#will it make it less likely that the finished product will get less attention?

[caesarinsalata]

I know it's just a screenshot and all, but I wanted to show just how much DETAIL and TIME I'm wasting on this

GOT DAMN MER!ED Y'ALL

[My husband says he's starting to look like Link...]

[chatterbox-juice]

GOVERNMENTS! LEADERSHIPS! WOO!! i hate politics but Jamaa having a flag (last time I checked) suggests that there's some type of government or organization right?? like, yeah the jammatians could've just joined together and said something like "we stand together forever" but no. nah. no thank you. SO, i haven't thought about fully implementing this yet, but i kinda want to? hear me out; the lands of Jamaa have different pseudo-governments and cultures. there's only so much you can do in a game that [was] focused about educating kids the alphas don't count here k? Jamaa Township has a council-based "government;" the alphas make decisions. Township is a jack-of-all-trades thing, anyone from anywhere lives there, so the culture is one big loving doting hug of complete fuckery. Nothing makes sense except the things that do. A leopard runs the news station alongside a penguin. A great horned owl is playing the orchestra on top of the diamond shop. Jam Mart is always empty, a room filled with nothing but pillows exists, it's always crowded and nobody knows personal space even if it gutted them. It just makes sense. Appondale and Kimbara, which are in a territory dispute in my rewrite, both have a vague government structure following the same thing; battle. Appondale and Kimbara both LOVE battle, but in different ways. Appondale, and every other land, by default, also has the alphas that live there in charge (ex. Atlas and his pride, Olive, Biff, etc.) Outside of that "official" government, it's a chieftain system. Tribes in Appondale are somewhat isolated. News gets around, but everyone wants to be left alone outside of events. A gathering for something and other happens, Appondalians (?) celebrate and build camaraderie, and then the camaraderie is basically forgotten about when they retreat to their respective tribes, families, etc. Kimbara, being a smaller land in my rewrite, dabbles in military aristocracy. Protection is NEEDED, and since Kimbara is so bare, warlords are celebrated instead of regular chieftains. Tactical brilliance on the battlefield is what earns you respect. If you have a good sturdy build in Kimbara, use it! They're probably more interconnected because of this. Not necessarily hosting meetings per say, but maybe just little things, like marriages between different tribes. Castes most likely exist in families because of this, we'll see.

Being a warlord's offspring isn't earning you any leverage in Kimbara; blood is as thick as water until it's on the ground. Meritocracy but not really but actually kind of.

In Appondale, blood means everything, to the point of family heads being the ones who call the shots for the land, especially noticeable in Atlas' pride, where obviously the males/head of the family is in charge.

also here's proof about my au's map im transferring it to digital rn

[earthtooz]

x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous. 

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh. 

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm. 

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?” 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him. 

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse. 

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye. 

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.” 

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture. 

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug. 

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you. 

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious. 

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup. 

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.” 

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.  

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.” 

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!” 

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why. 

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!” 

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate. 

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?” 

“No one. Now get lost.” 

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.” 

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love. 

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe. 

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar? 

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you. 

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over. 

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression. 

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.” 

“What guy?” 

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.” 

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.” 

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.” 

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him. 

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?” 

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile. 

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh. 

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.” 

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?” 

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?” 

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands. 

“So why aren’t you apologising?” 

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in. 

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner? 

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest. 

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.  

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs. 

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?” 

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party. 

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.” 

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue. 

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad? 

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[jayietheriverwarrior]

Okay. Okay. I’m rewatching ATLA and I just hit The Runaway and… new headcanon.

After the war, Toph pulls Aang, Suki, and Zuko aside and explains the whole “Sokka can’t remember what their mom looks like” thing and says she wants to do something about it, for both Sokka and Katara. So they put together a plan. They get Hakoda, Gran Gran, and any other Water Tribe members old enough to remember Kya to give them as detailed a description of her as possible, then with Zuko’s financial help they hire a top-notch portrait maker to put it all together.

Sokka and Katara aren’t suspicious when Zuko approaches them about having them sit for a portrait together - they helped save the world, they have quite a bit of fame and political attention now, makes sense to kind of capture them how they looked when they first defeated the Fire Lord for posterity. But with both of them sitting for the portrait for reference, and with the information from the Water Tribe describing her to work from, the artist is able to put together a damn good recreation of Kya. And when Sokka and Katara finally get to see the finished product r and realize what the artist was really working on, and what their friends did for them… Katara of course bursts into tears, both sad and happy, grief for her mother and joy to see her face so clearly again after so long, and full of love for the friends who went to so much effort to give her this.

But all Sokka can do is stare at the portrait. For so long, his image of his mother has grown murkier and less distinct in his mind. For so long, when he’s tried to picture his mom, all he could see was Katara, because it was Katara who stepped up and took on that role, Katara who made sure everyone stayed together and kept them feeling like a family. But now, he looks at this portrait of his mother, smiling and warm and alive in a way that she hadn’t been in his mind in so long, and instead of Katara in her face, he sees himself.

[gyusimp]

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨 [𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭]

ᴹⁱⁿᵒʳˢ ᴰᴺᴵ! | ᔆᵐᵘᵗ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ | ᴬʳᵗ ᵇʸ⠘ ˢʰᵃᵈᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᴸᴼⱽᴱ ᵒⁿ ᵀʷⁱᵗᵗᵉʳ

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Kenji will always be very sweet. No matter how stupid he made you after sex, he will treat you gently and help you get back on your feet. He will clean you up first and then himself and he will be happy to take a shower together if you are okay with it. Although he is a bit of a fussy person so it is 100% certain that he will not go to sleep without changing the sheets for new ones. For your comfort and his, and he might put some air freshener in the air lol.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I feel like Kenji is very proud of his entire body, but especially his arms and torso. Have you seen that broad back? That man is to die for and he knows it, that's why he loves sleeping shirtless and teasing you. As for you, he loves everything about you, but he definitely has a fixation on your thighs and touching your ass whenever he gets the chance.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's open to possibilities as long as you are too. Besides cumming inside you, he likes to do it for some reason where a few drops get on your strands of hair or a few drops run down your collarbones. He has a habit of teasing you by kissing you after taste you, so you'll taste yourself on his lips.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's fantasized about doing things with you in his Ultraman form, why? Because yes. It's really nothing more than a fantasy because not even his pinky finger could fit inside you, but imagining you so small and needy in the palm of his hand has made his thoughts go beyond the limits he thought he knew.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Nothing. Kenji has no prior experience, not even a little. As famous and handsome as he is, we know that he suffered from bullying in his childhood years which affected his social skills so if I can't imagine him with friends, much less having encounters of that kind. His first time with you was an adorable disaster but you took care of making him feel safe always and over time he managed to improve his technique quite a bit.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any one where he can see your face but is also addicted to you riding him or if he's too needy he'll let you on top and spread his legs for you to do whatever you want.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on his mood. He usually acts normal but if he wants to tease you or is really excited he might tell a couple of dirty jokes to make you blush.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

This man is a total grooming person. I can see a shelf in his shower full of hair products, aftershave, skin moisturizers and all that stuff so yes, Kenji pays attention to detail and if he isn't completely shaved there will always be a neat, impeccable trim. You're never going to see a mess down there. Ever.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

There are times when you two are too horny to get romantic but that doesn't mean it's just sex without love. But, when he's truly focused on making love to you in every sense of the word, he's the most romantic man in the world. He makes you feel like you're on cloud nine with his soft caresses and kisses, his words are so deep that when you both finish, you end up seeing everything in rose-colored glasses and even loving your insecurities after he completely praised you from the bottom of his heart.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don't see Kenji doing this kind of thing, he's a mature adult and quite busy too so if he ever did it, it was in puberty out of pure curiosity. Now he has you so if he's horny he knows you can always help him and if he's lonely he'll just get moody.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I think after taking care of Emi and researching parenting and fatherhood issues he had some praise kinks left, but nothing serious. He doesn't show it anywhere other than the bed and you discovered it little by little on your own when he told you things like how he was eager to fill you with his seed and how excited it made him to think of you carrying his baby in you one day. Whenever you bring it up he doesn't completely deny it but it's because he's a little embarrassed to admit it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Nothing like the comfort of his bed or yours but he's open to new places to make it more exciting. Places like his basement or the stadium locker room when the team has left have been the perfect spots for a quickie.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He likes you touching him, your hands are his weakness. Also for some reason when you are dressed up nicely, like clothes he is not used to seeing you in for example a skirt and heels to go to work or a nice dress for an event. He always thinks "is that my girlfriend?" and feels the need to rip your clothes off already.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn't agree with the idea of hurting you so he's against BSDM. If you were to ask him to do something related (like asking him to hit you or call you names) he would try to do it at first to fulfill your whim but after a while he would feel uncomfortable and maybe not want to continue. Maybe what he would tolerate a little longer would be to call you names just by seeing your intense reactions and they would be mild words like "slut" or "bitch".

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As I mentioned before, he is inexperienced in person until after a couple of times. He likes to receive but he prefers thousands of times to give. The feeling of your folds against his tongue and your pussy between his lips is indescribable for him. He loves to grab you by the thighs and wrap his arms around your legs while he gets lost between your crotch for hours being blessed with the sound of your voice before his actions.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It will also depend on his mood. A happy, romantic, sweet Kenji who longs to spend time with you after a long week at work will be deep and slow but careful. But a Kenji who is stressed out from losing so many games, fighting with players from other teams and tired of being a baby kaiju's single mother and breaking his back being Ultraman will throw you on the mat face down and grab onto your hips to pound you like there’s no tomorrow and then flip you over to put your knees on his shoulders because you’re dumb enough to do it on your own (of course you’re okay with all of this).

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is a fan of quickies, he couldn't live without them. He tends to have mental breakdowns more often than you think and between so many games, interviews and training sessions he sometimes comes home too tired to do it slowly and formally, so you can also offer him several quickies a week so that they are little breaks for him and he can de-stress and continue.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He has a slight interest in doing it where he can get caught, like the time where his hands got too far with you in the stadium locker room before a game and his teammates were feet away getting ready in the hallway outside.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He is a professional athlete who is used to hours of training, cardio and all that stuff. His average is 3-4 rounds when he feels mentally stable and physically rested. You usually ends up with pain in your lower back and the back of your knees.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't have any toys and he wouldn't use them on himself. If he ever bought one it would be to use it with you so you could both experience something new together.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to embarrass you but in a good way. Maybe he'll mention things about how desperate you are or how abundant your release was today with just a few touches. This man's ego is big and it expands to the sky when he can see you under him sweaty and moaning his name repeatedly so it's the perfect setting for him to joke around in more egotistical and arrogant ways with you to make you blush.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

If you're in a completely safe and alone place, Kenji will never shut his mouth. He's unconsciously very expressive in that aspect and will say whatever he wants and needs to say, even if something bothers him. His tone of voice is thicker and more desperate as if he's throwing little tantrums asking for more from you. Sometimes it confuses you when he claims that you're too tight around him. Is he complaining or is he grateful for it?

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves to make dirty calls with you when you are at home and he is away from you. He feels very proud of himself knowing the power he has over you and how he manages to make you wet even when he is not present, calling you with some dirty nicknames that he saves just for you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's not too far from average. When the baby is asleep he's pretty normal sized although still noticeable in tight jeans or his Ultraman form. But when the baby wants action he's maybe an inch or an inch and a half taller than average. Kenji is a tall, thin young man so his strengths would be more length than girth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

In the middle, not too low or too desperate. Although sometimes his thoughts are the ones to blame for making him feel horny and that's when he asks you for help to solve it, but on a scale of 1-10 I'd leave it at 7. He knows when it's more prudent to let himself go and when not to.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He won't fall asleep until you do unless he's had a bad day and all he wants to do is sleep in your arms right after he's cum. If he's tired enough to sleep on the same sheets you two made out with earlier.

[makelemonade]

how people find out you’re dating them

pt2; cyno, diluc, thoma, neuvillette

SUGGESTIVE

Cyno

He probably keeps it a secret for 2 weeks until Candace, Alhaitham and Tighnari sniff it out- literally. But in the end it’s not them who find out it’s you.

His jokes change.

Like, insanely.

There’s no more horrible puns- well, there are sometimes, but his humour starts to change to multiple different types of jokes and Candace is the first to notice.

She has been at his side for YEARS protecting the desert so when she actually laughs at his joke for the first time her heart literally drops from shock because did she actually just laugh!!?!?! At CYNO’S JOKE?!

She brings it up with Alhaitham and Tighnari and even they are surprised and of course because they’re nosy people, they decide to figure it out. 

Alhaitham keeps an eye on Cyno whenever he’s in the Akademiya for work. He noticed the way Cyno is always in a rush which before he never was. It’s almost like Cyno has something to do, he thinks.

That’s when he realizes and brings up the idea to them that what if cyno is seeing someone? Tighnari feels a little betrayed knowing they are best friends and that cyno tells him everything but he does slightly agree with the theory. 

He agrees with the theory once he smells expensive products on cyno. Cyno used to never once care about his hair or how nice he smelled given the fact he’s in the desert a lot but he smells a lotion on him one day and realizes that 100% Cyno is seeing someone.

They just have no idea who.

One day they’re talking about it in Alhaitham’s office within the Akademiya, and Nahida comes in one day.

“What are you all talking about?” She asks innocently, eyes peering up at all of them as she hops on Alhaitham’s desk to sit on. 

“We think cyno is seeing someone.” Alhaitham answered.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh right! Y/N!”

“We don’t kno- wait what?” Candace stares at her shocked.

Nahida just giggled. “He dreams about her a lot.”

They all immediately run out of the office and nahida starts to think maybe she shouldn’t have revealed that. 

Diluc

kaeya.

For months now people have noticed that Diluc was taking less time at the bar and was always rushing to get home. He was more talkative and he was even fighting less with Kaeya.

It creeped Kaeya out if we’re being honest here.

So one night you’re hanging out with Kaeya and Venti at the bar while Diluc is working and it’s a pleasant night for you all! 

Venti was singing, strumming the lyre! Kaeya was making jokes and Diluc was laughing at them! It was- wait what? 

Kaeya doesn’t realize until later that night that Diluc laughed at one of his jokes. 

At the end of the night you tell the others you’re going to stay and help Diluc clean up since Charles was off for the night and they pay no attention to it. Kaeya doesn’t either- the only thing he wants is answers.

So one hour after closing, Kaeya bursts into the bar thinking you’d finished helping up Diluc and you were already gone.

But instead he found you bent over the bar, skirt PUSHED up and Diluc right behind you and Kaeya immediately turns back around, knowing his question was already answered.

Of course he immediately tells venti, but not what he saw. He does not want anyone knowing he ever witnessed that even if it was for 0.5 seconds.

Thoma

He starts to deny his help whenever people in the city ask him for something and it’s so shocking that it reaches Ayato through gossip and he HAS to talk to Ayaka about it.

Thoma is an incredible and amazing man; he’s always willing to help out anyone and everyone at every second so of course it’s a shock when he starts denying and is rushing home.

“Is something wrong with him? Is he upset? Is he sick?!” Ayaka has never seen Ayato panic like this about his best friend.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Ayaka giggled. “Maybe he’s just realized that his kindness is taken much advantage of. Personally I think it’s great.” 

“Or he has someone to return home to every night.” 

Both the siblings yelped and their swords were out in an instant, pointing at whoever snuck into their conversation.

Miko was unphased, putting both her hands on the swords and lowering them. “Apologies, it wasn’t my intention to sneak up but it was surely my intention to eavesdrop.” She grinned.

The weapons were away in an instant and Ayaka started to question. “What do you mean someone to come home to?”

“Have you not noticed his need to rush his duties everyday?” Miko asked, and giggled when both the siblings looked at each other with a “no I have not” face. “Wow; I hardly ever see him and even I know of his current actions! Well, if you two are really so keen on trying to figure out what’s ‘wrong’ with him; he has a lover. A secret one, at that, and it seems as if he just really wants to spend the night with them after a long day of work. I’d assume his lover is Y/N, the one who works for me. You have noticed his frequent trips to the shrine, haven’t you?”

The two siblings just stared at each other in shock before they were both running off in different directions; Ayato to find out any information on who you were and Ayaka running to find Thoma to demand answers.

In truth, Miko just saw the two of you kissing on your break in a hidden spot and you both still had no idea she had seen. 

Neuvillette

THOSE DAMN MELUSINES. 

They’re adorable; the cutest little things ever and it’s so cute how he takes care of them but you can never trust them with a secret because they will pass it on to EVERYONE. 

It’s when they do their usual rotations within the buildings; Guard the doors.

In full honesty it was yours and his fault for being, well, quite loud that even though his desk was far from the doors, the Melusine’s could still hear everything and it was insanely embarrassing but they were immediately talking about it and were shocked when you walked out of his office 2 hours later, pretending it was some random meeting.

The next day, one of them- Sigewinne- comes up to him in his office and he gives her a gentle smile. “Good morning, Monsieur Neuvillette!”

“Good morning, Sigewinne. Would you like anything?” He opened one of his drawers which was full of mélusine-appropriate snacks.

Sigewinne shook her head. “No thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette! Thank you for offering! We were wondering if Mademoiselle Y/N was coming today?”

He looked at them confused. “Uhm, I believe she is for another meeting in a few hours. Why?”

“Just so then we’ll know when to give you two privacy, Monsieur Neuvillette!” Sigewinne skips away and it takes a few seconds for him to fully process what she meant and becomes mortified.

You’re insanely confused when all the melusines greet you and say hi to you and ask if you want anything when you come in. 

[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Jock x F! Bookworm reader pt.3

A/N: This chapter is more of a domestic life chapter.

TW: Dubcon, somnophilia, taking reader's birth control mention

Wanna but me a coffee: ☕

"Hey, Y/N, now that we're married, why don't we consum-" Brad flirts, loosening his tie and undoing his pants.

"Consume some food, yes. What a wonderful idea," You say, sitting on the bed and turning on the TV.

"Ugghh! Why do you keep avoiding sex with me?!" Brad groans, sitting on the bed next to you.

"You know why, Brad," You reply, not paying attention to your husband.

Ever since Brad tricked you into saying yes to his proposal for marriage by fucking you while he proposed, you've held a grudge. You didn't mind marrying him, but what angered you is that's how you're going to remember your proposal. Not being proposed to at an important place, a fancy restaurant, or near the beach, but on Brad's cum and sweat-covered bed while he rails you from behind. There was also the matter of the missing birth control pills, which infuriated you because you needed them for your period cramps.

"Baby, if you're still mad about the proposal, I can redo it. I thought you'd think it was cute to get a proposal after sex," Brad replies, touching your arm. "If you're that mad, I got a honeymoon gift for you."

You turn to look at Brad and see a giant carrot plushie.

"A carrot?" You question, looking at the zipper.

"Unzip it," Brad squeals, making you worried.

You unzip the carrot, and a bunny comes from inside (this plushie is real and very cute: https://lavenderconstellation.store/products/reversible-carrot-strawberry-bunny-plushies?variant=41187145121849).

"Aww, I'm slightly less mad at you now," You coo, kissing Brad on the cheek. "Still not going to have sex with you, though."

Brad groans, and he face plants onto his pillow. The two of you go to sleep until you're woken up by a force plowing into your pussy.

"Mm, Brad, what are you doing?" You groan, trying to lift your head only for it to be pushed back onto the pillow.

"Stay down, I'm almost-ah-finished," Brad groans, slamming his cock into you again.

You would've laid still and let him finish inside you, but a spark of rebellion rises in your chest. You raise your butt and start throwing your ass back onto Brad. He realizes what you're doing and slaps your ass hard.

"Keep fucking with me like that, and we'll never leave this room," Brad growls, making you blush. "Or maybe you'd like that?"

Brad finishes inside you, then leaves a trail of kisses down your neck. His hands roam your chest, leaving you no option but to moan into your pillow.

"What happened to the bride who didn't want to fuck her husband?" Brad teases, rubbing your stomach. "Wait a minute."

You've been caught. Although you were mad at Brad for the proposal and birth control, there was also the secret of your pregnancy that you kept from him. You knew that he's been suffering from baby fever ever since you two fucked in the school library. If he found out you were pregnant, he'd be worse than any bridezilla in existence.

"Y/N, are you pregnant?" Brad asks, pulling out of you.

"Yes. I did a pregnancy test three weeks before our wedding. Right now, I'm about nine weeks," You say, pulling up your shirt and showing your husband the little belly bump.

Brad suddenly hugs you tightly and kisses your stomach.

"I'm a dad! You're going to be a mom! We're going to be parents!" Brad happily exclaims, kissing every part of your body.

This is the happiest you've seen him since you danced with him during prom and your college graduation. You liked seeing him this way instead of the lustful, jealous, obsessive personality that scares you at times. Even if you did like a jealousy-fueled fucking, you don't like seeing your lover constantly in emotional distress and scared he'll lose you.

"So, can we go to the beach now?" You ask, making Brad look at you with confusion.

"Are you kidding me? No! What if you trip and fall while walking on the sand? What if you get hit by a beachball or stray umbrella? So many things could go wrong? You're staying here with me where I can pamper and protect you," Brad rambles, kissing your cheek. "Now, do you have any cravings because I can order room service?"

You have fed and fucked the monster, and now you've made it grow into an overprotective mate that will kill anyone who looks at you the wrong way.

"Brad, I'll be fine. I've been fine these past nine weeks," You argue, sitting up and moving off the bed.

"Y/N, get back on the bed where it's safe," Brad commands, his voice becoming deeper.

"I'm just standing up. In cases you didn't know, I can't lay on a bed for seven days straight. My legs will atrophy."

"I'm not playing with you today."

Brad grabs your hands and pulls you onto his lap. His furious eyes make your body go hot, and you obey your husband. After five years, his yandere tendencies have become a turn-on for you. Your subconscious told you not to find it attractive in any way, but pregnancy hormones are fucking with your brain.

"Come here," You squeal, grabbing the collar of your husband's pajamas and pulling it. "Act like that again and make me go crazy."

Brad smirks, then goes down on you. His lovebites bruise your neck, breasts, and shoulders, decorating you with red spots. He lovingly kisses your stomach and lays his head on it for a few seconds. Brad spreads your legs and begins to worship your pussy. He kisses and bites your clit, making you scream so loud the people next door could think you're being murdered. You keep a hand on Brad's head, slowly tugging it to signal your levels of pleasure. Brad sticks his tongue inside you, and you go wild. Your hand tugs Brad's hair so hard you could see him wince in pain.

"Easy, baby. I don't need my hair being pulled out," Brad says, looking at you. "Just relax and enjoy the ride. I've been fucking you for five years. I know what your body wants and how it reacts."

You let go of Brad's hair and lay your hands at your sides. He resumes eating you out, occasionally smiling from seeing you struggle to touch him. You cum on his tongue, making the last of your energy dissipate. Before Brad gets a chance to sit up, you're already demanding food.

"Of course, my darling, and our baby or babies need nutrients," Brad replies, kissing your inner thigh. "I'll read out the menu so you don't have to waste energy reading it."

"But I still have to waste energy comprehending what each dish and drink is. Then, I have to choose what I want," You reply, making sure to get the best out of Brad.

"You're right! I'll read the descriptions, and then you can order whatever you want," Brad replies, opening up the hotel's menu. "You know what, I'll just pick out what you want."

Brad picks up the phone and orders a buffet of food from the hotel's restaurant.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Crack another leg for me," You demand, eating a crab leg and tossing an empty one into a large pile.

"Yes, my darling," Brad answers, cracking multiple legs and handing it to you. "The cake I baked you should be ready in another 30 minutes."

"That's great. Can you stop by Barnes and Noble while you do your grocery run and get this list of books?" You ask, enjoying your food.

"Sure. Sweetie, there's not one parenting book on this list. You need to start learning how to parent before you give-"

"Ugh! I'm so hungry! I can feel the nutrients not reaching my baby!" You dramatically cry, making Brad stop worrying and return to feeding you.

Your marriage proposal may not have been the best, but having Brad bend to your every whim for the next eight months is a good replacement.

[sinfulpanda16]

Amazing Classmate

Midoriya, Bakugou, Uraraka, Todoroki x foreigner reader

You are an international student in U.A and meet all of Class 1-A. What are their reactions to seeing you for the first time? How do you guys bond together despite the differences in nationalities?

(n/l) = native language (y/c) = your country

Midoriya

Is fascinated by you

He tries to learn your language by taking notes

When he saw you for the first time, he was starstruck. Your features are so beautiful, and he can't help but to blush a bit when you make eye contact with him. He decides to be a good friend towards you because he didn't want you to feel too different. You two become good friends and when he asks if you can help him learn your native language it made you feel a sense of warmth. You happily agreed, you would tell him 'The Word of the Day' and he would write it down in his notebook.

Izuku waits for you to think of a word. When you finally do you look at him with a smile, "The word of the day is, (random word in your language)."

Midoriya smiles brightly, "Ok! How do you spell that?" he asks getting ready to write in his notebook. You spell it out for him and go on to translate the word in Japanese. You explain to him how you would you use it in a sentence and Midoriya is writing it all down.

It makes you happy that Midoriya is so dedicated to learning your (n/l). He's learned so much from you and is almost able to have a full conversation with you in your mother's tongue. In a way he makes you feel at home.

He does it all because he wants to. He really likes you and where you come from. He likes all of you.

Uraraka

Strives to be more like you

You are so inspirational in her eyes

She walks into the common room and sees you sitting on the couch. She's hasn't been motivated to do much recently and doesn't know why. You have made it clear to all of Class 1-A that you're a safe space and are there for them. Uraraka figures maybe she can talk to you, so she takes a deep breath in and makes her way towards you on the couch.

"Hey (Y/N)" she waves shyly and sits down next to you.

You look from your phone and give her a smile. "Hey what's up?" you ask.

She looks at your eyes and she finds them so beautiful. She can't help but to turn away shyly. "Oh, it's nothing really. I just figured I could use some advice."

You turn off your phone and give her your undivided attention. You allow her to tell you her thoughts and feelings. You listen closely and after she explains everything, she looks at you, "I don't how (Y/N). What should I do?"

You chuckle a bit and begin to answer her question. "Back where I'm from they have a famous saying." Uraraka listens closely. You explain to her a quote your people back at home say a lot. It's something that people tell each other to help them feel better. After you finish explaining you look at her, "It's ok Uraraka. You're human so there's no need to beat yourself up for feeling more tired than usual. I'd recommend going on a walk. That always makes me feel better and productive". You give her a warm smile and say the quote in you language.

She looks at you with her big eyes and then chuckles. "Thanks (Y/N). Thats means a lot. You and your people are really something." she laughs.

You smile, it's true. You're proud of your blood and culture. And Uraraka is also proud of you for that.

Bakugou

Admires you from afar

At first he could've cared less about you, but your just so intriguing

He's sitting in the common room lost in thought and he sees you come out of the elevator. You two make eye contact and you smile brightly. You say, "Hi Bakugou." in your native language. He and all of class 1-A already know the word for Hi in your language because you always say it.

Bakugou just grunts, but that doesn't mean he's not willing to talk with you. You don't mind him and make your way to the kitchen to make yourself something to eat. You been enjoying cold soba ever since Todoroki recommended it to you. He was onto something cuz cold soba hits every time.

Bakugou knew you've been eating a lot of soba cuz of Todoroki and it bothered him. He wasn't sure why, but it did. He calls out for you "Oi! (Y/n)." you look up from what you were doing and look at him. Your eye contact always makes him feel a certain type of way. He can never hold eye contact with you. He looks away and abruptly says the first thing that came to his mind, "Teach me some curse words. You know...in (n/l)."

His request is so random, but you laugh, "Alright".

So that's what you do. You teach him all your favorite curse words in your native language. It makes you laugh because he honestly sounds and looks good cursing in your language.

This helped you two get closer and after you left, he found himself smirking. Just everything about you intrigues him and that includes your culture and language. And you can bet that after that he yells curse words at any extra in your native language.

Shoto

Is respectful to you and your culture

You and him both have your struggles and are always there for each other

You were feeling down and were in your dorm room. You love Japan but just like everyone else who moves countries, you get homesick. You sat at your desk looking at a photo of you and your friends back home. You miss them like hell. Long distance relationships are not easy. You hear a knock at your door and already know its Todoroki cuz of the way he knocks. You call out for him to come in.

He opens your door and walks inside, "Hi (Y/N). Are you busy-" he's caught off guard cuz he can tell something isn't right. He can tell your feeling down.

You raise an eyebrow at him, "Is everything ok?" you ask when he stops speaking mid-sentence.

"I don't know. Is it?" is all Shoto says in his soft voice, and you're taken aback. In all those months Todoroki managed to read you like a book. Honestly, you learned to do the same with him.

You smile softly, "I'm ok Todoroki. I just feel a bit homesick."

He walks towards you, "Oh. You miss (y/c)?" he asks sitting down on your bed. You nod your head and look back at the photo of your friends, "Yeah. I mainly just miss my friends and family. It's been a while since I've seen them in person." you explain.

Todoroki can only imagine what that must feel like. He sometimes misses his family, his mother, even though they're all with him in Japan. He doesn't want you to feel sad, so he suggests doing something to ease your mind.

"(Y/N) me and our friends were going to go to mall together." he reaches to hold your hand, "Please come. I promise it'll make you feel better." he says looking into your eyes.

You smile softly. Although your childhood friends are back in (y/c), that doesn't mean you're all alone here. You have amazing friends like Todoroki and the rest of Class 1-A to be with. You back into his eyes, "Ok. Thanks, Shoto."

He gives you his soft and cute smile, "You're welcome (Y/N)".

[nonstoplover]

sleep without you ~ charles leclerc (cl16)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

song inspiration: sleep without you ~ brett young

summary: charles struggles to function properly without her by his side, or a story of a night without his girlfriend.

words: 2.1K

warnings: nothing, just fluff and a slightly clingy charles baby <3

a/n: idk why but this song honestly screams charles to me whenever i hear it, so i just had to make it happen. also this was supposed to be posted on my one year f1-aversary as celebration (well technically it should be more if counting my childhood f1 years but anyway), but i was so caught up in another wip that i couldn't do it. so happy anniversary to me and f1 (two weeks late) with this lil ficlet <3 thankful for all that f1 gave me.

big thanks to the amazing lovely silverstonesainz for helping me make this better and to the equally awesome monzabee for making me much less anxious with her words. love you sm queens!!

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!

Charles spends a whole afternoon trying to convince her to have a night out with her friends. Just because they're in a relationship doesn't mean they can't have fun without the other as well from time to time. There are still a couple of weeks left of winter break, plenty of opportunity to spend time just the two of them before the season starts again. So the usual point of view, the usual reasoning doesn't stand a chance – that they should spend as much time together as they can, before he's back to travelling all around the world.

"Go to a club, grab some drinks, dance and laugh the night away", he tells her. The usual bestie coffee dates or walks in the park that she usually raises as argument are not the same as a night out, and she hasn't done that for so long now. Definitely not since he's been back home, and he knows just how much she enjoys dancing her heart out.

(y/n) agrees after a short while, accepting his reasons, knowing full well that he's right, and after a few phone calls she starts getting ready, soon walking out the front door, dressed all pretty and dolled up.

Doesn't take long before Charles realises what he's done. A feeling tingles in his chest, one he recognises swiftly. He's miserable. Solely because she's not there by his side, as he makes dinner, eats it – all by himself –, before settling on the couch to occupy himself with a movie. It doesn't matter though, he doesn't pay any attention to it. He doesn't even know what's going on, he hasn't heard a single line, too busy thinking about her.

When the credits start to roll, he switches the TV off with a surprised look in his eyes – how did it already end? He doesn't even remember the first scene ending. Then he moves into the bathroom to do his night routine, from taking a shower to putting on some skincare products, all the while wondering how long she will be out for? Will she come home soon? Hope tingles in his chest that the answer to his question is yes.

Having finished with everything, Charles lies down in bed, trying to read a book, then scrolling on social media, doing anything to keep his mind from straying over and over again back to her. He knows this is stupid, he was the one telling her to go out, why is he like this now? Lying awake on his side of the bed, the fingers on his right hand tracing figures onto the sheet where her body usually rests.

This is pathetic, Charles thinks. He never thought he would be like this, so miserable and impatient just because she's not at home, with him. He's tossing around, unable to find a comfortable position for himself – it seems like he forgot how to sleep without her. No matter how many times he's had to do just that, in hotel rooms all around the world. The past few weeks erased all those nights from his mind.

The delicious scent of her shampoo fills his lungs when his face lands just a bit too close to her pillow, and all of a sudden it's like he's burying his nose in her hair. It only makes him miss her more. Sleeping is impossible, he knows it now. He's only daydreaming, not actually dreaming, of her arriving home and being in his arms again.

Charles imagines the way she dances in the middle of the floor, her hands in the air, shouting the lyrics loudly to the song currently playing – most probably something she knows and loves –, and he can't help but smile fondly. Just the thought of her having fun is enough to make him happier, even in his misery.

He pictures a scene where a random guy tries to get too close to her, as it has happened so many times, whenever he leaves her alone for a few minutes at any club they've been to. It doesn't matter where they are, doesn't matter if they spent the night so far together, all over each other, someone comes into the picture immediately when he leaves, either to grab a drink for the two of them, or to go to the restrooms.

It's not like he doesn't understand those guys. She's simply gorgeous, and radiates such a vibrant aura that everyone is drawn to her. He honestly just finds it funny at this point. Nothing makes these men back off more effectively than her. Oh, the amount of times he bit back laughter watching the scene unfold from a distance. Seeing men crumble and disappear looking all ashamed, what a sight that is. And he doesn't have to do anything.

He wonders how many times she's had to fight off guys so far tonight, with him not even in the club, and he finds he can't wait to hear all her stories of the newest victims. Pierre never understood why Charles found it so amusing, he didn't seem to get it. The trust they have in each other. Knowing that it's him she'll come home to at the end of the night is enough to make him only feel entertained by each instance, and not irritated at the slightest bit.

But thinking about (y/n) fighting off men is only good enough entertainment for a limited amount of time, and soon the smile fades back into a miserable pout on his lips, as his thoughts turn back into ones of impatience, trying to make time move faster with short little prayers falling as mumbles from his lips.

With a sigh, he eventually sits up, looking around to find something he can do. At last he decides on grabbing a drink himself, maybe it will help stop the flow of thoughts racing in his head. A little welcomed dullness.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, sipping on the liquid in his glass, enjoying the feeling of the light alcohol gently burning his throat on the way down, numbing his tongue along the way. His fingers stay restless, now drumming on the wooden surface. A few minutes later he realises they play a song, soundless except the soft thud of his fingertips with the occasional louder tap or little scratch of his nails when a finger finds a different angle to hit the table with.

A melody appears in his mind as he watches his fingers move, imagining how it would sound if it was his piano instead of the kitchen table. He would go sit at the beautiful, white instrument and try it, but he doesn't want to be so loud at such a late hour. And anyway, he's way too comfortable sitting where he is to stand up and go somewhere else.

He looks out the window, catching sight of the moon – almost full, just a tiny bit of it missing, and Charles examines the craters that are visible to the naked eye, though only as spots of a darker shade on the round shape.

Maybe he'll name this new musical piece that's being born in his head right now after her – well, if he ever finishes it. He'll keep the usual format, three letters of a city name and a date, only this time putting the time and place of when they first met. Or should it be the time and place of when he first asked her out? Or their first date? Or when she agreed to move in with him? God, there are way too many options to choose from. He decides to put this problem aside for now, he's not in a rush to name a song not even written yet.

As the clock on the oven changes all four numbers to display 2am, the action rouses his attention and makes him tear his eyes away from the moon and look at the numbers instead.

He would've never ever thought that he'd be like this.

Raising his glass he notices that there's only a small sip left in it, which he downs in a short moment. His tongue darts out to gather all the minuscule drops that might rest on his lips still, not wanting to waste even that much of the delicious drink. Then he stands up, placing the glass down into the sink, making a mental note to clean it in the morning before (y/n) wakes up.

Just as he ponders putting another movie on, maybe only as background noise if nothing else, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his pants. Taking his time, Charles pulls the device out, expecting nothing more than a useless notification from a social media app he shouldn't spend so much time on anyway.

Instead what he finds is a text. From her.

in a cab, be home soon &lt;3

Charles lets out a relieved sigh, his lips involuntarily curving into a smile, one that you could almost call giddy. It's not just the thought that she's going to be here soon, but the fact that she remembered to text him to let him know. He's in her mind, just like she's in his, even though she's been out with friends, having fun, drinking, while he's only been at home, all alone with his misery.

Now he can move back to bed happily, knowing that shortly she will join him.

It truly doesn't take long until Charles hears the front door creak as it opens, then the familiar jingle of her keys hitting the drawer in the hall, and his heart flutters with happiness. Finally. The high heels she chose to wear hit the floor with a soft thud as she presumably removes them, and the growing anticipation in his body seems to eat him whole.

Her steps grow louder and louder as she moves closer to the bedroom, and time slows for Charles. He watches in slow motion as she appears in the doorframe, being propped up on his elbows to have a better view, a lazy smile curling onto his face, and his eyes lidded with drowsiness.

"You're still awake?" (y/n) giggles, pausing in her steps for a second as her eyes take in the view he provides lying there. His lack of reply to her text made her think he's already fallen asleep.

"Of course," he mumbles. "Come to bed."

His voice is whiny and he behaves like an actual child, he knows, but he can't help it. He wants to sleep, and he wants to sleep beside her, feeling her warmth against his skin. That's the only way he can.

"Let me get changed first," she starts towards the closet, when a grunt of pure displeasure sounds from him along with the thump of his back as he falls into a lying position once more, making her glance back at her boyfriend. "What, can't wait a single minute?"

"No," he protests, pouting . "I've been waiting for hours."

His accent comes forth stronger when he's sleepy, and she can't help but smile adoringly upon hearing it. He's just so cute.

"Okay, fine, you'll get one kiss," she gives in. Charles resembles a lost puppy and she's sure he knows that's her weakness. She can't ever say no to anything when he looks like that.

So that's how she finds herself crawling into bed, trying to get as close as possible to the boy without causing damage to her dress. He grins, as much as his tired facial muscles allow, awaiting her lips touching his own. His pout becomes even more apparent, right until the moment he finally gets what he wants. His goodnight kiss. It's soft, slow and just so full of love it makes both their hearts flutter.

Then she caresses his cheek gently, whispering a barely audible good night, sleep tight to him, before moving back off the bed to disappear in the closet, leaving Charles to think about how he'd happily convince her again of going out if it means she'll come home to him, looking so radiant, properly buzzing with energy, eyes shining, hair messy but still looking so breathtaking. It's obvious how much it meant to her that she had this night out. He made her happy with telling her to go out with her friends, and he didn't regret it, despite all the miserable hours.

By the time she finishes her night routine and walks back into the bedroom once more, he's fast asleep, quiet snores filling the silence of the room. She bites into her bottom lip to keep in the giggle threatening to burst out, and with a heart full of adoration and a head slightly dizzy from the drinks she's had, she gets in bed beside him, snuggling up close to him, revelling in the feeling of his arms instinctively finding their way around her body even when he's sleeping.

He truly only waited for her to come home and give him a goodnight kiss to finally be able to fall asleep.

[charmercharm3r]

Tender Tendencies

OT8

Masterlist

Synopsis: Stray Kids' softer moments.

-

BANG CHAN

He has little to no free time. But that's okay, you knew what you were getting into when you met him. Spending time in the studio with him for hours on end and calling it date night was a regular routine. You'd bring something to do, work, a video game, maybe a new hobby. One time, you even managed to crochet him a beanie during the many hours he was working and you were there keeping him company.

Sometimes, though, Chan gets so engrossed in his work that he forgets you're there. With his big, expensive headphones on, fingers tapping away at his sound board or clicking his computer, it's too easy to lose himself in the music.

But when he comes back to earth after hours of not speaking a word to each other, Chan turns around in his chair to see you laying on your stomach, feet swaying in the air and focused on the game on your phone. A relieved smile spreads across his lips when you don't even seem to notice where his attention was.

Not that he tries to gain it, he just likes to watch you quietly curse to yourself when you lose or giggle coming across a funny video. He watches over your shoulder as you tap the share button and type his name to send. Chan doesn't interrupt you, but you eventually feel his soft gaze and give him a pretty smile that extends into your eyes. "I sent you something! Watch it later when you're done with work."

Chan pretends he didn't watch you replay it a few times, pretends he didn't intentionally not say anything because he loves how relaxed and carefree you seem when no one's around but him, pretends not to feel the blush on his cheeks and ears because he's so enamored.

With a warm heart, "I will," and leans over to place a gentle kiss to your forehead.

LEE MINHO

Minho is a get up early, go to bed early kind of guy. He feels rather productive in the mornings, maybe too productive for his own good. He does his little work outs, freshens up, cooks breakfast and sets up the ingredients for a two-person meal for when he returns home. It was an unspoken rule between the two of you that he does the cooking and you'll do the cleaning up.

He never asked you to, though, fully meaning to wash the pots and pans as soon as he was done so that it was one less thing for you. But this time, he forgot. Minho was too excited to let you try this new recipe he'd been dying to test. One of his favorite things was the full bodily reaction he'd get when you ate his cooking, jumping in your seat slightly and shooting him a look of pleasureful surprise as you savored the bite.

So full and content, after the both of you were done Minho had let out a long sigh and excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned, the table was cleared and the sound of the sink was running in the kitchen.

Your hair was pulled back messily, ear phones hiding what music was making you do a cute little wiggle as you scrubbed the dishes. Just seeing you so domestic and happy, it made Minho's heart ache in the best way possible.

To give you a gentle warning he was there, he put his hand on the small of your back. Acknowledging him with a smile and small, "hi."

Wordlessly, Minho takes one of your headphones and puts it to his ear. "Show me your moves," he encourages, stealing the drying rag and helping you finish the chore.

SEO CHANGBIN

The self proclaimed gym expert he is, Changbin has always had the desire to work out with you. Your job was just very time consuming, almost as much as his. However, Changbin was active for a living so working out didn't require him to use as much of his reserved energy as it did you. It felt more mentally draining than anything to even think about going to the gym.

When he did finally convince you, he was so excited. You warned him that normal exercises would be hard for you since your body wasn't used to it the way his was, but he assured you that he'd help with the pace and wouldn't push too hard too fast.

Of course it was going to hurt the next day, you just didn't anticipate how much. The night of, Changbin instructed you to take a cold shower to soothe your muscles. It helped a little, definitely making the feeling of getting into your pajamas and snuggling next to him in bed just a little bit better and warmer than usual.

The next morning, you almost didn't want to get up to even use the bathroom because your legs were so sore. Being the gentleman he is, Changbin woke up so he could carry you to the toilet. He was going to retrieve you when the bathroom door swung open to reveal you holding onto it for dear life. Legs shaking to carry your body weight, Changbin helped guide you back to bed with a sympathetic smile.

As you fell face first into the sheets, he grabbed some icy-hot soothing gel from his gym bag, kindly maneuvering you onto your back. "You did so good yesterday, baby." His voice was so soft, gentle as he poured some into his hands and rubbed them together.

His big hands spread the gel over the expanse of your legs, massaging and rolling the knots out as best as he could without hurting you too badly. "No pain no gain, right?" You sighed through your gritted teeth.

It was almost as if you were convincing yourself that it was worth it, the exhaustion and soreness was worth the time you got to spend together. Hearts in his eyes, "that's right. Tomorrow... leg day."

HWANG HYUNJIN

He wouldn't call himself a tortured artist, no. By no means was he tortured, but moreso unsatisfied with his work. The pieces he liked, he barely liked. The ones he didn't, he despised. Hyunjin felt that way with all of his art, except when it was ones that were because of you.

The watercolor blue roses? You told him your favorite movie is The Corpse Bride. That landscape? That was the view of the walk you went on together when he asked if you'd take him as your boyfriend. There were the randomest sketches littering his desk because you'd say something or make a certain face and it'd inspire him, he had to get it out of his system some how.

A particularly difficult rough patch in his creative process convinced Hyunjin that his current medium of water color and acrylic paint wasn't meant for him. He had a habit of holding in his feelings until they burst, but he opened up to you eventually. You asked him if he wanted advice or just someone to listen, to which he answered, "both."

You suggested taking a break, looking away before it was all he could see, maybe even trying a new medium. Hyunjin took all your advice to heart, voicing his only problem was that starting a new medium can get pricey. There wasn't much either of you could do.

Or so he thought.

He was locked away in his mini art studio again, staring much too intently at the blank canvas. You knocked and let yourself in. Hyunjin only looked up when you put a hand on his shoulder and sat yourself in his lap. A few chaste kisses to his cheek, you suggested your thoughts. "White sand? That works?" You explained the research you found about the subject. Amidst your little ramble, Hyunjin couldn't help but look at you in awe.

"Think I went a little overboard when I was searching it up. I also looked for other things you could use, but this was the most convenient. I stopped by the art supply store on my way over here if you wanted to try. If not, I can just return it-"

"No!" He said a little to loudly, making you jump in his lap. "I mean, no. I'll use it. I want to." The little smile on your face was the loveliest thing he'd ever seen. The only thing that could've rivaled it was the pure happiness when he gave you a painting of the shore and white wash. It was the first one he'd finished in a long time and couldn't have been prouder, "thank you for always thinking of me."

HAN JISUNG

There was very little that this man couldn't do. The workaholic homebody he is, Jisung brings his music with him everywhere. That means even in the house, he has his headphones on or his phone is up to his ear listening to whatever it is he was working on.

It also means he has trouble taking care of himself. But who doesn't sometimes? You didn't find any trouble in doing some chores here and there to help him out, Jisung always found something to do to give back for your kindness.

The one thing Jisung wasn't, was a mechanic. Lyricist? Check. Producer? Check. Musical genius? Check. Knows how to fix a washing machine? Pass...

Your place was in desperate need of renovating. It was a lot of little things that wasn't really a big deal, just an inconvenience. The washing machine specifically was getting on your nerves.

With laundry building up and your busy boyfriend finally having time to spend with you, it was a matter of what could've possibly been the best way to manage your time. The issue was that the lid of your washing machine refused to close. The only solution you could find was to sit your entire body weight on it while the cycle continued. It's been an uncomfortable past few laundry days, to say the least.

Killing two birds with one stone, you suggested Jisung bring his laundry to your place to clean, that way you help him out a little while also helping yourself. He did so without thinking about it.

Jisung started to get concerned when you didn't come back from saying you were going to wash the clothes. That was forty five minutes ago. Upon searching for you, Jisung found you with your legs criss-crossed on top of the washer, scrolling through your phone. He tilted his head at you and asked what you were doing. When you explained to him your dilemma, he was confused. Why hadn't you told him? Why were you bearing this burden by yourself? How were you still kind enough to offer to do his laundry knowing this was what you had to do?

Putting his phone away, Jisung joined you in the laundry room, standing in front of you and leaning into your lap. "What are we watching?"

"There's still fifteen minutes left on the cycle, you don't have to wait with me," you protested but still took him into your arms.

"Fifteen minutes more I get to spend with my favorite person."

LEE FELIX

Hugs are basically a second language to him, going in for one every chance he gets. When Felix hugs you, he doesn't let go. It wasn't obvious at first why he never did. You just assumed that it was because he liked skinship.

Yes, that was true. But it was also because he loved the way you smelled. Fresh out of the shower, just got back from work, sweaty from a run, it didn't matter, you always smelt good to him. He held on long enough to get a good whiff of your scent no matter the occasion.

For that reason, he hated laundry day. The smell of the detergent always washed away the smell of you, meaning Felix was all over you until his hoodies and shirts could've been mistaken for yours by anyone else.

Also for the same reason, Felix goes out of his way to buy bottles of your favorite perfume specifically for when you can't be together. He keeps a travel sized version of it in his bag for long days at the company, when he has to go overseas, or when he just misses you. Felix sprays it on his own clothes and pillows, holding it tightly to his body and pretending you're there with him.

He came back to your place after a week without seeing you, the travel bottle almost half empty now. The initial embrace lasted so long that you were almost dreaming he was in your arms. Then you got a whiff of what definitely wasn't his usual cologne.

When you asked him about it, Felix just laughed and pulled out the mini perfume from his bag. "You don't recognize it? It's yours."

"You say it like it was supposed to be obvious," you grin, fully blushing.

"It's so obvious I should be embarrassed. I'm not, how could I when you smell so good?"

KIM SEUNGMIN

Seungmin isn't necessarily averse to fashion, he knows what he likes. It just so happens that he favors the oversized look. There's also specific brands that he buys from more than others. His closet consists of so many basics that no matter what he pulls out, he can make an outfit in minutes.

That's why he loves getting ready with you in the morning. You get up before him since you typically take longer. When you're done and picking out your clothes, Seungmin always asks if you could choose his outfit as well, always reassuring that he'll love no matter what you pick.

He wears the outfit proudly every day. When one of the members compliments something he's wearing, he tells them that you chose it for him. It's his way of showing you off, even if you aren't there.

When you are with him, Seungmin's usually asking you to wear his clothes, too. Showering at his place, he makes sure to give you one of his shirts even if you brought your own pajamas. Another way to show you off. If you happen to run into one of the members in the hallway wearing his shirt, they make a point to tell you that they liked the outfit you picked out for him. Though, it's usually something more like, "you dress him better than he dresses himself."

"And they're right," Seungmin says, kissing your forehead. "Except you wear my clothes better than anyone."

YANG JEONGIN

His job doesn't end, even when he goes home. Jeongin feels this way just about all the time. Having to take off his stage outfits, his makeup, wash his face, the time it takes to shower, seems like it drags on all night long.

By the time he gets to having to apply his skin care, Jeongin's eyes are closing and is on the verge of falling asleep. Coming back into his room, you're waiting to greet him. As much as he wants to match your cheerfulness, he just can't. So he falls onto his back without so much as putting on moisturizer.

"I brushed my teeth, at least," he tiredly jokes, forcing his eyes open to watch you pace around his room. You were grabbing his usual night time essentials, putting them on the bed beside him and climbing onto his lap. You sat on his torso, preparing his step by step routine. "What're you doing?"

"Finishing up for bed," you reply, telling him to get comfortable.

Slowly and gently, you apply the essences to his skin. Jeongin hums as you massage his face, hands resting on the tops of your thighs and not letting go. He doesn't even as you finish and set the bottles aside. "Just need chapstick," you whisper, moving to get up.

Jeongin pulls you back down, peaking his eyes open to bring you down for a kiss. It's soft and sensual, unrushed and purely just feeling you. He sleepily hums again against your lips, reluctant to pull away no matter how close to drifting off he is.

By the time you do, he's rubbing his lips together, "mmm, cherry flavored."

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Roronoa Zoro With an S/O Who Cares a lot About Their Looks

Zoro isn’t the type to compliment often, but when he does, it’s always blunt and sincere. He may casually say something like, “You look nice today,” but it’s enough to make his S/O’s heart flutter because Zoro’s compliments are rare and meaningful.

Zoro doesn’t really understand his S/O’s beauty routines. Whether it’s skincare, makeup, or picking out the perfect outfit, he watches in quiet confusion but never judges. He’s more likely to ask, “How long is this going to take?” when they’re getting ready.

If anyone ever mocks or criticizes his S/O for caring about their looks, Zoro will instantly step in. He doesn’t see a problem with how much time or effort his S/O puts into their appearance and won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting it.

Zoro might not care too much about appearances, but he knows his S/O does. So, when they fuss over their hair or outfit being out of place, he’ll try his best to avoid messing anything up—though sometimes he accidentally does. His attempts to fix it afterward are hilariously clumsy.

Zoro is impatient when waiting for his S/O to get ready, often leaning against the door with his arms crossed, sighing loudly. However, once he sees the finished result, he always pauses and gives them an approving nod, even if he won’t say it out loud.

Zoro loves his S/O as they are, whether they're all done up or just out of bed. He never pressures them to look a certain way and is very accepting of them love for beauty and fashion. He finds it cute when they fusses over the smallest details.

Zoro may be a bit rough around the edges, but he’s careful not to damage or disturb his S/O’s makeup, clothes, or other beauty products. He’s learned from experience that knocking over a shelf of expensive cosmetics will only bring trouble, so he’s more mindful than people would expect.

Even when his S/O is all dressed up and worried about ruining her outfit or hair, Zoro is still affectionate in his laid-back way. He’ll throw an arm around their shoulders, saying something like, “You look good. Let’s go.” It’s his way of appreciating their efforts without making a big deal out of it.

Zoro occasionally teases his S/O about their beauty habits. He might say something like, “Are you trying to impress someone, or just me?” with a grin. It’s his way of showing he notices her hard work, and he secretly loves that they cares so much about looking good.

Zoro may seem inattentive, but he surprises his S/O by noticing small changes in their appearance, like a new hairstyle or a different makeup look. He won’t always say it directly, but a raised eyebrow or a thoughtful look shows that he’s paying attention.

Despite caring about their looks, Zoro’s S/O enjoys keeping physically fit, and they often train together. Zoro loves that they balance their beauty routine with strength and stamina, and he’s always impressed by their dedication to both.

Though Zoro couldn’t care less about his own fashion, he lets his S/O offer advice or pick out clothes for him on special occasions. He grumbles about it, but deep down, he doesn’t mind when they picks out a clean shirt or styles his hair because it makes her happy.

Zoro admires the confidence his S/O exudes when they feels good about their appearance. Whether they're in battle or just walking into a room, their beauty and poise make an impact, and Zoro finds their confidence incredibly attractive.

Zoro is always supportive of his S/O’s love for their looks, but in his usual laid-back way. When they're dressing up or putting effort into their appearance, he’ll give them a reassuring, “You look great already,” even if he doesn’t fully understand why they're doing so much.

While Zoro isn’t outwardly obsessed with appearances, he can’t help but admire his S/O’s beauty, especially in quieter moments. Whether they're applying makeup or adjusting their outfit, Zoro will glance over and appreciate how much care they put into themselves, feeling lucky to have someone so stunning by his side.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[perseidlion]

So I am a certified Catwin shipper. I have written a series that currently sits at 90k words that is casefic but also them getting together. But I am also a multishipper and have written some Payneland stories as well.

So I was understandably quite happy to hear we would've gotten Catwin in S2 because I love the dynamic and I love Lukas Gage and his performance.

But it has made me very sad to see how some people are genuinely upset by this news. I don't think it's justified, frankly. People are doing a lot of filling in the blanks, guessing, and supposition. Just because Catwin would have happened doesn't mean Payneland wouldn't have. Also, we have no idea the context in which all of this would have gone down.

It's important to remember that The Cat King also went on a journey and changed as a person throughout season 1 (as did all the characters.) He is not the same person who slapped the bracelet on Edwin when they first met and not just because he died and was resurrected.

He's matured, settled and grown. It's very possible this arc would have continued. Even if you hated TCK in S1, you may have come to love him in S2, or at least hate him less. Redemption arcs are great fodder for stories and I have no doubt the writers and Lukas would have done that kind of arc justice.

Or maybe Edwin would have had his hot girl summer and TCK was the same old lothario. In which case, he'd definitely be no threat to Payneland endgame. This scenario would make me sad for TCK because he does seem to have genuine feelings for Edwin beyond the sexual, but that was certainly a way they could have gone with it.

My point is, we're missing a lot of context. If you were to take plot points of S1 out of context as well, it would be very hard to envision the final product.

I mean:

Niko gets infested with dandelion sprites that nearly kill her. These sprites manifest with cartoon sparkles around her head and they feed on attention. When they get out of her brain, they're tiny snarky humans she keeps in a terrarium.

Jenny gets set up by Niko with a quiet librarian who turns out to be psycho killer stalker.

People jump off a lighthouse and get swallowed up by a giant angler fish who is siren-ing them to their death. Their ghosts linger, and this annoys the ghost who mans the lighthouse so he hires the boys. Charles yeets the Night Nurse into the fish, and inside she has a talk with an oddly calm and optimistic man. Oh, also the fish is called Angie and she didn't do any of this maliciously.

My point is, this show is camp. That's part of the charm of it. Camp plotlines sound absolutely wild when you distill them to one-liners. When you add in inciting incidents, context and character interactions, these turn from wacky scenarios into full, entertaining stories.

Please don't catastrophize based on crumbs! Whether we get a S2 or not, it's really not worth getting that worked up over. We can't draw conclusions based on what we've been given. It's all guesses, and it could have changed a million times before the episodes were finished.

Also please don't get upset at Catwin shippers for being happy about this. We just wanted to see more of Lukas and George interacting. Most of us are Payneland fans, too and understand that would be the most likely endgame.

[dee-writes-angst]

THE SUMMER COURT (Chapter Three)

FEATURING Lucien Vanserra x Reader

SUMMARY Tarquin's court is beautiful, so dazzling it takes your breath away. If only that were the only thing...

CONTENT WARNINGS slight angst, besties, Tarquin being the cutie little flirt that he is, reader and Lucien get a lot closer, elain being a lost soul, reader hating Elain just slightly

AUTHORS NOTE this was a long time in the making and I'm still not sure if it's my favorite, but I couldn't deny you any longer. Hope you enjoy!! <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

The warmth of the Summer Court embraced you the moment you stepped off the carriage, the breeze carrying with it the scent of saltwater and sun-drenched fruit. Everything here felt alive—vibrant. The contrast to the crisp, golden hues of Autumn was immediate and intoxicating. Lush greens and deep blues stretched out before you, as if the land itself had been painted by the sea and sky.

You barely had time to take in the view when a melodic voice interrupted your thoughts.

“I see the Summer Court has blessed us with a rare visitor.”

The voice, rich and warm like the afternoon sun, drew your attention to the tall, silver-haired High Lord approaching you with a charming smile. Tarquin’s presence was magnetic, his bright eyes shimmering like the clear waters that surrounded his court. He stopped in front of you, his gaze lingering with unmistakable interest.

“And who might this radiant visitor be?” Tarquin asked, his voice low, the question almost teasing as his gaze flicked briefly to Lucien before returning to you.

“High Lord Tarquin,” Lucien greeted tightly from your side, his tone clipped but polite. His hand was tense at his side, fingers flexing as if he was fighting the urge to do something—anything. The rigid set of his shoulders and the way his jaw tightened with each word Tarquin spoke didn’t go unnoticed.

“Lucien Vanserra,” Tarquin replied smoothly, nodding in acknowledgement but his attention quickly returning to you. “But I was speaking to the beautiful lady by your side.” His smile widened, and the playful glint in his eyes suggested he was well aware of the tension his words were causing.

“I—” you began, unsure how to respond to the High Lord’s flirtatious greeting.

“Ah,” he said before you could finish, taking your hand gently and pressing his lips to the back of it. “I apologize for being forward, but I believe that if I had met someone so lovely before now, I would surely remember it.” He let go of your hand but not before his thumb brushed your knuckles lightly, lingering in a way that sent a flutter of warmth up your spine.

Lucien shifted beside you, clearing his throat. “We’re here on business,” he said, his voice a touch firmer now, as if trying to pull the conversation back on track.

“Of course, of course.” Tarquin finally relented, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Business. Well then, allow me to introduce you to someone who will ensure your stay in the Summer Court is nothing less than perfect.”

He turned to gesture at a woman who had been waiting nearby, her expression composed and welcoming. She was tall, with sun-kissed skin and long, dark hair that gleamed under the warm sunlight. Her deep blue gown fluttered slightly in the breeze, and her soft eyes held a kindness that immediately put you at ease.

“This is Anna,” Tarquin introduced with a sweeping motion. “She’ll be your guide for the next two weeks while you stay here. Anna knows every hidden cove and secret passage in this court. If there’s something to discover, she’s the one to show you.”

Anna stepped forward, smiling warmly as she inclined her head slightly in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, her voice as smooth and calm as the tides that lapped the shores nearby. “I’ll do my best to ensure your time in the Summer Court is both enjoyable and productive.”

“Thank you,” you replied, offering a smile in return, though you couldn’t help but notice the tension that still radiated off Lucien. His gaze flicked between Tarquin and Anna, but he gave a brief nod in her direction.

“Anna will take excellent care of you,” Tarquin continued, but the mischievous gleam hadn’t left his eyes. “And if you find the time to explore more… personal delights, don’t hesitate to call on me.” His voice dropped an octave on the last few words, clearly directed at you.

Before Lucien could respond, Anna took a step forward, cutting off any further tension. “I’ll show you to your rooms, and then we can discuss the itinerary for your stay,” she said with an inviting smile, steering the conversation away from Tarquin’s teasing.

With that, you, Lucien, and Anna began your walk toward the stunning architecture of the Summer Court’s palace, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore in the distance. As you walked, you could feel Lucien’s eyes burning holes in the side of your head, though he remained silent, his thoughts likely as turbulent as the waters surrounding this sun-soaked kingdom.

As you walked through the lush gardens of the Summer Court, the vibrant surroundings should have been enough to distract you—the heady perfume of flowers in full bloom, the salt-kissed breeze from the sea, the soft calls of exotic birds perched in tall, swaying trees. Marble pathways lined with seashells and opalescent stones shimmered beneath your feet, catching the sun like the Summer Court itself had been woven out of light. The palace in the distance, with its towering spires and cascading fountains, was a breathtaking display of wealth and power—each column and arch sculpted with the sea in mind, the architecture almost appearing to ripple like water.

But your mind wasn’t fully present, not really. As beautiful as the Summer Court was, the events of the previous night in Spring still gnawed at you, replaying over and over in your head like a haunting melody. The argument between Lucien and Tamlin echoed in your thoughts, their voices sharp and bitter, cutting through the beauty around you.

“...can’t keep doing this, Tamlin. You need to let go—holding onto this anger, this guilt, it’s tearing you apart.”

Lucien’s words had been so full of frustration, his voice tight with emotion. You hadn’t meant to overhear, hadn’t meant to be drawn into their private battle, but something about it had pulled you closer, kept you there, listening.

Elain.

Lucien had never mentioned her to you before. Not once during your travels to the Spring Court. Not during any of the tense silences that had grown between you whenever the conversation drifted toward his past. But that night, it was all laid bare—an open wound that had yet to heal, a name that seemed to cut deeper than any blade.

Her name had been like a slap to the face, a reminder of the bond that tethered Lucien to a woman who wasn’t here—who didn’t want him. The weight of it had settled into your chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe. You’d felt his tension, the way Tamlin’s cruel words had hurt him, and in that moment, something within you had shifted. The dynamic between the two men had been painful to witness—Tamlin’s bitterness, Lucien’s tightly controlled anger, and beneath it all, a deep well of sorrow that neither seemed willing to acknowledge.

“...she’ll never love you, Lucien. Not like that.”

Those words had hit you harder than they should have. You weren’t sure why. Perhaps because you could feel Lucien’s heart breaking, piece by piece, as if Tamlin’s cruelty had shattered something fragile inside him. Or perhaps because you saw yourself in that moment, in the idea of wanting something—someone—so desperately, but knowing that it could never be.

As you followed Anna and Lucien, the opulent surroundings of the Summer Court seemed to blur at the edges, dulled by the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. The palace’s towering columns and turquoise mosaics became a backdrop, muted by the emotions that clawed at you, refusing to let go.

The hallway leading to your rooms opened up into a massive courtyard, where crystalline fountains bubbled merrily, water dancing in the air before splashing back into the pools. Marble statues adorned the space, each one delicately crafted, depicting Summer’s High Lords and Ladies of the past, their faces serene and noble. But even here, in the midst of such grandeur, your thoughts drifted back to that tense exchange, to the coldness in Lucien’s voice as he left Tamlin behind.

“I’m done here, Tamlin.”

Lucien’s voice had been so quiet, so full of finality, that it had chilled you to the bone. You had been ready to retreat back to your room then, unwilling to intrude any further, but the weight of what you’d heard had followed you like a shadow.

Anna’s voice broke you from your thoughts, her tone pleasant as she led you up the wide stone steps to the palace entrance, her voice a welcome distraction from the storm that had been brewing in your mind.

“The palace is one of the jewels of the Summer Court,” she explained, waving a hand at the grand structure ahead. Sunlight streamed through the coral-like latticework, casting shimmering patterns along the smooth, polished floors. The doors were crafted from pale wood, inlaid with pearls and mother-of-pearl, and as they opened, the cool, inviting air of the palace swept over you.

Inside, the walls seemed to glow, adorned with intricate murals of ocean scenes—mermaids, sea creatures, ships on glittering waves—all masterfully painted in hues of blue and silver. Each room you passed was a display of the Summer Court’s wealth: delicate chandeliers that resembled drops of seawater, curtains of sheer fabric that fluttered like waves in the breeze, and expansive windows that opened to breathtaking views of the sparkling sea.

Yet despite the elegance and grandeur, a knot remained tight in your chest.

Lucien had been quiet since you’d left the Spring Court—more so than usual. Even now, walking beside you in the Summer Court’s warm embrace, he was distant, his brow furrowed, his steps measured. You knew he was thinking of her—Elain. Perhaps he’d been thinking of her for a long time, ever since your journey began. Maybe that’s why he had taken up this emissary role. Maybe his heart had never been here, with you, in these courts. Maybe it had always belonged somewhere else, with someone else.

The thought stung, though you tried to push it aside, focusing instead on the breathtaking beauty of the palace. It wasn’t like you had any claim to Lucien’s heart. He had always been an enigma to you—charming and polite, yet guarded. He wore his smiles like armor, his laughter like a mask. You had seen glimpses of the man behind the facade, yes, but only glimpses. And now, knowing what you did about Elain, you wondered if you’d ever truly know him.

“This is your wing,” Anna announced as she led you through another archway, her voice still warm, though she seemed to sense the heavy atmosphere between you and Lucien. “Your rooms overlook the sea, and there’s a private terrace where you can enjoy the sunrise. I’ll let you get settled, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

You nodded, offering her a polite smile as she left, but your thoughts were already slipping back to Lucien, to the weight of what you had overheard. You paused before entering your room, glancing at him, hoping to find some clue in his expression, some hint of the emotions he was holding so tightly.

But his face was as unreadable as ever.

“Are you alright?” you finally asked, your voice soft, hesitant.

Lucien glanced at you, his golden eye glinting in the soft light. He looked tired—more tired than you’d ever seen him. “I’m fine,” he replied, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

You wanted to press, to ask about Elain, about the argument, about what it meant for him, for you, for this journey. But the words caught in your throat. Perhaps now wasn’t the time. Perhaps you weren’t ready to hear the truth.

With a quiet nod, you both turned to your respective rooms, though the distance between you felt greater than ever.

That evening, as the sun dipped low over the Summer Court, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet, you found yourself alone in your room, the soft lapping of waves from the nearby sea a distant but constant lullaby. The earlier events of the day still weighed on your mind—Lucien’s quiet brooding, the beauty of the Summer Court, the conversation with Anna—but for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to simply breathe. The room, bathed in the soft light of sunset, was peaceful. The sea breeze stirred the gauzy curtains around the large windows, carrying with it the scent of salt and warmth, a promise of more to come.

A knock at the door pulled you from your reverie.

"Come in," you called, expecting Anna or perhaps even Lucien. But when the door opened, it was Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer himself, who stepped inside, his smile as radiant as the sun that reflected off the sea outside.

"Good evening," he greeted, his voice a low purr, smooth and inviting. His gaze flickered around your room before settling on you with a twinkle of mischief. “I hope you’re settling in well. Thought I’d stop by and make sure our guest of honor was being treated properly.”

You couldn't help but smile at his charm. "Everything is perfect. Your court is beautiful, I can see why so many speak of it so highly."

Tarquin leaned casually against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m glad to hear it, but I imagine you’re used to beautiful places by now, being an emissary. Autumn is quite… striking in its own way, wouldn’t you say?”

You shrugged, still not entirely accustomed to your new title. “I suppose so. But honestly, I haven’t seen nearly as much of the world as I’d like.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Really? I would’ve thought someone like you—someone with the fire I saw in your eyes when we first met—would have traveled to every corner of Prythian by now.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, though there was a hint of sadness to it. “That’s the dream, at least. It’s why I accepted this position in the first place. The High Lady of Autumn… she helped me achieve it, even if I wasn’t so sure at first.”

Tarquin’s curiosity piqued as he moved further into the room, taking a seat on the edge of a nearby chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “How so?”

You glanced toward the window, your gaze lost in the deepening hues of the sunset for a moment as you collected your thoughts. “I met her before I even knew who she was. At her coronation, of all places. We started talking, and I told her about my dream—how I wanted to see the courts, to experience everything Prythian has to offer. I thought she was just being polite at the time, listening to some stranger ramble on about an impossible dream.” You chuckled softly at the memory. “But then she offered me the position, said it was the perfect way for me to travel and see the world.”

Tarquin smiled, his eyes softening as he watched you. “Sounds like she saw something in you. Something worth nurturing.”

You shook your head slightly, still a bit overwhelmed by the memory of how quickly your life had changed. “Maybe. It all happened so fast, I wasn’t sure if I should accept it. I’ve always wanted to do this on my own, and part of me felt like taking the offer would mean I didn’t earn it, that it was handed to me.”

Tarquin leaned forward, his gaze steady, thoughtful. “You earned it. And besides, even if it was handed to you, what matters is what you do with it. You’ve already made the decision to be here, to be part of this journey. That’s no small thing.”

His words made you feel lighter, more at ease with your decision. You smiled, meeting his gaze. “You’re right. It’s just… a lot to take in.”

“I can imagine,” Tarquin said, standing from the chair and moving toward the window where the breeze ruffled his silver hair. “But from what I’ve seen of you so far, you’ll do just fine. If anyone can handle the adventure of traveling the courts, it’s you.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest easing. “You barely know me, Tarquin.”

His eyes sparkled as he turned to face you, leaning casually against the windowsill. “I’ve got a good eye for people. Comes with the job, I suppose. And I know someone with a true hunger for life when I see them.”

You smiled at him, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest, not from his flattery, but from the genuine ease he exuded. Tarquin, unlike so many other High Lords, didn’t carry the weight of his power like a burden. Instead, he wore it like a second skin, comfortable and light. His charm wasn’t a weapon but a gift, and you found yourself appreciating his company more than you had expected.

The two of you continued to talk well into the evening, the conversation flowing as naturally as the waves outside. Tarquin regaled you with tales of the Summer Court—its festivals, its politics, its people—and you found yourself laughing more than you had in days. He had a way of making everything feel light, fun, as if the weight of your responsibilities could be cast aside, even if only for a moment.

At one point, he suggested a game of sorts, challenging you to guess which famous Summer Court landmarks you could see from your window, and before long, you were both leaning out the window, pointing out various spots, sharing stories and laughter that echoed into the night.

For the first time since you’d left Autumn, you felt a spark of excitement—not just for what lay ahead, but for the now. For this moment, in this beautiful place, with someone who made you feel truly seen. And as Tarquin smiled at you, his eyes twinkling with warmth and amusement, you found yourself thinking that perhaps this journey might turn out even better than you’d hoped.

The next morning, you walked into the bright, sunlit dining hall of the Summer Court palace, the smell of freshly baked bread and sea salt filling the air. The grand windows overlooked the sparkling turquoise waters of the sea, and for a brief moment, the sight alone lifted your spirits. You spotted Tarquin immediately, already seated at a long, marble table adorned with an impressive spread of tropical fruits, pastries, and delicacies that made your stomach rumble. He grinned broadly when he saw you, waving you over with the casual ease of someone who had known you for years.

"Good morning!" Tarquin greeted, his voice warm and inviting, like the sun itself. "I trust you slept well?"

You smiled, sliding into the seat across from him. "Surprisingly well. Your court really knows how to spoil a guest."

"Only the best for the emissary of the Autumn Court," he winked, offering you a plate of pastries. “I was going to have them bring in some special Summer Court wine, but I figured you’d need your strength after yesterday.”

You laughed, easily falling into the light banter that had started between you the night before. "Very considerate of you. Though I have a feeling you were just looking out for yourself. You wouldn't want me beating you in any of your landmark guessing games."

Tarquin’s laugh was light and contagious, filling the room with warmth as he leaned back in his chair. "Maybe I like a little competition."

Just then, the mood in the room shifted as Lucien entered, his steps clipped, his face set in a grim scowl. The stark contrast between his mood and the easy camaraderie you’d shared with Tarquin hit you instantly. Lucien looked like he’d barely slept, his usual sharp amber gaze clouded with something darker. His jaw was tight, and you could practically feel the stormy tension radiating off him.

“Morning,” Lucien muttered stiffly, barely glancing at either of you as he took his seat next to you, his movements sharp and deliberate. He grabbed a slice of bread, ripping it with more force than necessary.

Tarquin, ever the observant High Lord, raised an amused brow as he took in Lucien’s clear irritation. His lips curved into a subtle smirk, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he spoke. "You're in quite the mood this morning, Lucien. Didn’t sleep well?"

Lucien grunted in response, avoiding eye contact. His focus remained fixed on his plate, but the way he clenched his fork told you all you needed to know about his mood.

You exchanged a glance with Tarquin, trying to suppress your amusement at Lucien’s clear discomfort. Tarquin, however, seemed more than happy to prod.

“I suppose it’s none of my business,” Tarquin began, the tone of his voice too innocent to be genuine. “But it’s curious, really. You’re normally so composed, Lucien. I wonder what your mate would think of this mood of yours?”

The moment the word ‘mate’ left Tarquin’s mouth, you noticed how Lucien’s grip tightened around his fork, his knuckles white. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he kept his gaze locked on his food. The silence that followed was thick, charged, and suddenly your amusement faded, replaced by a sinking feeling in your chest.

Tarquin’s comment echoed in your mind—mate. Lucien’s mate, Elain, the woman you’d overheard him and Tamlin arguing about back in Spring. A woman who, by all accounts, didn’t want him. You’d heard the pain in Lucien’s voice that night, felt the raw hurt in his silence after Tamlin’s cruel words. And now, sitting here beside him, with Tarquin’s teasing and Lucien’s simmering tension, you couldn’t help but be reminded that whatever had been building between you and Lucien—even if it was just a shared sense of companionship—was nothing compared to the bond he shared with another.

The weight of that reality settled over you like a stone.

Lucien didn’t respond to Tarquin’s comment, but the damage was done. The mood at the table shifted, the air suddenly heavy with things unsaid. Tarquin glanced at you with a raised brow, clearly amused by the change, but you found your appetite fading. The easy conversation, the laughter—all of it felt distant now, replaced by a reminder that Lucien, no matter how drawn you might feel to him, wasn’t someone you could afford to get close to.

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes as you picked at your plate. Tarquin, ever the master of social dynamics, seemed to sense the shift in your mood and moved the conversation onto lighter topics, though his gaze lingered on Lucien’s tight-lipped silence with a knowing glint. Still, you couldn’t shake the lingering weight of that one word.

Mate.

By the time breakfast was finished, the easy camaraderie from the night before had evaporated, leaving you with the uneasy reminder of boundaries you hadn’t realized you’d already begun to cross. And as you left the dining hall, Lucien walking in tense, brooding silence beside you, you couldn’t help but wonder if Tarquin’s remark had been more than just a tease—if it had been a warning. A reminder of what you couldn’t have.

The awkward silence between the two of you stretched on too long-- so long, in fact, that you were trying desperately to clear your dry throat. You wanted to ease the tension between the two of you, but at times like this, it felt nearly impossible. Nevertheless, you could no longer stand it. “Lucien,” you started softly, your voice hesitant but warm, “want to take a walk with me along the beach? It’s too beautiful of a morning to waste inside.”

Lucien’s amber eyes flicked to yours, his surprise evident for a moment before his face softened, the tension in his brow easing slightly. He nodded once, wordlessly accepting your invitation. Together, you strolled down the shoreline, the breeze tugging at your clothes, the sea whispering in the background.

The soft sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air as you walked along the edge of the Summer Court’s shimmering beach. The sand beneath your feet was warm, the golden grains shifting with every step. It was a breathtaking morning, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting the sea in hues of pink and gold. You glanced to your side where Lucien walked, his shoulders still tense from breakfast, his expression distant. The breeze ruffled his auburn hair, strands catching the sunlight like fire.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the sound of the ocean filling the silence. You could feel the weight of something unspoken lingering between you two—the ghosts of breakfast and what you’d overheard in the Spring Court lurking in the back of your mind.

Finally, you gathered the courage to break the silence. “Lucien… about what Tarquin said this morning.” You hesitated, searching for the right words, watching the way his shoulders tensed again at the mention of the High Lord. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything uncomfortable, but I overheard you and Tamlin arguing the other night, and I heard her name—Elain.”

At the mention of his mate’s name, Lucien’s face tightened, his steps slowing. He turned to look at you, his gaze guarded, as if unsure of how much to reveal. The air between you grew heavier with each passing second, but there was something in his eyes that told you he was considering it, weighing whether to let you in.

“She’s my mate,” Lucien finally said, his voice quiet, the words heavy with emotion. “But she… she doesn’t feel the bond. At least, not the way I do.”

You swallowed, the ache in his voice twisting something inside you. You’d known there was pain there—had felt it even before hearing his argument with Tamlin—but hearing him admit it so plainly sent a pang of sympathy through you.

Lucien sighed, his gaze drifting out to the sea. “I thought I would be enough. That if I gave her time, if I was patient, maybe… maybe she would come to care for me. But it hasn’t happened. Every time I see her, I can feel the distance, the wall she’s built between us. And I don’t blame her. The bond was forced on her. She didn’t ask for this, and she certainly didn’t ask for me.”

There was a vulnerability in his words, a rawness you hadn’t seen before. It was as if he’d dropped the mask he so often wore, the sly fox that hid his true feelings finally stepping aside. You could see the depth of his hurt, the way it weighed on him, the way it made him question his worth. And in that moment, something shifted between the two of you.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must be,” you said softly, your heart aching for him. “But, Lucien, from what I’ve seen, you care for her deeply. You’ve given her space, and that… that says more about you than anything. You’re not trying to force her to love you. You’re just giving her time to figure out her own feelings.”

He turned to you then, his amber gaze locking onto yours, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough,” he admitted, his voice low. “It feels like I’m just… waiting. And I don’t know how much longer I can do it.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to offer some kind of comfort, but you hesitated. Instead, you chose your words carefully. “Sometimes the hardest thing to do is wait for someone else to figure things out. But that doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of love, Lucien. You deserve someone who sees you, who loves you for who you are—not because of a bond, but because they choose you.”

His gaze softened, and for the first time since you’d met him, Lucien looked at you with something more than polite interest. There was a connection in that moment, an understanding that passed between you two, and it left you feeling both closer to him and more vulnerable than ever.

And that’s when you felt it. A dangerous tug deep inside you, a fluttering in your chest that you hadn’t expected. You realized then, with a suddenness that knocked the air from your lungs, that you were falling for him.

It was terrifying.

Lucien, with his broken heart and his unwavering loyalty to someone else, wasn’t yours to fall for. You were the emissary of the Autumn Court, traveling with him out of duty, not personal desire. He had a mate—someone he was bound to, even if she didn’t return his feelings. And yet, here you were, standing on the shores of the Summer Court, your heart betraying you as it fluttered in your chest.

You swallowed hard, turning your gaze out to the ocean to hide the emotions you knew were creeping onto your face. This was dangerous. Falling for Lucien would only lead to heartbreak. You couldn’t afford to get caught up in whatever this was—whatever this connection between you two might be.

Lucien exhaled deeply beside you, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more thoughtful. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I guess… I guess I just needed someone to listen. So, thank you.”

You smiled softly, though your heart was still racing. “I’m glad you felt like you could talk to me. And I’ll always be here to listen, Lucien.”

He smiled back at you, a small, grateful smile, and for a moment, everything felt lighter. But as you both turned back toward the palace, the weight of what you’d just realized settled heavily on your shoulders.

You had begun to fall for Lucien Vanserra. And you had no idea what to do about it.

As the sun dipped lower into the horizon, casting the last golden rays over the ocean, you and Lucien made your way back toward the Summer Court palace in silence. The soft sound of waves accompanied your footsteps, and though neither of you spoke, the weight of everything that had passed between you hung heavily in the air.

Lucien walked beside you, his presence warm and solid, yet there was a vulnerability in him now that you hadn’t seen before. His walls had come down, if only for a brief moment, and it made you ache for him—for all the pain he’d been carrying alone. You kept stealing glances at him, at the way his jaw was set, at the tension in his posture, and at the flicker of sadness that seemed to follow him even now.

When you finally reached your door, you turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. Lucien hesitated for a moment, his amber gaze lingering on you before he offered a soft, almost weary smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

"Thank you for the walk," he said quietly, his voice dipping low, soft, like he was afraid to disturb the fragile moment between you.

You smiled back, though it felt bittersweet. “Of course, Lucien. Anytime.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, his mouth parting slightly, but then he closed it again, shaking his head. “I should let you get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

You nodded, feeling an unexpected pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving. But you didn’t want to push him. Lucien had already opened up to you more than you’d ever expected. “Goodnight, Lucien.”

He stepped closer, and your breath hitched as he gently took your hand, bowing slightly as he brought it to his lips. His touch was warm, sending a soft current through your skin as his lips brushed lightly against the back of your hand. When he looked up at you, there was something in his gaze that made your heart skip a beat—something tender, unspoken.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. And then, with one last glance, he turned and walked down the corridor, his figure soon disappearing into the soft shadows of the palace halls.

You stood there for a long moment, your heart racing, watching him until he was out of sight. Then, with a heavy sigh, you pushed open the door to your room and stepped inside.

As you leaned against the door, closing it softly behind you, the ache in your chest deepened. You sank onto the edge of your bed, your hands resting in your lap as you stared blankly at the walls, trying to steady your swirling thoughts.

Lucien Vanserra.

It was foolish, you told yourself. Dangerous, even. He wasn’t yours to fall for. He had a mate—someone the universe had chosen for him, someone who, despite it all, still held a piece of his heart.

Elain.

You couldn’t stop the bitterness that crept in at the thought of her. Elain, the one who was supposed to be everything to him, the one he longed for, even though she didn’t seem to want him in return. How could she overlook someone like Lucien? How could she not see what you were starting to see—the depth of his loyalty, his strength, his kindness hidden beneath the sharp edges?

A flicker of anger ignited in your chest. It wasn’t fair. Not to Lucien, not to you. Elain had been given a gift—a bond with someone like Lucien—and yet she kept him at arm’s length, leaving him to suffer alone. And here you were, falling for him, feeling more for him in these few short days than Elain had shown in all this time.

You hated her for it—for the way she could cast him aside, for the way she made him feel unwanted, unloved. You hated the way she made him question himself, made him feel like he wasn’t enough when he was more than enough.

But that hate didn’t change the reality of the situation. Elain was still his mate, and no matter how much you felt for him, no matter how much you wanted to take away his pain, that bond remained. You would always be the outsider, the one who wasn’t supposed to fall for him, the one who could never have him.

With a heavy sigh, you pulled back the covers of the bed and slipped beneath them, the ache in your chest growing stronger. As you closed your eyes, exhaustion creeping over you, the weight of everything—of Lucien, of Elain, of this impossible situation—pressed down on you.

But even as sleep pulled you under, one thought remained, clear and undeniable.

You were falling for Lucien. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The next morning greeted you with the warmth of the Summer Court’s sun spilling into your room, the golden light seeping through the sheer curtains and kissing your skin like a gentle promise. You stretched beneath the soft linens, your heart lighter than it had been in days. After a night filled with restless dreams of Lucien’s smile, of the look in his eyes when he spoke of Elain, the ache in your chest hadn’t completely vanished—but the anticipation bubbling within you for the day ahead managed to soothe it, even if only for a little while.

You dressed quickly, excitement rushing through your veins as the thought of exploring this beautiful court—the court you’d dreamed of seeing—propelled you forward. The day was waiting for you, filled with possibilities you had never dared to hope for. After a quick breakfast, you met Lucien and Anna in the palace’s grand courtyard, the bright morning sun casting long shadows over the cobblestone paths lined with lush greenery and delicate blossoms that seemed to sway in time with the breeze.

Lucien was already waiting for you, leaning casually against a marble pillar, his auburn hair catching the light like copper set aflame. His amber eyes softened as they landed on you, a faint, teasing smile tugging at his lips as you approached.

"Ready for today?" he asked, his voice a low hum, the warmth of it sending a flutter through your chest.

You nodded, heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite place, your gaze briefly flicking to Anna, who stood beside Lucien with a radiant smile. Her easygoing demeanor mirrored the court itself—bright, open, welcoming. “More than ready,” you said, trying to focus on the excitement bubbling within you rather than the way Lucien’s presence seemed to settle something deep inside you.

"Then let’s get started," Anna chimed in, gesturing toward the path leading from the palace into the heart of the city. Her sun-kissed skin glowed beneath the morning light, and her laughter was contagious as she led the way, her enthusiasm making it impossible not to feel excited for what was to come.

The moment you stepped beyond the gates of the palace, you were struck by the sheer beauty of the Summer Court. The streets were alive with color and movement—white-washed buildings lined the cobblestone paths, their blue-tiled roofs glistening in the sunlight. Bright awnings shaded the numerous market stalls that spilled out into the streets, the vibrant fabrics rippling in the breeze, each one more vibrant than the last. The air was filled with the scent of saltwater and citrus, mingling with the sweet aroma of tropical flowers that grew in wild abundance along the pathways.

Merchants called out from their stalls, their voices cheerful and melodic as they displayed wares you could only have dreamed of—delicate glasswork in brilliant hues, fabrics so fine they seemed to shimmer in the light, jewelry that sparkled like stars. Everywhere you looked, there was life—children darted between the crowds, their laughter rising like music over the hum of conversation. You felt a pang of wonder deep within you, as though you had stepped into a world spun from pure magic.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you whispered, your gaze sweeping over the bustling streets, the gleaming rooftops, the sprawling ocean that sparkled just beyond the edge of the town. The water was a deep, endless blue, stretching out toward the horizon, the sunlight glinting off its surface like scattered diamonds.

Lucien chuckled softly beside you, his voice warm and amused. “The Summer Court does have a way of making the impossible feel possible.”

You glanced up at him, catching the way his eyes seemed to glow in the sunlight, softer now than they had been before. There was something different about him today—less guarded, more at ease. The tension that had been gnawing at him for days seemed to have eased, if only slightly.

“Thank you for this,” you said quietly, sincerity in your voice. “I’ve wanted to see the Summer Court for as long as I can remember.”

His amber gaze held yours for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “I think… I needed this too.”

A flush of warmth spread through you at his words, but before you could respond, Anna appeared beside you, her arms full of bright, exotic fruits she had just bartered for at one of the stalls.

“Try this!” she urged, handing you a piece of fruit the color of a setting sun, its skin smooth and cool beneath your fingers. “You can’t leave the Summer Court without tasting this—it’s one of our best-kept secrets.”

You took a cautious bite, your eyes widening as the sweet, tangy flavor burst across your tongue. It was like nothing you had ever tasted before—bright and fresh, as if it had captured the very essence of the Summer Court itself. Anna grinned at your expression, clearly pleased with your reaction.

“You’re right,” you laughed, wiping juice from your chin, “I can’t leave without eating more of these.”

Lucien’s low chuckle joined yours, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. The three of you continued on, visiting more shops, more stalls, more hidden corners of the Summer Court that Anna eagerly shared with you. Everywhere you went, there was something new to marvel at—beautiful seashell jewelry, hand-carved figurines, dazzling glass orbs that captured the light in such a way that they seemed to hold miniature suns within them.

With each passing hour, you found yourself growing more and more comfortable in Lucien’s presence. What had once been a tense, delicate connection between you now began to deepen into something more solid, more real. You shared quiet moments between the bustling excitement—stolen glances, soft words, laughter that bubbled up from within you as easily as the sunlight fell across your skin.

At one point, as the three of you stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, Lucien leaned closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You look happy today,” he said softly, his gaze sweeping over your face. “It suits you.”

The words sent a jolt of warmth through you, and for a brief, dangerous moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If he wasn’t bound to someone else. If you didn’t feel that constant ache in your chest whenever you thought of her.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and you forced yourself to focus on the beauty of the day, on the warmth of the sun and the laughter that filled the air. You weren’t ready to let go of this—this feeling of closeness, of connection, even if it was temporary.

By the time the sun began to set, casting the sky in shades of pink and gold, you found yourself standing with Lucien and Anna at the edge of a lookout point, the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before you, sparkling like liquid gold beneath the fading light. The three of you stood in comfortable silence, the beauty of the moment washing over you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

But even as the joy of the day lingered in your heart, you couldn’t shake the growing realization that you were falling for Lucien. Hard. And that was a dangerous thing.

Because no matter how close you grew, no matter how much you cared for him, he would never be yours.

TAGLIATELLE

@littlest-w01f @rcarbo1 @mirandasidefics @thelov3lybookworm @lilah-asteria @megscabinetofcurios @thecraziestcrayon

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

when the trains a-rocking don’t come a-knocking

PARING: Tangerine x Fem!Reader (assassins)

WC: 2818

SUMMARY: taking a job in Japan collecting a briefcase from a train sounds easy, right? But not when you meet a pair of brother assassins from your past.

readers alias name is ‘slater’, but not crucial to the story and only mentioned once

TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+ only. tan and reader physically fight, mentions of blood, fingering, semi public stuff. minors DNI. no mentions of ‘y/n’

rewritten 25/04/24 - no change to the plot, just made it less crap and got rid of the sex (sorry)

You stand at the edge of the train station platform, mentally reassuring yourself. "Silver briefcase... silver briefcase. In, out, easy," you mutter quietly, not wanting to catch the attention of the other patrons around you. 

This was your first mission since your injury a while back - an accident so bad, that it almost made you want to quit for good. This job was labelled as an easy assignment, and you only hoped it would stay that way.

The overhead speaker announces the bullet train's arrival and you give yourself a final prep talk before heading towards the approaching vessel. You get on and immediately get to work, wanting to find the case before Tokyo station --the one in two stops-- so you make quick haste searching. 

You visibly filter through the bags in the luggage area, looking for a silver case with a blue sticker on the handle, should be easy enough, you thought. But you have no luck, so you head into the next carriage and then the next, until you find it tucked away at the back - the blue sticker acting like a bright, flashing, LED arrow.

You check your surroundings before sneaking it into your travel bag, readjusting the clothes to cover the shiny case - trying to hide it further by placing underwear and sanitary products over the top, hoping that if someone were to look inside, they'd be too embarrassed and leave you be.

By the time you had finished stashing the case, the train had stopped at the next station, and with more passengers entering, you blend in and grab a seat in the quiet car - not bringing any attention to yourself while you wait for your stop. You find an empty table seat and head right for it, hiding the bag on the floor between your feet, using the table as a shield. 

You visually survey the area, eyes darting around to see a group of three sitting at the table next to you. You silently scold yourself and adjust the hood of your jacket, trying to hide yourself. You would have changed seats, but again you didn't want to bring attention to yourself, and standing would give you exactly what you didn't want.

The men beside you were pretty loud despite the rules of the quiet car, and because of their loud, albeit obnoxious voices, you began to think - your mind picking up on the familiarity of them. So you use your window as a mirror, using the glass to see the faces of the men. 

And that's when you see them. Two extremely recognisable faces. Typical.

You roll your neck to get a better view of the group, confirming your theory when you see Lemon and Tangerine sitting beside some young lad. You and The Twins go way back, often fulfilling many assignments on the opposing side of them, and despite the contrasting teams, you'd usually remain civil with them. 

They had cost you a few jobs, in the same way you would them, and over the years of just missing one another, you'd like to think there was a sense of loyalty between you and them. 

Eavesdropping on them almost proved to be pointless until you heard the word 'briefcase' pop up and that's when you connect the dots. The twins had to be the owners of the case, right? Why else would they be in Japan? They're not the vacation type. And the thought of having to go up against them again began to knock the little confidence you had.

You keep your attention on them, sporadically eyeing them when you see Lemon stand, heading through the doors - presumably to the luggage area. And then your mind started to race.

You thought back on the story you overheard Tangerine tell, the one about The White Death, and that's when the angel and devil appeared on your shoulders. The debate of morals stepping in. You've always been on the opposite side as them but you were never against them - you liked them.

An argument arose in your brain: one part saying that you found the case fair and square and that you should keep it. The other part saying that your selfishness could get them killed, and in the graphic, brutal ways described in the story.

Tangerine stood up to take a call, his voice momentarily putting a hold on the internal conflict in your brain. He was so close that you could hear the demanding voice on the receiver, but then it goes quiet - Tan walking away to meet his brother by the luggage.

They both return promptly after to discuss something in the middle of the walkway, the brothers talking about the direction each of them should take in order to find the lost case.

It was your 'chance to escape,' you thought.

Tangerine strides past muttering curses under his breath, accidentally brushing your shoulder in the process. "Sorry, love. Didn't mean to hit ya," he nods courteously, brows pulling together for a brief moment. "Don't suppose you've seen a silver case? Can't seem to find it."

You shake your head and turn in to face the window, pulling up the sides of your hood to hide. 

Instead, his head follows your movement, obviously picking up on something. "You," he states, an almost irritated crease forming above his brows.

You shake your head again, trying to avoid his gaze, but it fails.

"Slater?" he questions shortly - his tone knowing.

"No, sorry," you lie, twisting to look out the window again, trying to cut the conversation short.

"Not amused," he scoffs, crossing his arms. "You got my case. I'm gonna need it back."

"What case?"

"Give me my case," he repeats, resting his hands on the table, leaning in to appear more threatening. It's an empty threat, he won't hurt you.

"I uh--" you stall, shrugging your shoulders. "I'm at a loss. I think you have me confused. Are you okay?" you ask, adjusting the bag between your feet - clutching them on either side of the bag and picking it up so you can grab it easier. 

His tone sharpens and his eyes narrow. "I ain't messing around. Give me fuckin' case. I won't ask again."

You reach for the handles under the table and grab them with one hand while you use your other to overpower him - slamming your elbow down onto his hands. You kick the insides of his knees to buckle his balance and run away, bag in hand as you rush down the aisle for the door. 

But your headstart only lasts so long before you fall flat to the floor, his foot tripping you over. You hastily crawl back up, but he does it again, this time, his weight jumping on you from behind, sending you both to the ground.

"Give me back my fuckin' case," he grunts, holding you down - his weight anchoring you.

"You said you weren't going to ask again," you retaliate, trying to free from his grasp, pulling yourself along the floor.

"Piss off," he snarks, adjusting his hold to roll you over. "Where is it?" he asks, voice quiet, face mere inches from yours.

"I don't know," you breathe out, eyes flicking over his face. "I haven't seen it," you lie.

You attempt to free one of your arms, hustling it between your bodies to get a hit in, but he catches your arm, holding it tight. So you try with one of your legs, bending it to hit him in the thigh, but again, he blocks it - using his body to counteract your attempts. 

So instead, you use your head --literally-- hitting your forehead into his nose to free yourself, hearing a slight crack at the contact. You push him off you and rush to your feet, picking up your bag as you head to the door - pounding on the open button. 

You begin to panic at the delay, and before you know it Tangerine is behind you, nose dripping blood. 

"Sorry. I'm sorry," you ramble, continuing to hit the button. "I'm sorry."

His stare is chilling as he cocks his head to the side - his stance almost scary. And then he takes a step forward, closing the distance. 

"I'm sorry," you try again.

"Whatever."

The door finally opens and you stumble through, falling backwards and onto the floor once again. You squirm, scuffling backwards when he stalks towards you - his height now far more intimidating. 

"Where is it?" he repeats, his voice far more composed but still chilling.

"In the toilets," you lie. "I stashed it in a vent. I'll show you." 

You know there is no way to physically beat him, so you try your luck at tricking him - thinking you can deceive him instead. And it works. He extends a hand for you to take and helps you back up. 

He holds a firm grip around your arm as you lead him through the next carriage and towards the toilets, both of you stopping once you reach the door. You open it and point to the vent, steering clear of the door as you let him enter the space.

"Attagirl," he nods, tapping the side of your face as he walks past.

He stands on the toilet seat lid as he undoes the screws - trying to get into the vent. And while his back is to you and his attention is off you, you duck back, grabbing your bag as you head through the carriage you came - heading for the next W/C.

You think you've got away scot-free, but then you hear him chase after you from behind, his footsteps getting closer. You make it to the toilets and lock yourself inside, barricading the door with your body - bag held to your chest as you catch your breath.

He pounds on the flimsy door, fists balled heavy and angry. 

"Occupied."

"You dirty fuckin' liar," he scolds, continuing to hit at the door.

The banging suddenly stops and then you hear the sound of jingling, and your heartbeat in your ears. Unbeknownst to you, he was jimmying the lock with his necklace.

He lets the door swing open and he steps inside, tutting at you as he joins you inside the small space.

He locks the door behind himself. "That was stupid," he taunts, walking you backwards and into the wall behind. He holds your face with his single hand, fingers digging into your cheeks, eyes darting over your face in the same way yours are. "You relentless little bitch."

Your breathing grows heavy, the pounding in your chest almost bursting in your ears. You were so close to each other.

He picks up on your silent signal --those repeated glances down to his mouth-- and then he leans in, meeting your lips hard and heavy. The kiss grows raunchy quickly: tongues brushing over one another's, moans muffled between, each of you becoming handsy - all of your prior feelings finally being released and poured into something physical.

He deepens the kiss, using his hands either side of your face to control the movements - his cock chubbing up against you as he pushes further into the wall.

You reach for his hair and slide your fingers into his curls, keeping him close as you continue to make out, hushing whines into his mouth. And with your other hand, you reach between your bodies - fingers heading for the buckle on his trousers. 

He breaks the kiss and shakes his head. "No time for that," he mutters, his voice hoarse. "Another time."

He leans back in, kissing you with that same fervour as he slips his hand between you like you did a moment before, fingers reaching for the zip on your jeans. He snakes into the front, his palm gliding under your underwear and over your pubic bone - fingers itching down towards your clit. 

"Another time," he muffles against the corner of your mouth - trailing kisses across your cheek and along your jaw. "Promise."

With his hand down your underwear, finger toying at your clit, he uses his other to help you out of your jeans - the shimmying you were doing proved to not be enough. You pull one leg out and rest your foot on the toilet lid, opening more of yourself for him and allowing more access.

He presses his lips back to yours, his hips winding into you, his clothed-cock knocking up against the insides of your thighs. The sheer weight and shape of it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs, and all you could do is make a noise - a small, muffled, blissed sound against his lips.

He hums approvingly at your noise, his own vibrating on your tongue. His free hand cups the side of your face, keeping your lips connected as his occupied hand continues his teasing - the pads of his two middle fingers dancing over your clit. 

The kiss grows messy as he starts to circle your entrance, his fingers beginning to ease their way inside. He swallows your wavering moans as he fills you.

"I know it's not my dick, but it'll have to do for now," he murmurs, hooking his fingers inside - knuckles bending. "When this is all done. I'll take you out, yeah?" he starts, his voice breathy as he pulls away to look you in the eye. "Get you dressed all nice, wine, fancy restaurant, hm? I'll drive you, look after you all night-- take good care of you. And then when I take you home," he pauses to kiss you. "You'll invite me in, I say no because I'm a gentleman--"

"You're not," you add, brows knitting and eyes softening when you feel him hit that spot repeatedly.

"I am," he nods, thumbing over your cheek. "So I say no, but you pull me in anyway. We talk, we make out. You're all over me and you want me so bad-- always reaching for my dick, teasing me with those tits of yours. Giving me those 'fuck-me eyes' you always give."

"Not true," you smile faintly, shaking your head. "And if anything, you're all over me."

"Not true," he repeats, pressing a string of kisses into your lips.

"And then what happens?" you ask, intrigued by the hypothetical promise.

"I dunno, we've never made it that far," he teases.

You bring your hand to your face and lick the pad of your thumb, guiding it towards Tan. You run it carefully around his nose and wipe away the flakes of dried crusty blood - cleaning him despite how much hotter it made him look. 

His eyes remain half-lidded as he focuses on you, his features softening from your quick act of care. It was like those little glimpses he sometimes saw of you in the field. His fingers continue to pump into you, the grinding, fluid motion making it clear that he knew what he was doing.

"Will we ever make it that far?" you ask, swiping your thumb along his stache - eyes concentrated on his lips.

"Yeah, I think so," he hums.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You feel that pit tighten in your lower tummy, your breathing growing strained with every passing second and then it finally loosens, your climax rushing in hard and heavy til you're creaming all over his fingers. Your head drops back and your eyes screw closed, trying not to forget about being in public.

Once you come back down, only then do you notice the attentive look on Tangerine's face - his expression almost enamoured as he watches you. He eases himself from you and readjusts your underwear, stepping back to allow you a moment to sort yourself out and dress back up.

You bend and reach into your bag on the floor, sifting through to reach for the briefcase. "Think this belongs to you," you hold back a laugh, handing the case over.

He glares at you playfully, taking it by the handle. "Right," he nods, holding it loosely at his side. 

You extend a hand for the door and turn back to face him. "You're not getting it back because of that, by the way," you clarify, gesturing to those lewd moments before. "I just don't really want you getting chopped up into a million little bits."

"You're too good to me," he teases. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

You nod, walking through the doorway. "Yeah."

----

[sturniccz]

Just for the night?

Chris Sturniolo smut. Part 1.

In which a girl whom enjoys the company of the loud, banging in her head, just needs a rest.

Warnings: dom!Chris, sub!Reader, use of petnames, degration, smut (no sex yet, just some sexy activities), friends w benefits situation?, rough!Chris, mentions of drug use, yelling/arguing, lmk if i missed anything!

Not proofread, feel free to send requests!

___________________🎀__________________

Parties were always your favorite thing. To say the least, you lived for the feeling of the freedom, and the bond with you and the people surrounding you in the one night that you experience with them. House parties were particularly your favorite because it was more likely you would know majority of the people there.

Tonight the triplets are throwing a party just for fun because you had mentioned a few days prior how much you had missed the feeling and the adrenaline. 

Less than two hours ago they had come back from their ‘plug’ with a decent amount of inventory. They had it all. Four vapes, one for each of you, a decent sized bag of weed and two packs of papers, not to mention the four Smirnoff bottles and maybe 500 Solo cups. Easy to say they know how to throw a party.

After receiving your bag of things that they got for you, your vape, a new mascara, some nail glue, and a new toothbrush, you head down to Chris’s room to begin your painful process of getting ready. Regardless of when they tell you that you don’t need all of the makeup and hair products, you can’t help but feel extra pretty once you have it on. 

you always keep a few things here and there in the house so you already have almost everything you need to get ready. Thankfully they picked up a new mascara for you, otherwise you wouldn’t have any.

getting comfortable and Chris’s bathroom, setting your stuff on the counter, and sitting on the countertop, you begin to apply some natural makeup. after maybe 20 minutes you had finished your make up and heard footsteps coming from the stairs of the basement. Turning around to meet eyes with Chris. 

“You look nice,” Chris says, not really paying any attention to anything other than your makeup.

“How sweet, you aren’t even looking at anything but my face,” You begin, “and you wonder why I never wear makeup.”

Chris looks up from his phone as you speak, finally taking the time to fully take in your presence. “Oh come on, you know I’m right.” Chris says, just above a whisper, leaning on the doorframe behind you, beginning to stare at you in the mirror.

Chris always knew how to get to you. He understands you better than anyone else, including yourself, and he knows what will make you feel better in any situation. But, this he also uses for his own entertainment, at times. He knows what you like. You dont.

“Oh Chris please, if you think I actually care, you’re wrong.” You state as you finish your hair, just a simple half up look.

Chris begins to protest but before he can get anything out you cut him off. “What one should i wear? Red or Black?” you begin to question, holding up a black satin dress which hugs your waist and stops right above your knee, completing with off the shoulder sleeves, slightly more sheer than the rest, and a simple red dress that looks almost the same as the black, except the chest, has a somewhat different cut, exposing more of your cleavage than the opposing dress.

Already knowing Chris’ answer, he replies quickly. “I like the red one, we can match, I have a red tie.” He states as he begins walking towards his dresser, pulling out a red silk tie from the very top drawer.

After a little banter you both eventually agree on matching and he also somehow convinced you to wear your hair down. This is going to be a long night.

After what feels like 30 minutes since you have last, talked to Chris, a considerate amount of people arrived at the house. The living room and kitchen is now full with guests and couples linger the halls and stairways, kissing and touching all over.

The sound of the loud bass coming from the speakers, and the mingling of the guests, brings back a feeling that you know you will never forget. You can tell Chris is on aux from the musical choices, but you weren’t complaining, that man has good taste. 

“Hey pretty lady, what brings you here?” an unfamiliar voice exclaims from behind you to your left, right as you finished walking up the stairs from Chris’s room in the basement. “Never seen you before, are you somebody’s plus one?” he finishes, now looking face on at you. You cant help but think where Chris is at, and how he knows this man. He seems to be in good shape, no older than 23, yet still weird considering nobody ever comes up to you unannounced like this.

“Oh I’m friends with Nick!” you begin to explain, hoping that’s enough information for this man to leave you alone.

The man seems to be listening well, making eye contact with you as you explain your relation to the hosts. You begin to walk away after saying goodbye, and immediately lock eyes with Chris from across the kitchen.

He’s seemingly comfortably sat next to Matt, chatting with some random person you’re sure you’ve never seen before. He keeps his eyes on you as you begin walking over to him, slowly pushing past some groups of people before finally standing next to him.

He puts his left arm around you, the other leaning against the wall as he looks down at you with a look you cant seem to read. “Who’s that?” he blatantly asks, obviously, not in the mood to hear anything come out of your mouth other than that he’s a stranger. 

“Oh I dont know just some guy,” you begin, looking behind you at the man you had previously stumbled across a few moments ago. “I’ve never met him before.”

“You alright? Did he say anything to you?” Chris finishes as he takes a long drag from a j Matt had previously rolled for the group to share, while looking into the back of the mans head, seemingly wanting to destroy him.

“Oh no he didn’t do anything dont worry about it Chris.” You say looking up at Chris and taking the j from his right hand, also taking a puff. Chris continues staring, and you break him from his thoughts.

“Chris.” You state, forcing him to look at you as you continue, “Dont stress about it, its all good. I promise.” You say as you interlock your pinkies, taking a final puff before handing the j to Matt, whom has been waiting very patiently, before returning your attention to Chris once again.

He releases his hand from yours and rejoins the conversation he had been in previously, reverting his attention to the group.

The night has been amazing. You’ve been having so much fun, catching up with old high school, friends, taking shots with your old girlfriends and throwing up once or twice. regardless of the love you have for nights like these, they always seem to eventually become too much for you. 

You begin searching through the house for Chris once again, moving from upstairs in the loft with a group of your old girlfriends to the kitchen, where you previously had been met with Chris. 

right as you notice, Chris from across the living room, sitting on the couch conversation with Nate, the same man from earlier stopped you in your tracks. 

“Hey pretty, yknow I never got your name?” he asks sweetly, obviously trying to play at your feelings as he steps closer to you, cutting off your field of sight to Chris.

Only wanting to leave the situation and finally get to some peace and quiet, you feel as the best answer is to just tell him your name, excuse yourself, and return to Chris once again, but he had other plans.

“Im y/n,” you start, clearly trying to look over his shoulder as to search for Chris. “Oh is that your boyfriend?” he asks in a genuine manner, willing to back off if you were taken.

“Yeah it is, Chris is my boyfriend.” You state, standing your ground and forgetting about looking over his shoulder. “Oh I’m so sorry then y/n, I’ll leave you guys alone.” he says before finally walking away back to his clique.

before you can even refocus your gaze to where Chris had been seated, you had noticed that he was gone. You thought nothing of it as you just wanted to get to some peace and quiet, so you finish your voyage from upstairs to downstairs as you finally reach Chris’ bedroom door. 

After knocking and hearing no noise from the other side, you let yourself in and begin taking your dress off to get comfortable for sleep. that is until Chris’s bathroom door opens, revealing a shirtless, high, and tipsy Chris.

you usually would think nothing of it, as you have seen him shirtless before, and he has seen you in a bikini before. Somehow some thing about this environment seems different as his gaze deepens from his frozen place from the bathroom doorway.

“You just gonna stand there?” You chuckle as you finish taking your dress off and begin putting on one of Chris’ hoodies.

“And look at you like this? Hell yeah?” Chris says from the doorway, slowly making his way over to you, leaning on his dresser listening to you speak.

“Well, I’m not gonna be ’like this’ for much longer, because I’m going to sleep, Chris. Now if you’d please, I would appreciate if I could take my makeup off.”  You say.

Chris just stands there. Staring, mouth agape, as his eyes trace over your features, almost sinfully. He knows you have clothing on, but you have never looked so beautiful to him in any other environment. Standing in front of his bed in nothing but your lace panties and one of his fresh love hoodies. God, he can’t seem to get enough of it.

“Fine, go to sleep but keep the door locked, i don’t want your new boyfriend coming in here and fucking you on my bed.” He states as he remembers who you had previously been talking to, and why he went downstairs in the first place.

“Oh Chris, what did I tell you?” You ask remembering your pinky promise from earlier as you take a seat on his bed.

“Its fine y/n just dont get my bed stained.” He says before opening the door, waiting for a response.

“Chris you can’t be serious right now!?” You raise your voice at him from across the room. “I pinky promised you! I dont fucking know who he is and I definitely don’t want him anywhere near me?!”

“Yeah then why are you in my room huh?!? to fuck him?!?” he yells louder than you, almost like a competition.

Your eyes go wide and your legs cross as you take in the sight of the man in front of you. Filled with mixed emotions of rage and jealousy. Something about seeing Chris in this state causes a small little match to start within you, and you cant get enough. All you want to do is make him even more angry at you just to see where this goes. God, you’re a mess.

“Yeah so what if I was gonna fuck him Chris?!? Im not a baby I can do whatever the fuck I wanna do!!” You yell in his face, and the look that those two sentences put onto that man’s face, you will never forget. He looked so strong and like he could do anything he wanted to you. And he did.

Chris loudly slams the door shut with his foot, locking it behind him as he pushes you by the shoulders onto his bed. “You wanna fuck him? Huh?!?” he yells into your face, just inches apart as he hovers over you, never daring to make contact to your skin. Not just yet.

You look up at him feeling helpless. The feeling you are getting from this is like no other you have ever experienced. A lust stronger than your insatiable love for the adrenaline of the party.

“I asked you a fucking question, whore” He says, just above a whisper, almost as though if anyone heard him call you such foul names, that he would be sentenced to death, as he begins softly kissing just below your ear, somehow, already knowing your sweet spot.

“Chris- I-I” you cry out, not being able to form a full sentence. The scent of him and the feeling of his teeth in your neck, his hair against your jaw, its unreal.

“Yeah not so bratty now are we, baby?” He teases as his hands move up your waist, softly running his hands up and down your sides. “You love the feeling of my big hands on your tiny body, don’t you, love?” he asks from your neck.

“Chris please-“ Is all you can get out, somehow you have already lost all willpower it takes to form a sentence.

“Oh yeah? What do you want, my love? You want me dont you?”

“Y-Yes-“ you whisper from below him, your arms now wrapped around his neck as he begins grinding down on your hips, and damn, he is hard.

“You feel that, baby? Do you feel my dick, baby? Fuck you love how hard I am for you, huh?” He knows just how to get to you, and fuck is it working.

His lips attach to yours in a fast, filthy, makeout session. He kisses you like he had always wanted to, the way he fantasizes about.

Suddenly Chris’ bedroom door opens with a loud bang, and you both freeze and simply look at eachother. Oh, fuck.