi,” he whispers to you with a soft smile, even though you were immersed with the music. “I got you.”

[stattic-writes]

Human

https://statticscribbles.tumblr.com/post/639099629845233664/masterlist

Support My Writing?

[lettersfromn0where]

Zutara Week 2020, Day 1: “Reunions”

IT’S ZUTARA WEEK BABEY *smoke nostrils emojis*! Here’s my contribution for Day 1 :) @zutaraweek

Title: the most beautiful thing (that I have never seen) 

Summary: This should be no sweat. After all, Katara's had the entire duration of Zuko's trip to the Earth Kingdom to work herself up to task of giving him news that'll rock his world. That doesn't make said news any easier to get out, though.

A/N: I couldn't be more excited about my first Zutara week! I kinda went back to my roots for this with all of my favorite tropes: clueless Zuko! Affectionate Zuko! Protective/Worried Zuko! Kidfic! Fire Lady Katara! Domestic fluff! Screw Canon They've Been Happily Married For Decades! ...okay, Sarah, that's enough exclamation points *takes the box of exclamation points out of my hands*. Anyway. To kick off Zutara week, this one is just pure fun and fluff, and I hope it brings you joy - because that's the entire reason this exists.

Zuko has a feeling something is up when he steps onto the dock and he’s nearly knocked into the harbor by a blur of…something…flinging itself full-force at him. For a moment he remembers to be worried that this is some sort of improbable and incredibly strange assassination attempt but when the blur settles and he realizes that he’s feeling arms around his waist, holding on for dear life, he lets down his guard.

“I missed you,” the blur that Zuko now recognizes as his wife mumbles into his shoulder. He’s a little shell-shocked – he wasn’t expecting her to meet him – but he smiles softly, moving his arms from their startled paralysis at his sides to encircle her waist. Katara nuzzles against his neck. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you-“

“I was only gone for a week,” he chuckles, privately wondering what’s going on here but too happy to see her to question it. “But I missed you, too. I’m glad to see you feeling better.”

(Even though it had been a short trip, one she’d been meant to accompany him on but had chosen not to when she’d come down with something the week before, he truly had. He could’ve used her assistance, and her conversation, and the pillow he had to cuddle with as he fell asleep in her absence – because, though he’d never admit it, he’d grown so used to falling asleep with her in his arms that he could no longer drift off easily without something there – was a rather poor substitute.)

“I’m still not feeling fantastic, but I’m doing better.” She leans back a little to look him in the eyes, and her smile is radiant and he almost falls into the harbor for the second time in five minutes. “How was Omashu?”

He groans, and that’s all the detail she needs. Linking her arm through his, the Fire Lady laughs and drags her husband (followed by a retinue of guards whose prying eyes she doesn’t seem to notice) to her waiting palanquin.

To Zuko’s surprise, Katara isn’t very chatty on the ride back to the palace. She’s clearly happy – to see him, probably, but he can’t shake the feeling that the smile on her face isn’t just for him – but a little nervous, too, wringing her hands in her lap. He takes one of them in his, both to still her and to feel her skin against his (something he never gets sick of after several years of touch starvation), and massages circles on the back of her hand. “Are you all right?” he asks, flipping her hand to trace the lines of her palm.

Her breath hitches and for a moment, when he glances up in surprise at the sound, she looks suspiciously close to teary-eyed. “Of course I am,” she says shakily, holding out her arms to him in a gesture for please hug me, NOW, or I believe I might cry. And as a wide-eyed and incredibly confused Zuko takes folds her into his arms, he finds himself at a total loss.

“Are you…” he’s almost afraid to ask. Something’s definitely going on here. What am I not understanding? “Is this about whatever you came down with last week?”

“I’m okay,” she says with a watery smile, sniffling. “It’s nothing bad. Don’t worry, I didn’t get sicker.”

He’s too relieved to notice that she doesn’t outright deny it. “Good.” He lets her snuggle up against him and his heart would be melting right now if Katara wasn’t crying for some unspecified reason of which he remains completely unaware.

(It still is, a little bit, but…this can’t be good.)

-----

Zuko is starting to be very worried about this.

Usually, he’s the earlier riser. He’s up at sunrise nearly every day, so he’s a little taken-aback when he opens his eyes to find Katara’s side of the bed empty, gone with no evidence that she was ever there but a person-shaped impression in the satin of their sheets. “Katara?” he calls groggily, rubbing at his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

She pads back down the corridor from their washroom when she hears Zuko’s voice. “Here,” she calls back softly; though there’s no one but him to wake up in this wing of the palace, it feels wrong to raise her voice in the quiet hours of the early dawn. She tries to smile reassuringly as she slides back under the covers and snuggles up to her husband, sleepily clinging to his neck, but he can’t help but notice that her expression is a little pinched. The relief on her face when she finally lays down is obvious, even though she’s nearly asleep.

“Are you still not feeling well?” Zuko asks, pushing a tendril of hair that escaped her braid overnight behind her ear. “Do we need to call-“

“No,” she mumbles sleepily. “’m fine.”

She drifts off after that, and even a few hours later when they have to wake up, she won’t get out of bed. It’s not like her to sleep in – she’s normally so industrious – but her eyes are heavy, and she looks miserable at the idea of starting her day. Zuko can’t bring himself to protest that she has meetings to attend (she does) or that there are documents to review (there are), but it worries him all day. She’s clearly not over her illness and the fact that it isn’t gone makes his stomach twist.

When he returns to their rooms that evening after an exhausting workday to find her passed out in the same clothes she wore to bed last night, he wonders if she’s moved an inch all day.

Zuko shakes his head. There’s definitely something she’s not telling me, he thinks as she sheds his robes and gets ready to join her in sleep (if he even can). It’s a thought that only feels like a dagger to the heart when she unconsciously presses herself closer to him, so trusting she’s drawn to him even as she sleeps.

He can’t let anything happen to her.

--------

It has been four days of this now, and Zuko is definitely worried - infinitely moreso because Katara won’t let him call in a doctor. One minute she’s burrowed in his arms like her life depends on it and the next she’s yelling at him, and he’s really on the verge of a nervous breakdown now-

“For the last time, I’m fine!” Katara snaps, turning her back to him. She’s been acting out-of-character lately, but this sheer, unadulterated rage is new. “You do not need to call the doctor, I’m not dying, and you’re not helping by worrying about me all the time!”

“How could you possibly expect me not to worry?” he yelps. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been” – he starts to tick off her symptoms on his fingers – “crying, sleeping badly, getting mad at nothing, sometimes not waking up at all, running off without telling me why, looking sick, eating almost nothing and then going and eating weird things at weird times – Katara, you’re not fine. And I can’t just sit here and watch you get sicker anymore.”

She hangs her head. “There’s a reason I’ve been running off,” she says quietly, seated at the end of their bed and looking…defeated. It’s not a look she wears often and Zuko’s already-frazzled brain has yet another item to add to its list of Things to Worry About now. “I’m…getting nauseous a lot.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Zuko’s face blanches. “You’re sick and you didn’t tell me?”

“This is exactly why!” she protests, throwing up her hands. “It was only ever going to freak you out, and I was waiting for the right time, and honestly, I kind of hoped you’d put two and two together but clearly you’re too dense to-“

“You’re really sick, aren’t you?” Zuko feels like the room is spinning. “Something’s-”

Katara crosses her arms, her defeated expression turning to one of…amusement? Zuko is rather confused – in an instant. “No, Zuko, I’m not sick,” she says, and he’s pretty sure she’s laughing at his expense. “I mean, yes, I am. I mean, feeling sick. But I’m not gonna die.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what’s actually wrong with you?” Between the information he’s just received and her latest sudden mood swing, Zuko is at wit’s end.

“You really haven’t figured it out yet?” she smirks, and, crawling to the other side of the bed where he stands, she sits up on her knees to stand at his eye level and loops her arms around his neck. “I’m not dying, Zuko. I’m pregnant.”

“You’re-“

Oh.

Oh.

Zuko blinks a few times to make sure he’s not dreaming (or…hallucinating – it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s ever experienced), and when he opens his eyes again, Katara’s still there, her blue eyes huge and level with his, waiting expectantly for a response.

(Expectantly. Zuko almost laughs at the fact that he’s so addled he’s making accidental puns now.)

“That makes so much more sense,” he says, breathing a long sigh of relief. Now he really is laughing, partly out of the delight that’s managed to seep through the cracks of ‘I need to process this’ and partly out of sheer relief, because she’s okay, and this is good. “So you’re okay?”

Katara rolls her eyes and pushes her nose against his. “Yes, idiot husband, I’m fine.” She leans in to steal a fleeting kiss. “But check back with me in seven months and I probably won’t have the same answer.”

Then it hits him like a ton of bricks, and his eyes are moist and he’s laughing and crying all at once and all he can think to do is reach down to lift her legs, scooping her off the bed and into his arms and pulling her closer than close. He doesn’t spin her (because he will not be a walking cliché…or, realistically, because his arms are trembling and he’s terrified he’ll drop her even though he does this often), but she gives a delighted little yelp of surprise as he cradles her to his chest, pressing kisses to every exposed surface of her face.

“Someone’s happy,” she teases, and he just kisses her.

“I am,” he says after they finally break apart. “Katara, I…” the lump in his throat won’t let words pass by. “I can’t…I’m sorry, this…I love you.”

He sets her back on the bed and she flops against the comforter, pulling him down with her. They’re laying parallel on the comforter on their backs but Zuko flips on his side to get a better look at her. (An awed smile overtakes his face, and he concludes that whoever it was that decided pregnant women glow was really onto something.) Katara notices, and reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“Aww,” she mutters, moving closer. “You’re cute when you’re speechless.”

They’re silent for a moment, lying there to let themselves take it all in, and then Katara takes his hands and sets them against her still-flat stomach. Zuko feels like he should say something, at first, but the thousand emotions running through his mind won’t let him. And that might be for the better, he realizes.

Words aren’t enough for this moment.

[hermannsthumb]

Hot tub sex??? *eye emoji*

scientists in a hot tub……what will they repress……..

18+/not safe for work below cut!!!!!

————————————-

Hermann is no stranger to shoddy motel rooms at this point in his career–indeed, on the shoestring PPDC budget, it’s more or less all he and Newton can afford when they’re shuttled out for conferences–but there’s a certain veneer to the crumbling Art Deco design and dusty plastic palm trees of this one that’s left him feeling strangely unsettled. It’s as if they’ve stepped into the past. As if the very motel is frozen in time. 

“Stop being so dramatic,” Newton says. “It’s just a stupid gimmick. Hold this, will you?”

He shoves his duffel bag at Hermann and (ignoring Hermann’s indignant hm!) continues, unsuccessfully, to cram a keycard into their door lock. “It’s upside down,” Hermann finally says.

“No it’s not,” Newton says.

“Yes it is,” Hermann says. “Flip it.”

“It’s not upside down,” Newton says.

“Flip the bloody card, Newton.”

Newton flips the keycard. The lock lights up green with a click. “Huh,” he says.

Their room is small, a bit cramped, even, with two twin beds (mercifully, they won’t have to share again, not like they did last time) draped in pink bedspreads, two nightstands, a beaten-up wooden wardrobe, and a single desk jammed in the corner. The pseudo-vintage wallpaper matches that of the hallways and lobby; the carpet, meanwhile, is too faded to make out what the pattern was once meant to be. “How terribly charming,” Hermann remarks, sarcastically. 

“I call bed next to the window,” Newton says, pushing past him to claim it.

Hermann busies himself with unpacking his belongings from his small carry-on suitcase as Newton takes stock of the room: poking around in the nightstand drawers, flicking through the wrinkled Gideons Bibles, fluffing his pillow, sniffing skeptically at the bars of soap resting atop their pillows. Hermann’s nearly finished settling in when Newton–flinging the door to their in-suite bathroom open–startles him with a sharp crow of surprise.

“Holy shit,” he says. “Take a look at that!”

Hermann sets down his last sweater on the bedspread, not bothering to look up. He can’t quite say he fancies finding out what kind of horror awaits them in there. “Roach infestation?” he sighs. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“It’s a fucking hot tub, dude.”

Hermann does look up at that. “Hot tub?” he echoes sharply.

Newton pushes the door open wider. Sure enough, around his shoulder, Hermann can make out pink tile and the deepest, most elaborate bathtub he’s ever seen, complete with its own set of stairs. “There are jets,” Newton says. He lunges for a bottle on the edge of the tub and waves it excitedly. “Look, they gave us bubble stuff, too!”

“Oh,” Hermann says, not quite able to cover up his delight. There are very few things Hermann loathes more than flying: the cramped confines, even with disability accommodation, which leave his leg stiff and him tense and irritable–the fine layer of grime he’s certain sticks to him afterwards–how wretchedly exhausted he is when the whole affair is finally over. He can, frankly, think of nothing he’d like quite more at the moment than stripping down and getting into a hot soak in that tub. However filthy it may be. (And Hermann expects it’s quite filthy.)

He steps up behind Newton for a closer inspection. Pink. Dingy, but less so with grime, more so from age. Curved seats. Enough jets to already make Hermann feel woozy. Newton turns and shoots him a grin. “How many people do you think have screwed in there?” he says.

“Ugh.” Hermann winces.

“I’m serious,” Newton says. “It’s at least a dozen.” He nudges the faucet with the toe of his boot and laughs. “God, it’s so fucking sleazy. Why the fuck did they put this in here?”

“Perhaps the staff anticipated overstressed travelers would appreciate the opportunity to relax,” Hermann sniffs.

“Or perhaps,” (Newton says this in a crude mockery of his accent,) “the staff thought people like us might want a little extra bang for our buck, if you catch my drift.” He waggles his eyebrows.

People like him and Newton. Unable to help himself, and feeling suddenly rather flustered, Hermann blushes. “You’re so crude.”

“Maybe you just have a stick up your ass,” Newton says. He shuts the door. “Anyway, I’m gonna get a burger from the place next door. Do you want something?”

Hermann chooses not to remind Newton that he is a vegetarian. He’ll presumably remember it at some point on the walk to the restaurant–it’s rather a poignant thing to forget about one’s self. “No, thank you,” he says, and then, after reconsidering, because he is hungry, “Actually–yes. A sandwich. You know the sort I like–something with turkey. Or cucumber.”

“It’s a hamburger place,” Newton says, as if Hermann is a particularly dull toddler. 

“Surely they don’t only sell hamburgers,” Hermann says.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Newton says. He scoops up the keycard from where he tossed it on the dresser, pats his pocket for his wallet, and nods at Hermann. “I’ll be back in twenty. Don’t have any wild hot tub sex without me.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause.

“That’s not,” Newton says. “Uh. See you.”

Newton’s not been gone five minutes when Hermann finally caves in and starts the tap for the hot tub. The water comes out hot–nicely hot–and the jets–oh, the jets--Hermann is suddenly frightfully glad he allowed Newton to talk him into packing swimming trunks in the event they’re able to make it out to the beach before the weekend is up. Though tub is just as much a bathtub as a jacuzzi, it still feels strange to enter it nude. Especially after Newton’s lewd comments.

The tub takes the better part of Newton’s promised twenty minutes to fill, and it’s still not quite finished when Hermann–now stripped down to nothing but his bland pair of navy-blue swimming trunks–grips the metal bars at the stairs and eases his aching, tense body into the steaming water. He tilts his head back against the pink tile; he groans, a little louder than he means to. The relief is quite instant.

Perhaps a bit embarrassingly, his prick begins to stiffen.

It’s automatic, of course. Pavlovian by nature. He’s not at all thinking of Newton’s implication that people like them have appropriated the hot tub for other purposes, nor of his slip-up right before he left to get them dinner. It’s only that Hermann prefers to reserve certain personal activities for when he’s in the bath. He’s more relaxed–the undercurrent of pain in his leg less distracting, and indeed, even nonexistent. Anyway, it’s not as if he’s about to start pleasuring himself here, in a bloody hot tub, where Newton could walk in and find him at any moment…

(A small, warm twinge in the pit of his stomach; Hermann parts his thighs just a bit wider, only to make himself comfortable, of course.)

Then there’s a small click in the main room: the door lock. “They literally only had hamburgers, dude, like I said,” Newton is saying. “So I got you–Hermann?”

“In here,” Hermann calls back lazily.

Newton practically kicks the bathroom door down, glaring ferociously, greasy takeaway bags cradled in one arm. “You asshole,” he says. “You’re using it without me!”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean,” Hermann says.

Newton sets the bag down on the sink counter and kicks off his boots. Then he begins to strip out of his t-shirt. Then his jeans. Hermann sits up in alarm. “No, no,” he says. “What are you–?”

“I’m getting in, that’s what I’m doing,” Newton huffs.

“No you are not.”

“I am,” Newton says. He reaches for the waistband of his purple boxers.

“No,” Hermann says, a little louder, and then begins to splutter indignantly when Newton ignores him and slips those off too. “You brought–we have swimming trunks. Why are you–?”

“You’ve seen me naked before,” Newton says with a shrug. The motion, full-bodied, causes certain elements of his anatomy to move. Certain elements of Hermann’s anatomy begin to move, too, in response, but for an entirely different reason. “It doesn’t have to be weird.”

This is true; Newton’s had enough lab accidents in their career which require use of the emergency decontamination shower that, hypothetically, Hermann should know his body like his own at this point. This does not make it any less alarming. Or any less exciting. Newton’s sturdy bare legs, verging on too-hairy, small scars on both his knees from what Hermann knows to be a rollerblading accident when he was twelve; Newton’s tattooed arms, muscled just enough from the demands of his lab work; Newton’s tattooed chest, his rosy pink nipples; Newton’s pudgy stomach, his love handles; between Newton’s soft thighs, his perfectly sized–well–

Hermann forces himself to tear his eyes away as Newton climbs in across from him. They’re so close their knees knock together. “Wow,” Newton says, and wolf-whistles. “This is awesome.”

“Mm,” Hermann says. 

He chances a small glance over. Newton has slipped off his fogged-up glasses; his body is a colorful blur beneath the bubbling surface of the water, but his chest, and his chest piece, are on full display, and his head is titled back in such a way that his soft throat is bared in a way that Hermann might call sensual. How terribly lovely he is. How terribly light-headed Hermann feels from the hot water–surely it’s why, not even bothering to pretend he’s not ogling Newton, he blurts out “What a marvelous tattoo that is.”

Newton furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“Your tattoo,” Hermann says, and–for some reason–reaches out and grazes his hand down Newton’s sternum. He hears–no, feels–Newton’s breath catch in his throat. “It’s very interesting. I’ve never seen it properly before.”

Newton laughs nervously. “Oh,” he says. “I thought you hated my tattoos.”

“Of course I don’t,” Hermann says, and he’s surprised to find he means it. “I can’t say I approve of the subject material, but one would be a fool to deny their artistic value.” Hardly believing his own daring, he settles two fingers on Newton’s left pectoral, just above his nipple, and traces the edges of the great green kaiju’s head. “Was it terribly painful?”

“Nn,” Newton squeaks.

“Hm?” Hermann says. 

“No,” Newton says. He sounds breathless. “Hey, uh, you almost done–” The edge of Hermann’s thumb accidentally grazes his nipple, and Newton squeaks again, the rest of the sentence coming out in a high-pitched wheeze, “–uh, feeling me up?”

Mortified, and finally realizing exactly what it is he’s doing, Hermann snatches his hand away. “Ah–Newton–” he stammers, ears going hot, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Newton chooses precisely the wrong moment to glance down. Difficult though it is to make out definite shapes through the water, there is no denying that Hermann’s swimming trunks are quite tented. Newton’s eyes widen. “Hermann?”

“Oh, hell,” Hermann says. He buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Newton, I didn’t mean–”

There are strong, calloused fingers on his wrists, prying his hands away, and Hermann opens his eyes to see Newton’s face above his, Newton kneeling in the vee of his legs. His breath is warm, and smells like the bottle of soda he bought at a vending machine in the airport. “I’m gonna kiss you,” he declares.

Hermann blinks.

Newton’s tongue–pink–darts out to wet his lower lip–pinker. He presses his mouth–soft–to Hermann’s. For a minute, they move awkwardly, chastely, against one another, stiffly, even, and then Newton gives a tentative swipe with his tongue at the seam of Hermann’s lips.

The floodgates of desire open within Hermann all at once. A filthy moan rises in the back of his throat; he seizes Newton’s shoulders, drawing him forward, closer, until their chests are flush together; his mouth parts open eagerly for Newton, and he draws Newton’s tongue forward with his own. “Newton,” he breathes out. Newton tastes like the soda, too–sugary, too-sweet. “Oh, Newton–”

Impatient, over-excited, Newton shoves his hand gracelessly down Hermann’s trunks and wraps around his prick. “Fuck,” he pulls away from their kiss to whine, “were you jerking off before I got here? That’s so fucking hot. God. What were you thinking about? Were you thinking about me?”

Hermann had not been jerking off, but if Newton’s libido will be stoked to greater heights with a little bit of flattery, he can’t see how a small lie could do any harm. “I was,” he says.

Newton begins to slide his hand up and down Hermann’s prick. He’s very skilled at it. The other hand, he settles at the back of Hermann’s neck. “Fuck. Were you thinking about doing me in here? Over the side? Or me doing you?”

“Er,” Hermann wheezes out. “Yes?”

Clearly pleased, Newton begins to wank him faster. “Guh,” he says. “Touch my chest again, that was so hot. Please, please–”

Hermann obliges gladly. He splays his hands over Newton’s pectorals, squeezing, and–once he realizes how terribly sensitive Newton’s nipples are, because twice now Hermann’s only grazed one and produced a full-body shiver in the man–focuses his onslaught on those instead. With every small pinch, Newton cries out. When Hermann lowers his head to take one in his mouth, Newton straddles his right thigh and begins humping his hard prick against it in earnest.

“That’s so debase,” Hermann pants into his chest, blushing. “Really, Newton, you ought to just let me use my hand.”

“Guh,” Newton whines again. “No, no, I want you to touch me instead.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” Newton says. “Anywhere, anywhere…”

His hand is flying over Hermann so fast it’s difficult to think, let alone to consciously grope and explore Newton’s body, but–resuming variably grazing his teeth and flicking his tongue over Newton’s nipples–Hermann obliges again, dragging his nails down Newton’s sturdy back, digging his fingers into the soft skin of Newton’s backside and kneading at him gently. Newton’s movements against his thigh turn graceless, and Hermann is excited to feel small slide of sticky precome on his skin before the churning water quickly washes it away.

“I’m gonna come,” Newton pants. His head is tossed back in wild abandon, the image of hedonistic pleasure. It’s a wonder he can even still formulate whole sentences: Hermann imagines if he were as overstimulated as Newton obviously is, he’d black out. The simple handjob is almost too much to bear. “Yeah, I’m gonna come, are you–?”

“Kiss me, and I will,” Hermann says.

Newton stoops down, mashing their mouths together happily, and light fizzles behind Hermann’s eyelids as he spills over Newton’s hand. Newton gives a few more needy thrusts against his thigh; his cry echoes off the bathroom walls, and Hermann feels more sticky warmth on his skin. He slumps on top of Hermann when he’s finished. He’s shaking.

Hermann pats his back. “Well done,” he says, weakly, and Newton giggles just as weakly. He could go for a nap, he thinks. Preferably with Newton curled up next to him. The twin bed will be a tight fit, but they’ll manage.