#|| Butts Andrea Wants To Touch ||

[fernandopiastri28]

Hello! I loved your last oscar fic so maybe you could do one when oscar repays her and is focused only on her pleasure?

hands in your hair ~ oscar piastri

It’s only a few minutes of this before Oscar begins to get increasingly more irritated. A string of whines and groans leave his mouth as her nails scratch at his scalp and his hips shift against the cushioning under him, desperate for friction and pressure. “Y/N,” He mumbles into the flesh of her thighs, “I’m horny,”

Shocker. “Same,” She cranes her neck and hunching her back awkwardly so she can kiss the back of his head. His hair smells vaguely of sweat and some expensive aftershave, hints of hotel shampoo underneath. It’s distinctively Oscar, her favourite.

His fingers drive into her thighs, leaving white splodges in their wake. “Can I go down on you?”

wc: 2,437 || warnings: pure smut- oral (f), mentions of sex, hair kink??

(self indulgent- just me being obsessed with oscar's longer hair)

Her finger’s card through the soft locks of his brunette hair, relishing in just how long his hair’s gotten. It looks better than it has throughout their whole relationship, and she’s seen her fair share of his interesting haircuts. For a moment, her hands pull away and her touches stop. He wiggles around, his head lolling around in her lap. “Why’d you stop?” His voice comes out as a grumble, a slight pout to his lips.

“Sorry, Oz,” Y/N giggles, her thumbs moving to brush over his cheeks before moving back into his hair. His eyes are shut, trying to get in a last little bit of sleep before he has to get in the car for free practice 3. Oscar Piastri napping minutes before he has to be driving around a track he’s never driven before in his career- fork found in kitchen. He would sleep forever if he could, and likely would if it weren’t for Y/N, Andrea, and Lando all having to try to wake him up.

A knock sounds on the door a few minutes later, proving her point further. “Osc?” Lando’s voice travels underneath the door of Oscar’s room in the motorhome. When he doesn’t get a response, he calls out again. “Y/N, stop sucking his cock, we need to get in the cars soon” She cringes out, turning dark red that that’s what’s presumed they do whenever they’re alone.

It kinda is, but not always. “He’s sleeping, not getting head,” She retorts, enjoying her last few minutes before he gets whisked away.

“Sleeping, sex, quickies- who cares, please just wake him up,” Lando keeps knocking on the door and she frowns slightly, sad that her time with her boyfriend has to be cut short for him to race.

“Yeah, give me a sec,” She weasels her way out from under him, slipping down enough for her feet to hit the floor. “Oscar, time to wake up,” She brushes her hair off his forehead, kissing at the revealed skin. “Cmon, neither of us want you to get in trouble with Zak because you’ve just decided you don’t want to race today,” 

He groans, rolling himself over to bury his face into a cushion. “Fine,” His arms click as he pushes himself up, his fireproof top having hitched itself up to show off the majority of his toned abdomen. “Only because I don’t want to end up in a Danny Ric situation,” She sucks in a deep breath at that, her mouth moving into a grimace. “Sorry, too soon,” 

Oscar needs to remember that even though she’s his girlfriend, she’s a Ricciardo fan firstly, a true aussie supporting her country. “Good luck, loverboy” She pulls him in for a final kiss just as he’s working on getting his race suit zipped up, forgetting he only has one of his arms in a sleeve.

His hand squeezes at her waist, pushing it slightly into the edge of the bench they were previously perched upon, “Back here at the end of practice?” His adorable bunny teeth scrape along her bottom lip, his lips clasping around it.

“You’ve got it,” She sends him off with a swift smack to the butt, getting a howl out of him and a permanently red face of embarrassment when he sees that Lando saw the whole thing. 

He’s never going to hear the end of it.

~~~

Oscar goes crazy on the radio as free practice 3 ends, securing him a first place ‘position’ after getting second in the prior session. For a track that had been cancelled last year, causing him to miss out on racing it before today, he’s doing exceptional. He hurries back to his driver room, excited to get back to spending time with Y/N before qualifying. 

“Oz!” She’s already back on the bench, having made her way out of the paddock once the session had ended to avoid crowds of interviewers. “You were so good, baby!” She reaches her arms out, wrapping her legs around his waist once he’s fully in the hug.

His head buries into the crook of her neck, his hair tickling at her nose, “Did it for you,” He murmurs, his lips aimlessly moving against the collar of her shirt, unintentionally wetting it. “Can we cuddle like before? Your hands in my hair?” The question is slightly muffled by the angle he’s at, but she gets it enough. He’s not really one to go all out with celebrating, and FP3 isn’t something huge to party about anyways. 

She leans back, her head hitting against the wall and lets her legs dangle over the edge so her thighs squish up, just like how Oscar likes. He palms at them, before just dropping his head down onto them, using them as cushions. His cheeks get all smushed up, just like they do under his helmet. Without much time after that, her hands move to his hair, tugging on it ever so slightly, the floppy strands long enough to nearly cover her fingers completely as they disappear under all the brown hair there. He turns over slightly, enough to be looking up at her and have his head up closer to her face. 

After eye fucking eachother for what seems like a decade, his lips press into hers. The kiss is agonisingly slow, strings of spit connecting them and teeth tugging on each other's lips. Their faces seem to merge into one the longer it lasts, each breath being inhaled in tandem. The nose of smacking lips and wet suckling fills the small room, hands going on hips and waists as desperate attempts to hold back whatever incoming lustre they’re both heading towards until they get home tonight. 

They just have to wait til after quali, get back to the hotel, then they can fuck it out. 

Y/N’s the one who ends up pulling away, knowing she’s not strong enough to hold back if they’re gonna continue making out. Oscar’s an exceptional kisser, and sometimes, just that is enough for her to get off on. So they go back to Oscar’s head in her lap, sitting in silence as she strokes his head.

It’s only a few minutes of this before Oscar begins to get increasingly more irritated. A string of whines and groans leave his mouth as her nails scratch at his scalp and his hips shift against the cushioning under him, desperate for friction and pressure. “Y/N,” He mumbles into the flesh of her thighs, “I’m horny,”

Shocker. “Same,” She cranes her neck and hunching her back awkwardly so she can kiss the back of his head. His hair smells vaguely of sweat and some expensive aftershave, hints of hotel shampoo underneath. It’s distinctively Oscar, her favourite. 

His fingers drive into her thighs, leaving white splodges in their wake. “Can I go down on you?” That’s just about the last thing she was expecting to come out of his mouth. It’s not completely out of character for him, he’s actually pretty insistent on spending evenings after races in between her legs, whether his result was good or not. He could spend eternity there, his mind all foggy and dreamlike- like he’ll stay there forever. “I won’t make a mess- I promise, we can be quick. I just wanna make you feel good,”

It’s her favourite request, and her dress is hitched up before he can ask again. Towards the beginning of last season, she’d worn a wide variety of jeans and other long pants, until she realised just how many they found themselves desperate for a quickie before or in between races, and she’d permanently switched to flowy dresses and skirts ever since. 

He arranges himself onto his front, up on his knees and hands while he keeps his chest the lowest angled part of his body. She’s laying in the same direction as him, her knees towards the ceiling and her back flush to the bench, her fingers occupied by playing with the hem of her dress so as to not cum the second she sees his desperate face in between her parted legs. 

It feels like her heart is stopping as his breath gets heavier and hotter on her clothed heat, the fabric basically ruined from how wet she’s gotten. A digit glides across the soaked material, taunting her as he pushes against it. “Fuck, Oscar,” She hits her head down against the pillow under her head, not even realising when she’d gotten this needy.

“You’re dripping,” He notes, his eyes huge and glossy, all mesmerised by the sight. A finger hooks into her waistband, pulling them down tantalisingly slowly. She forces her head up, just enough to study his expression from just above her cunt. He licks his lips, his pupils somehow growing bigger. “Holy shit,” He doesn’t waste a second, his face plunging forward so get his mouth all over her.

Oscar’s talented in many things. Driving, writing hit tweets, taking digs at DRS, being mature in all circumstances, making people laugh with his dry and sarcastic humour, but above all- he’s got a talented mouth. His teeth scrape along her clit, sending shocks of pleasure through her bundle of nerves. Y/N could cum just from that, it feels like floating on cloud nine. She doesn’t even understand how it could possibly get any better until his nose begins nudging her clit, his tongue pushing inside her hole. 

His cock was leaky in his tight boxers, his rock hard bulge still concealed by his fireproofs handing awkwardly off his hips. As she stared down at him, she somehow got even wetter each time he paused momentarily to stare at her wrecked cunt then dove back in like a starved creature. Unclips nails dig further into her thighs, pushing them further apart so his face is fully coated in her wetness. “Oh my god Oscar,” Her voice comes out so depraved and debauched.

Only his eyes are visible as he keeps his steel hard gaze on her. A pair of usually big, puppy brown eyes, the type that ooze innocence and angelic beauty are hardened and dark with lust. Her hands slip into his hair, needing something to ground her as he takes her apart from the inside out. She genuinely can’t get over his hair. How silky it is, how good it feels to yank on, how hot he looks.

His fingers move from her thighs up to under her shirt, practised fingers trailing under the wire of her bra. He pulls the tight fabric far enough from her skin that it leaves a pale mark when it snaps back after release. It’s hell being tortured like this, but it also feels so good. His indexes and thumbs on both hands work the clasp of the bra, undoing it with not much work. It’s an improvement from a few months prior when she’d settled for doing each time as he was so clueless on how to do it smoothly. 

The crazed look in his eyes speaks a million words. She might be the only one getting a proper physical sexual gratification out of this, but he’s clearly getting off on her being in near excruciating pleasure. It feels better than anything they’ve done in a while. She bites her lip, watching as a lock of hair falls onto his forehead, a perfect little curl above his furrowed eyebrows. It’s cute, it’s hot, it’s everything- all at once. 

Now Y/N feels like she could cum just because of his hair, and that’s definitely a new thought.  

He moans, watching his eyes soften at the noise, “That’s so good- you’re fucking amazing at this,” He’s relentless- his tongue, noise, lips, and teeth all committed to making her reach her peak. “Look at you,”

“Look at me? Look at you,” God, he’s so whipped. His index finger glides along her open hole, slipping it inside her and curling it instantaneously. A pain bubbles in her stomach- she’s going to cum. “Fuck, look at that, so perfect around my fingers, just as perfect in my mouth.” She’s leaking around his fingers, her body reacting to his ministrations and praises. 

He can read her like a book, he knows that her twisted up expression can only mean one thing. “You don’t need to ask me, baby, you can come when you need to,” A sharp breath leaves her lungs and her head falls backwards, her orgasm crashing into her like a freight train. 

He kisses up from her aching cunt to her the lower part of her stomach, then her abdomen. He takes his time on her exposed breasts, his tongue swirling around her nipples, before marking her with a love bite in between them. “Looks good on you,“ He looks down at her from where he kneels between her legs, basically drooling at how wrecked she looks post orgasm underneath him. 

Y/N struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, her core aching as she tries to sit up. She angles for a kiss, luckily met halfway by Oscar. “Your turn.. I wanna suck you off,” She pants, her hand moving to push down his race suit. He swats her hand away, laughing at her eagerness. 

“Nah, that was plenty for me to get you off,” He declines, slowly getting off of her so he can clean up the mess he did make in the end, despite his promise. She opens her mouth to argue with him but she’s swiftly shut up with his mouth back on hers. “Plus, I have qualifying in… fuck, like 10 minutes,” He frowns, helping to redress her. 

“Oscar?” Lando’s voice joins the conversation, once again right outside their door. “Now are you getting your dick sucked?” He taunts, like it’s a joke this time around. “Or can we head for quali together?”

He’s wrong, it was the other way around. “Nah, I’ll be out in a moment. Thanks for waiting for me,” He zips his suit up, giving Y/N a final grin.

“Oscar,” She groans. She hates leaving him hard, it feels unfair that she’s just had the best orgasm of her life and he has to go get in a car and drive around at crazy stupid speeds with an aching mass between his legs. 

“Y/N,” He mocks teasingly, peppering her face in chaste kisses, “I’m okay, If I have a killer qualifying session tonight, we’ll continue this later. She gives a final comb through his hair with her fingers, enjoying every bit of it just incase he decides to cut it.

P2 sure is killer, and the sex after it is amazing. Even better when he finds out about the penalty, because angry Oscar is so hot. Her hands stay planted in his hair the whole time, and by the end of it, in their post coital comfort, he promises he won't cut it for as long as she wants.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (29/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Another glimpse of Charles' mind - and honey, that boy is down bad.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of dry humping, sex and oral sex), angst, but make it hot

Word Count: 3k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: LETS FUCKING GO LANDO!!! CHEERS BABE I LOVE YOU! feedback is appreciated!

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again. He can feel the individual springs through the thin fabric of the seat and the few cracks in the steering wheel feel wonderfully familiar in his calloused hands. As soon as you both arrive at his mother's house, he would text Andrea and thank him for picking up the car with him at the old apartment.

It takes immense willpower for him to let his hand rest either on the gear stick between you or on the steering wheel, because he'd love to slide his ringed fingers over the fabric of your jeans on your thigh. Or hold your hand. Touch you somehow. 

It's as if he's addicted to your touch. As if the warmth of your skin, the softness of your body were a drug that he couldn't get enough of after the first real contact. And all he can think about is how good your skin felt against his. 

He regrets a little that the first time was in a terrible situation that both he and you would like to forget. He remembers how your body shook as you lay on your bed in just your underwear and cried. How you didn't even realize Charles had entered the room because literally everything was out of control. And for sure, after what he did and the words he threw at you, Charles had no right to comfort you and hold you in his arms. 

And although his head warned him to stay away from you, his body fought back and, without hesitation, lay with you, pulled you close and held you while you cried yourself to sleep. And when you sobbed his name, with a broken voice and a deep-seated, audible pain, his brain had completely shut down, which is why he couldn't say anything other than "I'm here as long as you'll let me".  

But he had already realized beforehand that there would be no turning back. He already knew at dinner with his friends that all he would ever want would be you as soon as you touched him. When you pressed your leg against his to show him that you were there for him, when he was asked about Annika, and for a moment it felt as if he had caught a spark of fire and it had sunk through his jeans and burnt him. But it was just the warmth of your skin that he could feel despite the layers of fabric. And when he wasn't sure if it was actually you, he'd suggested sharing the tiramisu so he could be closer to you. 

And when he not-so-accidentally pressed his chest against your back to reach the tiramisu in your hand, he got so warm he thought he was going to have a heat stroke. 

He had a similar experience the night he woke up because you breathed his name in your sleep and pressed your butt against him. The morning when he had to flee from bed because he feared he would provoke a heart attack if he allowed you to rub against him and then had to suppress his urge to touch you. There's no question that he was only thinking about you in the shower when he touched himself. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. When he wrapped his arm around you and intertwined your fingers to show you that he was there for you. The warmth he'd felt earlier through the clothes you'd been wearing had been pleasant. Your skin on his felt more like a burn, as if he'd put his hand on a hotplate that was switched on, as if he'd been lying in the sun too long without sunscreen and got burnt. As if you were the sun he got too close to. You burned into his skin with your touch - and never in his life has he loved heat as much as he did at that moment. 

That night, he held you as tightly as if he could suck the pain from your body and absorb it into himself. True, Charles had struggled just as much after realizing that the man who hurt the woman in his arms was the very man his own girlfriend had cheated on him with, but he'd swallowed that and shrugged it off the moment he'd seen the fear in your eyes as he climbed the steps to the apartment and saw you both standing in the hallway. 

You had been his priority and he wanted to protect you as best he could, even if he couldn't undo any of what had happened. He can't change the fact that Raphael betrayed you and he can't take away the pain that this breach of trust caused you. He can't undo the fact that he said all those cruel things to you because he was jealous of Lando, because you took him to your heart so quickly - who you touched without hesitation - and he couldn't keep his feelings under control. Charles can't change any of that. 

But the night he held you while you cried all the tears you had inside you, he vowed to protect you from anything that could hurt you. He swore to take care of you as best he could and to make your life easier if he could. He swore that he would never be the cause of your pain again. 

And even though your touch feels like a warm sunburn to him, like a hot ray of sunshine and like happiness itself, he vowed to see you as none other than his girlfriend, his roommate, who deserves far better than a jealous Charles who can't give you what you need to be happy. 

He can't assure you that he'll always be there for you when you need him. His job doesn't allow that. There's no way he can always be with you to hold you when you're sad. It's so incredibly unfair to ask you to wait for him. He can't give you the time the both of you need to build an adult, good and above all healthy relationship. And it would be irresponsible to plunge you into this life where the public would run their mouths about the couple just because you were a couple. He would give you anything you asked of him, but never would he put you in a situation that would hurt you.

He would protect you. The girl who lay quietly in his arms and cried until she fell asleep. The girl who turned his whole world upside down in the space of a few days. The girl who his mother thought was his girlfriend, which he didn't want to correct because he secretly wished that was the reality. 

The girl who was gracious enough to forgive him for his actions and stayed by his side despite his name and the hurdles his friendship would bring, even insisting on staying there come what may. The girl who helped him move on from his toxic relationship with his ex by burning it all. 

The night had been cleansing. With each piece of the relationship you both threw into the flames, the weight on Charles' shoulders lightened until it disappeared completely with the last burnt petal. He thought it was only fair to tell you that Raphael was the guy who had destroyed both your relationship and his. And although Charles could tell you were more upset by this fact than you might like to admit, he felt closer to you than ever before. 

You promised him that there would be a soulmate for him in this world. Someone with whom he doesn't have to pretend and can be who he really is. And after his body once again asserted itself against his brain and pulled you on top of him so that you could cuddle - strictly as friends - you fell asleep on top of him. And while he scratched your head, felt your warm breath on his neck and enjoyed the weight of your body on his, he wondered why he got the feeling that he had already found this person when he looked at you.

"Is she asleep?" Joris asked quietly and stood in front of the fire bowl, his hands outstretched to get some warmth. Charles nodded barely perceptibly. He would never risk you waking up and pulling away from him because of one of his movements. His heart couldn't take that. 

"Yes," he breathes without sound. 

Joris looks into the fire. "She's good for you. And you seem to be good for her too." When Charles looks at him, a little confused, Joris shrugs. "She just said to me that you're her best friend."

Charles couldn't explain why his heart momentarily stopped working, only to break into many pieces on the next beat. Although he had decided for himself not to let your relationship go any further than a friendship would allow, and the constant closeness and constant touching was certainly not exactly conducive to that, somewhere deep inside Charles had had a small spark of hope that perhaps something else could become of you at some point. 

But that spark had gone out. 

Charles avoided his oldest friend's gaze, staring into the blazing flames. Why did it hurt him so much? Wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

"Charles?" Joris tried to catch the Monegasque's gaze, but he stubbornly refused to look away from the fire. "Do you love her?" 

Charles didn't know whether it was the hot fire in front of him that was making his eyes water. He felt the drops burn on his lash line before he blinked and they rolled painfully down his cheek like acid. 

He didn't look at Joris. 

Best friend. Two words and a bitter aftertaste that stuck so disgustingly to his tongue when he said them to your face. They made his stomach ache and he would have liked to break away from you so he wouldn't have to endure it anymore. But he is your best friend. And he swore to himself that he would never hurt you again. So he can't help but endure this burning closeness, this torture of being with you but not being able to do anything. 

He fell asleep with you, body pressed against body, and he would endure that heat for all time if it meant you were safe. And even though he was aware of the fact that he was nothing more to you than your best friend, that didn't stop his heart from doing a little skip when he tried to break away from you to go jogging and you wrapped yourself around his arm. 

He blamed it on your tiredness, that you wanted to keep him there. That you weren't in your right mind when you reminded him that it was his suggestion to share a bed because it would help you sleep better, and then you kissed his bare chest. Kissed. 

His brain, which must have had a bit of a lapse as a result, didn't seem to be working properly when he admitted that he'd even said he'd always hold her in his arms. And it wasn't working properly when you wrapped your leg around his waist to pull him closer to you. It seemed like a miracle that he had finally managed to pull away from you and get dressed after all.

First the left sock, then the right. The shirt is on the -

When you wrapped your arms around him and called him Sharl, it was over. Something inside him had short-circuited. He's not even sure what exactly he said to you anymore. The only thing he remembers is how he pulled you onto his lap. How he hoped you'd give him a sign so he could give you back some of what he'd stopped dreaming about. 

And you moaned his name as he rocked you over his erection. Clinging to him like he was all you would ever need. Charles would have loved to throw you back on the bed - the bed you share as friends - and kiss you. He would have undressed you and let his mouth roam over your body, hoping that his touch would burn on your skin as much as yours burns on his. He would have devoured you, latching his mouth onto your pussy and tasting you until you came on his tongue. You would have clawed your fingers in his hair, rubbed your pussy against his mouth and moaned his name. And then he would have taken you, slowly at first so you'd get used to him, and meanwhile he would have kissed you so you could taste yourself on his tongue before he ruined you for any men who might come after him who weren't your best friend. 

But the only thing he could do was cup your chin and make you look at him while you moved back and forth on his hard-on yourself. He would never forget the look in your eyes, that pleading look as his cock bumped against your clit and lightning flashed through his veins, electrifying him. 

You begged him and he vowed to give you anything that would make you happy. And if that meant splitting you in half and making you come on his tongue, his fingers and his cock so many times until you couldn't remember his name or your own, he would have given it to you without hesitation.

And then his fucking phone rang.

He would have loved to slam it against the wall and kill Andrea for interrupting that moment. But when you slipped off his lap, he dressed quickly and his blood rushed back into his brain, he was even a little grateful. What if you had slept together and you hadn't wanted to be friends with him afterwards?

He was so happy when you reassured him that everything was fine between you. And he would have loved to hug you, but somehow it didn't seem right for him to be so close to you after you dry humped. So he let it go and went for a jog, relieved that Andrea had so much to talk about with him. 

The more he talked about Ferrari, his training and the upcoming trip, the less he had to think about you while running. 

But when he walked into the apartment with full shopping bags and Andrea in tow and saw you standing in the hallway all dressed up, all his blood went south again. The jeans that accentuated your every curve to the extreme and the top with a slight neckline that he wanted to pull over your head. 

The fact that Andrea had to leave quickly played into his cards and the fact that he had to take a shower was also ideal, because he wouldn't have been able to hide his boner, which was certainly visible through the shorts, for much longer. In the shower he had sorted the situation out, biting his lower lip as his hand closed around his cock, imagining it was yours. 

"Charles, please," your voice echoed in his mind, and in circumstances where he'd actually slept with you, he would have been ashamed of himself for coming within two minutes. But he felt better and was ready to look you in the eye again after imagining you pressing your tongue flat against the tip of his cock. 

What also helped him keep his blood where it belonged - in his brain - was leaving the bathroom and hearing his British friend's voice. 

He also doesn't know what got into him when he rested his chin on your shoulder to make it clear that you belonged to him. Which, by the way, is not true either. Only a short time ago, he had decided not to let this go any further than a friendship - so why did he feel the need to behave so possessively towards Lando - especially Lando?

Lando, who gave him a hard time for treating you badly. Lando, who Charles knows is only approaching you in a friendly manner because he knows how much you mean to the Monegasque. Lando, who saved your friendship when it was about to shatter into a thousand splinters?

But Charles couldn't help himself. Jesus, he even put his hand on your hip to signal that Lando should please keep his hands off you. Like a horny dog, he had needed to show that you were his. 

And now, as you sit next to each other in your old Renault, he has to clutch the steering wheel so that he doesn't get any ideas about indulging his addiction to your touch. He misses the heat that burns through his skin when you touch him. He doesn't even dare to look in your direction. 

He takes his hand off the gear stick and stretches out his fingers, which have clenched painfully around the plastic, almost steering the car off the road as you place your hand under his to intertwine your fingers. 

His whole body burns as you place your hands in your lap and play with his fingers like it's the most natural thing in the world. As if you weren't just best friends sharing an apartment. As if you hadn't dry humped just a few hours ago. And it takes all his strength not to stop at the next corner and fuck you in the tiny back seat of the car until your lungs are hoarse from screaming.

He concentrates on steering the car properly. He concentrates on the springs he can feel through the thin fabric of the seat. He concentrates on the cracks in the steering wheel that he can feel in his calloused hand.

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again.

[jmflowers]

When I got to the end of Risk and everything I'd spent the whole time building for Beatrice was in shambles, I wrote a bunch of scenes that voiced her anger.

It's kind of the nature of the beast, when the things we love are taken away and there's nothing we can do to change it - we slam our fists against the walls of ourselves until we can accept the hand we've been dealt. Or we turn that anger towards the people we think can shoulder the blame.

I wanted that respite for Beatrice, if only to help her reach a place of healing. But the more I wrote it, the more it didn't seem to fit her.

I tried to imagine some world where Maya, in the aftermath of her mistake, would continue to keep the truth from the kids so that Beatrice could be angry at her, only that didn't make sense either. And if Beatrice knew, if she understood why Maya hadn't been with her, that anger wouldn't have been this loud and all-consuming thing I'd been trying to give her. She's had a healthier relationship with her emotions than that, just thanks to the sheer proximity of a mother like Carina.

Which is why I opted for a time jump for the final scene of Risk - a breath of space to leave us wondering what the hell happened. I want there to be a great big question of how she went from having everything she'd ever known being taken away to embarking on the journey she'd been striving for anyways. It gives me so much more room to explore what comes next, and I really can't wait to do just that.

But before I got there, I had Beatrice and her anger.

prompt #18: if you're mad, stay mad

“I’ve got it,” Beatrice hisses, yanking her arm out of Andrea’s grasp as he tries to help her across the threshold into the house. “Would you all just stop touching me?”

The crutches look clunky and uncomfortable beneath her arms as she walks, her body not accustomed to the slight lean they require to maintain balance with half her weight resting upon them. Her knee is swollen still, bent just enough to keep it from touching the ground and she looks like someone else as it drags behind her.

“Just leave me alone,” she barks as she hobbles across the foyer towards the stairs.

Sounds like someone else, too.

Carina watches, helpless, as Beatrice lowers herself onto the step, manoeuvring the crutches as she tries to hoist herself butt-first up to her room without letting them go. There’s a stubbornness rearing its ugly head in their daughter, Beatrice reverting back to a toddler-like version of herself, adamant that she can do everything on her own.

Even when it’s difficult.

She screws up her face as one of the crutches slips from her hand, clattering down the stairs and out of her reach. “Fuck,” she shouts, banging her fist against the step with the force of her rage.

The tears are close, Carina knows, hovering just beneath the surface, clamped down tight under the lid of anger Beatrice has crammed on top of them. But she’s refused to cry, too.

Refused to do anything that might look like healing.

“That’s enough,” Maya says softly. She steps around Carina, a gentle hand on her elbow as she passes, reaching for the crutch that’s landed at Andrea’s feet.

“I’m allowed to be pissed,” Beatrice snaps, holding out her hand expectantly.

“Yeah,” Maya nods as she lays the crutch against the railing, ignoring Beatrice’s request for it, “You are allowed to be so fucking pissed, Bea. Hell, you can scream until your throat is raw, if that helps.”

Carina watches as the thought seems to cross Beatrice’s mind, her mouth opening and then closing again when she decides against it. “I just want to go to my room,” she whimpers, holding out her hand once more.

“Okay,” Maya agrees, beginning to ascend the stairs. She’s cautious in her movements, years of first responder experience making themselves known. But it’s not a crisis call, this time, not a stranger in need of rescue.

And Beatrice recognizes the tactic just as fast as it’s applied, her walls slamming back up forcefully. “Don’t touch me,” she spits, pulling herself up another step to get away.

“You can be pissed, Bea,” Maya murmurs, holding out her hands in front of herself as though they’re an offering, a lifeline. “But, please, let us help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” she argues, shaking her head so hard that wisps of hair fall free from her ponytail. In an instant, she looks like a toddler version of herself, too, messy hair and glassy eyes so reminiscent of years of temper tantrums on the kitchen floor. “I don’t want anything from you.”

[scentedchildnacho]

They wanted me to try gateway church for housing or showers so I said I'm sorry but we are going to equitize women's rights you can't have anyone under this type of conflict touch you or your things it's like a nuclear bomb and your shampoo is yours and it has to be mailed to you without interference from anyone but the post office....and anti trust has to start for you live your historical convictions though...

That church gateway is the creepy klan neo Nazi place where they watch elderly people die....and fly in felons from all over for the nra....

Hospice is so you can live though you can live though still foster the people for me though live live....

I was explaining to David homelessness is a very cruel conscription some vets won't live and somebody has to care for their families and walled communities could hire people for full tactical gear and ranch communities for me to get this creepy nude clown riot away from my life....

Well who will give bama their secret needs to live with all these nasty cap religion prevention states around them

I've thought about my selfishness and who I actually am and I don't understand jobs say you have this medication that could help people not commit crime or you have this agricultural method that could help an impoverished issue not die of restraints can you really understand the personality that's like no you can't have it I need a daddy to pay my rent?

Say you could administer a morphine about a vet kids temper tantrums that could ruin its life or they would put it in a vaccine hell that would kill it of comatose hatred would you still illegalize opiates for cap prevention Jim crow don't touch my water fountain states...

Naps I love naps....

Cops love horses and mid level incomes....wealth or poverty doesn't bother them anymore

Walled community and sustainable living for poor populations that need development through armed services.....

I was having panic attacks and car light shooting aquired ms nystagmus before all this depressing emotional social conversation and I apologized for talking too much....

I cried to Andrea confessing I found the Walgreens lady that touched my 🆔 some scary pill vet wife that was just going to sign me up to die of queer shelters.....

I don't ever want people I don't know touching my information ever no gross mental

No one can go to shelter unless it's okay I've had cig queers explained to me I won't act or lash out

My uncle molested me and I now have an auto immune disease...I lack aquired immunity and images of strength and I don't want to wear a bathe ing suit and go to the pool....

Well uncle needs Canadian hunting vacation so I apparently can die of lack of economic development for Fred Hampton ...kill stuff for uncle

Well they were blonds everywhere together and they know better then to leave their dark partners and it looked like uncles creepy technocrat hells angels blond clown party so I felt like lashing out and some people need to connect to my feminine or they could feel like crotch itch from waitress or waitress gave us a wet pants rape

Rape oh God the butt love impaction expected by tooty fruity down town Las Cruces poop hole vomitorium

I guess I don't like rape ists....don't just don't rape God and stuff for all

I told them I am really ready to go to California and enjoy traveling again.....

Life was so much better when I finally ran away from rape ville Gainesville and Lakeland in Florida and could go search out better business....

This is all I have come to expect from mid population college towns is a condemned restrained a cruel poverty while youth whore does nothing for anybody or anyone then show it's body luxury privilege and then gets threatened with finally burn the witch

Vermin...their vermin and show it off

Love their heels and pesticide direct sacral chord pathway damage to the vermis

The seed of this had a white light that burned off all of it's sheath also....

The lawn....it was suppose to be my job David....so the creepy dark lord came around to attack people with slash and cut and dust storm people into being a hospie or a cop...I should to them have to get guns so the Africans dont have to buffalo soldier

They do have a creepy fixation with me if I don't run away in horror of their monstrosity they keep trying to kill stuff and hurt themselves with illegal blowers

All ladies are a bitch if you don't run away in horror of their monster they kill themselves publicly like idiots as grown men

Well it tried to attack the kids for lawn games....electric slashing and pesticides don't kill bugs it starves them into weirder and more disgusting fire bites

Ya know how bees show they enjoy their penetrative stinger on strange alien metal objects

It's already a native species and things don't grow above naturally and just go away because of not enough water but we all needed a rape to it

Do don't do....that judgement no I'm on miracles I'm okay don't care don't judge don't

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Christmas in Dubai: Hot Chocolate

Tags: @lfc-fanfiction, @millythegoat, @alissonbecksfan234, @moomin279

Prompt: hot chocolate

Summary: On the first night of Dubai training camp, Kornmayer and Chamberlain meet up in the kitchen to make hot chocolate.

In Dubai, the December weather remained relatively mild, unlike blustery Liverpool. That meant no snow, no freezing wind, and no frozen ponds to skate on—in general, no European winter climate.

But it took more than an Arabian winter to deter Andreas Kornmayer from making his favorite winter drink. His favorite winter drink? Hot chocolate, of course.

There was nothing Kornmayer loved more than a steaming mug of hot chocolate on a cold winter day. Most of the others would usually be outside, playing in the snow, so that meant that Kornmayer could be alone for a few minutes. But thanks to the mild winter climate in Dubai, that wouldn’t be a reality this year.

So after the Liverpudlians touched down in the UAE, checked into their hotel, and sorted out the rooming arrangements, Kornmayer slipped into the kitchen with an innocuous-seeming cardboard box. It was two o’clock in the morning.

Sneaking around the kitchen, Kornmayer poured enough milk into a saucepan for one big mug of hot chocolate. After traveling across four time zones, finding a large amount of rocks sewn into the waist of his trousers, and the plane nearly crashing into the Hagia Sophia—thanks a lot, Jurgen Klopp— Kornmayer felt that he deserved a break.

As soon as he set the saucepan on the stove, light filtered into the nearly dark kitchen. A familiar shuffling immediately gave away the intruder.

“Ox?” Kornmayer whisper-shouted. He jumped in front of the stove, hiding the milk on the stove. “W-what are you doing awake? It’s two o’clock.”

“Might as well ask that to you.” Chamberlain yawned, sniffing the air. “Is that hot milk I smell? What are you making, Kornmayer?”

“Hot chocolate,” the German confessed. Unlike Klopp, Kornmayer knew that the “I found a baby on the doorstep and I’m warming them milk” excuse wouldn’t work. “You want some?”

“Do I? It’s my favorite winter drink and I can’t sleep.” Chamberlain inspected the counter, frowning. “Don’t you have any cocoa powder here?”

“No, I don’t have cocoa powder, or sugar, or crushed peppermint sticks. In fact, the only regular ingredient I have is milk.” Kornmayer poured more milk into the saucepan, enough to make two large mugs of hot chocolate.

Chamberlain stared at Kornmayer with wide-eyed incredulity. “So how are you going to just have milk and still make Cruyffing hot chocolate? Without sugar or chocolate or cocoa powder or anything?”

“Because I have another ingredient ready.” Kornmayer opened the cardboard box, taking out another, smaller box. He passed this to Chamberlain. “Open it.”

Chamberlain did so, peering inside the box. Inside were multiple dark, sweet-smelling balls. “What are these?”

“Hot chocolate bombs. They were viral in 2020 and are still popular now.” Kornmayer took out two mugs from his cardboard box. “Which mug would you like: the cactus one or the owl one?”

“Umm…the cactus one, I guess.” Chamberlain took the mug from Kornmayer. Knowing how the staff’s lighthearted sense of humor, he guessed that the mug had a joke on it—and it did. The cartoon cactus smiled in the sun over the words I’m A Pain In Your Butt…And I Love It.

“Hot milk coming up!” Kornmayer set his mug besides Chamberlain’ own. He filled both of them with hot milk, then dropped a hot chocolate bomb into each one. “Now watch.”

Chamberlain watched as the chocolate sphere floated in the milk, then sank. Then as soon as it sank, it exploded into a mass of chocolate, crushed peppermints and mini marshmallows. He took the spoon that Kornmayer had set next to the mug and swirled it around in the hot chocolate. The rich aromas floated around the kitchen.

“How is it?” Kornmayer looked up from his mug, a hot chocolate and whipped cream mustache adding to his natural mustache. “Good, huh?”

“It’s awesome.” Chamberlain took another long sip, sighing in blissful contentment. “You sure know how to pack a bomb, Kornmayer.”

“I know.” The two toasted, mugs clinking in the nearly silent kitchen.

A long shadow stretched across the wall, flickering in the darkness. Shuffling silently echoed around the kitchen, as Kornmayer subconsciously scooted closer to Chamberlain.

“W-who’s there?” Chamberlain demanded, huddling next to Kornmayer. “Show yourself.”

The light of a torch shone, briefly blinding the two before redirecting itself down. A familiar frame immediately gave away the intruder.

“Andreas? Ox? What are you doing here?” Klopp yawned, gaze sweeping over the two. “Ah, hot chocolate. Mind if I join you?”

“We were trying to avoid a chatterfest,” Kornmayer muttered. He poured more milk into the saucepan on the stove, humming to himself. “But go ahead. Choose your mug…and choose your bomb.”

“BOMB?!” Klopp yelped, backing away from the box as if it held AK 47 guns instead of hot chocolate ingredients. “Why the hell would you bring a bomb here, Andreas?” 

Just as I expected him to do. “Relax,” Kornmayer laughed. “The only bomb we’ve got here are hot chocolate bombs. You wouldn’t know about them—they were popular in 2020 and you were born before the moon landing.”

“ANDREAS KORNMAYER!!! YOU FILTHY ANIMAL!”

[theyhaveacavetroll]

Saun/Andreas : first time

The first first time, they are teenagers.

Andreas is sweet and less experienced than Saul, and Saul is charmed and touched at the same time. He has not had a lover, before, not really - just the sort of relationships that come and go and leave their mark but do not matter in the long run. He does not really expect much of Andreas, either, but he can't deny that there is something in their coupling that feels different, and it's not just that the best looking boy in Alfea - the Eraklyan champion, no less - is finally interested in him, Saul, the boy from nowhere whose only claim to fame is his tragic backstory and his marksmanship scores. It's the way Andreas touches his face, and the way Saul wants to linger afterward, and the easy trust between them. It's the way they smile at each other for days afterward, and the way that the next time feels the same, and the one after that.

The second first time, they are in their forties, and Andreas feels as though he might just shake apart when he turns up on Saul's doorstep.

It's been four months since surety. Four months since confidence in his plans, since purpose and conviction.

Four months since Rosalind died and took with her the numbing influence of her spellwork. Four months since the breakdown and realization of what she had done to him.

Four months since he's felt anything for her but the rage she's denied him all these years. Two decades since he has had any idea at all what he truly feels about anyone without Rosalind taking that anger and directing it at Saul, and Farah, and everyone else Andreas has ever loved.

It's ten o'clock at night, and Andreas turns over in his bed, punches his pillow, and closes his eyes against the moisture that wants to escape from them. It's been four months, and he is here, alone in his own head for the first time in twenty years. In the morning, that will seem like a miracle again. He will rise from his bed and appreciate the lack of any compulsion to do anything, and he will greet Farah and the others happily. But sometimes - sometimes at night, when the world has gone quiet -

Sometimes at night he's forty-three, and twenty years of his life are gone down the drain and it hurts.

His phone buzzes from the nightstand, and he reaches for it, grateful for the interruption to this pity party he appears to be throwing for himself. He fumbles around in the darkness, and manages to answer on the fifth buzz, thumbing at the green icon without checking who's on the other end.

"Little Storm?" he asks. There are only a handful of people who have his number, and of those, the only one likely to be calling at this hour is his daughter, but for her to call instead of knock on his door -

"Nope, me I'm afraid," Saul's voice answers, and Andreas pulls the phone away from his ear, checks the number, and then wonders if he somehow butt-dialed Saul by accident, even though that makes no sense. He's never been given Saul's number, not since -

Not since the day he refuses to think about in any great detail.

"Saul?" he asks. He sits up in bed, pulling the sheets up around himself as though his former lover were actually in the room and not wherever he is at the moment.

"Sorry for calling so late but I remembered you as a night owl and I thought -" Saul starts.

"No, it's alright," Andreas answers. "What did you need?"

"Fancy a drink and a chat?" Saul asks, and Andreas feels his mouth go dry in an instant.

He can't speak. He can't answer, because this - this olive branch being extended where he's slapped all the others away - this is -

"Andreas?" Saul asks, and Andreas feels his stomach do a flip at the sound of his name in Saul's voice, at the concern he hears there.

"Where - where do you want to meet?" he asks.

"My place, ten minutes?" Saul asks, and Andreas nods before he remembers that Saul can't see him.

"Yes. Yes, I'll be right there," he answers, and hangs up.

Clothing, he thinks frantically. He needs to dress, he needs shoes, he needs to do something about his hair, and -

He needs to calm his nerves and stop acting like the young fool he was the last time Saul called him like this, but that doesn't seem likely somehow. His palms are sweating, his heart is racing, and it is all he can do to pull a shirt on without tearing it, pull on his nicest trousers, run a comb over his hair, and find his way through the halls to the headmaster's suite that Saul has reclaimed since Rosalind's death.

This is not what it sounds like, he thinks to himself. Saul had said a drink and a talk, nothing more. He probably means it, but - well. Andreas has been on the internet enough over the past two decades to know what Netflix and chill really means. Saul has not, but a drink and a chat could lead to more. Right?

Prison, he reminds himself. Saul, beaten and humiliated. A burned house and a badly damaged relationship with Sky and all of what came before, including sixteen years of playing possum. This is no more than it appears. This is not an invitation to -

Saul opens the door, and Andreas feels his heart skip a beat.

Saul has always been an attractive man, of course, but the past sixteen years have taken the good-looking young man of his memories and refined him in a way that's frankly unfair. And, best of all, it appears that Saul has taken some time in the past twenty-four hours to finally tame the hair that had grown too long in prison, restoring it to the style that Andreas remembers from their youth.

"Coming in?" Saul asks, and Andreas pulls himself together as far as he can and smirks at Saul.

"Nice haircut," he says, and he doesn't think he's imagining the pleased look on Saul's face.

"Yeah, well, it was time to do something with it," Saul answers with a grin. "Didn't want the students thinking the seventies had come again."

Andreas snorts. He walks through the door, closes it after himself - and turns to find Saul, drink in hand, holding it out to him expectantly.

"Whiskey neat," he says, "with a twist of lemon if memory serves. Right?"

Andreas nods.

"Yes," he answers. He takes the drink, and Saul smiles at him.

It's still a novel thing, Saul smiling at him again. New enough to make it necessary to lock his knees at the sight of it, new enough to be a small miracle in itself.

It's enough to make Andreas want to drop to his knees and beg, and it's all he can do not to do exactly that. He swirls the drink in the glass, and forces himself to take a sip of it, and then looks up.

"Good quality," he comments, and Saul's smile turns wry.

"Glad you approve," he offers. "Had to hide it from Sky for long enough, it'd better be worth the effort."

Andreas smiles.

"Did you try your laundry basket?" he asks. "I used to keep the good alcohol from Beatrix that way. Something about not wanting to go through my underwear."

Saul chuckles, and Andreas has never, ever wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. He cannot. He must not.

"No, I've never tried that," Saul admits. "I should give it a go."

"Yes," Andreas agrees, and turns away.

His heart is racing. His stomach has done five flips since he got here, and if Saul doesn't end this torment soon - doesn't tell him why he's here, what he has in mind - then Andreas is going to fly apart, he knows it. He can't bear this - this glimpse at home, safety, friendship again after all these years without - without -

His fucking eyes are wet again, he realizes, and he swipes at them with the back of one hand.

"Andreas," Saul says, and that's it, that's the straw that broke the camel's back.

"What are you playing at?" he asks in a wrecked whisper, and Saul -

Saul does the last thing Andreas would expect, and smiles.

"Well, I was trying to ask if you wanted to get back together, but I can see I've fluffed that. Can I try again, maybe be a bit more direct this time?" he asks and Andreas feels something inside him crack at long last.

"What?" he asks. He must be mistaken, he can't have heard -

"Do you want to get back together?" Saul asks again, and Andreas feels all the tension run out of his body at the same time.

"You want me back?" he asks, and Saul nods.

"Yeah, I do," he answers, and Andreas puts down the drink in his hand. He crosses the room, and without another word, he takes Saul's face between his hands and kisses him with every ounce of longing and desire he's felt over the past sixteen years.

Saul tastes like whiskey, and he smells like aftershave lotion, and Andreas never, ever wants to be parted from him again.

"Bed?" he asks hopefully as they pull apart. They're both breathing hard, and Andreas's hands are still on Saul's face but Saul's hands are in Andreas's back pockets.

"Bed," Andreas agrees, and starts stripping off the shirt he just put on.

Three Hours Later:

"Funny," Andreas says drowsily. "I never took you for the sort who likes to have your hair pulled."

"You've known that about me for how many years?" Saul asks, and Andreas smiles.

"You make the most interesting noises when I do it," he says, and Saul buries his face underneath a pillow.

"If you tell anyone -" he says, voice muffled, and Andreas scoffs. He leans over and kisses Saul's exposed collarbone, then leans back in the bed.

"I'm not that much of a bastard," he says, and for the first time since Rosalind, he thinks he might even mean it.

Saul emerges from under the pillow. He sits up, and looks at Andreas fondly.

"No," he agrees, "you're not."

They sit there, grinning foolishly at each other for a moment, and then Saul shifts in the bed and winces, rubbing at one hip.

"I'm gonna be feeling that in the morning," he says, and Andreas smirks.

"And all day tomorrow," he says, and Saul turns toward him, raising his eyebrows.

"Promises promises," he answers, and then, with a positively naughty smile, he adds on, "prove it."

That, Andreas decides, he can most definitely do.

[fiiingertrap]

tag drop: andrea ruiz

[tgammsideblog]

Tgamm AMA Discord Summary (Bill Motz)

Will there be any human antagonists? ¨It’s a Spoiler¨

Andrea will be in Lucky Penny

Scratch butt joke started as a storyboard joke I believe by Alayna Cabral

All Night Plight episode builds up to the finale, but it's basically a separate story

The ghosts' ectoplasm colors don’t have any correlation to their death,  it's about a balance of colors within the Ghost World.

The process behind coming up with the songs consists in The writing team thinking about where a good place for the song would be, the kinds of things it should cover story wise, the thematics and emotional intent, and then they discuss it with Rob Cantor, often suggesting possible genres of music.

The Mcgees had a dog pet in the concept show art, the creators never came up with a name for the dog but Bob, though, wanted to kill the dog and have it become a ghost.

Mayor Brunson’s sexual orientation is open to interpretation (in reference to some of his lines in Citizien Mcgee that he never married or had children)

We may learn how Scratch died in some future episode

The chairman communicates by using grunts and hisses.

The sobgoblins are a type of ghost, but different from the human derived ghosts. They are more like negative emotions that haunt us (like self-doubt)  that have become personified.

Andrea Davenport, like every character in the show, has her own journey

It’s impossible for a ghost to escape the Flow of Failed Phantoms on their own with enough willpower

Molly and Scratch are both a contrast and a complement of each other. But they are better together than they would be apart¨

The chairman shares some of those characteristics with the Grim Reaper

Scratch gets another solo song, but Bill Motz couldn’t remember how soon

Bill Motz love to have an art book from the series. They are looking into how Matt (Amphibia) and company have done theirs.

There wasn't any intentional connection of Tgamm to Lilo and Stitch, but Bill can see where there are some similarities between them

Molly and Scratch are Bill Motz’s favorite characters

The story behind Andrea’s obsession with her name gag was that Bob has a friend for whom the Andrea name pronunciation was important.

Bill’s favourite episode is "Festival of Lights." and some upcoming episodes.

The origin behind Scratch’s name will be answered in the show in the future

Scratch likes listening to jazz from the 40's-70's. Molly would probably consider that "chaos music."

What happens when a ghost enters in the flow: ¨It's not so much pain as a sense of loss... of everything that made them feel like "them"¨

The creators originally came up with the idea of the show 14 years ago.The relationship of Molly and Scratch is based on Bob and Bill (Bill being Molly and Bob being like Scratch)

There could be a Libby song takeover in the future

Originally Molly's name was Piper, but there was another show in development at Disney with a lead character named Piper, so we changed it to Molly. Scratch’s name came from Bill ¨It struck me as being this subtle torment... and itch you just have to Scratch.¨

We will see some light touches of Libby's Argentinian heritage. 

Ms. Lightfoot is Indigenous. She's played by Julia Jones, who is Choctaw and Chickasaw.

Libby's aspiration is to be a writer, she would like to write about turtles

There are going to be some romance plots

Matt Braly (Amphibia’s creator who is also Thai) helped with the Thai representation in Tgamm

Scratch really doesn't remember how long he has been in the ghost world since he died

They had an idea about that the real expert ghosts don't startle you at all. They're the ones that wake you up at 3am to make you worry about work or school or family, etc. You never even realize you're being haunted, you're just miserable.

There are going to be half hour episodes in season 2

It takes about a year to make an episode of the show, from story idea to final mix and delivery. The Tgamm work on multiple episodes all at once.

Molly wearing a blue wig in ¨Scratch the surface¨ isn’t intended to be a reference to Chloe from Life is Strange, a character voiced by Ashly Burch

Andrea Father’s name is Maxwell

Molly's disdain for maple syrup comes from the story editor Madison Bateman

Most of those quirky traits are direct lifts from the writing team. Madison hates syrup, Sammie Crowley hates close-up magic.

There is a design language created for the show, which means that there are frequently similar and unifying elements in the show that do not necessarily infer a story connection. (Similarities in design between Alister and Geoff doesn’t mean anything between them)

A number of people contributed to Scratch's design, including John Loter, Alex Kirwan, and Lead Character Designer Justin Rodrigues

Molly had many friends in other cities before she had to leave, which is why leaving has always been so hard for her, why having a "forever friend" means so much to her.

The word enhappify came from the creators looking for an "ownable" word that would be uniquely Molly's and tell you instantly her point of view on life.

The Ghost Council used to be human, in Chairman’s case: ¨If he was human, he's a very ancient spirit who has transformed over time into the embodiment of misery.¨

We will find out at least part of that story of why Libby’s mother moved to Brighton

 The person that's usually seen around Irving the Illusionist is called Rowdy Joe

We may learn more about Ghost lore in the future

The series will explore Molly’s hatred for street magic in the future

Google doc with the summary and questions asked:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1vyP6934BoxTmltqAb50UoFZK2_OtmhZZnpLUXOLDu0Y/edit

[sub-danny]

I have noticed how the whole sub content is obviously bound to super sexy smut.

Therefore my back paddling question: could you tell me one Dom/Sub routine between reader and the Daniel Bunch that steadies their bond but has no sex involved?

I love this, so wholesome!

Zemo:

He's always worried you might leave for someone better, someone who isn't a criminal, someone who could give you an easier life so he likes to be reminded that you are still there with him, looking after him as he looks after you, which is why physical touch always means a lot to him as well. He loves making you breakfast in the morning and for you to come and wrap your arms around his waist, place a few kisses on his neck and just hold him. Simple things like that really mean so much to Zemo.

Laszlo:

I mean we already see it in the show but helping Laszlo with things he can't do because of his arm. Like how Mary helps him with his boots. In allowing you to help him, he is allowing himself to be vulnerable around you, to rely on you and that is something Laszlo doesn't like to do easily or trusts many people with it. It's how he slowly becomes more accustomed to being a sub and allowing you to take care of him in all sorts of ways.

Andrea:

Oh, my sweet boy. I feel like morning routines with Andrea would steady their bond. It's my headcanon that Andrea sleeps in late and hates getting up so most days you would have to force him out of bed. I also headcanon he can not cook, maybe he can make breakfast but that is a big maybe. Most of the time it is you making him food (and he is always so grateful) so you would almost baby him in the morning, looking after him and helping him get ready for the day and he just loves you looking after him so much.

Niki:

Like with Laszlo, it's hard for Niki to accept that he is a sub and enjoys being a sub for a while but unlike Laszlo, he is a lot more resistant to your help. For a sub/dom routine I think it would be like Zemo in giving him hugs, little kisses on his cheeks, a pat on the butt 😏, it's not saying anything but allowing him into a space of comfort with you. Plus he secretly loves being pulled into your embrace, he feels so secure in your arms.

Ernst:

Being able to restrain him. He has a lot of anger issues, plus sometimes he thinks he is better than others so if you are able to pull him off his horse, calm him down, remind him that the others are just as intelligent as he is, I think he secretly loves you for that. He hates his anger issues and how he thinks but he finds it hard to control so having you help him with it makes him feel so close to you.

Alex:

Trying new experiences with him. Now with western things open up to him, Alex wants to try everything and having you with him, experimenting with him, trying these new experiences and helping him through stuff and understand things makes him so happy. Like Andrea, he likes to be babied (mummy issues am I right) but not to the extreme that Andrea likes.

Sebastian:

Unlike a lot of his other characters, Seb knows he is a sub and is proud of it before you even meet him. One routine I imagine is helping him look after his hair. We can all see that he has lovely locks but it can get very messy (and greasy) so like you showering with him and washing his hair, you making him sit down and brush his hair, de-tangle it, he loves it, he loves how gentle you are with his hair, how you always want him to look his best even when he usually isn't.

David:

David can not make decisions, David can not make the right choices, David has no clue what he is doing most of the time. He loves it when you help him with tough decisions, talking it over with him, letting him make the final decision of course but helping him understand things and ensuring he doesn't do something stupid. Always in the evening he will sit down for you after making the two of you dinner and will tell you all his problems and you will offer him advice which he always takes to heart.

Tony:

I feel like even though he is a sub, he provides a lot for you. He will always buy things, spend money on the two of you and he makes you food, though he always says his cooking isn't that good (it is) so if you take him out for the day, maybe take him to a film or the theatre and find a way to pay for it before he can, he enjoys it because he sees how much you care for him and that you are not just with him because of his money and reputation.

[babybluebex]

I ask this because I used to be a figure skater (went to Nationals and everything) but. The Danny bunch on an ice skating date?? Bonus points if the reader can skate

oh my GOD this is cute

alex kerner is probably better at ice skating than he leads you to believe. his family has that cabin out in the country and i'm sure they went up there during the winter and him and ariane skated there. he would take you up to the cabin for christmas or hanukkah or whatever you choose to celebrate and hold your hand as you skated with him. i imagine that your ability is probably better than his, and he definitely falls on his ass a couple of times and has to bat frost off of the butt of his jeans (and he's def whiny about his wet pants for the rest of the day)

andrea marowski is another one that i imagine has the ability to but hasn't done it in a while. he'd probably hold your hand VERY tightly and curse in polish when he starts to lose his balance, and he pulls you down with him if he falls. it's ok when yall fall, though, because he tugs you on top of him and kisses you before getting back up. he's also all about cuddling and sharing hot cocoa to warm up afterwards.

niki does not do it, flat out. you know that he CAN, but he won't do it. he says he'll look like a fool and that, if he falls and hurts himself, he's out of racing for however long it takes his injury to heal. he'll sit off on the side and watch you and, if you were feeling particularly confident and pulled out a few tricks, he wouldn't hesitate to cheer you on but give you backhanded compliments "that was really nice, even though your foot wasn't pointed!" like shut up bitch if you can do it better come do it

laszlo is another that won't do it but is more than happy to watch you. you understand why he won't get on the ice with you, and you always show off a bit to make him time sitting and drinking hot coffee worth it. he calls you lovely and graceful and says that you could sell tickets for people to watch you. his little nose and cheeks would go red with the cold and you would kiss his little face ands dfkjdfq laszlo is a supportive husband totally

zemo can ice skate but he considers himself a little too old to do it anymore. the only way you can get him on the ice with you is if you coerce him there with promises of kisses and as many squeezes to your ass as he wishes (and boy does he take you up on that offer). i feel in my bones that his hands are always cold regardless, but if he touches your bare skin, it's over and done and you're yelping bc he apparently has ice blocks for hands

schmidt will do anything and everything you ask him to do, and he will spend as much time on the ice with you as you want him to. after being on the station for so long, he just wants to do everything possible on earth, so he'll hold your hand and skate with you. he isn't the graceful person ever so he ends up wobbling quite a bit, but he eventually gets his bearings and pushes up his glasses with determination and is right beside you

padre domingo is another one where he won't skate with you, but he's perfectly pleased to watch you. he'll get this dopey-ass smile on his face as he watches you enjoy yourself, and he might even saw a little prayer of thanks for bringing such a person into his life. i can see him having this scarf that he wears every day when it starts to get cold and, once you get off the ice, he'll wrap it around your neck and bury you up the nose in it. it smells like him, and it's so warm from him having worn it

and daniel is like zemo, wherein he's like "i'm almost 43, i can't do this for too long" and the only way he'll do it is if he's helping his child skate. he'll hold their little hands and help keep them upright, and he'll give big goofy smiles at you and to your cameras as you catch him bent over helping to keep his little tyke upright. baby DEF falls asleep on the way home, and his little flushed cheeks and open mouth makes him look so much like his father that it's hard to look at for too long bc your heart will just MELT

[imkylotrash]

Damsel In Distress

Pairing: Hardin Scott x reader

Request: Shy reader who never notice Hardin and Hardin never notice her. Until one day a guy slap her butt and she literally throws him over her shoulder and shocks everyone. Hardin tries to talk to her but she ignore him but slowly falls for him. (can u please do the reader Muslim) Anonymous

Warnings: Swearing, non-consent

A/N: I’ve tried to incorporate the reader being Muslim as much as I possibly could without using any knowledge that I didn’t fully understand. If I’ve written something that’s offensive or gotten a fact wrong, please let me know. I will correct it immediately! x 

Another day on campus and another day of keeping to yourself. After moving across country and away from your family your shyness had been taken to a whole new level. Even now on your second year at school, you’d managed to make three friends though having been in many classes. It’s difficult coming to a new school with no safety net and with a job most days to pay the bills, you’d just about given up on a social life. It would be a distraction you could not afford right now. Thankfully, your close group of friends understood this and never bothered you with party invites or guilting you into joining them after school. On a rare occasion, you would join them in getting a cup of coffee after classes which worked just fine for all of you. In emergencies you were all there for each other instantly which is what mattered most to you. 

“Y/N, did you finish the assignment for Siwa’s class?” You look over to find Andrea talking to you. Sweetest girl you’ll ever meet but hopeless at finishing projects on time. 

“Of course,” you smile already prepared with a USB drive. In return she offers a coffee. It’s almost a ritual at this point. 

“Is that a new hijab?” she asks looking at the top of your head. You raise your hand almost reflexively to your head looking for any strands of hair that might be showing. Of course there isn’t because you’ve perfected the art of tightening it just right. No hair falls out but it’s not tight on your head. 

“I just got it yesterday. I just love the colour,” you reply. Your aunt had visited some family and brought back the most gorgeous coloured hijabs. You had gotten the dark green one that really brought out your eyes. 

“It’s just absolutely perfect, darling.” She does her very best British accent making you laugh. But your conversation is cut off by some frat dude who’s decided to make you his victim today. His hand connects with your butt and you hear the loud slap. 

“What the hell?” Andrea yells making the guy laugh. You’re frozen in time. This just can’t be happening. Everything about this is so wrong. You don’t want attention from boys and especially not boys like him. 

“Just appreciating what I’m seeing,” he smirks. 

“Listen up, you fucking asshole. You do not touch women without consent!” 

“Oh yeah, watch me,” he says before reaching over to touch your butt again. The movement wakes you up and you go into defense mode. Grabbing his arm, you spin around so your back is turned towards his chest. His arm is dragged over your shoulder as you push back with your hips and throw him over your shoulder. He rolls a few times before jumping back up. 

“You little bitch!” he spits getting ready to come at you when a guy gets involved and steps in front of you. Without even saying a word his fist connects to the other guy’s face. 

“Listen, mate. Don’t ever fucking do that again.” The frat guy scrambles and the violent guy turns to you with a cocky smile. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you immediately says. 

“I think you meant ‘thank you’,” he laughs extending his hand, “I’m Hardin by the way.” For a second you look at his hand before deciding you don’t need his drama. 

“I’m supposed to thank you for doing something I could’ve done myself?” You don’t believe this guy. Andrea takes your hand offering some much-needed support. 

“Come on. I totally saved you.” It’s not worth the trouble. You spin around and start walking away. You will never be able to explain to him that what he just did just helped confirm to the frat guy that the behaviour is okay because girls can’t fight back. It’s a discussion you’re not willing to have with a complete stranger. Campus is big so hopefully you won’t have to deal with him again. Or so you thought. 

Over the next couple of weeks Hardin seeks you out, in turn making you somewhat uncomfortable. You’re not used to attention and there seem to be nothing but attention where Hardin is involved. He’s loud and cocky and seems to believe that he’s far superior most people. Obnoxious, infuriating, obtuse are other words that can be used to describe Hardin. 

“You want some?” he asks offering part of his cookie one day. 

“I can’t,” you say looking around. You’re sitting on a blanket outside of the library. It’s been four weeks since the incident that started this whole thing and very slowly Hardin’s worked his way into your life. You’re not a couple yet, but you’re not entirely just friends either.

“Of course you can. I haven’t even taken a bite yet.” 

“I mean, I literally can’t. I’m not allowed to eat until after sunset.” The confusion on Hardin’s face lets you know that he has no clue why you would need to refrain from eating.

“It’s Ramadan. I can’t eat or drink anything from sunrise to sunset,” you explain matter-of-factly. 

“Right,” he says getting up. You’re confused until you see him drop the cookie into a trash bin. 

“You can eat though. It’s fine,” you say probably a little too late. 

“I’ll join you. It’ll be fun,” he says hooking his arm around you. 

“You realise this means no sex either, right?” To this Hardin groans loudly making you laugh. Although not being quite at a point where sex is even on the table, you and Hardin have joked about this plenty of times due to his experience and your lack of. 

It’s another five weeks before you and Hardin share your first kiss. It’s short but sweet. He doesn’t push you for more making you fall even harder for him. At this point you can’t continue to avoid introducing him to your family. But you’re worried what they’ll say when they see all his tattoos. It’s not something commonly accepted by Muslim belief but you eventually introduce him anyway. Thankfully, your parents are very sweet about it. 

“So, you’re the boy that’s been making my daughter so happy?” your dad asks as grips Hardin’s hand tightly.

“I sure hope so. Because she’s been making me very happy,” Hardin replies obviously on his best behaviour. That night your parents begin their own journey to falling for Hardin’s personality and you truly can’t blame them. Coincidentally, it’s the same night he asks you to be his girlfriend. Of course there’s only right answer to that. 

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Name: Silas Papillon Species: Zombie Occupation: Musician Age: 25 Years Old Played By: Elliott Face Claim: Willy Cartier

“Sometimes I really feel like the butt of an existential joke that’s got no punchline.”

TW: Sibling death, grooming

Born and raised in the bayous of Louisiana, Silas might have lived modestly, but his life was always full of happiness. He was drawn to the music of the big city, New Orleans, and begged his folks to take him to see the jazz performers any chance he got. The trips were rare, but each opportunity filled the child with awe, and he quickly decided that he too wanted to be a musician and perform in the city. His twin, Sylvain, was more introverted, finding his joy in books and art, but the two were inseparable despite their differences, connected at the hip every moment of every day.

It was on the eve of their thirteenth birthday that something awful happened: a mistake that Silas has never forgiven himself for. His brother—his other half—lost his life that day, and with him went a great deal of the unbridled joy that had always been Silas’ most outstanding character trait. He turned in on himself, retreating to a world of quiet solitude to tend to his wounded heart. The only thing that could bring a smile to his face after his brother’s death was music, and so that’s what he finally gave himself wholly to, practicing every moment he wasn’t busy helping his father with the crawfish traps or staring wistfully into space in school. 

As soon as he was old enough, Silas left home and headed for New Orleans. It was there that he met Andreas, a charismatic man that always knew just the right thing to say to get what he wanted. Despite Silas being too young to legally drink, Andreas helped him land plenty of gigs in the many bars around the city, and even got him in touch with a voice coach on his own dime. Silas was smitten, and it wasn’t long before he was sufficiently wrapped around the man’s finger, enough for Andreas to feel comfortable admitting a secret: he was undead.

The slow reveal to the world of the supernatural started with all of Andreas’ friends, some undead, some not. They all seemed to love him in much the same way Silas did, but the musician tried not to think about it too much. Andreas always said he was his favorite, anyway. Years passed until one day, Andreas told Silas that it was his turn to join the undead ranks of their family. He was understandably nervous, but after a lot of coaxing from his lover, finally agreed. 

It wasn’t until he woke up on the other side of a vicious hunger that Silas realized the ritual hadn’t been out of the goodness of Andreas’ heart, it wasn’t a gift that meant they could be together forever. Andreas wanted favors done for him, and each challenged Silas’ morals more than the last. Eventually, the newly-turned zombie ran, heading as far northeast as he could, until he stumbled upon White Crest. A strange little town that catered to people like him. Here, he felt he could finally be free of the family he’d abandoned, free of their dark intentions. Unfortunately, this would not turn out to be true. The cult was more widespread than he’d ever known, and would return to haunt him in no time at all.

Character Facts:

Personality: Flirtatious, impulsive, remorseful, turbulent, creative, kind, self-loathing

Silas is the guy at the party that’s always going to procure a guitar from somewhere. He won’t play Wonderwall, though.

He has an intense fear of heights.

There are three EPs of his that are available on Spotify and other music-sharing platforms. The genre is best described as southern gothic.

He can be found at Flaming Mo’s or Dance Macabre most nights, and sometimes at Dell’s Tavern on Fridays, giving a performance.

A side-effect of now being a zombie, Silas can finally see the ghost of his twin that’s been haunting him all his life. He occasionally loses time to what he can only assume are possessions.

[lia-jones]

NSFW One-Shot - Make Up Sex

Note from the author: If the title is not self explanatory enough, this work has graphic depictions of sex.

This is the continuation of the chapter 31 in the Growing Stronger part. This is my first posted SMUT work, challenged by @playheej, who also does some great work! Thanks for the support, beautiful! Here goes nothing. Please hold my hand as I do this.

And if you can spare two minutes of your time, let me know your thoughts. That’s how I learn, and it is major motivation for me.

Here you go. Let’s get dirty.

Victor was used to being the dominant one, calling the shots. Andrea wasn’t known for being too obedient, teasing him to no end, and that actually made things more exciting for him, having to fight to have his way. 

But this was the first time he’s ever seen Andrea so bossy, and that did unspeakable things to him.

She kissed him hungrily, teasing and enticing, determined to have his will given over to her. Victor was in a daze, trying to get a grip on the situation, assuming control if only for a second, but Andrea moved too fast. It was like it was her mission was to drive him insane.

Her hands circled his waist as she kissed him, her butt rubbing against his manhood, deft fingers pulling on his sweater.

“I’m going to need this off.” Her tone was as demanding as it was sensual, and it just made him feel harder.

Victor moved away from the headboard, lifting his arms up so Andrea could remove his clothes. She caressed his upper arms, biting on her lip, eyeing him like he was a delicious meal. Her hips kept rolling on his lap, massaging his hard-on. As Victor tried to bring his arms down to hold her again, she stopped him.

“No.” She softly scolded. “I like them like this.” She pushed him up, putting his hands on the edge of the headboard. “Keep them like that.”

“Admit it, you just like to boss me around.” Victor chuckled.

“On the contrary.” Andrea came close to him, nibbling his lips with her own. “My wish is no other than to serve you.” She planted kisses on his neck, his earlobe, and came down his chest.

“Serve me?” Victor was determined to put up a strong front for her, like she did with him, but he couldn’t avoid the strain on his voice. Her kisses were shooting ripples of energy through his skin, leaving him out of breath.

“Mhm.” She let out a playful chuckle, rubbing her nose against his chest. “I always love this part. Your skin is so soft, your muscles are so hard, and you smell so good. I just love kissing it.” Victor threw his head back, overwhelmed by the sensation of her tongue in the rugged sensitive skin of his nipple.

She kissed and licked, and his throat vibrated low in delight, he always loved that part. Andrea laughed and continued her journey downward, reaching his abdomen, which he involuntarily clenched.

“The best part is still yet to come.” She teased.

He knew what was coming, he knew what she was about to do, this wasn’t a surprising move for him. In his dazed with lust brain, he felt both excited and apprehensive. She lifted her hand, holding the waist of his sweatpants.

“Lift your hips for me, please.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. She removed his sweatpants and briefs in one swift motion, revealing to the world how turned on he was with her.

“Hmmm, so hard already. I must be doing something right.” She gave him a smile before kissing him again. He took that kiss, wanting to leave her breathless. He needed to regain some control, without breaking her rules.

Much to his dismay, this lioness could not be tamed. Andrea broke the kiss the moment Victor was too committed, leaving him wanting more. She teased his belly button, venturing further down. Victor’s breath caught in his throat.

Suddenly, he was laser-focused on the feeling of her warm breath against his balls. She started teasing him with her lips, and then her mouth, her warm tongue sucking his resistance away, pleasure taking over mind. He felt the familiar tightening that came with desire, and later on, release, and held tighter to the headboard to ground himself. Her hand caressed him skillfully along his shaft, her tongue teasing his tip, sending ripples of pleasure through his spine, and for moments Victor was blind. All he could do was feel.

“Andy…” He croaked. “Stop.”

Even with her mouth full, he saw the mischievous smile. She wouldn’t stop.

“I want to come inside you.” This was too much. He wouldn’t be able to control himself.

She stopped briefly to smile at him.

“You are inside me.” 

This was no time for jokes.

“I want you to come too. I want to touch you.” He needed to feel her, he needed to know he could make her squirm too.

She ignored him, resuming her work.

“Please.” He closed his eyes, feeling the tug that came before the explosion, preparing to lose control.

The explosion never came. Andrea let him go a second before, making him whimper in the agony of frustration. He opened his eyes again, his head spinning, only to find her basking in his despair. She was bad, really bad. And oh so good.

“You can touch me.” She conceded. “But you can’t use your hands.”

“What?” Victor couldn’t think, stupefied with desire.

“What do you want to touch?” She talked to him like he was a child, and he hated it. He wanted to screw her brains out as punishment.

“Your tits.” He couldn’t believe he was talking like this, but something primal was turning him into a beast. He refused to be a prey she would play with. He was a lion, and he would feast on her. He tried to grab her, take her already, but she stopped him.

“If you can’t play by the rules, we won’t play at all.” She scolded him. “Do you remember the rules?”

“No hands.” He lowered his head, ashamed to have disobeyed. “Arms up.”

“I want to take good care of you, but you have to let me.” She caressed his hair and he closed his eyes, welcoming her touch. “It will be worth it, I promise.”

She leaned closer to him, lifting her torso slightly so his face reached her chest. With eagerness of a child opening Christmas presents, Victor nudged his nose against her breast, mouthing them desperately, sucking on her nipples. He needed her, and he would take every single piece of her. He heard her breath becoming ragged as he practically ate her, and his erection only grew stronger. He was pleasing her, playing by the rules. But his cock was like embers, he needed to put out the fire, fast. He would go insane if he didn’t.

“I want more.” He begged. “I need more.”

“How much more?” Her hand was on his cock again. He swallowed hard, his brain foggy, trying not to come in her hands.

“All of it.”

“You want to be inside me? To feel me hot and wet around you?” She pressed her drenched labia against his erection and slid it up and down, massaging her clit, but refusing him entrance.

Yes. Yes! Please! Now!

Victor was in no condition to reply, his mind filled with lust, and the painful need to find release. He could only moan and whimper, as he tried hard to keep the little sanity he had left.

He was so rock hard that all Andrea did was shift her position on him slightly, and before he knew it he was sliding inside her, her warmth and her moisture bringing a new range of sensations, making him shiver with pleasure. She held his face between her hands and moved her hips rhythmically, making him slide inside her, and the familiar pre-orgasmic pressure returned.

“Andrea!” That was all he could say to warn her. He couldn’t breathe, let alone talk.

“No!” She gasped. “You will wait! I’m almost there!”

He was lost, he was sure of it. If he didn’t come soon, he would die, his heart would stop, it would be the end of him. But there was another rule now, he couldn’t come before her, and he would follow it. That was how much he loved her. Yet�� he had to come. He wanted to come so bad. Andrea needed to come as soon as possible. That was the only solution in his lust drunken brain.

“I need to touch you!” His voice was a mere croak, nothing would work anymore, he was a slave to his need.

“One hand!” She was strained, also losing control, almost there. But not fast enough.

With the last shred of strength he had left, Victor grabbed her ass for stability and thrust hard on her, aiming for the spots he knew would make her peak instantly. And when he felt her clench around him, her mouth on his shoulder to stifle a loud moan, he could almost laugh.

He let himself go completely, letting the pent up energy flow through his body, waves of pleasure coursing from his spine to his cock and to his toes and coming back to his head, blinding him temporarily, making his spasm. He held onto the woman he loved with a vengeance, wanting to bring her to whatever place the orgasm would take him, wanting to devour her, absorb her and keep her forever and the way she made him feel.

Their bodies kept moving in sync until all was released, all was experienced, and there was nothing else but exhaustion, silence and bliss.

Andrea started laughing. Something she would always do when she had a really good orgasm, her mind still high with dopamine.

“Is it me or we are getting really good at this?”

Victor answered with a chuckle, there was no way to describe how happy he felt in that moment. He couldn’t find the words to express how she was true bliss in his life, how she mattered more than everything.

Well, except for those special three words.

“I love you.” He whispered between deep breaths.

“I love you too, handsome.”

[whythinktoomuch]

For the made up fic title ask! "Rivers run deeper under broken bridges" Thanks, mate!

I’m going to die.

It’s a realization that Lena’s had many times throughout her life, though her gut’s been proven wrong both repeatedly and consistently. 

But this time feels different.

This time, Lena is completely alone and without friends. This time, she is being betrayed by yet another person she trusted. A loyal employee she’d vetted a thousand times over, though apparently all for naught, because he’s now leveling a gun right between her eyes.

I’m going to die. I’m all alone. No one knows I’m here, and I’m going to die.

Even with all this newfound animosity and ever growing rift between her and Kara, Lena knows full well that Supergirl would come save her if she could. Only she can’t. Not when Lena’s trapped in a lab specifically designed to be Kryptonian-proof—undetectable by super-hearing or x-ray vision, but also laced with kryptonite just in case.

It felt like a good idea at the time, but now, all it is, is the reason why Lena’s going to die today.

--

I’m going to die, Lena thinks over and over again, the thought insistent enough to drown out whatever contrived monologue the gunman’s subjecting her to. And it’s all my fault.

In one last ditch effort to defy her intended fate, Lena lunges forward, grabbing for the gun. But that just results in her sprawling across the floor, jaw exploding in pain where the butt of the gun had struck her. She’s woozy all over, vision swirling then dimming as she looks up at her attacker.

I’m going to die…

The barrel of the gun is all she can make out, until a flash of black calls her attention from the far corner. There’s a shout. Some sounds of a scuffle. A distant gunshot or two. Some more scuffling. Then… nothing.

Lena desperately clings onto her consciousness as long as she can, letting go only when she feels strong, yet gentle hands cradling her head. She passes out, completely and gratefully aware of the fact that her gut’s been proven wrong once again.

//

The harsh fluorescent light is the first thing that Lena notices when she comes to. Then the splitting headache. Then the fact that she’s not alone.

“What happened?” Lena croaks, and is immediately acquainted with how painfully bruised her jaw is. “God. Ow.”

“Shh, shh, lie back down.” Alex gently guides Lena back onto the bed, a hand pressed firmly into Lena’s shoulder to keep her there. “You were attacked in your lab, and definitely got a concussion out of it. But we got the guy and you’re going to be okay.”

Lena grimaces as her most recent memories flit through her throbbing head. “How?” she manages to ask. “Did Supergirl…”

Alex shakes her head, shoots a glance behind her.

“Hey…” A woman steps into view. She’s wearing black head to toe, with a mask covering half her face, but Lena could recognize her anywhere because how could she not?

“Andrea,” Lena says in an almost greeting.

Lena is unsure of how she’s meant to feel about this new development. But the grateful smile that her old friend sends her way inevitably tugs at her heartstrings, rendering them taut and tense. Strained. It hurts in that exquisite way that only Andrea ever seems to bring out of her.

“Yup,” Andrea says with a helplessly exhaled laugh. “It’s me… Hi.”

She reaches out with a hesitant hand, fingers still tucked into her palm—as if afraid to unfurl, to touch Lena’s skin despite the clear desire to provide some comfort. Lena slips both her hands under her blanket to remove the temptation altogether, and Andrea immediately takes a step back again.

“Sorry.”

“Why?” Lena demands. But they both know perfectly well why, so she quickly changes gears again, “How did you save me?”

Andrea sighs, looks back to Alex who just shrugs at her. “It’s… a long story.”

“All right. Fine,” Lena says, nodding even though it makes everything above her shoulders throb and ache. “I have time.”

//

Lena needs to get out of town for a while, they decide, just until the people who’ve hired her latest would-be assassin are apprehended. And Lena agrees.

She’ll need a bodyguard, of course—another thing Lena agrees with. But when Supergirl offers up her services, she has to put her foot down.

“Absolutely not,” Lena insists.

“It’s for your own safety,” Supergirl insists right back, just as heated, just as frustrated as Lena feels. “This is your life, we’re talking about here.”

“And what good is that life if I don’t get to live it on my own terms?”

“What are you talking about? People are literally trying to kill you, and I can keep you safe!”

“But you’re not the one who saved this time, Supergirl,” Lena reminds her, and the accompanying smirk feels almost incidental.

Supergirl stares back at Lena, her jaw clenching tight. “You need protection, Lena.”

“I agree, and Andrea can do it.”

“What? No! Acrata hasn’t had any sort of training and—”

“I said…” Lena cuts in emphatically, and Supergirl has no choice to draw back with a sigh, “I want… Andrea.”

//

Andrea agrees to Lena’s proposal, and so does Alex, which means it’s settled despite Supergirl’s clear wishes to the contrary. It’s only a matter of hours before they’re stuck in the backseat of a DEO van together, being driven to an off-site location—a safe house of sorts, apparently. 

“Thank you,” Andrea says eventually.

“What for?” Lena asks before she can stop herself. “If anything, shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?”

“Well… I like knowing that you’re safe. And this way, I’ll know. Either way.”

Lena scoffs. “Ve-ry reassuring. This coming from the person who’s supposed to be keeping me safe.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Andrea says, her eyeroll somehow both playful and good-natured. “As long as you do everything I say, that is.”

“Hm… Is it too late to change bodyguards?”

“Yes!”

Lena unfortunately has to work very hard to keep from laughing. “Fine. I guess I’ll learn to follow directions then. Within reason, of course.”

“It’s not like I won’t be right there behind you the entire time,” Andrea says. She hesitates, then continues in a softer voice, “You jump, I jump, right?”

Lena refuses to look up, opting instead to keep her eyes on Andrea’s fidgeting hands. I’m going to die, she thinks.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to—” Andrea forces a laugh.

I’m going to die.

“You have every right not to, so... just forget it.”

This is going to kill me.

“It’s stupid, so let’s forget I said anything, okay?”

And what’s more, I’m going to let it.

Andrea lets out one final sigh as she faces away from Lena, her hands now in tight fists pressed into her own lap. “Sorry…” she says again, and Lena already knows that it’s only a matter of time before she starts believing her. 

[silver-wield]

What's your thoughts on when the plate falls and Cloud went to go help Tifa?

My thoughts or my analysis? Cause you’re getting the latter anyway lol I love doing action analysis, there’s so much happening and getting the chance to slow it down is great for getting a fuller picture.

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven’t played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it’s gonna be long.

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that’s cool and we’ll agree to disagree.

You’re also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I’m grabbing them from Youtube and it’s frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone’s interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis) 

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog) 

Tifa character analysis 

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis/theory – I should probably update this since I’ve had other ideas since then) 

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti) 

Clotiscrew tunnel analysis 

Cloti reunion analysis 

The Promise Analysis 

Andrea’s approval (Cloti ask response) 

Leslie analysis (not mine, but a good read) 

Cloti action touching 

Aerti friendship analysis 

Cloti body language chapter 3 

Cloti healthy disagreement 

Cloti post heliboss battle (chapter 15) 

Clerith playground scene 

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

Recap time!

This is a 6m scene I'm going over, so I'm gonna skip anything not directly relevant or I'll be here all night lol

So despite our brave heroes best efforts the plate is coming down. We get a power slide from Rude, a call from Tseng (who times it so perfectly was he watching?) and some cloti.

First thing we see if Tifa looking distraught. She has no idea how to stop the plate from coming apart and from the way she's looking at this consol wouldn't know what to do even if she could work the computer. They were so close to winning and now defeat is about to stomp all over them and kill everyone she loves. Tifa is someone whose driven by the desire for those she loves to be safe no matter what. This is a crushing moment for her.

Murderous Cloud is murderous (and kinda hot). I mean, we know he's got very little reservations about killing people in cold blood because he's SOLDIER!Cloud when it comes to a fight, but I do like the deadly intent we see on his face at different points in the game. He looked at Johnny a bit like this back in chapter 3 and now he's looking at Reno the same way. He means business.

And then he doesn't because Tifa's in trouble and we all know Real!Cloud prioritises Tifa's safety above everything else. That's not me saying he's no longer SOLDIER!Cloud, but the difference between the last screen and this is that he was fully in that badass merc mode about to kill Reno because it's what badass mercs do, whereas this is Real!Cloud urging him to refocus all that skill he's got into protective ability and go save the woman he loves.

I get some people might not see the distinction between the two personas, but it's actually really easy when you break it down. If it's about Tifa then Real!Cloud is gonna push for dominant action to keep her safe. If it's any other situation then he's just gonna let SOLDIER!Cloud do what he needs to. Sometimes it's a more conscious battle between the two and sometimes they co-operate. That's how a fractured psyche works within the context of Cloud's character. Don't believe me? You see both of them on screen at the start of chapter 8 in the church. Real!Cloud is the one saying “You okay, buddy?”

How many times can you count that we get an 1st person pov with Cloud in the whole game? Like literally looking through his eyes? Because this is 1st person pov. We are Cloud at this moment in time and he's rushing Rude, but still takes a glance at Tifa. I don't think this happens at any other point. This game is a 3rd person game. We're over everyone's shoulder. We don't get in their head to see through their eyes. This is deliberate framing. We obviously can't see his face or his reaction, but the fact we're seeing this moment as Cloud and he's chosen to look at Tifa is a big thing.

So Rude's pushed the button and Barret's yelling. Cloud actually looks more halfhearted in this swing than I expected. It's like Barret's fury just isn't enough to get his blood boiling lol

He's about to go after him anyway, when Tifa's voice stops him dead. I can't think of a moment in the game where someone else calling for him to stop actually makes him stop.

AH! Honestly this is such a move! Romantic hero hello! I know it's a classic move from Cloud – which is kindly weirdly implemented since we first saw it after OG, but it's been retconned as one of his signature moves with Tifa and only Tifa.

Also! EYE CONTACT! I'm gonna scream about Cloti eye contact until my own eyes cross lol they do eye contact so damn well! The only other person who got Cloud to look him in the eye was Andrea Rhodea lol Everyone else it's either confrontational eye contact or total avoidance. Cloud and Tifa have good eye contact. This highlights how much they trust each other. Even though Real!Cloud is afraid of letting Tifa know how weak he really is, he's ok with her looking him in the eye. He wants her to see the real him.

Now, I know some people go on about Tifa's chapter 3 comment of “Cloud, you're scaring me/your eyes didn't used to look so” as a negative thing. I've already explained why this is fucking bullshit, and I'd like to add that if Tifa wasn't comfortable with him in combat situations or otherwise she wouldn't make eye contact with him. Eye contact is fucking terrifying! You're able to see so much. These two aren't afraid to look in each other's eyes, even with their “I don't think he/she likes me” misunderstandings.

And just to cap it. They both smile to reassure each other they're ok.

Ok, so Reno and Rude are making their exit. Barret tries the FF7 boomer version of turning a computer off and on again by shooting it. Then Tseng proves he's either psychic, a stalker or just dramatic af by appearing on screen at just the right point to answer Tifa's question.

And look at her face! Whoever said she's a heartless bitch can stfu forever! This is the face of a woman who is broken by what's about to happen! She's lived in that slum for five years. She probably knows every local by name, and takes time to actually get to know them too. She cares. So much. She doesn't want anyone hurt. She's pleading for their lives. Pleading with her enemy. Who literally smirked when he said “there's nothing you can do now”. Tseng has no conscience.

Just adding this to be a butt. This is Cloud's reaction to Aerith when he sees her....what reaction? Yeah...

Then he asks where she is in his SOLDIER!Cloud way.

So Aerith gets dragged away and explosions start happening. A siren goes off. Barret and Cloud turn away from the computer. Tifa turns and says, “No no no no no” and Cloud immediately turns back. His eyes widen and he looks a bit lost for a moment. There's nothing he can do for her and he's not got the first clue anyhow, and there's no time. It's hitting him just how much she cares. I mean, he knew, but he didn't know, you know?

Notice the awkward hand there? Yeah, that's an “I don't know how to comfort you, what do I do?” hand gesture. Cloud's literally never seen Tifa like this. She's always trying her best to remain optimistic. She fights hard to protect what she loves. She doesn't fall to her knees defeated.

I'm actually loving all the extra insight all these analyses are giving me into just how reserved, how introverted, how determined Tifa is. She's had a hard fucking life. Born in a dust bowl, lost all her friends to the big city, saw her father murdered, almost died, her town got burnt to the ground but she still somehow managed to pick herself up and build a new life. She did that on her own. Nobody got her to Midgar. When she arrived she was lucky Marle took care of her. She could've been left alone with no support system. She got in with Avalanche and built a new family – even though they don't always see eye to eye on method, she also believes in their goal to stop Shinra and save the planet. She's principled and brave, focused af. But she's not unbeatable. Stuff gets her down. She tries her best to be cheerful, but doesn't always succeed. She keeps her problems to herself. But this? This is too big. This has broken her. She can't stay up and Cloud doesn't know how to help. Not emotionally, anyway.

OMG HE OFFERED HIS HAND!! I didn't see that before!! (Check the spot where his name is, his hand is between Tifa’s hair and arm, palm open.) I knew he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up when she didn't move, but he's actually holding his hand out for her before that!! She's too in her head to do anything, though, and I don't think Cloud really understands that. Any devastating feelings he had about personal tragedy he's locked away because they literally broke him. It must be distressing on some level for him to see his own emotions mirrored in Tifa. I said before the urge to comfort her starts at the beginning of chapter 13, but maybe the first spark of that is this moment here, when he can't do a thing for her, except pull her along behind him and hope he can keep her alive.

There's some really nice still shots in this game and this is one of them. I don't really have anything to say about it. I mean, we knew Cloud had both hands on Tifa's shoulders so he could direct her where to go and she's not really with it until the moment the debris falls in front of her and shocks her out of her stupor. Cloud's focused on the job at hand, no time to worry about anything but the next obstacle. By keeping both hands on Tifa's shoulders he's ensured he doesn't have to keep checking on her to make sure she's with him. He's basically piloting her because she's not capable of decision making for the moment.

Someone tell me, do action backhugs count? That's non-optional embracing right there. How many of you have seen this exact moment? Because I have literally been replaying the same 4s clip to get the screen for this bit and this is the first time in about 10 replays that I stopped it here. This is the between 1 second frames when the debris falls.

I mean, this is what a bodyguard actually looks like. Cloud's focus is all on keeping Tifa safe. He pulls her close to him, offers strength while she's feeling weak. He is literally using himself as a shield for her. They're such a balanced couple. When one is weak the other is strong for them, and whatever flaws they have they accept. They really are just a great couple!

Probably the worst screen I've ever grabbed lol

I was trying to figure out the moment he took her hand but I can't quite stop on it and it's just a touch too much out of frame. Instead, I got this. EYE CONTACT. I don't need to explain it again, right? We get the whole Cloud/Tifa eye contact deal by now.

Although, at the same time, that's a fucking scary shot of Cloud lol reminds me of that meme with Rinoa and Squall where she says he's the best looking guy there and it's all pixellated lol

Ah! I remembered why I was trying to get their hands, to see if Tifa grabbed his first or he took hers. But I could see through the playback that he took her hand. He initiated contact.

Yknow, I know people often compare the whole one half is always the summoner or mage and the other half is the warrior, but this screen right here looks a lot like another FF couple.

Tidus and Yuna.

I mean...do I have to say more?

Cloud looks behind to check Tifa's ok – I mean she's not but you get the point. Still getting Tidus and Yuna vibes from this moment tbf. This is the exact same type of sequence they had of them in FFX-2 when Yuna's dreaming Lenne's past and she and Tidus replace Lenne and Shuyin. They're running down a corridor and Tidus looks back at her. I mean, seeing how this type of comparison is usually only reserved for the whole mage/warrior pairing, it's strange that their body language here mirrors Square’s first fully voice acted installment. At the time the graphics were cutting edge and the cut scenes are still lauded as some of the most beautiful storytelling. Strange that Tifa and Cloud could have this comparison to Tidus and Yuna, especially with the whole Suteki da ne always being used to prop up a certain ship.

Anyway, Cloud’s checking on Tifa cause he’s totally not in love with her and wants to make sure she’s safe. You get the idea lol

I'd like to point out that Cloud doesn't – despite popular opinion – have hold of Tifa's jubblies. His arm is under them, wrapped around her ribs, which is actually a very secure hold for him since he's trying to hang onto Barret and keep hold of Tifa too. You'll notice she's not exactly paying attention to her own safety – which makes sense since Cloud literally had to haul her up when she wouldn't move. She's not in a good headspace during the end of this scene, so he's being very protective towards her.

Conclusion

Another great piece of action! I mean, does it really matter if these two are in the trenches or just hanging out? They have a synchronicity that's impossible to deny. They balance each other in pretty much every single way there is for a couple of be two halves of a whole. The FF10 comparison is a new one on me, especially since I don't look at two titles and try to see what about each one is like the other. They're both different and unique with their own charm. But, the second I caught that screen of Cloud pulling Tifa along I was immediately hit by the thought of “That's what Tidus and Yuna do”, so I couldn't not mention it.

We get a clear look at how devastated Tifa is immediately after the realisation hits that sector 7 is about to get crushed. She's just gone. Checked out. If Cloud hadn't stepped up to save her she'd have died. She wouldn't have got herself over to Barret in time and he would've died going to get her and get them back to the zip line. This is why it's so important that Cloud picks up the slack. He was strong when she needed him to be. She's strong for him later when he becomes weak. They really are two halves of one whole. 

I love that Tifa gets her own character development. She’s not just “the love interest”. Barret is basically a supporting character here, but we know he’ll get his turn in Corel and he does get his own moments to shine in Midgar, but this is cloti, so sorry dude, next time.

[timeaftertime-chriscornellfanfic]

Chapter 35 - What Have You Done My Little Spark?

Seattle Washington, July 12 1990

(Chris is 25, Andi is 20)

CHRIS: I wake up in the middle of the night, my eyes quickly flicking open, feeling my heart pounding. It's been a while since I've had a dream that woke me up like this and the crazy thing is, I can't even remember what the dream was about.

I sit myself up and glance over to see Andi sleeping so sweetly, the sheet pulled up to her ribs with her side exposed, her curls all around her with some strewn across her face. She looks completely at peace, her bare chest gently rising and falling with  the perfect view of her nipples that make me want to wake her up and make love to her again.

Instead I decide to get out of bed, grab my boxers from the floor, pull them on, and quietly make my way out of the bedroom.

"Fuck, it's so damn hot in this house," I say quietly to myself.

We're right in the middle of a heatwave and of course we don't have air conditioning - not that we would be able to afford it right now anyways. I mean we're not broke but the European leg of the tour really took a lot of money out of us so we have to resort back to that beat up old van for the next round of tour dates. I was beginning to like having a bus for a little while but hey, at least when I get bored on the road, I'm usually the one to drive us. I just feel bad for Andi cause now she has to share a van with 4 guys. Not that she would mind, she seems to love it out on the road and I absolutely love having her with me. She's the one who keeps me sane.

I head into the kitchen, grab my pack of cigarettes off the counter and light one up, then open up the fridge and grab a bottle of water, and decide to head downstairs into the little studio that I set up in the basement. It's not exactly high tech or anything, just our guitars and amps and I was able to pick up an old reel to reel tape machine from London Bridge Studios - where we recorded Louder Than Love. It was one of their old machines that they just didn't use anymore and so I just bought it real cheap.

I take a seat in one of the large reading chairs we have down here, place the cigarette between my lips and pick up one of my acoustic guitars. I grab one of the journals that I have off the desk and start to flip through the pages of ideas and lyrics that I've written down. Usually when I have a hard time sleeping, I'll try and see if I can get some words and ideas down.

As I quint my eyes from the rising smoke, I flip though the journal I suddenly realize it's Andi's which makes me smile at some of her ideas. She really can come up with some great stuff so I grab a pen and start writing in some of the margins.

"I'm your disappearing one, vanish when you play your song. But I will come again and you will let me in, and you'll see I never disappear for long... Huh... shit, baby that's good..." I say to myself as I rest the cigarette on the ashtray and write something just above it.

'Falling apart, You tell yourself you are, but I am here and you're not far...’

I smirk to myself and continue on turning pages when I reach a page towards the back that had been stuffed inside the cover. Intrigued, I pull out the folded paper and open it to see a letter from Andy, dated January 25 1990

"I don't have any Idea why I'm even writing this down but you were always the one to tell me that I should. You know me though, I like to just fly by the top of my head I guess. Fuck there's so much that I want to say to you, it's just how do I even say it? I know I shouldn't. I should keep it to myself. 'I wanna tell her that I love her but does it really matter?' Yea, I know... it sounds much better in Crown of Thorns don't you think?

All I know is that night in the park by The Moore... that was the most amazing kiss I've ever had in my life. I mean, I knew I was feeling something. You, the birthday girl in all your sadness. I just wanted to take that away for just a few moments like you always did for me.

I know, I know... it's not exactly the best timing for this is it? If only I was the one who could time slip, maybe things would be different. But you were meant for Cornell and I know in my deepest of hearts that he was meant for you. I mean just watching how he is with you... you woke up something inside him that I didn't think anyone would see. But of course he's loved you since he was what - 15? You are for Chris as what I wish Xana was for me. You know I love Xana, I always will, but I just think we aren't right for each other anymore.

Really what I'm trying to say here is that I love you Andrea, more than just a friend. I always have. But I know you are meant to be with Chris and that's ok. Like I said, you two are really meant for each other. I know you two are gonna get married and have lots and lots of beautiful blue eyed babies and I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me. 'Cause I know I sure need you."

As I finish reading the last line, a rush of different feelings all seemed to flood in me at once. Anger, pain, confusion among others. What the hell did he mean about 'that night in the park'?

"Hey baby," I hear Andi's sleepy voice behind me and I turn to see her in one of my button up shirts, her dark curls all around her as she rubs her eye from sleep.

"Hey," I say flatly as I pick up the cigarette burning in the ashtray and take a drag.

"Can't sleep?" She asks and I shrug as I take another drag.

"If you come back to bed, I can help with that," She says sweetly as she comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me, her hands moving over my chest as she places a few kisses on my shoulder. I take one last drag of my cigarette, then butt in out in the ashtray but still say nothing

"What's wrong? Why are you so quiet?" She asks.

"I thought maybe you would want to explain this," I say without much emotion again as I show her the letter I found. She glances at the paper and slowly takes it from my hand while I move out of the chair. She looks it over, pushing her curls behind her ear.

"Where'd you find this?" She asks, furrowing her brow as she still reads the letter.

"Stuffed in the back of your journal," I say coldly as I set the guitar back down on it's stand. I turn back to face her as I see her still reading the letter and wait for an explanation.

"I don't know what you want me to explain, it's just a letter that Andy wrote - "

"What does he mean about 'that night in the park'? What park? When?" I cut her off. She hesitates for a moment and looks back down at the letter.

"Chris... it wasn't anything, It was when I time slipped when we were in Germany. After that fight we had remember?"

"Yea I remember. But what the fuck happened? Did you fuck him?" I say angered and hurt, feeling my heart pounding in my chest again.

"No! No, fuck no - "

"Then what does he mean?" I cut her off again. She glances back at the letter and then looks up at me, her brow furrowing as she tries to find the words.

"I just - "

"You just what?" I cut her off again my voice now louder than before.

"-Ok! I'm trying to tell you alright?" She raises her voice back at me. We then look at each other in silence for a few moments and then she begins to explain.

"... there wasn't anyway that I could tell him what was going to happen. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't. You and I just had that fight and I was so upset, and seeing him just made me miss him so much. Being able to talk to him and laugh like nothing had happened... it hurts. I was just so sad because he was right there in front of me and I couldn't bring you with me to see him alive again. Like nothing had ever happened and... I don't know it just happened. He kissed me. It was innocent... nothing else happened I swear,"

I could see the tears that she held at bay, explaining to me how she actually was able to go back and see Andy again. I wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it.

"He says he's in love with you in that letter... were you in love with him too?" I ask not sure if I want to hear the answer. She drops the letter on the chair and walks over to me, looking up into my eyes.

"No Chris. My heart is yours. I swear I could never love anyone else as much as I love you," She says and I reach out to cup her face in my palm. Sometimes I forget just how hard it is on her to travel back in time and see the people who have long gone in her life - our life - and to come back and know that they are no longer here.

I lean down and touch my forehead to hers as she moves her hands up over my abs and to my chest.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" I ask calmly.

"I didn't want to make you upset. I didn't want you angry with him... or me," She says.

"I'm not angry, I'm just... I don't know," I say.

I wanted to stay angry. I wanted to stay hurt but she always has a way of making me want her, even when I'm pissed off at her. I suddenly find my lips on hers, my hands on her hips pulling her closer to me, moving around and feeling her ass cheeks through the bottom of my black button up shirt she threw on.

"You should've told me," I repeat softly when I break away from her lips.

"I know," She says sweetly and presses her lips back to mine, her fingers finding their way through my curls, pulling me into her. My hands move up under her shirt, feeling the softness of her pale skin, skipping across her back as she sighs against my lips.

Holy fuck I want her so fucking bad.

"If you come back to bed... I promise... I'll make it up to you," She says in between her kisses. I moan against her lips as she moves her hand down to the front of my boxers, palming me through the thin fabric which almost instantly sprang me to life. She pulls away and bites her bottom lip, raising her eyebrow at me and turns to make her way towards the stairs and as I watch her walk away, admiring that cute ass of hers, she looks back at me stopping at the first step.

"You coming?"

"I will be," I raise my eyebrow back at her and run towards her. She squeals with laughter as I chase her up the stairs, catching her, and carrying her the rest of the way.