#as they are part of a pattern after long trips away and settling back into old routines after new routines are built)

[lupismaris]

Few things are as insulting (chronically ill edition) as waking up after a shitty day with a fuckin migraine

[woso-story]

Love Bites

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV screen, a quiet ambiance settling over you and Alexia as you curled up together on the couch. The warmth of her body against yours was comforting, her arm draped lazily over your shoulders as her fingers absentmindedly traced small patterns on your skin.

You loved nights like these—just the two of you, away from the world, soaking in each other’s presence. It didn’t matter what was playing on the screen; what mattered was that Alexia was here, pressed against you, before she had to leave for an away trip in the morning.

Alexia, ever the reserved one, wasn’t one for public displays of affection. Holding hands in public? Maybe. A kiss on the cheek before a match? Rare, but possible. But the kind of affection you loved to give—love bites, teasing kisses, cuddles that lasted forever—those were strictly reserved for moments like these, when it was just the two of you.

You tilted your head slightly, sneaking a glance at her. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, completely focused on the movie. She looked so serious, so invested.

But you had other plans.

A soft smirk tugged at your lips as you shifted slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to her exposed neck. She didn’t react at first, too caught up in whatever was happening on the screen. Encouraged, you placed another kiss, then another, until you reached the sensitive spot just below her jaw.

When you finally parted your lips and sucked lightly against her skin, you felt her body stiffen.

"Amor," she groaned, her voice carrying that familiar mix of exasperation and amusement. Her hand came up to your shoulder, weakly trying to push you away.

You chuckled against her skin, the vibrations making her shiver. "Let me love you," you teased, your lips brushing against her as you spoke.

She sighed, tilting her head back slightly as if trying to escape your relentless affection. "No more love bites," she muttered. "The girls won’t stop making fun of me."

You pulled back just enough to pout up at her. "They’re just jealous," you countered, your tone light and playful. But before she could argue, you pressed another kiss to her neck, smirking when she let out a defeated groan.

Big mistake.

In a matter of seconds, you found yourself flipped onto your back, your head sinking into the couch cushions as Alexia hovered over you. Her forearms caged you in, her golden hair falling around your faces like a curtain.

Your breath hitched slightly as you looked up at her.

"You should behave more," she murmured, her voice low and teasing, but her lips twitched, betraying the amusement she was trying to hide.

You grinned, entirely unbothered. "You wish."

Her eyes narrowed playfully, but before she could respond, you took your chance—wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her down into a kiss.

The movie was long forgotten.

What followed was an evening full of everything you loved—lazy kisses, soft laughter, whispered teases, and, despite her half-hearted protests, a few more love bites that you knew she secretly enjoyed.

---

Two days later, you found yourself sprawled on the couch, watching Barcelona’s match on TV. It wasn’t the same without her beside you, but at least you got to see her in action, even if it was through a screen.

You leaned forward slightly as the camera zoomed in on Alexia. She looked as composed as ever, her usual fierce determination written all over her face.

But then, you saw it.

A faint, but unmistakable mark on her neck.

A love bite.

Your lips curled into a knowing smirk as you grabbed your phone, typing out a message.

"Nice hickey ;)"

It didn’t take long for her to reply after the match. Your phone vibrated, and when you opened the message, you burst into laughter.

"😠"

You could picture her expression perfectly—the slight pout, the dramatic sigh, the way she ran a hand through her hair in frustration. You laughed to yourself, shaking your head.

Later that night, when the two of you finally got on a call, Alexia sighed deeply.

"You are impossible," she grumbled, though there was no real anger behind her words.

"You love it," you teased, grinning even though she couldn’t see you.

She huffed. "I hate them."

"You hate that the team teases you," you corrected. "But you love that they remind you of me."

Silence stretched between you for a moment before she finally muttered, "Maybe."

You chuckled, your heart swelling. "I love you, Alexia."

Another sigh, but this one was softer. "I love you too."

And just like that, you knew she had already forgiven you.

[starryeyed-apple]

you are in love

summary: it's just a day like any other, but suddenly, you feel the overwhelming need to tell him exactly how you feel.

★pairing: xavier x reader ★wc: 1.5k ★content: fluff, slice of life, established relationship, confessions.

The day is mundane, really.

Work went on too long, and your muscles ache in protest of when you dodged a Wanderer's attack wrong. There's a bandage wrapped around Xavier's forearm that he tugs his sleeve down over whenever he catches you eyeing it, tangible evidence of the consequences of your few seconds of indecision.

He's as tired as you. The red blink of the collar around his neck signals to you (because god knows he'd ignore it) that he needs rest before he pushes himself too far again.

You're glad to know what it means, now. You're glad to know he trusts you enough to tell you. That he chooses to share in it with you.

The subway runs late, and you have to nudge Xavier a few times where he was dozing off on your shoulder before his head lifts. You tug him up the station stairs behind you as he rubs at his eyes, interlocked fingers never parting, looking back to steady him each time he stumbles a little.

Down at the bakery next to the main intersection, there's only one left of the monthly special of chocolate filled croissants. It's hardly warm anymore, a little stale, but he hums happily when you gently feed the bigger half to him.

He slowly perks up more at the sweet taste and the energy it provides. Your half goes back in the box for later, joining the other bags of groceries dangling from his free hand, even though you'd insisted on carrying it. His other hand is firmly in yours, warm and reassuring.

At the red light at the crosswalk, you gently rub your thumb into the corner of his eyes whenever he blinks in irritation from the sleep that still stubbornly beckons him.

Side by side, hand in hand, you walk home together.

There's familiarity in the routine, a kind of pattern that settles deep into your soul. Sometimes it drags on a little, especially on the last leg of the trip back to your apartments, when you're just a few streets away from curling up together after a long day.

Today is just like any other day.

You think you want to spend all your days just like this.

Because there are little moments, interspersed in the bigger picture of this life that was yours now. This life with your partner, your equal. Ones where your love for him is so loud your heart feels like it may burst.

Sometimes, the scratchy meow of a stray catches his attention, and he's slipping away from you before you've even realized it. When you look back, he's kneeling down, surrounded by a little group of scruffy cats. He gently shakes a bag of treats out from your groceries, smiling as they gobble the snacks down.

One rubs against his knee, curling its tail around him happily. He scratches under its neck as it purrs, and looks up at you with a gentle smile and a faint glow to his skin.

Or, if it's just rained the night before, he scoops you up by the waist, helping you hop over a troublesome looking puddle. The water splashes up his jeans by consequence, and you huff and fuss over him, frowning when he just gazes at you with the warmest smile that makes your heart flutter out of its regular beating.

Tonight, he says softly, "Look up."

When you do, you see the cascade of cherry blossom petals carried through the breeze. The pink petals shower down on you when he brings you to a stop under them.

You watch Xavier as he watches the flowers shake on their branches before they fall, admiring the smile that curls on his lips at the image of another spring that's arrived, like it's just for you and him.

You don't realize you're staring, or how you've completely zoned out doing so, until you feel the chill pressing against your cheek.

Jumping, you look back at Xavier, and jerk away from the cold can of a latte from your groceries that he'd pressed against your cheek. He chuckles softly, eyes crinkling with the joy of just watching you react to his silly little pranks.

"What was that for?" you huff, rubbing at your cheek.

"I said your name," he replies softly, his palm coming up to your cheek.

The warmth of his hand encompasses you, gently rubbing your cheek until the heat has seeped back into your skin, hot now at his touch and undivided attention. You didn't think there would ever be a time when that full focus on you didn't make you fluster.

"You weren't answering," he elaborates when you stay silent.

Xavier puts the can in your hands, thumb gently massaging circles into the furrow between your brow. Your nose wrinkles, making him smile.

"What is it?" he asks, head tilting. He knew how to read you so well now, like it was as easy as breathing. Your heart flutters again, warmth filling you from head to toe. "You're thinking so deeply. Tell me?"

Your heart aches that it's a question. Like you wouldn't happily tell him every thought, every feeling he's brought into your life. Like he shouldn't know how you have never been, could never be happier.

You watch him watch you. Quiet, contemplative.

Xavier says your name again. Softly, like he still can't quite believe how it sounds like home coming from his lips.

You suck in a deep breath, fingers trembling in his when he takes your hand again. Your hold on him tightens, and he squeezes gently in return. Reassuring. Present.

Yours.

He smiles, like light breaking through the clouds at last.

Your light, shining down on you.

Your star, leading you home.

"I'm in love with you."

It rushes past your lips, your heart racing so fast that the rush of your blood pulses in your ears, nearly drowning out your desperate, unbidden confession.

Xavier blinks, slowly, before his eyes widen. The blue of that soul-searching gaze is slowly swallowed by black, dilating in the way it always did right before you gave him cuteness aggression that had him cuddling all over you in an instant.

But right now, he just stares.

Your heart stops, and you feel a hint of embarrassment sweeping through you. Suddenly, it feels too much like that early stage with him—when he remained so far out of your reach, only to dance close for a breathless moment before leaving again.

When you start to look away, his thumb and finger are hooking under your chin, bringing you into the crash of his lips against yours.

You gasp into the sudden, searing kiss, and he's breathing into you, filling you with his life as the groceries tumble from his hand.

He brings you into his embrace, and you distantly hear the can in your hand hit the ground, ringing loudly as it rolls away. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling through his fluffy hair.

You still hear your heartbeat racing in your ears, and it takes a moment before you hear him mumbling, and another moment still until you hear just what he's saying, the words he's whispering into your lips, rushed with relief and radiant in his conviction.

"I love you," Xavier breathes into your mouth, and you whimper, pulling him closer under the gentle rain of cherry blossoms over your heads. "I love you, I'm so in love with you that sometimes I feel like I can't breathe. I love you."

You laugh, joy ringing out into the night lit up by the streetlights that lead you home, and he grins into your kisses.

His forehead rests against yours, trying to pull back to breathe, to speak, even as your lips keep meeting his in lazy, content kisses.

"What made you say that?" Xavier gasps quietly, wide eyes meeting yours, awe-struck and admiring.

You giggle, giddy in the feeling of a returned confession, in how far you'd both come from where you started. Your nose nuzzles against his, pressing a kiss to his cheek, the corner of his lips, his elegant eyelashes.

"What wouldn't make me say it?" you smile up at him, squinting a little as he begins to glow, brighter and brighter. "It's…you."

It's everything about him. Every one of those little moments, stored away in your heart until it beats just for him.

Xavier just smiles, like he knows exactly what you mean. Always in perfect sync with you.

Then he looks down, eyebrows furrowing in a little grimace.

"I…I dropped all the groceries," he mumbles, and you laugh. He rubs the back of his head, hair messy from your fingers, sheepish and too damn cute for his own good. "Sorry."

Pressing another quick kiss to his lips, you dodge his immediate attempt at pulling you back in with another laugh.

"Come on," you tease, leaning down to gather your scattered bags and items. "Let's get these back together and go home."

"Yeah," Xavier breathes out before joining you.

A moment later, bags in one hand and the other in yours again, he smiles. There's a flower petal stuck in his bangs, and you bite your lip in your own smile back.

You won't tell him about it until you're home, and you can press this memory between the pages of his books. To remember it, always.

"Let's go home."

[jiveyuncle]

Keith cringes at the hiss of the bedroom door sliding open and the unforgiving hall light racing in to fill the darkness. Still, Lance doesn't stir from where he lays sprawled out across the mattress, hair mussed in the pillow and foot hanging off the edge. Keith feels a twinge of guilt at encroaching on his space as he slides his jacket off to hang on the coat rack next to Lance's.

It's not that Keith isn't welcome here - he knows he is. This little back and forth pattern of theirs has been going on long enough that these motions should be as easy as sliding into his own bed, but it's not. Instead, it makes his heart ache just that little bit more, makes the pit of his stomach open up to swallow his insides and leave him feeling empty even as Lance pushes into his space each time to fill it. Because the problem is Lance is comfortable with Keith. He's comfortable with Keith because he is comfortable with everyone. It's who Lance is. Inviting. Open. Caring. He gives himself freely. And after the first few times of bumping into each other wandering the ship in the middle of the night in hopes of exhausting themselves into sleep, then actually falling asleep on the common room couch next to each other only to wake up with achy necks, Lance started boldly dragging Keith to bed and holding him in place to prevent him from wandering until morning.

“There's no way I'm letting you in bed with your shoes on.” Lance mumbles. A precautionary hand appears from under the sheets and flops down over the blanket to ward off any attempts to climb under them.

Keith lets out a huff of air that's just light enough to be considered a laugh. “I was going to kick them off.”

“No, no. We're civilized. Put them away.” The hand guarding the covers lifts and shoos him towards the wardrobe before dropping lazily.

“I wake up before you. You won't even see them.” Keith argues even as he crosses the room to oblige. The cabinet to the wardrobe cries out in protest as he opens it, and Keith winces, yet again, at any sound that disturbs the peaceful quiet. He makes a mental note to bug Hunk for some oil to grease the noisy hinges. If he's going to start putting his shoes in here, it's going to need to be quieter.

“I tripped over them when I got up to piss last time.”

Keith smiles to himself as he slinks back over, Lance already peeling the sheets back to invite him in. Keith slides down into the space to lie on his back and has to fight the urge to swallow hard when Lance's arm lowers down with the covers over his chest and never draws back away. “You're awake?” he says instead.

Lance hums quietly. “Brain won't shut off. The usual stuff. I was actually thinking about heading your way before you showed up.” Lance peeks an eye open, squinting through the exhaustion in the dim light. “You came in day clothes.”

“Walked a couple laps around the ship first. Didn’t know I was coming over.”

Lance lifts his chin in the hint of a nod before letting his eye fall back shut. “Glad I waited, then.” His fingers tug lightly near the collar of Keith's shirt, fiddling with the fabric in the mindless way he does with anything he can get his hands on - sometimes it's a leaf plucked from foliage as they trek through forested pathways, sometimes it's a pen spinning endlessly between his fingers during long diplomatic negotiations, sometimes it's a spoon that never settles back on his plate even an hour after he's taken his last bite and the conversation is flowing, and other times it's Keith’s shirt or hair or fingers at 3am when neither of them can sleep and whatever tension that is sustained in the daylight slips away.

And, as always, it sends a mixture of unwanted hope and desire through Keith's veins that quickly burns away to leave guilt in its destructive wake.

This habit. This closeness.

It means something different to each of them, and it's getting harder and harder for Keith's heart to remember that.

Keith reaches up to still the moving fingers on his chest, but Lance's unquestioning thumb seamlessly, innocently, agonizingly slips up along the side of his hand to trace over his knuckles instead.

Keith controls his next exhale and tries to ignore the gentle movement, but his mind can’t help supplying a word with each tender pass of a thumb: maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe there’s a chance. Maybe these things don't mean something quite so different to Lance. Maybe, if Keith offers a hand, then warm fingers will be there to take it.

Maybe.

He doesn't move again until Lance's breaths deepen and the soft brushes eventually slow to a stop.

When Keith rises in the morning, he bypasses the squeaky wardrobe, tugs on his jacket, and slides out into the hallway with only his socks to fight off the chill of the castleship floors from seeping into his feet. The warmth of a decision burns in his ribs as Keith settles into his lion 20 minutes later to start the early journey out to pick up a member of the Blade. Red senses the change, and a growl of approval rumbles through their bond, deep and affectionate and proud.

Keith’s mouth twitches up at the corner. He sends back his appreciation.

Dead Keith/Red Paladin Lance AU (Part 4/?)

Too bad he came to that decision a little late. Now, he’s kinda stuck not wanting to initiate something that he can no longer start.

Excited for y’all to spot where little nods to this snippet pop up in future chapters.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You can now read this on AO3 as:

Empty Spaces You Left Behind

[reflingthefox]

When Tango notices it, lying down maybe a dozen blocks away from the Factory's entrance, he jumps so high he hits his head into the upper blocks.

He lands butt flat on the floor, dull ache in more than one part of his body now. Gasps for air; fear slowly receding in his lungs is replaced by disbelief. Tango scrambles back to his feet, whips a torch out of his inventory and steps closer to look.

The snail shell, highlighted by the flickers of fire, is still there.

Unmoving.

Tango chokes down a distressed sound and makes one step closer, looking the shell over. He can clearly see the red-and-black patterning on the shell, the leather accessory that imitates his vest pockets. It's gotta be the same one, from the Life server, or a very good replica.

Is this some sort of a prank? Why now? ...Why him? Tango notices the first wisps of anger settling inside him, his breathing starting to taste like smoke. You don't prank people with something that chased them to death so many times, that's evil and traumatic and -

The shell moves.

Tango screams and attempts to flee, tripping over his tail and falling face first in barely ten steps.

He pushes himself on his back, gasping every tick, and watches as the snail emerges, plopping out a first long, redstone-torch eyestalk, then another. Mind going blank from fear, Tango tries to crawl backwards, make some distance or -

He expects the directed movement, the jump, but the snail doesn't seem to pay attention to him. It stretches out its body, waves its eyes around a bit, and starts making its way towards the Factory wall. Oh - oh, maybe it's gonna eat the walls, Tango's brain supplies. That's kinda - normal? Considering that's what snails do. And what Tango did in that Life game, too.

He lets out a shaky laugh, and tries to reach for the comm. It's unlikely that anyone else is awake and free, it's kinda night o'clock outside, but - what if. His hands are shaking so much he almost drops the comm; Tango steadies them, and types in chat, watching the foul beast crawl all over his wall.

[Tango:] Question to all Lifers: does anyone hve a snail around?

The creature seems to decide vertical surfaces are overrated, and crawls back down, settling on a patch of grass and munching on it. The comm beeps, and Tango jolts with a squeak again, dropping it this time.

[GoodTimeWithScar:] what do you mean a snail

[GoodTimeWithScar:] OH MY GOD A SNAIL

Not to say that someone else's misery makes Tango feel better, but - It does. It honestly does.

Then, the snail makes an eye contact with him.

Tango tries to get moving, scramble away, as it starts moving towards him. Eerily silent, too - no weird vocalizations it had back then, no heralding its approach. Another push of his limbs fails, he freezes, as if paralyzed, terror pounding in his skull, and the murder snail closes the distance.

Nothing bad can happen to him, right, Tango tries to frantically reassure himself. It's Hermitcraft. He just respawns, and everything will be fine. Right?

The snail approaches his outstretched leg - Tango tries to pull it closer to himself, but fails - raises its head, waving it around unsure for a couple seconds, and nuzzles his boot.

Tango stills his breath, waiting for a flash and a yank of respawn.

Nothing happens.

The snail pulls its face over his boot, nipping at the shoelaces and wiggling its eyestalks. Tango forces himself to start moving - after several long unsuccessful attempts, he manages to bend enough to sit up, raise his stiff paralyzed arm, and touch the snail's face.

It contracts on itself, eyestalks retracting into the face, but nothing else happens.

No murder.

Relief washes over him so fast that Tango simply flops on the ground, an approximation of unstuffed plush toy. His heart still pounding in his head, mouth feeling like ashes - he takes a breath, and another, and lets out a long, tired groan, closing his eyes.

He still feels the snail crawling further up his leg, very interested in that part of his pants where he knows the biggest redstone stain sits, - and he can't hold a gaspy, shrieky laughter.

Cute snail. Cute little hungering beast.

That's a change of plans for tomorrow, though - he gotta go murder Grian.

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Birds Of A Feather

The Owl House » Huntlow

Title: Birds Of A Feather

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Owl House (Masterlist)

Relationship: Hunter | The Golden Guard x Willow Park

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: In which Darius settles into his new role as a parent and Hunter makes a garishly floral Grom suit.

The following Saturday night, Hunter comes waltzing into the living room dressed in a hand-stitched '80's era shoulder pad bedecked orange and yellow floral patterned suit jacket, complete with a comically large bright yellow bowtie, and Darius nearly spits tea all over his gratuitously overpriced purple silk pajamas. "So…what do you think?" Hunter asks, spinning on the heel of his matching red sneakers to give Darius the full effect. Of course, Darius's first instinct (after cringing hard enough to risk permanent injury to his face muscles) is to offer to take Hunter on an emergency shopping trip…but the look on Hunter's face, so excited for his first-ever Grom, so proud of this thing he made with his own two hands, eyes sparkling with anticipation as he eagerly awaits Darius's approval, makes him bite his tongue. Darius relaxes his features, lips curving into a fond smile as he replies, "You look very handsome, Little Prince," and Hunter beams back at him with one of those gap-toothed grins that's been growing less and less rare by the day.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

Ever since the little plant witch asked him to Grom, Hunter has done nothing but talk about the subject for weeks. Not that Darius minds. It's nice seeing the little prince so happy (especially after what Camila told him happened at the graveyard when he pulled her aside and asked her about Hunter's new scars — oh how he would have relished getting in that final stomp on the tyrannical old bastard) and Darius, newly minted parental figure, wants to do everything he can to be supportive.

Even after months of apologies and I should've known betters, long after Hunter forgave him and the others for not paying closer attention to the way Belos was treating him, for assuming he was safe and well cared for, even pampered, protected under the guise of being the Emperor's nephew, there's still a part of him that feels guilty, that feels like he needs to make up for it.

Eager to participate, Darius offers to take Hunter out shopping for his big date, pulling up a link to his favorite boutique on his scroll, and swiping through a selection of photos featuring a model similar to Hunter's stature, decked out in an expensive sleek black and gray suit with a golden belt buckle and a little red pocket square.

Hunter's eyes widen in shock at the price.

"Oh wow," he says, still getting used to the idea of people (especially Darius of all people, snarky sarcastic asshole that he is) going out of their way to be so kind to him. He's only just started getting used to calling Darius's place his place. "That's really cool of you, Darius. Like, I really appreciate that…but I've actually already got something in the works."

"Oh?" Darius asks curiously, vanishing his scroll with a lazy flick of his fingers and trying his damnedest not to feel jilted. "Well, if there's anything you need, please let me know," he adds.

"Actually…" Hunter perks up, running his hands through his fluffy mess of light blond hair and wincing a little as that signature stubborn forelock of his snaps back and hits him in the eye. "Do you think you could help me with my hair? It's gotten a little long since the last time Willow cut it, and seeing as it's a special occasion, I'd like to go at least one night without Luz calling it my hair noodle," Hunter huffs, rolling his eyes like it vexes him, but the fond smile that accompanies it gives him away.

Darius chuckles, and a memory, visceral and bittersweet, sparks across his mind. That same face, riddled with just as many scars in different places, scowling in the mirror of a club they'd snuck into late one night while they were supposed to be on guard duty, tugging on the end his 'hair noodle' as Hunter had put it, trying in vain to get it to lay flat.

A younger Darius, snorting with laughter as he plucks a jar of hair product out of his bag and tells him to hold still, slicking up his hands and running them through the other man's light blond hair.

"There," he says with a snarky grin. "Now you won't look like such an idiot when you inevitably get drunk and ask her to dance."

The man grins back at him with a gap between his two front teeth, dark red eyes rolling in fond amusement.

Jasper. The previous Golden Guard.

In truth, he wasn't all that surprised when Hunter confided in him about being a grimwalker. Fucked up origins and intentions aside, it was honestly a relief to find out that he wasn't going crazy — he always found it odd that the boy looked so very like his old mentor.

So alike, yet so entirely different. Sometimes, it almost feels like he's raising his best friend's son.

"There's a special pomade I can pick up for you in Latissa," Darius says, lips twisting into a wistful smile.

"Cool," Hunter says brightly. "Thanks, Darius."

"You're very welcome," he replies. "And I'm sure whatever you've got planned for your outfit will look great."

"Here's hoping," Hunter says with a nervous chuckle. 

"Speaking of which, do you mind if I—" he adds, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the staircase.

"Of course. Go, have fun," Darius says, waving him off. "Just remember to take breaks and actually eat something. Dinner'll be ready at 7."

"Thanks!" Hunter calls out, already halfway up the stairs to his bedroom, eager to get back to work.

• • •

The following Saturday night, Hunter comes waltzing into the living room dressed in a hand-stitched 80's era shoulder pad bedecked orange and yellow floral patterned suit jacket, complete with a comically large bright yellow bowtie, and Darius nearly spits tea all over his gratuitously overpriced purple silk pajamas.

"So…what do you think?" Hunter asks, spinning on the heel of his matching red sneakers to give Darius the full effect.

Of course, Darius's first instinct (after cringing hard enough to risk permanent injury to his face muscles) is to offer to take Hunter on an emergency shopping trip, or at the very least, tailor something for him to wear from his own closet…but the look on Hunter's face, so excited for his first-ever Grom, so proud of this thing he made with his own two hands, eyes sparkling with anticipation as he eagerly awaits Darius's approval, makes him bite his tongue.

Darius relaxes his features, lips curving into a fond smile as he replies, "You look very handsome, Little Prince," and Hunter beams back at him with one of those gap-toothed grins that's been growing less and less rare by the day.

"Let me just fix one thing," he adds, because old habits die hard, setting aside his teacup and strolling over to readjust that silly yellow bowtie.

"Oh," Hunter lets out a sheepish laugh. "Yeah, I had a little trouble with that. Funny, I can sew a bowtie no problem, but actually tying one…"

"It remains a great mystery to many of us," Darius chuckles. "Luckily, I've had some practice over the years." (He won't mention that it's because he had a lot of experience loosening them on Grom dates when he was Hunter's age.)

"There you go," he says, securing the final knot, careful not to make it too tight. "That should hold just fine through even the wildest of dance moves," he laughs, remembering how crazy and stupid he and his friends used to get whenever their favorite songs came on. To this day, Darius still maintains he should've beaten Alador in that dance battle. Perhaps they should schedule a rematch…

"Thanks," Hunter huffs out a laugh, catching sight of himself in the mirror above the mantle and admiring Darius's handiwork. He reaches up to card a hand through his hair, desperately trying to smooth back that one stubborn lock.

"It's not too much, is it?" he asks, lips pulling into a pensive frown. Hair product? Yes. Darius watched him dump out half the jar onto his head not ten minutes prior. "D'you think Willow will like it? I picked out the pattern just for her."

Ah. The floral fashion disaster.

Once again, it's a struggle for Darius not to tell him what he really thinks, blunt honesty and snarky remarks second nature to him. (He's still very new to this whole dad thing, but hey, he's trying.)

"I think, for Willow, it's less about what you wear and more about the guy wearing the floral suit," he says, choosing his words carefully. "I think she'll appreciate all the effort you put into making something so meaningful. So, go out there tonight and be confident, let your pride in your work shine through."

Hunter's eyes crinkle around the corners when he smiles, and Darius breathes a sigh of relief that he managed to say the right thing.

"Thanks, dad— uh, Darius," he says, a hint of pink tinging the tips of his ears as he catches himself.

"Any time, Little Prince," Darius replies, affection flooding his chest at that hopeful little almost.

Just then, the doorbell rings, and Hunter is so eager to answer it, he accidentally zooms past the front door in a flash of golden light.

"Whoops," he chuckles from the coat closet. "Over-shot it a little."

He pauses briefly to re-fluff his hair and readjust his shoulder pads in the closet mirror, takes a deep steadying breath, and opens the door.

Standing on the other side, forest green ballet flats clicking against the front porch as she bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet, is none other than the Little Prince's girlfriend, dressed in an elegant high-cut gown the color of a jade gemstone, and holding a bouquet of flowers that's a near-perfect match for the colors of his floral suit.

Oh, they're perfect for each other, Darius muses with a fond smile as he watches their adorable little interaction unfold.

"Hunter, you look…wow," she says, pale green eyes half-lidded behind her gold-framed glasses as she gazes at him with a soft, smitten smile — like he's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen and that suit of his is the height of fashion.

"Now that is a look," she says, not a trace of disingenuity in her appraising smile. "Did you make it yourself?"

Clearly Hunter shares the sentiment, staring dreamily at her with a dopey, besotted smile on his face. 

"Wha—?" he blurts out, eyes sliding back into focus. "Oh, uh. Yeah! I mean—" he pauses, putting on what he probably imagines is a cool, carefree expression, stretching up to lean his arm along the doorframe in an oh-so-casual move to show off a little more of his handmade suit. "This old thing? I whipped it up in like, an hour, tops."

Darius suppresses a snort of laughter. An hour his ass. He remembers hearing that damnable sewing machine rattling the walls at all hours of the night every day for the past week.

"Amazing," Willow coos, reaching up to tuck one of the little yellow flowers from her bouquet into the front pocket of his already loudly floral suit. Hunter sucks in a sharp breath, cheeks flushing pink at the contact.

"Not as amazing as you," he says, a little breathless. "Look at you! You're so…well, I mean, you're always beautiful, but I've never seen you like this before." 

His eyes rove her figure, taking in the full effect, adam's apple straining against the column of his throat when he notices how well that pretty green dress hugs her curves. 

His eyes snap back up to her face, blush deepening.

"I like your headband!" he blurts out, gazed fixed resolutely on the matching silk ribbon taming some of the wilder waves of her pixie cut. "It goes really well with your new hair."

"Thanks, Hunter," she whispers, leveling him with a flirtatious wink before leaning up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek, sending Hunter's face careening all the way into burgundy territory.

"I'll have him home by midnight," she tells Darius, grabbing an utterly spellbound Hunter by the wrist and gently tugging him out the front door.

"Have a good time, you two!" Darius calls after them, shaking his head in fond amusement as he catches a glimpse of the positively euphoric grin on Hunter's very red face, turning around to give Darius an enthusiastic thumbs up before the door closes in a blur of lurid orange and yellow.

[omniblades-and-stars]

Writing Patterns Tag Game

Premise: List the first lines of your last 20 or so stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Tagged by @void-botanist thanks!

I'll tag @teamdilf and @commander-krios

Here's what we got:

1. Holding Onto Hell Ch. 1: Shepard hated saying good-bye. 2. Holding Onto Hell Ch. 2: Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard was dead. 3. There by the Fire We Dream Prologue: “Ma harel lasa,” she hissed through teeth gnashing against the pain of her rapidly approaching death, brought by the Anchor. 4. There by the Fire We Dream Ch. 1: The first day after his true identity had come to light, the day she stood before the Exalted Council and declared angrily that the Inquisition should be disbanded, had felt easy. 5. There by the Fire We Dream Ch. 2: It was a quiet evening, far away from the highway and even further still from the Winter Palace. 6. There by the Fire We Dream Ch. 3: She stands alone on a rolling plain, night dark hair fluttering in the breeze. 7. There by the Fire We Dream Ch. 4: It was a dungeon, same as any other. It was dank with rotten, moldering hay spread out on the floor, and poorly lit by torches that cast gloomy, stretching shadows. 8. Nightclubs and Garden Sheds: BEEP BEEP BEEP 9. Pass the Knife Ch. 1: There was a time, not that long ago really, when Lou would have been lost on Omega. Swallowed up, eaten whole, her bones spit back out into a gutter somewhere for someone to trip on her – another unfortunate statistic that wouldn’t actually be counted, just guessed at. 10. Pass the Knife Ch. 2: This plan was so bad. She hated it. 11. Pass the Knife Ch. 3: A lone, plain skycar sat parked on a small thoroughfare near a plaza that at this hour was practically abandoned. It had the eerie feeling of a ghost town, with all of the industrial supply shops and warehouses shut down. 12. Pass the Knife Ch. 4: Keelah, this can't be happening. 13. Pass the Knife Ch. 5: The turian woman fell with a heavy thud, and Lou smirked, a terrible sense of smug satisfaction settled in her mind. 14. first chances, second shots: Frankie planted her butt on the cargo bay ramp, and dug her heals in, bending forwards and extending her hand out. “Take my hand!” she shouted. 15. Favorite Song: A folksy tune floated into kitchen from the open bathroom door. It was followed shortly by Aumellio belting the lyrics as though he were onstage giving a world-class performance before an audience of adoring fans, and as though he could hold a tune in a bucket. 16. drowning: The knife met little resistance from his exposed skin. It parted muscle like waters, the strike expertly slipped between the wall of ribs. 17. l'appel du vide: John snapped his fingers. 18. bound and undone: It wasn’t unusual for him to wake in the small hours of the morning, when the sun was just a whisper of pink on the horizon and the birds still had the grace to be quiet, and find himself alone. 19. echo: Blue light seeped in underneath the curtains. One. Two. Three seconds. 20. Her Hands Were Shaking: Her hands were shaking. Well, all of her was shaking, trembling. Somewhere in the utter dark, halfway off the mortal coil, she laid beneath the rubble, dying very slowly.

Obviously I tend towards more simple opening statements. Just kick down your door and yell a few words at you so you understand the tone of the thing right away. But that's not always appropriate for what's going on, so in the other direction, I like to jump into describing a place or a thing.

Favorite Opening Line: That's going to go to "Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard was dead." It just comes right out of the gate with the tone. Like this is where we are. It's blunt. I love it.

[abeautylives]

Trip Around the Sun - Day Two

a/n: Thank you for your patience as I took some time to celebrate our sweet Josh. Like a lot of you here, I'm a queer person that felt an immense sense of pride in his bravery and an insane amount of joy knowing how loved he is. To that point, if it needs stating, this is a work of fiction. To another point, in light of recent events, I wanted to say that I very much love and support my fellow members of the LGBTQ+ community, keep fighting the good fight babes 👁️🌈👁️

Read Part One

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: 9.8k this part

summary: A persistent and charismatic stranger disrupts the serenity of your tropical escape. What's the harm in a vacation fling?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, more summer Josh, language, drinking, mentions of sexual situations, explicit sexual content, public sexual activity, penetrative sex, kinda fluffy tbh

☀️☀️☀️

“My name’s Josh.”

Of course it is. When you’d first seen him from across the pool, you could’ve pegged him as a Josh or a Justin, even a Jake. It just makes so much sense.

What made little to no sense was the way your settling heart rate had kicked back up when he said it, the sound of his name shaped by those lips and pushed past those teeth with an almost embarrassed giggle.

Josh.

He’d asked for yours in return and when you gave it, he’d rolled it around on his tongue and then repeated it. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.

You’ve been thinking about that all morning. Not about the way he’d offered to walk you back to your room, or the way you had invited him in, ready to return the favor of the orgasm he’d bestowed you. Not about the way he had looked at you, in awe of your apparent generosity, or the way he’d gracefully declined. You don’t owe me anything, beautiful.

You definitely haven’t been thinking about that. Not while you sipped your coffee or the Bloody Mary that followed. Not while you picked at your breakfast or walked back to your room after abandoning it.

You’re absolutely not thinking about him now as you make the journey back to the blazing heat of the pool deck. You’re not scanning the area for his cap or his curls or his face. You’re not headed toward the same lounge chair you’d used yesterday in hopes that if he’s looking… he’ll find you.

It’s shameful, the way you’re thinking about nothing but him.

As your gaze moves over the pool, it lands on a couple of boys, probably nine or ten years old, maybe brothers. They’re taking turns attempting handstands in the water, timing each other and laughing wildly when the other loses his balance, in the exact spot where you’d let a stranger finger fuck you before he’d even introduced himself.

I need a drink.

Instead of settling into your chair, you dump your bag and towel onto it and head directly to the bar. Around the back side of the small building, constructed to resemble a thatched hut (grass roof and all), there’s a walk-up bar and that’s where you order a margarita and a shot of tequila. The bartender serves up gold instead of silver, but you knock it back anyway and resist the urge to gag as it lights your throat on fire.

The plastic holding your other beverage is already sweating in the heat by the time you’ve made it halfway around the pool and back to your chair, which is exactly when you spot him. Wanting to observe him before he sees you, as he’d done to you the afternoon before, you slow your stride and take a long sip through your straw.

He must have been looking for you, but he found your belongings strewn across your chair and it appears that he’d made himself comfortable in the one beside yours once again. His trunks are the same he was wearing yesterday, a light green and white patterned print that leave the entire length of each thigh exposed, and his torso is blessedly shirt-free. Because you can, you objectify him for just a moment, your eyes lingering just below his navel before they move up the line of his body and land on his chest.

Now I’m the creep.

You make yourself giggle and keep it moving. You’ve almost reached him and you’re surprised, or disappointed that he hasn’t noticed you. Unfortunately, the closer you get, the better you can see the fucking ridiculous sunglasses he’s wearing. With no cap to shade his eyes today, his head wrapped in a white bandana and hair tied back again, you understand the need for sunglasses, but these are horrendous.

“Yee haw, bro.”

His head moves with you as you come around him and step between the chairs, his face upturned and smile already stretching wide and shining bright. He watches closely as you move your bag and towel, bent at the hip, ass pointed in his direction and covered today only by a scrap of electric blue that’s nearly tucked between your cheeks. When you chance a peek at him over your shoulder, you wish you could see his eyes, but alas.

There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, but only because there had been a hint in yours. “What?”

Lowering onto your chair, you lean into it and recline as if you’d known all along that he’d be here waiting for you. “What’s with the shades?”

It’s cute, the genuine confusion as his smile goes lopsided. “It’s bright out here?”

“They’re hideous.”

“Wait, really? You don’t like them?” The corners of his mouth drop.

You can’t stifle the laughter any longer. It’s shaking your shoulders as you tell him you really don’t. When he sits forward in his chair, it looks like he’s about to stand and you’re suddenly worried you’ve actually offended him.

He pulls the glasses off of his face and examines them, turning them over as if he’s seeing them for the first time. As they move in his hands you can see that they’re not actually Pit Vipers, they might be Oakleys but they’re a huge purple and green color shifting shield of plastic. His eyebrows are knit together as if he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll throw them in the ocean, right now.” He stands and moves like he’s going to walk away from you, head to the beach and chuck them in.

Your hand shoots out and lands on one of his wrists, fingers wrapped around it. “No! Don’t go…” His eyes, now revealed to you, drop to where you’re touching him, a rainbow spread over his skin at the tips of your fingers. “I’m just fucking with you.” When he lifts them to your face, they’re narrowed in sly gratification, a smirk forming below his mustache.

He accepts that, along with the knowledge that you really seem to want him to stay, mourning the loss of your hand on his when he plants himself back in his lounger. The glasses slip back over his ears, settled on the bridge of his nose.

“I like them. I don’t tend to care if anyone else does.”

That sounds authentic, based on the limited observations you’ve made you’re sure he doesn’t give a shit about what others may think. The short shorts, the bandana, the sandals he was wearing last night and even the tiny hoops gracing each earlobe. It’s just who he is.

“That’s good. I wish I didn’t care what people thought about me.” Flippant, you don’t really mean anything by the comment and bring your drink up to your lips.

“Do you care what I think?”

His own words tumble over each other in your mind. Lovely. Captivating. Beautiful. Stunning. Trouble. “Mm, I know what you think.”

“Huh. I suppose I haven’t been subtle. What do you think about me?”

There it is again, a warmth crawling across your cheeks that has nothing to do with the climate. Your gut tells you to lie, to tell him that you don’t, you haven’t thought of him at all.

“I thought you didn’t tend to care about the opinions of others, hm?”

No response, no way to read his eyes past the ostentatious glare of his sunglasses but he’s definitely staring at you. Your heart tells you to give him the truth.

“I’m not sure yet what I think about you. But I have been thinking.”

There’s a comfortable bit of silence while he turns that over in his mind and you apply sunscreen, SPF 30 this time. He offers with only a tiny bit of sarcasm to get your back, but today you accept hastily, greedy for the feeling of his hands on you.

The tube transfers from your hold to his as you turn away in your chair, hair pulled forward over your shoulder and presenting the expanse of tanned skin to him. He squeezes it into his palm and warms it between his own hands before touching you, and you’re sure it’s intentional. Every time his skin has met yours has seemed purposeful, almost calculated, like he’s mapped out his pilgrimage over your body in advance.

This act is not a chore, or even a favor, it’s purely selfish of him as he leans close and places his hands over your shoulder blades. The lotion spreads as he watches his fingers outstretch, pale in comparison to your sun-darkened shoulders. They travel upward first, firmly pressed against you and he can feel the quiet hum that vibrates through you before it sounds from your throat.

“You better stop that.” His voice crawls its way into your ear, pitched low and bearing that edge again.

“Hmm, what?” Your head drops forward and his hands are still moving, fingertips dragging down the sides of your ribcage and barely skimming the curve of each breast.

“Making those little noises. Unless you want all of these people to see what it does to me.” Another hum, tightening into a whine as those hands smooth over the small of your waist and come back in to meet on either side of your spine. The memory of what you barely got to see and never got to touch last night only serves to turn his warning into temptation. You wouldn’t mind seeing it again, even here in the light of day.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Pervert.” His fingers push underneath the strings at your hips and slide under the fabric as his palms work the sunscreen into your lower back, reminiscent of how he’s teased you with those fingers in the pool. “Are those the thoughts you’ve been thinking about me this morning, beautiful?”

“Well they are now.”

His hands leave you abruptly and you turn to watch him swipe what little is left of the sunscreen over his cheeks, pushing under the rim of his glasses then running his fingertips over the bridge of his nose.

“Um, do you need more? On your back, or, whatever.” That was embarrassing, the curve of his lips making it even more so as he appears to know exactly what you’re asking.

Can I touch you?

“I’m good, applied in my room.” Cheeky fucker.

“Even your back, though?” Okay, desperate.

“It’s taken care of. For now.” He doesn’t elaborate and you can’t bring yourself to ask exactly who had assisted him. It’s none of your business. “So, what are your plans for the day?”

The tube of sunscreen is tossed back into your bag and he returns to his reclined position in his chair, you follow suit and take another sip of your now watered down margarita. You lift a hand and gesture to the scenery in front of you, arm sweeping wide.

“You’re lookin’ at it, handsome.”

An accidental clue, some insight into exactly what you’ve been thinking about him. He revels in it silently, making no comment or quip but adding it to his mental spreadsheet.

“You know there’s a lot more to do here besides lay by the pool, right?”

You do know that, in a vague sense but you haven’t bothered to look into it. Most of your time before you met him yesterday has been spent alone, as you’d intended, and whatever activities this place has to offer just seem… sad to do by yourself.

“Sure, but I can get drunk by the pool.”

“There’s an entire ocean of clear turquoise water right there. We could go swimming, or there’s jet skis, or I’m pretty sure we can sign up for this boating excursion. Spend a few hours on the water, drinks included.”

We?

“What makes you think I wanna spend my vacation time with you?”

A brief pause, he only thinks it over for a second or two, as if he knew you would ask. “You haven’t sent me away yet, you were checking me out from over there ten minutes ago,” he points to where you’d been staring from, when you thought he hadn’t noticed you, “and you were practically begging to suck my dick last night. I think you like me.”

“I was not begging to- you’re annoying, you know that?”

It’s not lost on him that you haven’t tried to deny anything else he’d said, even though you’re blushing. It’s not lost on you that he once again seems to know more than he should, that when you’d invited him into your room all you were imagining was the feeling of him on your lips, the taste of him on your tongue.

He’s grinning when you slide your eyes over to gauge his reaction. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Hey, I’m gonna go get a drink while you decide what we’re doing today.” Up and out of his chair before you can argue that, you watch him head in the same direction you’d gone around the pool toward the walk-up side of the bar.

“Josh!” He turns back, the sound of his name shaped by your lips and pushed past your teeth stopping him in his tracks. “Get me another margarita?” You lift your nearly empty cup and shake what’s left of the ice around in the bottom. He offers only a two-finger salute and a wide smile as he turns away from you again.

Your eyes slip closed while you wait, giving no real thought to anything you’d want to do aside from exactly this. When a bead of sweat loses its battle with gravity and slips down your chest, between your breasts and past the string just below them, you sit up to dab your skin with your towel.

A cold drink would be nice, what the fuck is taking him so long?

He’s not at the swim-up bar, his white bandana nowhere to be seen among the groups of people gathered there. You look down the pool deck to your left, in case he’s actually given up on you and decided to leave you alone, disheartened at the idea and irritated with yourself for feeling that way. When he does finally come around the deck, two drinks in hand, he finds you scrolling on your phone with an unmistakable frown pulling the corners of your lips down.

“Miss me?”

“Shit!” Your phone slips from your fingers and bounces off your hip, landing face up on the concrete. “Do you get off on scaring the shit out of me?!”

Laughing, he hands over your margarita and reaches down to scoop up your phone when you snatch the cup from him. “If I say yes, will you think less of me?” He offers your phone next, which you slip into your bag after a quick examination and finding it miraculously undamaged. You ignore that question in lieu of asking another of your own.

“Where were you?”

“Ha! You did miss me. That’s cute.” Instead of taking his place in his chair, he sits at the foot of yours. To his delight, you spread your legs and plant your feet on the ground on either side of the chair to make room for him.

“I missed the tequila.”

“Uh huh,” hidden behind the shield of his glasses, his eyes dart down between your legs to where your bikini is barely concealing you from view, “Well drink up, we’re going sailing.”

You sputter around the mouthful of alcohol you’d just nearly inhaled.

“We leave in an hour.”

Forty-five minutes and another shot of tequila (silver this time, at Josh’s request) later, you’re strapping a glaringly orange life vest over your chest.

“I know how to swim, this is so unnecessary.” You click the final buckle into place and pull the straps tight.

“It’s just a precaution, I think we’re allowed to take them off once we’re anchored.” You’re grumbling as you struggle to get comfortable beneath the foam and nylon. “Besides, it’s a really good look for you, provocative even.”

“Shut up.”

You’re summoned to make your way down a long wooden dock that juts out into the ocean, Josh falling in step beside you, knuckles bumping yours as your arms swing between you. Reaching the end, a crew member waits on board with a hand extended that Josh grabs ahold of and hauls himself over the side and onto the deck. Creating his next excuse to touch you, he turns back and extends his arm, hand held out and eyes imploring you to reach out and take it. You can’t see the way they’re appealing to you, the purple green shift hiding them, but his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as he grins and his eyebrows are raised expectantly.

“It’s giving… Aladdin. Very ‘magic carpet ride’ right now.”

“Okay, well?” You cock an eyebrow up over the rim of your own glasses and his smile stretches. “Do you trust me?”

“Booooo, that was terrible!” You’re both giggling as you take his hand and let him pull you up and over the railing, where you promptly lose your footing and tumble into his chest. His arms wrap themselves around you, keeping you upright as you mentally curse the life vests preventing your bodies from meeting.

His face tucks into the hair over your ear, tendrils of it floating around your head in the breeze coming off the water. “This is nice, but we need to go take a seat so we can shove off.”

You turn your face to his and your noses almost touch. Before you can verbalize a thought, he drops his lips to your cheek and presses a soft kiss there. Your fingertips are pulled to the spot as if they’re magnetized, your lips fallen open in a surprised ‘o’. A hand slides over your lower back beneath the vest and he guides you to a place on the deck, in front of the mast where he sits with his back against it. Anticipating your question, he tugs you down to sit between his legs and pulls your back into his chest.

Aggravated again that you can’t feel him, you finally find the words.

“I hate these fucking vests.”

From behind you, his chuckle rolls over your shoulder. “Why’s that?”

“I want- I just wish I could, I dunno…”

“You wanna feel me all pressed against you, hm?” With your feet pulled up and knees bent just in front of your chest, he reaches forward and runs the tip of one finger over the outside of your thigh, knee to hip. The boat starts to move just as he slips that finger over your hip bone and lower, dipping it under the hem of your bottoms and running it through the soft hair that he seems so infatuated with. “If you still like me when we get back, I’ll let you feel me all you want. Promise.”

Despite the needy sound that creeps from your mouth he doesn’t touch you where you want him to, an infuriating tease. His hand slides out of your swimsuit and his arms circle around your waist just below the vest.

You’re not sure how far from shore you’ve traveled, the wind whipping your hair around your face and Josh’s as the boat glides through the water, clear as crystal when you left but now an intense, ominous blue as its depths become unfathomable. He’d held you close for the entirety of the voyage, only pulling a hand away to pick your hair out of his mouth or run it down your arm. Once, he’d brought it up to your chin and turned your face to his and you thought, or hoped, he might kiss you but when he found your lips turned up in an enthusiastic grin he’d just smiled brightly and placed that hand back at your waist.

It’s not until the boat slows to an eventual stop, and someone comes from below deck to ask for your drink orders and advise that you could, in fact, remove the vests if you wished, that you realize that no one else had ever boarded.

You unbuckle the vest as soon as you’re able to and toss it to the other side of the mast behind Josh, turning to watch him do the same.

“Josh?”

His vest lands next to yours and he lifts his hands to make sure his bandana is still secure. There’s something about the way his biceps flex that makes you wish you’d been able to see them more clearly last night at the pool. “Hm?”

“Why are there no other passengers?”

He glances to either side, confirming the absence of anyone aside from the crew. “Huh, that’s weird.”

“Did you do this?” You’ve shifted from his lap, kneeling in front of him now, palms rested on your thighs. Before he can answer, you lift a hand and slip his sunglasses away from his face, met with honey and amber sparkling with mischief.

“Now why would you thi-“

“Tell me the truth,” you stand, looming over him with the hand holding his glasses reared back behind your head, “Or these are swimming with the fishies.”

The way your body is twisted, poised to throw them overboard, creates an interesting shape at the curve of your waist that only makes him wonder what you would look like twisted up in the sheets of his bed, or yours. Probably yours.

This is gonna be a long day.

“Yes, I did it.” The glasses are dropped into his hands, caught before they hit the deck between his legs where he places them delicately. They are his favorite, after all.

“Why? How?”

He rises to his feet, more or less eye to eye with you, and finally pulls you close, bodies meeting at the hips. Not prepared to concern you with the how, he answers the why.

“I apologize in advance for what I’m about to say.” You let your own hands rest over the dips at his hips, the line of muscle there leading into his trunks. Focused on the look in his eyes, perhaps slightly nervous but still swimming with a hint of devilish intention, you tilt your head and wait for him to continue. “I thought it would be sort of… romantic.”

The cackle of laughter that you let out is unattractive and riotous but his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles and soaks it in. When you get yourself under control, he pushes it further and slides his hands up your back, pulling your chest to his and letting his next words ghost over your lips.

“Humor me, beautiful. I don’t know about you, but I find a little romance to be a huge turn-on.”

You can feel the truth of that, growing and pushed against you. Presented with an opportunity to take what you definitely haven’t been thinking about, you slide your palms up from his hips and over his stomach. He tenses, muscles bunching under your touch as your hands move slowly over his skin. It’s soft under your fingertips, smoother than the voice he’s been using to break you down and coerce you into playing this game, aside from the goosebumps rising to the surface as you continue up and over his chest.

His eyes had broken from yours, prompting you both to watch your hands travel up his torso and land just under his collarbones, one of his coming between you with a finger hooked under your chin. As your face lifts to his again, he slides your sunglasses away from your eyes and tosses them over his shoulder.

The arm wrapped firmly around your back keeps you close when you try to push away. Unable to move, you slap a hand to his chest.

“Josh those were expensive!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair.”

His lips are on yours before you can argue it, working to silence you and wipe any concern for the glasses from your brain.

Last night, he’d only kissed you once, slamming his mouth to yours to muffle your cries and get just a taste of the champagne on your tongue as you came undone around his fingers. No soft pecks to your trembling lips as you floated back to earth, no shy kiss goodnight as he’d left you at your room.

But he’s kissing you now and it’s everything you could have, but definitely haven’t, imagined. His lips are pillowy soft and slotted together with yours as if they were always meant to be there. You feel the fingers splayed over your spine press into your skin there just as his other hand comes back up to cup your jaw, tilting your chin just a little more so that when the tip of his tongue slips out and over your bottom lip, you’re perfectly positioned to open them and accept it.

This time when they slide against each other, your tongues taste vaguely of tequila and lime, a flavor that he seems to approve of as he groans into your mouth and pulls you impossibly closer. The hand on your back slides downward, over the curve of your ass where he grips a handful and jerks your hips into his, his arousal evident against your thigh.

“Sir, your drinks- oh! Sorry!”

You practically jump away from each other, you stumbling backwards and Josh turning his back to the affronted woman holding a margarita in one hand and a tequila soda in the other. You’re not able to stop the laughter from bubbling over, a hand clasped over your mouth as you watch him adjust his dick in his shorts. Impressively, there’s really no hiding it, so you thank her with tears in your eyes and take the cups from her hands, giving her reprieve from Josh’s awkward situation.

Moving carefully over the unsteady surface of the deck, you sidle up to him and hold out his drink.

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

“Painfully so, damn thing won’t go away.”

Your eyes drop to the obvious tent in his shorts as he continues to try concealing it.

“Maybe stop touching it?” He does, reaching over for his drink and chugging about half of it with his hard-on proudly displayed to the open ocean. A dribble of the clear seltzer spills over and drips from the corner of his mouth before he pulls the cup away, your hand moves in to catch it with the pad of your thumb. Rather than flick it from your fingers or wipe it away, you push it back up to his still open lips. They close over your fingertip and his tongue swirls against it like he can’t help himself but to taste you again.

He lets it slide from his mouth as your hand drops. “You’re gonna have to stop touching me if I have to wait until we’re back on dry land to fuck you.”

It is an unfortunate turn of events, your own arousal is pooled between your legs and there’s nothing you can do about it, even as his words shoot straight to your core.

“Who says I’m gonna let you fuck me?” You’ve dropped your volume, a quiet provocation.

“Mm, I’m not a mind reader but I am intuitive. Getting me back inside you is all you’ve been thinking about since I pulled my fingers out of your perfect little pussy last night.”

Your jaw drops open, closed, open again as no words come to mind in response.

“Exactly. Why don’t you sit back down and drink your margarita, enjoy the view.”

You did just that, heading toward the front of the boat, which Josh advised is called the bow as he took a seat beside you. In your first attempt at an actual personal question, because really anything personal you might learn is not your business and ultimately doesn’t matter, you asked if he had a lot of experience on sailboats.

“Not particularly, but this isn’t my first time.” Vague, but again, does it really matter?

His thoughts must be similar to yours, as he avoids asking you anything that would leave you as more than you are - two complete strangers destined only to know each other right now, whatever that might entail. He asks about your time at the resort so far, if you’ve ever been here before, if you drink anything other than tequila.

“Vodka, on occasion, but I prefer tequila.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

Despite his previous warning, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you in some way, familiarizing himself with you the only way he feels allowed to. A palm placed to your shoulder when he thinks he’s said something clever. His fingertips drawing lazy circles up and down your legs when you lay back and stretch yourself out over the deck, ankles crossed and feet placed in his lap. Eventually those fingertips find yours, a cautious touch as he toys with the idea before interlacing them and pressing your palms together.

Time spent with him moves in direct opposition to the hours and days you’ve spent alone here. A few more drinks, and even a lunch that had appeared mysteriously from below deck, are gone well before you’re ready for the afternoon to be over. You’re told that you’ll be heading back in ten minutes and you’ll have to wear the vests while you’re underway.

“C’mere…” He doesn’t have to say much else to draw you in, offering a hand to help you stand and using it to spin you around to face the water. He pulls you in, his arms wrapped around your waist again and his chin dropped to your shoulder. Into your ear, he explains, “Just wanted to feel you all pressed against me before we have to don your favorite accessories.”

You groan at the thought of strapping yourself into the life vest, at the thought of three inches of foam separating your bodies as he holds you like this. Turning in his arms, you let the length of your body melt into his, your own arms making their way over his shoulders.

“Do you think they’ll ban me from the resort if I refuse to wear it?” His eyes are alight again with laughter, amused by your question.

“If you don’t wear it, they may tie you up and keep you in the cabin. Actually, that might not be a bad idea, I wonder if they’ll let me do it.”

The musical sound of your giggling is like an invisible force, pulling him in to taste it. It’s gentle, his lips touching yours just long enough for you to reciprocate. He sighs as they separate, an almost remorseful sound that you don’t have time to examine before you’re instructed to put on the life vests.

Leaving this place is probably going to be harder than he thought.

🌙🌙🌙

Fuuuuuck this feels so good.

The water is just a touch too hot as it falls over your shoulders and runs down your body, but it’s working to help release the tension of hours spent with Josh, unable to take what you actually want from him. The romance was a nice touch, but not the kind that can provide any sort of relief to the ache between your thighs.

As soon as the door to your room had clicked into place, you’d considered taking care of it yourself. The instant you’d stepped under the spray of the shower, you’d tucked your fingers between your legs and found yourself still slick, the result of how he had kissed you against the doorframe, trailing his lips over your jaw and down the side of your neck and whispering promises to find you later.

You’d even slipped one inside, immediately realizing it wasn’t good enough, not what you need. One swirl over your clit had almost brought you to your knees, however.

I need to get laid. I need him.

Whatever charismatic kind of wizardry he’s been using on you has been effective, clouding your thoughts and lowering your inhibitions until he’s taking up all the space in your brain.

The steam is carrying the scent of your shampoo as you work it into your scalp, washing away the last few days of chlorine and salty air. It feels heavenly, but your mind is working through a scenario where Josh’s hands are tangled in your hair and that same scent is floating up to him as he hovers over you, he’ll think of you for the rest of his life, every time he encounters it.

The throbbing ache is getting worse.

As the lather from your hair washes down the drain, you force yourself to think of something a little more practical. He had promised to find you but offered no suggestion as to where you should meet, or when. Your stomach sounds on cue, a reminder that you have to do something about dinner whether those plans include him or not. With no way to reach him, you have to trust that fate, or something less whimsical, will bring him back to you.

Ew, get it together.

You clean the rest of your body quickly, before you can talk yourself out of even going back downstairs. Taking only enough time to dry your hair about halfway and swipe some mascara over your lashes, you tie on the black swimsuit just in case and throw on an outfit you’d bought during your last minute Amazon spree. Made of some flowy type of synthetic resembling linen, the waistband of the shorts sits high, well over your navel and the matching top is lined with buttons that you disregard, rolling up the sleeves and letting it drape open over your frame. The soft sage green is particularly appealing against the tan gracing your thighs and why would I care if I look appealing?

You’re thinking too hard about this, he already wants you and he’s made that much abundantly clear since your first meeting.

Now you just have to find him.

Most of the restaurants downstairs are buffet-style, which is only nice because it gives you the opportunity to move at exactly your own pace and be left in peace until your drink needs a refill. From your table against the window, you’re able to people watch as you eat, the variety of outfits that range from extremely casual to extremely overdressed is entertaining in its own right. There is a nightclub here, you consider the possibility that the overdressed have actual plans after this, unlike yourself.

Your gaze turns outward, through the glass that allows a view of the thatch roofed, terracotta tiled walkways lined by lit pools of water that are really just oversized fountains. There are plenty of people to observe outside, families and couples making their way to their own dinners as the sun finally dips low enough in the sky for the stars to fight for dominance. Your eyes are following a couple walking hand in hand, she’s smiling up at him as he talks, apparently enraptured by whatever he’s saying. They’ve almost moved out of your sight line when you see him.

He’s standing at the edge of the tile, the toes of his sandals nearly hanging over the rippling pool in front of him. A hand tucked into the front pocket, his shorts are still outrageously short though they look different than the two pairs you’ve seen him in so far, and his white tank top has been replaced with a white t-shirt. The white bandana is rolled loosely and tied around his neck, leaving his curls free to hang over his forehead and rest over his ears.

His other hand comes up and places the filter of a lit cigarette between his lips, the end glowing red and illuminating his eyes just as they lift from the water and land on you.

You watch him exhale, the smoke curling up into the air before it’s carried away on the breeze. He lifts that hand again, points two fingers in your direction, cigarette held between them, and shapes two silent words with those lips.

Found you.

From the small bag slung across your chest you pull an undetermined amount of cash and toss it on the table, unsure if it’s too much or not enough of a tip for the two drinks you’d been served but not finding it in you to care as you knock back the remnants of the glass in front of you. Looking back through the window as you stand, you lock eyes with him again, still watching you, and waiting.

He’s still watching and waiting as you step out into the heavy air, thick with heat even without the sun, and turn the corner that would lead you to him. You would love to say that you had been composed and casual as you moved in his direction but you’ve given up the act of indifference and you don’t try to hide the excitement in your expression.

Steps away from reaching him, you realize that you have no idea what his game plan is, where he intends to take you or how much longer he’s going to make you wait for the inevitable.

“Josh.”

“Well hello, beautiful. Don’t you look lovely with clothes on?” He takes another hit from his cigarette as he looks you over, the realization that he’s only ever seen you in a bathing suit dawning on you. It’s really no wonder that you’ve ended up here, nervously awaiting some insight as to when and where he plans to fuck you, when every moment leading up to now has been fueled by bare skin and wild imagination.

“We match.” It’s the first thing that pops into your head that seems appropriate to say, the color of his shorts is just a hint darker than that of your outfit. He looks down at himself before looking back at you with a raised eyebrow and a grin that says so we do. “I didn’t realize you smoked.”

Again, not your business, but you haven’t seen him do it so far. “I don’t, not much anymore anyway.” He bends to pick up a backpack from the tile that you hadn’t noticed, slinging it over his shoulder and grabbing for one of your hands. “I bummed this one.”

Your fingers wrap themselves around his hand immediately and you fall in beside him as he starts to walk.

“Something to take the edge off?” Still referring to the cigarette as he takes a final hit and tosses it into the sand-filled tray atop a conveniently placed trash can, you wonder if he’s also nervous.

“Yeah… something like that.” He leaves you wondering what that means and keeps moving forward, slipping into a silence that lasts as long as you can stand it.

“Where are we going?”

A soft squeeze to your hand that’s held in his. “To the beach.”

The beach?! “Josh, I thought- I mean, it’s early… Won’t there still be people all over the beach?”

He’s certainly not an idiot, and he does have a plan. “Not where we���re headed.”

“How do you know?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your head snaps in his direction, he’s looking at you from the corner of his eye, the side of his mouth that you can see is turned up.

“Sure, I do but-“

“But you just can’t wait any longer to spread your pretty legs for me?” A strangled noise passes your lips. “Don’t worry, you only have to wait as long as it takes us to get where we’re going. You better hurry up.”

The sky is dark as you move away from the lit walkways of the resort, passing through the mostly empty pool area and finally hitting the sand. Josh pauses to slide his sandals off so you do the same, plucking them up and carrying them hung from your fingers. You walk along the water as it licks at the shoreline, passing only a few people before the beach is deserted completely the farther you go.

Looking up to the stars again, definitely not thinking about the last time you’d been lost in them, a heavy sigh slips out into the air.

“It’s so pretty here, I never wanna go home.”

His breath forms the words and the question materializes before he can stop it. “When do you leave?”

The answer lodges in your throat. You’re not ready to tell him, you’ve hardly had a chance to experience him and the sun is already setting on your time with him.

“Um… Sunday morning.”

His feet stop moving, the hand connected with yours stops you in your tracks. “So that’s it? I get you for tonight and maybe tomorrow, and that’s it?”

The dejection in his voice is surprising but that doesn’t make it sting any less.

“Yeah, Josh. I- what do you want me to say?”

He shakes his head and the moonlight shines off of his curls as they move. “No, nothing. It’s okay, we’ll just have to make the most of it, yeah? We can stop here by the way, we’re alone.”

The nerves are back, quickly replacing the regret that came with being the cause of the solemn frown on his lips. You watch him move inland, away from the water's edge and into the dark grove of palm trees growing straight out of the sand. Dropping to one knee, his sandals are discarded and the backpack comes around and sinks to the ground as he tugs at the zipper and pulls a huge Mexican blanket from the opening. He’s still unfolding it as you approach.

“What else is hiding in your little bag of tricks?”

“Tequila, obviously.” He pulls it out and passes the bottle up to you as he situates the blanket and brushes sand from the corners before strategically settling into the center. After a deep breath, you pull the cork and take a shot straight from the bottle, sucking a hiss through your teeth after you swallow.

“Something to take the edge off?” He’s smirking at you as you plug the bottle and he repeats your words from earlier.

You toss the tequila into his lap, which he catches deftly and quickly takes a shot of his own, laying it onto the sand after he shoves the cork back in it.

“Yeah…” This is it, now what? “…Something like that.”

Leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him, he’s looking up at you with his head tilted, just so. When he speaks, his voice is pitched low again but you hear him loud and clear.

“Get the fuck down here.”

Your sandals slip from your fingertips and you bring the strap of your bag over your head, letting it fall to the sand. A step toward the blanket and you move to slide your open shirt off of your shoulders, but he stops you.

“Don’t, please. Let me.” You leave it on and practically pounce on him, your knees landing on either side of his hips, the blanket sure to leave rug burn across your skin there. He captures your lips with a hmph against them as you collide with his chest, his arms circling you and pulling your body snugly into his lap.

This time, when your tongues meet there’s nothing gentle or apprehensive about it, he’s licking into your mouth like he knows you, like he’s kissed you like this hundreds of times, like he knows exactly what you need. His hair is soft wrapped around your fingers as they sink into it, his dick is already growing hard underneath you, you let your hips rock into it and drink down the groan that pours from his lips.

“Fuck, wait, hold on a second,” his hands stop the roll of your hips over his, “Do you wanna take it slow?”

“No, not this time. Please, c’mon Josh…” He lets your hips go, free to move unhindered as he chuckles into a fast kiss that moves from your lips to your jaw.

“Okay pretty girl, let’s do it then.” His kisses move from your jaw to that special spot he’d discovered earlier, outside your room. He’d wanted to pull your clothes off slowly but since you’ve protested… as he sucks the skin at the base of your neck into his mouth, one hand moves up to the knot just beside his lips and the other slides to the one at the middle of your back. In one motion, he presses his teeth to that sensitive little spot, and tugs at the strings holding your bikini top to your body. You can’t help the shameless moan, he can feel it against his lips, deep in your throat as his bite shoots electricity through your nervous system and the breeze off the ocean moves over your now bare breasts.

When he pulls back to look at you, your chest is already heaving, bared to him aside from the unbuttoned shirt fluttering around you. Your tan lines are dramatic, even in the absence of light and a triangle of pale skin surrounds each slightly darker nipple. He yanks the shirt down off your shoulders and traps your elbows at your sides, pushing your tits forward and forcing your hands from his hair.

“Every single thing about you is so fucking sexy, it’s unreal.”

You can’t respond with anything more than a soft whine as he leans in immediately and closes his lips over the same nipple he’d first touched last night. Unable to feel him with your hands, your hips are working overtime trying to create some friction where you’re throbbing so intensely that it hurts, until he releases his hold on your shirt to wrap his fingers around the curves he’s focused on.

As soon as your arms are free, you let your shirt slide from your body completely and reach to tug his own off of him. Your nipple leaves his mouth with a pop as he helps you, arms raised and reaching behind his head to pull the t-shirt up and over, the bandana falling to rest over his bare collarbones. He drops the tee onto the blanket, quickly snatching up the bikini top still between your bodies and the shirt you’ve let fall over his knees.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna slow down?”

“You’re not going fast enough.”

A challenge easily accepted. In an instant you’re looking up at the stars again, through the silhouette of the palm fronds. Josh is hovering over you, almost exactly how you definitely haven’t imagined it and his fingers are already tucked into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down to your hips. You lift them from the blanket to allow him to slide the material down your legs and away from your body, expecting him to rip the bottoms of your bikini off with them but he doesn’t.

Instead he sits back on his heels for a moment before rising to his feet, leaving you exposed and confused.

“Josh.”

“Shh I know, just give me this one thing.”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, unsure of how clearly he can read the exasperated look that must be written over your features, you ask what he could possibly want.

“Take them off. I wanna watch you take them off and I wanna see all of you, wearing nothing but the moonlight.”

Just verbalizing it causes his cock to pulse, but he resists offering it any relief.

Eager to give him what he’s asked for so poetically, and finally get what you’ve been wanting, you lay back again and arch your back away from the blanket, thumbs slid under the strings. You move them down over your hips slowly and push them to mid thigh, then pull the knots loose with your fingertips and let them fall away between your legs. When they land beneath you, you raise both arms over your head and elongate your entire body, knees together and toes pointed.

“Jesus. You look like a fucking goddess.”

It’s all he can manage for a moment as he commits this to memory, all of your skin glowing in a soft blue filter and on display just for him, the moon and the stars.

You watch as his hands flex, forming fists and stretching back out before they move to the waist of his own shorts. He makes quick work of opening the fly and shoving them and his briefs down to his ankles, seemingly moving without thought, simply on muscle memory alone as his fingers wrap around his dick. His body shudders as he pulls one slow stroke over himself before he realizes that you’re staring, eyes wider than he’s seen them before.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t even think to ask if you had any special requests.” He giggles, a pure and innocent sound that’s completely jarring in the current setting, both of you naked in the open air, his fist still wrapped loosely around his cock that you’d underestimated.

“Josh, I…”

“What, beautiful? You ready for me?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

“You have a lot of fucking requests.” You feel like you might die of starvation if you’re not full of him, right now. Your feet pull back over the blanket and you let your legs fall open to him. Before he can ask for anything else, you slide a hand down between them and run two fingers through what’s already dripping out of you. “Fuck, please come here…”

The vision of you, combined with your pleading words brings him to his knees, they land between your feet and he crawls over you, shuffling free of the shorts still around his ankles. The hand that had just been stroking his dick circles your wrist and pulls your slick fingers between your bodies, then wraps them around him.

Hot and heavy against your palm, you squeeze him once, drawing the most delicious, almost pained whimper past his kiss-swollen lips.

Eyes turned down to where you’re finally touching him, he murmurs, “Take what you want, beautiful.”

The head of his cock is pushed against you, your grip on it guiding it to slip through your wetness before it slides past your entrance. And stops.

His hips pull back just a little, he reaches down to nudge your hand away and replace it with his own. “Here, kiss me…” You accept his lips on yours, a gentle reassurance and a few deep breaths pulled in through your noses. His kiss moves to peck over your cheek until his mouth reaches your ear.

“Relax baby, let me in. I’ve got you.”

His whisper works like a sedative, loosening the anxious tension of anticipation from your muscles and when his hips roll into you he slides in another inch.

“That’s good, perfect pussy stretching around me. Doing so good.” His praise coaxes a rush of arousal from you, leaking over him. Another roll, another inch.

“You okay?” Your eyes, squeezed shut since he’d pushed inside, crack open and find concern written all over his face. When your head nods, his shakes. “Tell me, please.”

“Yes, I can take it, I want all of it…”

His hands move, braced on either side of your head and he rears his hips back until he nearly slips from your body, then snaps them into you. He sinks in to the base, flush against you and catches your outcry to God with his lips once again.

He lets you both adjust to the feeling, you to the unimaginable fullness and him to the way your cunt is squeezing him like a vice. His lips separate from yours and he offers a warning.

“I don’t want to hear you screaming anyone’s name but mine.” To make sure you understand, he withdraws and crashes back into you.

“Josh! Fuck Josh, Josh, Josh…”

It tumbles forth, he slides into a rhythm of deep strokes that leave you gasping for breath in between curses and whines of his name as your legs wrap themselves around his hips. Your hands can’t seem to decide where they want to land, roaming over all of the skin they can reach, fingertips digging into the tight muscles of his back before sliding up to his shoulder blades and feeling them move as he supports the rocking of his body over yours. As he has since your first interaction, he seems to know exactly what you’re thinking.

Through a clenched jaw he tells you, “Keep doing that, keep touching me. Memorize me.”

That’s what you’ve been doing without even recognizing it, ingraining the feeling of every ridge and curve of him into your mind, ensuring you’ll never forget this moment, or him. You drag your hands over his shoulders and loop your fingers around the rolled bandana that still hangs from his neck, swinging over your face at the same rhythm that his hips are pumping into you. Using it to bring him closer, you tug him into a kiss and open your mouth to him, an offering of your tongue that he welcomes.

Sinking to his elbows, his body blankets yours and his strokes lose their depth, shallow and sharp and allowing the base of him to put pressure on your clit. As the moan rolls up your throat he releases your lips and lets it float into the air.

“Does that feel nice, my beautiful girl?” A kiss pressed to the sticky skin of your neck, right to that spot.

“So good, so good just like this.”

“Mm, sound so pretty. You feel like a dream, I never wanna wake up.”

Never, never. You’d swear you’re just thinking it but it’s spilling from your lips as you feel the hot ember that’s been glowing inside you all day begin to ignite.

He feels it too, the easy glide of his cock moving inside you disrupted by the tightening of your walls around him.

“I feel you���” His hips grind into you, your clit is throbbing as he rolls against it. “Can you cum like this?”

It’s an honest question. As much as he does seem to know, he doesn’t actually know your body or what it’s capable of. Regardless, the flush of embarrassment warms your chest and creeps up your neck.

“I- fuck, I don’t know.”

“Let’s find out.”

He puts everything he has learned into practice, his face tucked into the crook of your neck where his tongue and teeth play over that spot that makes you whimper, your hands grip his biceps as he brings one of his own to your tit and brushes the pad of his thumb over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers. He lets his body work between your legs, hips moving rapidly but staying tight against the sensitive place that you need him most.

“Ohhh my god…”

His next thrust slams against the back of your thighs, punching a yelp past your lips. “What’d I tell you?”

“Josh! Keep going, pleasepleaseplease!”

He grinds hard against you and forces your mouth open with his. As soon as the tip of his tongue slips over yours, the fire explodes inside you.

He tries to lift himself away, to see you unravel, watch it consume you, but your hold on him is unwavering so he stays and kisses you until your lungs are burning. When your face jerks to the side and you’re able to draw a deep breath, he waits until he feels your muscles relax around his hips and then his cock before he starts to move again.

“A goddess of the moon is what you are,” your face turns up to him as he separates your chests and props himself over you, even in the blue darkness and through the fog in your brain you can see that the honey and amber of his eyes has disappeared. “How could I not be drawn to you, like the tides?”

He’s gone poetic again, and you can’t imagine that you’re the source of his inspiration but his gaze is drinking you in as it moves over your face and then down your body. He leans in and places a chaste kiss to your collarbone before pushing away and sitting back on his heels, your legs falling away from him and feet landing on the blanket.

His hands wrap themselves around your thighs, just above your knees and you reach out to feel his stomach flex as he starts to thrust into you again, deep strokes that allow you to feel every inch of him as he drags over your walls.

“Mmm, does that make you the sun, then? Burning so brightly that you make me glow, even in the dark?”

He chuckles even as his cock pulses inside you. “I like that.” His eyes drop to where he’s sliding in and out of you, that dark patch between your thighs only adding to the appeal of your cunt taking him in over and over again. “Fucking hell, keep talking to me.”

It makes you smile, the way he wants to hear you, but… “I don’t have a way with words like you- oh fuck.”

His teeth are gritted, his rhythm getting sloppy. He’s close. “Say those dirty words, I know you know some.”

You let your hands slip from his stomach and land on your own chest, his eyes drawn to the rainbow of your fingertips sinking into the pale flesh of your tits before one travels down your stomach.

“I want you to cum for me, Josh.” He grunts above you and his hips stutter. Your fingertips reach your pubic hair and he groans as they trail through it. “Cum on me. Right here.” You tap your fingers there.

He pulls out of you and grips his dick, pushing the tip into the soft curls and growling your name as his release spills over them.

He strokes himself only a couple of times, shuddering as the last of it empties onto you and planting his fists into the blanket at your sides, his head dropped so that you can only see the halo of curls at the crown of his head. You can hear him breathing heavily, but he doesn’t lift his head to look at you so you run your fingers over his hair.

“Josh?”

“Hm?”

“Look at me?” Before he does, he brings a hand to your mound and slips his thumb over the mess he’s made there, spreading it through your hair with a final soft groan.

When his eyes meet yours, his lids are heavy and his lips are drawn into a tight line. It’s not the expression you were expecting, and it makes you nervous again.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He moves back over you and takes your face into the palm of his hand, his stare is intense as he searches your eyes for something that you're not sure that he’s finding there. Before he answers, he soothes your nerves with a soft, barely there kiss that brushes over your lips just long enough to make them tingle. His forehead drops to yours, sweat-dampened curls pressed between them.

“No, beautiful. I don’t think you ever could.”

Taglist:

@lightmylove-gvf @spicedandicedtea @weneedsomehealing123 @milkgemini @why-ami-on-here @gretavanbitches @twistedmelodies @wildflowerxx-x @dannythedog @blissfulbellss @averagemisfit03 @dharmasdivine @thetroublegetssoloud71 @lucimoo @toxbexannouncedx @dig0930 @maddie-van-fleet @friska101-cg @welllauragvf @gretasimp @objectsinspvce @writingcold @gretavangroupie @sweetybre @gretasgoose @gvfjess @josh-iamyour-mama

This miniseries will have a third part and a short epilogue, please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the Taglist 🫶

[fbwzoo]

I can't share the 30-some pictures I did with my FB post, going from last December to this December. So I'll just use this one - which I just took after a quick harness training session in which she bounced across half the couch to meet me & wagged for the first 15 seconds, and before she made me put my phone down for a bout of snuggle scritches. 😭🥰

This is such a long post, I'm going to put it under a cut. But today is the 1 year anniversary of Emma coming home to us, and I am FULL of emotions over this little dog. So if you want to read my rambling & think with me how far my baby has come in a year.... read on!

One year of my Emma. 💙💜 I didn't really expect to love this dog so much, velcro dog and all. She is definitively My Dog, and I never had a choice in the matter. I think that was just gonna happen, ever since I first saw her adoption post 1 year & 9 months ago. Every time I saw her posted again, I wanted her. It was meant to be! 🥰

And now I look back on the year & think about it all. We changed a bunch of things in our household for this little dog, and all year, we kept adjusting & improving where it was needed for her & the other animals. I love my family so much, and I'm so grateful to have found these other people who love animals & are so willing to adapt as needed for their happiness too. Everyone in the house agreed to take on a project dog, and everyone stepped up to help her settle in.

It's weird too, bc it often doesn't feel like we've DONE that much. But when I tell someone new about her, or spell it out for myself, I'm reminded that we've done the work, even if it mostly didn't seem like work. And we gave her what we knew we absolutely could, what she needed most - time and space. We went at her pace, let her lead us, and it's been truly amazing to watch her over this year.

Emma has gone from being very worried to terrified about any & all human movements, unable to be pet or touched, quick to be on guard at any small change in position. Terrified of loud noises and too much activity. Barking at Joel to try and make him go away. Pottying in the house on pee pads because outside is scary. Only laying in a lap if the lap was covered with a blanket.

All of that.... to a dog that spends 98% of her time relaxed, happy, and ready to be involved. She greets us with alert barks instead of guarding barks, tail wags, bouncing, and licks (okay, mostly me for some of that but still). Everyone in the house has been able to pet her. She actively loves to be pet by Jack in bed & me anywhere when she wants snuggles. She plays with her dog siblings and with me. She discovered the joys of yard zoomies early on & never looked back - she potty trained faster and better than Spring!

She knows and likes our household routines. She LOVES food, and it's the quickest way to her heart! 😂 But she's learned some manners too, like not snatching food with any opportunity! She's gotten more comfortable being on the floor. She still likes to chew more than our other two, and has gotten really great at managing big emotions by redirecting to a Benebone!

We're not the best at active training, but even so, she makes us & me look good! She's interested now, when the treats come out, and wants to see what to do to get some. She interacts with new objects, she is doing great with harness training.

She has opinions now!!! And she will tell you!!! Especially if they involve dinner time! 😂 I still can't believe she demand barks now, and it's been too cute for us to bother stopping for the most part.

I've thought about goals for her over the next year, and I definitely have some big ones. Continue harness training until I can put it fully on her & take it off. Leash skills & comfort with them. All of that slowly, so slowly leading up to trips out of the house - to do vet happy visits, check out some SniffSpots, and go visit her sister at foster mom's house. I also want to introduce some pattern games to help with all of that.

And we plan to start having people over to the house again! Not sure how often or how many, and we may have to alter pace based on how she does. But she's so often surprised us with her resilience, so I think we'll do okay! (And obviously all visitors will be required to follow rules around my pup, or face the mama bear wrath 😂)

But mostly....I just can't wait for another year with this extremely sweet, loving, exuberant little dog that is working so hard to find her confidence. We're all so very proud of Emma, and love her so much. 💜💙

I also included a thank you to both rescues & Emma's foster mom, for all of their time, work, and hoops to ensure that Emma would be safe. They genuinely gave us all the information we needed to make sure we were prepared, and I am even more grateful for that after seeing how rare our experience is in my fearful dogs group.

[marketfreshfics]

The Stratagem Strain - Part II

Plot summary: Arriving at Hogwarts for an advanced graduate program on the direct appointment of the Minister for Magic himself, Paisley Gallos anticipates a successful sixth year of classes. Unbeknownst to her, she is a pawn in a sinister ploy orchestrated long before the start of the school year.

Tags: violence | angst | blood | vampires | tragedy | forced proximity | regret | denial of feelings | NDEs | eventual smut | dark magic | accidental death | read on AO3

Save for the impromptu flying literature fiasco near the Charms classroom, involving one Hector Kibbings, one Lyle Dean and about twenty library books, Paisley’s fourth day of classes thus far was entirely, thankfully, ordinary. 

The castle exuded a snug dimness, its atmosphere coloured by the dreariness of the weather, a mood that seeped into the professors and their lessons despite the fresh start of term. Even Professor Hecat, for all her unorthodox vitality when teaching, insisted they spend the morning class penning refresher notes on hex deflection. Oblivious to respite, with her quill enchanted to carbon-copy the lecture, Paisley read up on her assignment for Transfiguration.

She immediately recognized the start of a routine, the familiar weight of academic expectation settling lofty and buoyant on her shoulders, much like her father’s treasured old raincoat. Lost in thought, Paisley absentmindedly traced the intricate patterns etched into her desk with her fingertips, scrawls and quill carvings from generations prior, as her mind drifted back to the past few days' events. There was a strange anticipation of it all: graduating early had never been a prospect on her radar, but the mere idea of the head start on life gave her goosebumps. 

But that was a long-term anticipation, a gentle flutter in her chest. Short-term, what she looked forward to most, aside from her trip to Hogsmeade after classes, was Astronomy. Not solely because it held her interest more than most of her studies, but because she could rely on captivating conversation with her tall, soft-spoken classmate.

“Hello Amit,” she greeted her first Hogwarts friend with a radiant grin. “Did you finish reading about the Olbers’ paradox?”

The young wizard practically beamed, pleating the corners of his dark eyes. “It was thrilling! I’d never considered such a theory, but it holds merit. Even if the universe constantly expands, it would explain why interstellar space still exists.” Warm hands withdrew the bound copy of Heinrich Wilhelm Olbers’ thesis from his foldover satchel, returning it to her; Paisley’s smile expressed fondness when she noticed the pages were still pristine, free of folds or creases, the spine still intact--a clear sign of his respect for such precious belongings.

Paisley thanked him, tucking away the text as she spoke. “It’s funny you mention that; I have a copy of Kepler’s considerations of this theory, which predate Olbers by a couple of centuries. If you enjoyed his theory of planetary motion, you’re bound to find this one fascinating.”

“Really?” Amit was just as starved for in-depth discussion, with the way he turned his whole body towards her as if to plant himself directly into their conversation. “Did you know he was a student of Brahe? Known for—“

“The Tychonic System,” Paisley finished his sentence, a modest, albeit proud tint to her cheeks. “Sorry… incredible, isn’t it? And when you consider Copernicus, we can keep going back—“

“Mister Thakkar, a moment? I require some assistance!” Professor Shah's interruption shattered their exchange, drawing their attention to the professor crouched over a domed gadget, reminiscent of a large, upside-down colander, attempting (unsuccessfully) to connect it to a prehistoric-looking telescope. 

Amit gave Paisley a kind, apologetic look, already eager to return to their shared interests as he went to aide the professor with setting up the massive star projection. Meanwhile, Paisley enchanted her quill to scrawl notes before Shah even provided the basis of the day’s lesson. She perched on the edge of her chair and leaned back, ankles crossed, reclining as she surveyed her classmates with innocent glances, trying some name association to recall who was, well, who. From her measured assumptions, most of them didn’t make appearances in her other classes, at least from the perspective of her short-term memory.

Eventually, her line of sight fell on the student seated next to Amit’s empty chair. A fellow Slytherin she recognized but couldn’t place, looking far too proper for their surroundings, with his mousy blonde hair immaculately coiffed, pomaded, prim. Even his school robes hinted at additional galleons in the lining, more meticulous care interwoven in the stitches…

Though his appearance first piqued her curiosity, the miniature galaxy on his desk thoroughly captivated her. It hovered above a small wooden frame set flat on the table, the scaled-down twilight a transparent watercolour, diluted indigo and dotted with endless twinkling stars, the cosmos slowly swirling in suspended motion. The wizard absent-mindedly swept his fingers side to side, as if his touch travelled through the Milky Way, constellations webbing to and fro as he landed on Sagittarius-

“I'm not privy to courtesies across the Atlantic, but staring is not encouraged here.”

Paisley’s head jarred at his sudden speech, and she blinked, stammering, face all hot-flashed. “Sorry, I-I was just admiring your star map. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You won’t,” he replied flatly, still scrolling through the universe.

“Oh, did you build it yourself?”

His expression showed amusement. His head turned towards her, sloped, without established eye contact. “No, it’s how I get by in this class.”

A nudge born in her subconscious told her it wasn’t advantageous, but a necessity.

Seeking to understand further, Paisley took a closer look, noticing his distinct lack of pupils. His eyes were a remarkably bewildering hue, as if they argued between blue or green and eventually settled on a mutual agreement.

Not wanting to seem insensitive, Paisley took the opportunity to make light of the circumstance. “Rather poor sense of humour to make a visual-based learning class mandatory, in this case.”

The wizard huffed, a titter held captive in his throat. “You know, for a Ravenclaw, you make a terrible Slytherin.”

Recognition dawned on Paisley as she recalled seeing him at dinner the night before. She finally connected a place to a face; all she needed was a name. “You’re Sebastian’s friend.”

He nodded, slipping into practiced formality. “I’m Ominis, Ominis Gaunt.” 

“Paisley Gallos.” she introduced herself in return, feeling rather inadequate compared to his well-groomed confidence. The tailored uniform and lack of stray hairs didn’t help matters.

Ominis nodded. “Sebastian’s looking forward to your trip to Hogsmeade. Was prattling on about it during breakfast.”

“He was?” This surprised Paisley, given the brief conversation they had. Was there something she was not yet made aware of?

“I’d have thought that would be obvious,” Ominis stated matter of fact. “You’re a new fascination around her, of course, he’ll want to pick your brain.”

Fair. At least he couldn’t see her sapped expression. “Surely that will cease soon enough? I’m not fond of the attention.”

The responding headshake paired with an inward grin said otherwise, and Paisley sighed. “Suppose I was expecting too much.”

“I’m certain you’ll have no issue blending in, especially if you’re nose remains buried in books.”

Paisley arched an eyebrow, undecided if his tone was mocking, playful, or abrasive. Before she could manage a retort, Amit had returned to his seat, pulling out his chair. “Sorry about that! Professor Shah curses that fossil of a contraption, but with the inclement weather, we’ll have to make due…”

While Amit picked up where they left off, Paisley peered around him momentarily, watching as Ominis swirled his fingertips through the stars.

-----

“Ah, there you are.”

Sebastian leaned against the door to the courtyard, kicking a chipped edge of the cobblestone, steeped in the appearance of a parent coming to gather their child from school. “Thankfully the rain has relented.” He held a hand outside, a scant smatter of droplets collecting on his palm. “Well, mostly. Hope you don't mind getting a little wet.”

Oblivious to his amused expression and anticipation of her reaction, Paisley started out the door ahead of him, already walking at a brisk pace. “No issue whatsoever.” The fresh air felt good in her chest, tinged with the earthy aroma of petrichor. “Keep up now, otherwise I’ll get lost.”

The dirt path, worn down to smooth ruts by years of foot traffic, guided them toward the village ahead. As they sidestepped to make way for a thestral-pulled carriage, Paisley's gaze swept over Hogwarts in the distance, her expression awash with wonder. “Magnificent.”

Sebastian stopped alongside her to take in the sight as well. “It’s rather enchanting, isn’t it?” He crossed his arms, idly scuffing a pebble with his Oxford. “Certainly wish Anne were here to see it again. Merlin knows she misses it here.”

“Who’s that?”

They fell into stride again as he replied. “My twin sister. She's ill at the moment, but with any luck, she’ll be back at school sooner than you know.”

Paisley’s expression softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She reached for lighter fare. “Is she in Slytherin as well?”

Sebastian nodded, his grin lax, but loving. “She is. Her, Ominis and I were quite the trio—always up to some mischief, most of which Anne orchestrated herself.”

“Really?” This surprised her, recalling Ominis’s austere demeanour. “But Ominis seems so…”

Sebastian reached back to tug on the hood of Paisley's cloak. "Ah, now you're judging a book by its cover," he teased. "You, one of the brighter minds in our year, falling for such a cliché?"

She stumbled over her words, giving the tells of embarrassment. “I-I mean—“

Sebastian's chuckle cut through the unease, his playful tone softened by genuine warmth. “Oh, come now! Keep that uptight, and you’ll become as petrified as the gargoyles.”

Her silent frown only made his laugh echo on. “So temperamental. Look, Ominis is my best friend, my oldest friend.” His words were sincere, even after following such teasing ones. “He’s a good egg, despite how marvellous his family is.” 

The telltale tone of sarcasm that capped off his remark was not lost on Paisley. “Are they dark wizards or something?” 

Sebastian fell out of step momentarily, as if he wasn’t anticipating the question. He attempted recovery with nonchalance, reminding himself that he recently met this student; he’d have to be careful with the secrets he shared, especially their phrasing. “Well, rumours are just that—rumours. But they’re a bunch of pureblood elitists, the whole lot of them. Loads of Slytherins are, but his father’s side traces back to Salazar himself, so there’s even more to contend on status.”

“That’s rather intense,” Paisley replied, combing back shoulder-dusting waves, damp from the occasional condensation. “I wasn’t aware that blood status was so relevant here.”

“You have no idea. Slytherin is the worst for it.” 

“How very fortunate that I'm muggle-born, then.”

Sebastian’s glance towards her was a wary blend of concern and fascination. His advice came with caution in tow. “Might be best to keep that information under wraps. You’re not from around here, so they probably won’t dig too deep on you, but don’t give them a reason to.” 

A lump formed in Paisley's throat as she wondered who exactly Sebastian was alluding to. Who were "they," and were they people she needed to avoid?

Why even bring up something like that in the first place?

Sebastian backtracked. “But yes, Ominis wants nothing to do with his family’s beliefs. He’s been staying with us in Feldcroft for a while now, having excommunicated them entirely, though he’s still receiving a stipend. Mostly because his family is so hellbent on appearances and status and prioritizing themselves, so they keep him clothed and ‘cared’ for, though they’re hardly caring, if you ask me.” 

“What does that mean?”

“There is… a lot of history there.” He struggled with his reply, meticulously choosing his words with precision. “History, that isn't my place to say. I’ve probably shared enough as it stands..”

With impeccable timing, they approached the entrance to Hogsmeade, dotted with clusters of witches and wizards in all manner of dress, eclectic to ragged. Crooked cottages leaned inwards and sideways, beckoning with their age-old charm, while a whimsical warmth enveloped Paisley's chest, infusing her with a sense of wonder. She couldn't help but admire the enchanting hamlet before her as if it were a scene stolen from a dream, delicately draped in the gentle mist of time itself.

“Seems all roads lead to Hogsmeade.”

“Beg your pardon?” Paisley cocked a brow.

Sebastian merely grabbed her arm, plucking her from an uncharacteristic stupor. “Tomes & Scrolls, correct?”

“Right, yes.”

——-

Although the (hefty) volume that Professor Fig arranged for pickup was already in her possession, Paisley acquired two more without hesitation. “Sure you don’t have any errands to run while you’re here?” She asked Sebastian, carting desired purchases stacked in her arms.

He shook his head, arms crossed, leaning against the railing as he peeked over his shoulder to survey the floor below. “I’ve scoured these shelves and then some,” he assured her. “Managed to evade Potions class and detention for this little excursion; Take your time.”

Scrutiny narrowed her hazel eyes. “What for? I thought you were striving for minimal detention.”

“It’s complete nonsense, really.” The annoyance rolled off Sebastian in droves as he dismissed Paisley’s comment. “There are… regulations that bar specific texts from circulation in the library. I believe that information should be readily accessible. Scribner, however, does not.”

“Are they dangerous?” Paisley ventured as she attempted to reach something from the shelf above, silently cursing her lack of height. Sebastian noticed her pitiful extension when she pushed up on her toes and, with ease, he intervened, effortlessly reaching over her head to grab the leatherbound copy of The Enchanted Elixir Compendium, plopping it on her growing stack. 

Her relieved sigh was met with a nod of acknowledgment before Sebastian resumed his casual stance against the railing. “Of course, dangerous books are bound to be allocated there. What matters, in my humble opinion, is that the danger lies not solely within the pages themselves but, rather, how one engages with their contents.”

“How very valiant of you.”

Sebastian grinned, impressed by Paisley’s selection of books thus far. “Some light reading?” He teased. 

“My mother was a teacher. Keeping well-versed comes second nature.”

"Likewise," the wizard chimed in. "Both my parents, actually—"

The sudden creak of the shop door swinging open interrupted them, startling Paisley. With a quick succession of thuds, her stack of books tumbled from her grasp to the floor.

"Dammit," she muttered under her breath, crouching down to retrieve them. Sebastian mirrored her actions, his helpful gesture met with an appreciative smile. As they straightened up, Paisley's gaze darted through the gaps in the wooden staircase rungs, fixating on the entrance of the shop.

A burly wizard sporting a bowler cap stared back at her, his sneer dripping with contempt. Before she could react, Sebastian rose to his feet, extending a hand to her. "You alright?" he inquired, sensing her sudden unease.

Paisley nodded, but as she glanced back towards the entrance, the man was nowhere to be found.

"Sorry, just... nothing. Thought I saw something," she dismissed, though a trace of uncertainty lingered in her voice.

-----

At the advice of Sebastian (and the mercy of her back), Paisley toted her armload of fresh books to the mail sorting to dispatch them to her dormitory via post. Once liberated from the weight, she emerged, savouring a deep breath.

The smell of milk chocolate and caramel swamped her throat, and she had to let out a brief cough to counter the sugary scent. Sebastian’s eyes were saucers. “Honeydukes, now.”

Before Paisley could interject, she was whisked away, captive to Sebastian's impromptu adventure. In hindsight, Professor Fig's decision to enlist Sebastian as her guide seemed more prescient than she had initially realized.

A riot of colour exploded from a nearby storefront, vibrant and shocking amidst the surrounding muted tones, a sore thumb of eye-popping saturation. The tantalizing aroma of confections grew stronger with each step, drawing them inexorably closer. "A candy shop?" Her question wasn’t one of confirmation, but surprise. “Last thing I’d expect to see here.”

Sebastian's response was cryptic yet assured: " Nothing compares to Honeydukes."

True to his word, the moment they crossed the threshold, Paisley felt as if she had been transported to an alternate reality—a fable where children might wander into enchanted forests and stumble upon the edible abode of a wicked hag. Before she could voice her bewilderment, Sebastian was already off, his cloak was billowing past her, brown hair all bouncing as he bounded towards the aisles in the back.

It provided an appropriate visual for the term ‘kid in a candy shop,’ prompting a wry smile from Paisley as she trailed after him, equally intrigued by the unexpected detour.

“Right, so you have to give these a try—” Sebastian practically tossed a box of bonbons at her, narrowly whizzing past her head before presenting another variety of treats. “Ah! Chocolate wands! Haven’t had these since I was in third year…”

Paisley snorted, deftly catching the confections as he lobbed them her way. “I don’t think I’ve consumed this much sugar in my entire life.”

“Need to catch up then,” He chimed, depositing another box of sweets in her folded arms, labelled Cauldron Cakes. “Have to put some meat on those bones; the castle gets plenty chilled during the winter, especially in the dungeons.”

She narrowly dodged his aimed pinch at her waist, accidentally dropping the box of cakes. “Sorry!” her sheepish tone aimed at the store clerk, whose expression claimed every ounce of annoyance that Paisley could detect.

“Excellent,” Sebastian was already strolling down another aisle, and with a quick-quipped “incoming!” Paisley sidestepped to grab the box of Every Flavour Beans as Sebastian grinned with mischief over the shelf at her. “You’ve got to try those, especially the dark-spotted ones.” She skimmed the flavour key on the back of the package and threw him a glare once she learned which ones were unmistakably pepper-flavoured. The box was promptly tossed back over the aisle towards Sebastian, who caught it before it could hit the floor.

It was at that moment that Paisley caught sight of a familiar bowler hat, traversing down the aisle opposite hers.

She bristled immediately, a chill of suspicion, of worry cooling her blood. 

His narrow-set eyes were wild when they glanced at her, and immediately Paisley moved, rounding the aisle to join Sebastian again. There was an urgency in her voice when she prompted him. “Have all you need?” 

Her tone was not lost on him, despite his scrunched brow of confusion. “Uhh, yeah, yeah of course…”

Almost predictably, the thickset wizard was suddenly nowhere to be found.

The pair paid for their pluckings, and Sebastian stuffed them into his robes as they left the shop.

“Well, now that that’s all settled,” Sebastian brushed a speck of dandruff from his robe, “I’d say we have just enough time to enjoy a butterbeer, on me.”

“What’s butterbeer?”

Sebastian’s overreaction was nearly comical. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me what butterbeer is?”

Paisley shrugged. “Perhaps you're a bit slow on the uptick, but I’m not exactly from around here.”

The range of his responding eyeroll impressed her. She didn't miss a beat as he led the way, passing by a gilded clothing shop. “Keep it up; you may find a thought or two in the back of your skull.”

“Oh, what’s that, Pais? You’d like to buy us a round, instead? Feeling charitable, hmm?”

Paisley swatted him before he could bring the hood of her robe over her head.

-----

“Well?”

Sebastian's voice lilted in expectation as he leaned in slightly, his gaze locking onto Paisley's every nuance. She found herself under scrutiny before she even took a sip of the amber beverage.

“It’s…” She combed for the proper terms. “Reminiscent of butterscotch? Though it's very similar in flavour to the crème caramels my mother used to make.”

Satisfied with her response, Sebastian drank before studying her more in-depth. “Must be quite the whirlwind, stepping into this world?”

Paisley nodded with exaggeration. “Thrilling, though it's all a bit more overwhelming than I initially thought.” She shifted in her seat, thanking the kind barkeep who delivered the platter of sandwiches they’d ordered. “When I started at Ilvermorny, it felt like, like an extension of what I knew, you know? Different land, yes, but not a different universe. It wasn’t such a shift to acclimate.”

“I can imagine.” He paused to wipe butterbeer foam from the corner of his mouth. “Do you miss it, your old school?” A complicated smile claimed her, bittersweet in its lack of depth. “Yes. Well, yes and no. I got plenty teased by classmates who didn’t appreciate my… academic fervour.”

“Bullied for your grades?” He seemed genuinely surprised by this. “Rather immature, if you ask me. ‘Round here, you’re more likely to be ragged on for failing studies. Granted, if someone wants to tease you, they’ll find a way…”

The slow swing of the tavern door diverted attention from their chat, Paisley's gaze fixating on the wizard wearing a bowler hat making an entrance. She felt a familiar knot of discomfort form in her stomach, and she couldn't help but voice her concern to Sebastian.

“Who is that man?” 

Sebastian lacked subtlety then, craning his head past the wooden beam to follow her line of sight. “Ah, that’s Harlow. Local thug, one of Rookwood’s goons.”

Paisley frowned, creased between eyebrows. “He’s turned up everywhere we have. Tombs & Scrolls, Honeydukes, and now here? Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” 

“Not something to fret about.” Her worry was dismissed with a quick head shake, but Sebastian explained before invalidation rooted in her gut. “Rookwood doesn’t dedicate much time terrorizing students, let alone Harlow. Unless you’re involved in some clandestine extra-curricular activity that I’m not aware of?”

“Not yet, at least.” 

He snorted, though persisted in assuaging her concerns. “Probably a coincidence. Everyone loves Honeydukes. Criminals can have a sweet tooth, too.”

“...And at Tomes & Scrolls?”

“It would shock me if he could read, for one thing.” Sebastian took a bite of sandwich, continuing through chews. “Maybe he fancied a bedtime story? Something to settle Rookwood in for rest after a long day of pilfering and purloining?”

Despite his attempts to quell her suspicions, Paisley was firmly planted in nervousness, chewing her thumbnail as she watched the foam dissipate from the dredges of her butterbeer. Perhaps it was that wariness ingrained in most women, saturating her mind and all correlations in anxiety, her senses on high alert. It annoyed her that Sebastian was blissfully ignorant of such a feeling.

To her relief, Harlow didn’t linger, having barely stepped beyond the threshold, departing almost as swiftly as he had arrived, accompanied by an equally smarmy wizard who was all legs and elbows.

“Am I right, or am I right? ” 

Sebastian’s smart-ass brand of reassurance was met with a deadpan glare. He raked a hand through his hair, sending it in a different direction than it was heading previously. "Look, if you're uneasy about it, we can always use the Floo to get back to the castle. I'm sure I've got some powder tucked away in my robes somewhere…”

-----

The rain had stopped completely as the duo exited The Three Broomsticks, the sunset obscured by thick but commonplace overcast, blocking out more light than usual for just past the dinner hour.

“There’s a public-access flame nearby,” Sebastian announced, striding around the tavern's corner, his hand fumbling within the inner recesses of his robes. "I'm pretty sure I've got enough powder for both of us. Always prepared for these eventualities."

“Right,” Paisley replied automatically, her attention stolen by a nearby group of witches and wizards, engrossed in animated discussion. 

“What in Merlin’s name?”

Sebastian’s exclamation caught her attention, and Paisley pulled herself to join him, immediately comprehending the cause for astonishment.

Before them was a flat, stone plaque, crowned by a stone-carved bust of Ignatia Wildsmith with a cloth gag bound tightly around her mouth. Paisley felt along the knot, attempting to pull it off, but it was an impossible effort; the muffling accessory was enchanted to be an integral feature of the carving itself. Her fingers grasped futilely at the edges, the stone damp from the rain, but even with the slip, she couldn't dislodge it.

“The Floo flame, it’s…” Sebastian frowned. “It’s been bewitched.” 

Paisley was on high alert before. Now, she was downright afraid. Thankfully, when she looked at Sebastian this time, his apprehension mirrored hers. “Come,” he uttered, taking her by the hand this time, the chill of fear now shared between them. “There’s another near Honeydukes.”

Intuition whispered to Paisley, confirming her suspicions when they discovered the second flame was extinguished as well, the inventor of Floo powder gagged from speaking, unable to name any guilty parties. Observers were keen to the sudden disappearance of transport to and from Hogsmeade, as small gatherings began to form around the out-of-place waypoints. “I’ll have Officer Singer investigate right away!” the cafe attendant shouted, vanishing inside to no doubt issue an urgent request via owl. 

“Sebastian,” Paisley spoke up, wary, voice cracking. “Someone doesn’t want us to leave Hogsmeade.”

He nodded, expression grim. “Not quickly, at least. I suggest we head back via the main road. It’s a short walk, and there’s always foot traffic.” 

With adrenaline coursing through her veins, Paisley needed little persuasion.

The students ducked out from the crowds, connecting to the road that led back to Hogwarts. As Paisley fell into step with her new friend, she peered over her shoulder towards the village, letting relief steep her nerves as she exhaled. 

Only in the safety and embrace of hindsight did their predicament become painfully clear.

They weren’t trapped in Hogsmeade. 

They were pigeonholed out of it.

[eaamon]

Perspective | Part 8

Warning: It has spoilers from manga so don't read it if you aren't caught up.

Pairing: Touya Todoroki x Reader (Female)

Synopsis: Touya has become a hero, fulfilling his father's wish. He wanted Endeavor to be proud of him. Then why is this emptiness chasing him everywhere? Why can't he fit in with everyone else? Is this really what he wanted? All his thoughts and concepts about the hero society are left in chaos when he meets a certain villain.

Note: There is just Fuyumi in this story because Touya has achieved what Endeavor wanted.

Word count: 1.5k

Parts: |Part 1||Part 2||Part 3||Part 4||Part 5||Part 6||Part 7| |Part 8|

Touya had been walking aimlessly not knowing for how long. Everything was dark around him and this heavy silence chased after him no matter how many steps he took away from it. He could tell that something was wrong but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what exactly. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as his anxiety grew. He didn’t realize when his pace increased and he was running; running away from something he did not know. He stopped only when his hands hit something solid in front of him. He couldn’t see it but after feeling it with his hands, it seemed like a wall. He was now breathing heavily as he looked around him but all he saw was complete darkness. He could barely see himself in this darkness and the floor felt cold under his bare feet.

He was startled when he felt some vibrations in the supposed wall causing him to look at it but failing to see anything. He let out a gasp when he felt this wall pushing against him. He took a few steps back, only for his back to hit something causing him to stop. With a panic-stricken face Touya looked behind him to find nothing again. His breathing was beginning to get uneven and felt like he was surrounded. He tried to move left and right but was met by more walls. His hands clenched in to tight fists as he lifted his arms to slam in to these walls but to no avail. Touya was covered in sweat as his whole body started shaking. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat but was unable to. He felt so helpless and suffocated in this place but he didn’t know how to get out of here because no matter how much he walked, he was only met by darkness. He hunched over and circled his arms around his legs while hiding his face in his knees. He thought maybe, just maybe all of this will disappear if he looks away for a while. He was trying to count slowly and trying to match his breathing with it but he was too scared.

He was startled when he felt something warm on his arm and fell back down with wide eyes. He blinked a few times when he saw a blob of bright light floating in the air. It was the only light he saw in his surroundings. He flinched when this blob came closer to his face and instinctively moved back. On close inspection he realized that it was a butterfly and it was glowing. It had a beautiful pattern on its wings, a mix of chocolate brown and black. He could not bring himself to say anything as he stared at this beautiful creature wondering what it is doing in a place like this.

The butterfly made another attempt to come closer to his face but this time he didn’t shy away from it. He held his breath as it decided to settle on the tip of his nose. He didn’t know how much time passed by until the butterfly decided to fly away. His eyes widened because he didn’t want to be alone in this dark place. He tried getting up, only to trip on something but he broke his fall with his hands and stood up quickly. He felt his heart sink for a moment when he didn’t see the glowing butterfly but as soon as his eyes met the floating light, relief washed over him. He started walking after it, completely forgetting that he was surrounded by walls before.

He could see the butterfly just suspended in air when he would be left a little behind. It was as if it was guiding him somewhere. Sometimes when he was close enough, he could tell that the butterfly had turned around to look at him, waiting for him to follow. It wasn’t long before he began to see some light faraway. It was as if he was walking to the end of a tunnel. He felt so much relief wash over him as he followed it. “Hey…” He stopped causing the butterfly to stop and turn towards him. He blinked a few times, wondering if the it could understand what he is saying. “Who…who are you? And why are you helping me?” He waited for a reply, somewhat expecting the butterfly to talk but it remained quiet. He shook his head calling himself an idiot for expecting a butterfly to talk and began walking which caused the butterfly to move forward as well. Soon he was engulfed in the bright light, so blinding that he couldn’t see anything. “Thank you…” Just as he said that, the butterfly transformed in to a human. It was hard to make out who it was, but for some reason he had an inkling who it might be. Just as he hit the realization of who it was, he woke up.

Touya was startled as he looked around. His ears caught the beeping of the monitors causing his eyes to follow that sound. His eyes were wide when he saw Y/N lying in bed, looking sickly. She looked so pale against the white hospital sheets. He remembered how warm she looked the day they went to Sekoto Peak under the orange rays. He stood up from the couch he had fallen asleep on after the doctor told him the operation was a success. His legs felt jelly and he was sure he would fall before he could reach her but he made it to the bed. Her eyes were closed and she looked peaceful. He lifted his hand to place on her cold cheek which was once so warm. He rubbed his thumb over that plump skin as he leaned down and left a feathered kiss over her forehead. She seemed so fragile but resilient at the same time.

“It was you all along.” His voice was hoarse as he watched her with a sad smile. “You saved me unknowingly from the darkness that was creeping over me. You made me realize so many things that didn’t even cross my mind before. Helped me cope with my shitty old man.” His voice was wavering and a lump formed in his throat making it hard to speak. “Thank you for everything you have done for me.” His thumb now brushed against her delicate lips. He still remembered how soft they were and how perfectly they fit against his. “Now, let me make things right for you. Let me create a world where you can live freely without being afraid of getting hunted down. A world where you can treat people unbiased. Let me help you flesh out the world you have envisioned for so long.”

He leaned down once more, close to her face. His voice was wavering but he continued, “But for that to work out, I can’t let you be close to me. It will be too dangerous for you because everyone will be coming after me. I can’t be with you because I am just like my father. I lose my temper easily and the last thing I want is to hurt you when all I see is red.” He joined his forehead with hers and closed his eyes. He could feel his heart beating in his ears. He was extremely nervous because he had never been this honest about his emotions with anyone before. He was scared that there would be another rejection. Scared that she would be disgusted by him after what he did last time. Terrified that he would never be able to see her again or that warm smile or those big expressive eyes when she finds something interesting. Funny gestures when she would be describing something to him, her displeased face when he was annoying her, her dusted cheeks when she gets embarrassed. Oh, she would get embarrassed so easily. She had slowly become such a huge part of his life that he could not bear to live with all the emptiness that would be left behind if she walks away. He was ready to give up chasing her to love him back because just her presence in his life was enough. If only he could watch her from afar living the life she had dreamed of, would be enough.

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. Try not to be so reckless until I am done with this work, eh?” He finally opened his eyes and leaned back. He didn’t realize he had tears rolling down his face so he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He let out a long sigh, trying to make his breathing regular. He looked at Y/N one last time before he turned around to go and begin his plan. Last thing he expected was a sudden grip on his wrist from the back causing his breath to hitch and his heart rate to increase.

Note: Hey everyone. I haven't posted any chapters in a long while because I just couldn't bring myself to write something good. Even though I have a rough sketch of the whole story and had some nice ideas, I didn't like the way it was written. On top of that I had been busy with finals of the last year of Uni. I have finally graduated but now I am working along with studying for an exam (medschool is grueling) so I barely get any time and I feel like I have lost the creativity with which I had started writing this story. But I really wanted to continue writing this story. So, I decided to post this chapter. It is too short for my liking but I think this was a good place to end the chapter. I apologize if this chapter isn't very good and for taking so long to update this story. But I hope you enjoy it.

@archive-network I joined you guys months ago because I had been planning on writing and reading so many things but ended up not doing any of that, so I apologise for that. But I'll try to be a little more active now because I feel like if I stay away from writing and reading, I lose my creativity slowly and I don't want that to happen.

[alienaxe]

The Balfour group was my absolute favorite, even though there were plenty of other groups that very obviously cared for eachother [Malachi’s group for example] because they were the only group who was overly affectionate with each other.

No, not in the sense that they resorted to dog piling as the first choice instead of trying other solutions, in the sense that they had some kind of ritual where if you were leaving camp you would hug the people in your group closest to you. They all genuinely considered eachother found family.

You’re leaving camp to hunt?

Okay, well I’m gonna hug you because I’m near & wish you good luck and remind you that I care about you, call out if you need help we’ll hear

Oh you’re just going out to clear your head?

I’m gonna hug you, alright?

Wdym you’re going on a three day supply run?

Okay stay safe, I’m going to hug the shit out of you before you go or bare minimum pat you on the shoulder

Like it was legit just a rule to hug whoever’s parting with the group because you ‘never know what can happen out there’

like yall are such elementary style cuties wtf

And with such a large group I think they were the only ones to utilize some kind of ‘formation’ for distance travels.

Most traveling groups just walked together (granted of course they did the same on smaller trips) dropping back to talk to each other, letting the kids move around in the group as long as they were within reach, someone can scour out ahead and everyone’s in one spot, if we’re in danger we can always push the kids into the middle of us, right?

Groups that actually did have a set way of travel for emergencies used Line or Wedge formation..

The Balfour group in a way mimicked wolf formation? With the people more at risk of being left behind up front and leading to make sure no one else gets abandoned, then people after those ones to make sure they’re not attacked, or to help them if needed.

Kids and their mothers/set caretakers already in the middle backed by more people who are armed and ready to jump in if needed, Then Norman at the far rear to make sure his family is okay.

With how many people there were in the group—with how many young people they had in the group—honestly I don’t think they would’ve survived as long as they did if they didn’t end up taking that in.

This is great because Slush-monkeys (as so lovingly referred to by Alex) Rarely EVER traveled alone, and despite being the predator in this case, moved in small deer-like “Families” before merging into a herd.

They even had their own form of ‘Yarding up’ during certain weathers which made it hell to travel during winter and fall months.

Groups:

Couples, Coops, Herds, swarm, Nests.

Couples [TPG terminology, originally] were a pair of infected that move together. I don’t think I ever got a real explanation on why they NEVER traveled alone, but they always 100% had another with them, and if you settled for there just being one you were putting yourself in danger.

You were less likely to see couples in colder weather, but they came up more often than you’d think, even if they aren’t long traveling partners they’d slip away from the group in pairs.

Coops[A.P.Ex Termenology, originally]

(4-8) mini groups of infected, usually the case in less populated areas later in the apocalypse but are almost guaranteed

Herd [common terminology, depending on the region is interchangeable with Hoard](12–40-60+?)

Hell on earth and what usually roamed around on the daily, for the first 12 or so years these were more common than coops. These are merged groups that came together through common movement patterns.

Swarm [Rancher Terminology]

Fast moving large groups of infected (usually in fall or winter seasons, with no real set of routing). Slightly larger than herds but not quite nests, these flooded the streets during the beginning, and will litterally topple eachother to grab their victims.

And finally, Nests, general terminology, (100-thousands) cluster/gathering points over the map where they just kind of roam in a specific area unless triggered, no one knows why they do this, most scientists outside of Ulysses didn’t even get a chance to discover this development. The area can be as big as an entire city, but have a sheltered center-point usually inside a building (like the one Norman and Dolph accidentally released, separating the group pre hospital basment)

[starberryshuu]

05 Julie's Prison

Julie’s days had started to take on a predictable rhythm, the humdrum of routine settling over her like a blanket she couldn’t quite shake off. She would wake up in her room, staring at the walls that somehow felt like they were closing in on her despite their soft pastel hue. The constant sound of birds chirping outside—though she knew they weren’t real, just part of the fake window setup in her room—was the only thing that gave her any semblance of company. It was the same every day, but at least it was something.

She had long since stopped trying to escape the prison of her awkwardness. The espresso fiasco in Chamber's office had set the stage for her life at The Facility—a constant loop of barely tolerable interactions with people she didn’t know how to handle. And then, of course, there was Yoru. The memory of spilling coffee on him and his relentless teasing still made her stomach churn. It had felt like everyone knew about it, despite her desperate attempts to bury the embarrassment. Every time she walked past Yoru's room, her heart would skip in her chest, just waiting for the next comment, the next judgment.

But she couldn’t escape him completely. Chamber hadn’t forced her to stay in his office—she chose to. It was quieter, less stressful, and it allowed her to avoid the inevitable awkward interactions with Yoru and the other agents. Sure, the office wasn’t exactly fun, and Chamber’s rule about bland food was borderline maddening, but it was a safe haven compared to the chaos outside. And the thought of running into Yoru again, after that espresso disaster, was too much to bear.

So, Julie ate her bland sandwiches in Chamber's office, taking only the minimum amount of time to get the work done. It was easy now—she could finish an entire day's worth of work in less than two hours. At first, the tasks had been challenging, but now they were just part of her routine. The monotony was a comfort, an escape. There was no judgment, no teasing, no one trying to make her feel small.

The only thing that reminded her she wasn’t truly alone were the glances she occasionally caught from Chamber. He would give her that look, that smirk, like he knew something she didn’t. She would quickly look away, not wanting him to see how much it bothered her. His attention was as unsettling as it was intoxicating, but she had learned to ignore it. It was easier to just keep her head down, focus on the work, and avoid the outside world as much as possible.

Her room, however, was a different story. It faced Yoru's, and she couldn’t help but dread the idea of crossing paths with him again. Every time she made her way from her room to Chamber’s office, she braced herself for the inevitable. Yoru would be lurking somewhere, watching, waiting for her to do something embarrassing. The memory of his teasing after the espresso incident still made her want to shrink into herself. It was almost worse than the initial embarrassment itself—the fact that everyone seemed to know, and she couldn’t escape it.

But despite it all, Julie found herself accepting her new reality. Chamber’s office wasn’t a prison, but it was a reprieve. A place where she could go unnoticed. A place where she wouldn’t have to worry about running into Yoru, or anyone else.

The days passed like this, two trips a day—one to drop off the work, and another to return to her room. It was monotonous, but for now, it was enough. She didn’t need anything else. The less attention she attracted, the better.

She could survive this.

As Julie settled into the humdrum of her new routine, the oppressive weight of her awkwardness and isolation began to lift, just a little. The Facility, though isolating, had its own strange comfort. She had developed a pattern she could predict, one that kept her out of view, out of trouble, and mostly out of the eyes of the other agents. Each day, she would walk her two short trips—one to Chamber's office, the other back to her room—and in between, she worked efficiently, finishing her tasks in hours rather than days.

She had started to personalize her space. Little by little, her room, a sterile, soulless box in the beginning, started to feel like hers. It was still a space she spent most of her time hiding in, but now it had her touch. Soft, pastel pinks and mint greens bloomed in every corner, from the fluffy blankets draped over the bed to the colorful pens she’d bought on their latest trip to the marketplace. She carefully arranged small houseplants along the windowsill, even if they weren’t real—the fake windows did nothing to bring the outside in, but she imagined it. She added plushies and huge pillows to her bed, a little piece of comfort in the cold environment of The Facility.

The trips to the marketplace weren’t exactly “dates,” not in the romantic sense, but Chamber had insisted, each time, with that characteristic smirk of his. He would say it with such confidence, like he was doing her some huge favor. But to Julie, they felt like nothing more than tasks she was assigned to do—assist Chamber in whatever he had to do, tag along with him wherever he went.

Still, she had started to enjoy those outings in a quiet, small way. She bought little things for her room, things that made it feel like something more than a cold, sterile box. A few trinkets here and there—cutesy little things she could hold, something to give her comfort when she retreated back to her room at the end of the day. A soft, pink blanket here, a stack of new books there. She didn’t need anything too fancy, just enough to make her feel like she belonged. She even bought a sketchpad, though she hadn’t used it much yet. It felt like something to work toward, a future idea.

She had also started to notice something in Chamber's demeanor. He was less controlling, less demanding of her time and attention. It was as if, over time, he had learned to let go of his grip on her. Maybe it was because she was more relaxed, maybe it was because she wasn’t fighting against him as much anymore. Either way, Chamber didn’t hover over her as often. He didn’t demand every moment of her attention. Instead, he watched, silently, from the sidelines.

And Julie? She was breathing easier. There was still the quiet anxiety that bubbled under the surface—the constant pressure of knowing she was stuck in this place—but for the first time, she could feel herself easing into it, just a little. She no longer jumped at every sound, no longer tensed whenever Chamber spoke. She wasn’t happy, per se, but she wasn’t miserable either. And that was something, right?

She spent most of her time in Chamber's office—still avoiding the other agents, especially Yoru, after that disaster with the espresso. She never ventured out much, even though she was starting to feel more comfortable. In Chamber’s office, there was a strange peace. No one came to bother her. No one commented on the way she hid, the way she avoided all eyes. It was just her and him, and for now, that was enough.

Chamber observed her with interest. He saw how she was starting to breathe easier. It was subtle, but he could tell. The way she no longer flinched at his presence, the way she spoke without the same tension in her voice. Julie wasn’t like this in her room, where she still curled up and hid from the world, but in his office, she was different. She had begun to relax, if only a little. It pleased him. It was the closest thing to progress he’d seen with her, and he enjoyed the small victories.

In some ways, it was like a game—an unspoken challenge. She’d been so resistant at first, so closed off, but now? Now, she was starting to show signs of easing up. Of trusting him, even if just a little.

Julie treated him differently now. She didn’t cling to every word he said, didn’t look to him for constant validation or permission. She had become a little more independent, and though he hated to admit it, Chamber liked it. There was something almost satisfying about it—he liked the way she had started to ignore him, to treat him like just another part of the world she had to deal with. But he also enjoyed it because it meant she wasn’t looking for someone else’s approval. She was finally getting used to the idea that, maybe, she didn’t need to prove anything.

In a way, it was a strange sort of victory. Chamber was getting what he wanted without having to push, without needing to force the issue. She was starting to feel comfortable with him, and though he wouldn’t admit it, part of him enjoyed the thought of that.

Over time, Chamber had grown accustomed to having Julie around—though, not in the way he initially expected. He had assumed that by controlling her movements, by keeping her in his office and maintaining his usual tactics of influence, he would be able to have her fully in his grasp. But what he hadn't anticipated was how strongly Julie could maintain her discomfort while still complying with his demands.

She was still nervous around him, still careful not to upset him, still tiptoeing around his presence as if walking on fragile ground. Every moment in his office was a quiet battle for her—between following the rules, doing her job, and the undercurrent of anxiety that seemed to follow her everywhere she went when Chamber was nearby.

Despite his earlier belief that control was the key to everything, he was slowly learning something unexpected. Julie wasn’t giving him what he wanted—she wasn’t revealing her vulnerabilities. She didn’t eagerly lean into his presence or seek his approval. She was, instead, almost constantly on edge, and though he could read that she was slowly acclimating to the routine of the office and their "dates," it was more out of obligation than any real comfort or closeness.

Chamber had been so used to people falling under his charm, letting him pull the strings, but Julie was different. She wasn’t entirely shut off or resistant—she did what was expected of her, assisted him when he asked, followed the tasks he set. But she did it all with a quiet distance, her eyes darting nervously when he gave her his signature smirk or looked too long. Her words were measured, and even though she didn’t snap at him or run away, there was no mistaking the fact that she wasn’t comfortable. She wasn’t playing his game; she was just getting through it, as if trying to avoid his attention rather than actively seeking his favor.

He could see the way she still withdrew into herself, taking comfort in small, personal things that she would pick up on their trips—trinkets, soft pillows, little items for her room that would help make it hers in the safest, least intrusive way possible. But even then, there was a kind of hesitance in the way she interacted with him. She kept to the edges of his world, never fully engaging but still somehow making herself a part of it, if only by doing what was asked of her.

Chamber couldn’t deny that his earlier assumption—about controlling her to force some sort of reveal—wasn't working the way he'd expected. He wasn’t completely in charge of her; she wasn’t revealing herself to him like others had. And though this irked him, a small part of him was intrigued. Chamber had expected to break down whatever walls she put up, but Julie wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of any cracks. She wasn’t fighting him, she was just existing beside him, but with an air of distance he couldn’t quite pin down.

Still, as he watched her, a new thought began to settle in his mind: Chamber couldn’t force her to open up, couldn’t get her to act on his terms. She wouldn’t break under pressure, wouldn’t let him dictate how she felt or what she revealed. She wasn’t like the others he’d managed to manipulate with such ease. Instead, he found himself needing to take a step back, to let her move at her own pace—though that irked him too. Control, after all, was always the point, and the idea of not being able to hold all the strings made him frustrated.

But maybe, just maybe, he had misjudged her. There was something in her quiet, calm resistance, in her insistence on holding back from revealing too much, that made Chamber realize: Julie wasn’t a puzzle to be solved. She wasn’t a thing to break or control. She was simply someone who didn’t need to bend to his will.

And it was in that realization that Chamber found himself slightly more... unsettled than he would like to admit. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted when he made the effort to control it.

Despite all of this, though, Julie had grown more comfortable. More accustomed to the routine, more relaxed, but only a little. Chamber knew that she would still avoid others. He wasn’t blind to the fact that she still avoided the rest of the agents. She kept to herself, hidden away in her small space, only appearing when it was necessary.

He didn’t know if she’d ever feel comfortable in his presence. He didn’t know if she’d ever come to see him as anything more than a boss, a superior, someone to follow for survival. But the slow change in her, the way she seemed to breathe a little easier when she was left alone in the room with her trinkets and quiet comfort, made him realize that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to control everything.

For now, he'd settle for watching.

Four months had passed since Julie had begun working for Chamber, and in many ways, she felt unchanged. Still a shut-in, still navigating the quiet, lonely routine she had built around herself in his office. However, her skills had sharpened, and she had grown so adept at her job that even Chamber was now turning to her for advice. Her input, though shy and hesitant, was always taken seriously—he had learned to coax her into speaking up by assuring her that nothing would be blamed on her, even if things went wrong. His reassurance, though patronizing at times, allowed her to offer her opinions with less apprehension than before.

But the last few weeks had been different. Chamber had been away on more international trips, and Julie had not been included. At first, there was a small pang of disappointment, but it soon disappeared. She actually enjoyed the solitude. No one to distract her, no one to watch her every move. Chamber didn't need to check in on her; she could update him when something important came up or when she'd solved a problem. She relished the small sense of control she had over her own time, even if it was brief.

When Chamber was gone, the office felt like her own little hideaway. Julie would turn the music up louder than she probably should, the speakers booming with upbeat pop songs that drowned out her thoughts. It felt so liberating, the beat vibrating through her chest, giving her a small taste of freedom that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Sometimes, she’d even forget to lower the volume when others returned, but at least no one complained.

She would also indulge in all the stinky food she couldn’t dare bring to the office when Chamber was around. The smell of her lunch—spicy stir-fried kimchi and smelly dumplings—permeated the air as she tucked into her meal with satisfaction, savoring each bite like it was a small rebellion. The scent would linger in the office for hours, but it didn’t matter. She could enjoy her food in peace.

Her days were spent watching movies, catching up on dramas, and silently crying over animated characters or adorable animal videos. The ridiculousness of it all made her feel almost childlike, but it was an escape. In these moments, she felt free—free from expectations, free from judgments, free from the constant scrutiny she had once feared.

But what Julie didn’t realize was that she wasn't as free as she thought. Despite her feeling of independence, Chamber still kept a close watch on her, not through his usual commands or overt surveillance, but through her webcam. She had no idea, of course. She thought he was busy with his trips, focusing on other things. She thought that, for once, she could escape his watchful eye.

Little did she know, even in these rare moments of supposed freedom, Chamber was still there—watching.

[elysicnxficlds]

His eyes crinkled at her teasing. "There you go. That's more like it," Vihaan said, beaming. "It definitely works." As they settled in, he relaxed more and more. Their familiar banter felt just right, like coming home after a long trip. He chuckled when she mentioned tiramisu, remembering all those dinners where she'd insisted on saving room for her favorite dessert. "Oh, I remember your love affair with tiramisu all too well," he teased, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I swear, sometimes I thought you loved it more than me." He was teasing her. After having to hold back after their divorce, this felt nice and easy. It was these little things that made him realize how much he'd missed her. Her question caught him off guard. He paused, choosing his words carefully. This mattered—he didn't want to screw it up.

"It wasn't just one thing," he started, his thumb tracing patterns on her hand. "Moving back played a part. Being around you and the kids again reminded me of what we had. But it was more than that. It was seeing you every day, remembering why I fell for you in the first place. The way you laugh at our son's silly jokes, how patient you are helping our daughter with homework. And that kiss. It made me realize those feelings never really went away." It wasn’t the feelings that were lacking, more so his lack of communication. "But mostly, it was realizing what I'd lost when we split up. Not just my wife, but my best friend. The person who knows me better than anyone else. I missed that connection, that understanding. And I wanted—no, I needed—to try again. To show you that I've changed, that I can be the partner you deserve." He paused, suddenly aware he'd been rambling. Heat crept up his neck as he added, "Plus, let's be honest, no one else appreciates my dad jokes quite like you do." No one understood him the way Ishita did and if he had figured that out sooner, they wouldn’t be divorced. Of course, he had no desire to screw up again. This was it, she was it for him. "What about you? What made you say yes to this date? I mean, I'm happy you did, but I have to admit, I was a bit surprised."

“You’re being incredibly romantic but just a little cheesy, does that work?" She reasoned with him before smiling as he winked at her. This was so surreal and yet it felt familiar. Perhaps that was the best part of this whole first date situation that not only were they both making an effort, but it didn't feel like a first date because they knew each other so well. She could see clearly how hard Vihaan was trying and she had to give him credit for it because despite how difficult things had gotten in the past--she'd never stopped loving him. And if she was honest with herself—she knew she probably never could. She felt him take her hand and smiled up at him as he continued finding those little ways to keep touching her, almost making her feel like she was able to keep grounded. 

“Oh that sounds really good, I was thinking of the tortellini. But I’ve got to make sure to leave room for tiramisu, you know I can’t ever resist a good tiramisu,” she chuckled softly before laughing at his statement about wanting to not overeat because they both knew the dessert here was going to be absolutely worth it. Except something told her that even if the dessert wasn't great--he'd ensure they got something tasty and sweet later on regardless. Ending the night on a sweet note had always been something they did while dating and a part of her wondered if he'd want to keep that tradition going. 

She smiled as he placed his order before doing her own. “I’ll have the stuffed tortellini, and could you also bring a side of the caprese salad please?” She watched as the waiter made note of their order and took the menus from them while Ishita returned her gaze back to Vihaan’s and smiled. “So--I have to ask you, what made you want to try again? Was it moving back into the house or...something else?" Perhaps asmall part of her needed to know it wasn't thanks to being dropped into a familiar routine as their life used to consist of. 

[ineffablebookgirl]

psychoanalyzing Aziraphale and Crowley through the ages instead of doing my research project that's due next week. pt. 5: Knights of the Round Table / Wessex

This interaction is kind of a drawn-out mirror of their very first interaction on the wall. Aziraphale has done something under his own volition, which he knows goes against what he's supposed to do. And then he backpedals to try to course-correct.

In Eden, he was grappling with giving away the sword. Here, in a damp field in Wessex, 500 years after hitting on Crowley in a pub in Rome, he is trying to stay on the straight and narrow (haha straight lol). He wanted to hang out with Crowley, and he sure as heck made that happen under his own volition and it definitely was not a Heaven-approved activity.

Now, when they meet, there's a familiarity. This is the first glimmer of their "old married couple" vibes. Who knows what happened at Petronius's place, or if they've had other dinners together since then (my guess would be yes) (except maybe not -- more on that later). But they clearly have some kind of stock of each other.

This is when Crowley first suggests the Arrangement to Aziraphale. Crowley is no longer just teasing Az about being a questionable angel, he's trying to get something out of Aziraphale -- something that benefits him, yes, but also a step forward in their relationship. A more explicit acknowledgement of the reality of their roles, not just the company line.

Crowley isn't the grumpy emo teenager we found in the pub in Rome, but he's also not the carefree old-testament imp with the flowing locks anymore. He's settling into the personality we see in the modern day, the "Eh, fuck 'em, let's do it our way and just do the bare minimum to not get noticed," the forced casualness that he wraps himself in to protect himself from the sharp bitterness of the pain he sees God cause.

And Aziraphale is also settling into his modern personality as well. His guard is up. He's keeping his head down and doing his job, tromping around in the mud to foment peace for King Arthur because that's part of the Ineffable Plan, I guess, don't worry about it just get it done so I can go home to a jug of red and a nice illuminated manuscript in front of the fire.

He also has adopted his patented Aziraphale Radiant Smile, the Kill Them With My Polite Englishness Smile, and maybe that's part of his armor too. He knows he's harming humans, he knows he's working for Amazon Corporate, but he has bills to pay. But dammit if he isn't going to bring a little bit of sunshine and joy to the day of every last human he encounters along the way. Whether they like it or not.

But... back to the question of whether they've hung out between Rome and now. The thing that trips me up is that Aziraphale deadnames Crowley. In Rome, he accidentally starts with Crawley, but he corrects himself immediately. Here, he just addresses him as Crawley, and Crowley has to correct him. So maybe they haven't run into each other since Rome. 500 years is a long time. It's feasible Az forgot. Or, he does it deliberately, to try and redraw the lines, go back to a version of their relationship before all this familiarity built up, a version of Aziraphale who knew his place and got on with it, and a version of Crowley who knew Aziraphale's place and teased him for it. Not this Crowley who suggests working together, who insinuates they have more in common with each other than with their head offices. Not this Crowley who knows him. Knows that the best way to get Aziraphale's cogs turning is to point out how uncomfortable the work is, how much more quickly he could get back to the fire and the wine and the book if he worked together with Crowley ...

Everything was different in Rome, and this meeting is Aziraphale going oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit and running in the opposite direction, for the first time, but not the last.

(I think they both have their own versions of this pattern, of getting a little closer, a little more vulnerable, and then overcorrecting to reinforce their defenses against that vulnerability. More posts to come!)

Final note: this is the only time they meet by accident. I'm not sure what that signifies, but Douglas MacKinnon said, "Everything is meant," so it must mean something. 🤔

[with-love-from-hell]

I have a request! Obulence with Solomon! Love your writing.

O  》  Opulence

Having great wealth, luxuries, or riches

1k event Masterlist

Genre: Fluff, Drabble

Written for GN!Mc (you/yours)

WC: ~815

CW: none!

“Solomon...where on earth did you get all of this stuff?!” You mouth hangs open after you speak in awe. You tried to take it all in, but you were so shocked to see the place Solomon had called home was...well, not quite what you expected. 

“I’ve been alive a long time, Mc.” Solomon chuckled, taking your hand and guiding you through the large entryway of his home. “There’s much more than this. Come, let me give you the whole tour.” 

The walls of his home were lined with a beautifully textured teal wallpaper that had golden trim along the edges. Artwork in golden frames were stationed at various points as he guided you through the main corridor and into the living room. You gaped at the gilded fireplace, in which a deep umber fire sputtered and popped, making the lighting of the room feel weirdly ominous. The Victorian aesthetic really through your mind through a loop, and the overwhelming excess of stimuli made your head literally begin to spin.

You plopped down on the pristine leather chaise that sat adjacent to the fireplace, mouth still agape as your gaze trailed across the room. Solomon smiled, picking up a silver tray and setting it down on the coffee table in front of you. 

“Care for some tea?” 

You blinked, taking a moment to process his words. Finally, you nodded, still not being able to find words in your shocked state. You drank the bitter tea in silence as you processed your surroundings. Your view of Solomon as a hopeless wonderer of the earth had been sucked right out of you, instead being exchanged for someone who rivaled Diavolo in terms of riches. 

“So...I suppose you’re quite surprised to see my mass of wealth...yes?” Solomon peered at you over his tea cup, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. 

You nod, feeling a bit embarrassed at how your emotions couldn’t hide from him. “Yes, actually. I never pinned you as someone who would enjoy settling down.” 

He laughed, the delicate china tinking as his body shook with joy. “That’s because I’m not. To be honest, I sort-of hate it here.” 

You cock your head quizzically. “What? Y-you hate this?” 

Solomon sighs, setting his tea cup down. “At one point over the last century, I came to a place in my life where I was...well...sort of having a crisis.” He chuckles briefly before continuing, as if reminiscing on how silly the time in his life was. “I believed that perhaps my life was becoming too dull, and...well...this is what came of that.” 

Solomon gestured around him and you followed his hand, making note of the patterned ceiling above you, in the center of which hung a brilliant chandelier. 

“But,” he shook his head, sighing again. “It did not fill the hole left in my chest. I’ve experienced so much, I thought giving a stationary place to myself to settle for awhile is what I needed- a break, so to speak. I ended up growing restless, so I often took trips away- only to come back and feel the same.” 

“So this place is just...empty?” You ask, feeling sorry for Solomon’s woe. 

“No, I lend it to the Sorcerer’s Society for retreats. It’s part of the reason they still keep me around.” He chuckles, but then his face falls serious. “You know, that hole I’ve been trying to fill my whole life- It never did feel as if it was filled until the day I met you.” 

You nearly choke on your tea at his words, completely blindsided by his confession. 

He smiles warmly at you as you struggle to regain your composure. “I don’t know what it is, but you make me feel whole. I wanted to show you this as...well, a deeper meaning, of sorts.” 

“And that meaning is..?” 

Solomon rises to his feet and approaches you, extending his hand. You take it and he pulls you up to meet him, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. His voice is merely a whisper after he parts from you, eyes half lidded with an expression that could only be described as deep admiration. 

“The meaning I attempted to convey is that all of this would be traded in an instant for you- and only you.” He reaches a hand up to cup your jaw, rubbing his thumb gently along your cheek. “Perhaps I am not the best at conveying metaphor.” 

 You stare at him as he smiles warmly and kisses you again, the scent of him filling every crevasse of your sinuses. His warmth lulls you into a sense of security, allowing you to melt into his embrace. You wondered what you did to mean so much to the sorcerer, but the thought is quickly pushed from your mind in favor of thoughts of your life together. 

Perhaps he could settle down if it was for you.