#before realizing just now i can map one of them to the same button as secondary interact without causing any input conflicts

[masteraqua]

i've been playing fields of mistria for a couple weeks and i like it a lot, but i'm growing increasingly distressed about how many buttons the game requires. i'm playing with a controller and i'm running!! out!! of buttons!!!!

[everywherestrs]

You make your ingame character look like him. Pt. 1

Xavier

You and Xavier are partners even outside of work. He is always eager to play any games with you, and the moment a game has co-op, he’s creating an account so you can jump into it together. You two almost always play side by side.

But this time, Xavier had been sent on a business trip, and coincidentally, a brand-new game was released. Without thinking twice, you downloaded it and immediately started creating your avatar.

At first, it didn’t even cross your mind—but then you remembered how, in previous games, whenever you created a female character, other players would constantly hit on you. Xavier always seemed to get annoyed by that, often going so far as to start fighting anyone who dared get within ten pixels of your character.

So your finger hesitated… and then pressed the button to switch the character's gender to male. You spent hours crafting the perfect look, but nothing felt quite right. And just as you were about to give up, a message popped up from Xavier: everything had gone smoothly, and he’d be back in a few days.

In that moment, inspiration struck like lightning.

You quickly typed a reply, then dove back into the game to create a your masterpiece.

You heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Putting your phone down, you made your way toward the sound.

The moment you saw Xavier kicking off his shoes, you rushed to him and wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. He let out a soft chuckle at the force with which you squeezed him.

—I’m happy to see you too, my little star.

After that, you both sat down for dinner, and the rest of the evening melted away as you cuddled on the couch. The TV was on, but neither of you paid it much attention. Instead, you exchanged stories about your days apart.

—Oh! A few days ago, I downloaded a new game. I haven’t made much progress yet, so I think you’ll catch up to me pretty quickly.

You didn’t need to say more. Xavier was already pulling out his phone and downloading the game.

He didn’t bother customizing his avatar, opting instead for one of the default skins the game offered. Every time you tried to nudge him into changing at least one detail, but his reply was always the same: the game itself was more interesting than playing dress-up.

—I’ve spawned at the starting point.

—Hold on, I’ll teleport to you. I’m here.

Xavier scanned his screen for your avatar. You always chose vibrant accessories, so he was used to spotting you easily in crowds of players. But this time, he couldn’t find you anywhere.

—I don’t see you.

—I’m right here.

Right after your words, a blonde guy with sky-blue eyes, in a soft beige cardigan and a sword strapped to his hip, approached Xavier’s character. Standing before him, he waved.

—Xavii, you went with the default skin again…

While your eyes were still focused on your screen, you didn’t notice Xavier—sitting beside you—had suddenly gone still. It wasn’t until several silent seconds passed with no reply that you turned your head to look at him.

Xavier was staring at his phone screen in silence. When you were just about to ask if everything was alright, he finally spoke.

—Is that... me?

It took a moment for the meaning to click in your head.

—Oh! You mean my avatar? Well, I figured since you always get annoyed when other players start following me around, I thought this might help avoid that whole mess.

You turned back to your phone and made your character use an emote that scattered confetti around them.

—And it worked! Only a handful of players approached me, and even then, just to ask for materials.

—Hmm.

Xavier gave a quiet hum to show he was listening, but said nothing more.

From there, you both continued exploring the map. Just as you’d predicted, Xavier quickly caught up to your level. Now you could dive into dungeons together and take part in events as a team.

You stretched, hearing a soft crack from your bones. Glancing at the clock, you realized you’d been playing for over three hours. Time to call it a night.

—I think that’s enough for today. We both have tomorrow off so let’s spend the day playing from morning till night.

You called over your shoulder as you stood up and headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed. But then Xavier’s voice stopped you.

—Hey… why did you decide to make your avatar look like me?

Xavier asked uncertainly, his gaze shifting away. By now, fatigue was beginning to weigh on you. All you wanted was to collapse into the cool bed and bury yourself in your pillow, so your answer came simply—without much thought.

—Well… who else would I make my character look like, if not like my boyfriend?

You left the room without seeing the soft smile that bloomed on Xavier’s face at your words. And when you both lay in bed that night, you didn’t notice how Xavier held you just a little tighter than usual, his face nestled gently into your neck.

Zayne

The clock read ten at night, but you were lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard, bathed in the warm, dim glow of the bedside lamp, your phone resting in your hands.

This wasn’t the first time you found yourself in a situation like this—and yet, each time, you still couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him.

Zayne was always so dedicated to his job that sometimes his job fully consumed him, but he had told you countless times that you were his first priority—but in moments like these, when he came home exhausted, or worse, after failing to save one of his patients, you never had the heart to start an argument.

And besides, sometimes the roles were reversed. Just last month, nearly every one of your missions had ended later than scheduled, and there were more than a few occasions when you’d come home to find Zayne already there. But the one constant was that no matter how late you returned, he was always waiting for you—never once going to bed before you arrived.

That’s why, for the past week, you’d been trying to return the gesture—to wait up for him as well. But there was one small problem.

How were you supposed to stay awake?

One night, as you scrolled through your phone in an effort to keep your eyes open, an ad for a new video game caught your attention. You and Zayne had an entire gaming nook set up in your home, so you were more than happy to add one more title to your collection.

You had just finished your daily commissions when you heard the sound of the front door opening—followed by quiet footsteps headed your way.

Zayne cracked the bedroom door open slowly, not wanting to wake you if you were already asleep. But when he saw the soft light filtering through, he pushed it open fully.

—Welcome back, honey~

You greeted him in an especially sweet voice, adding a playful new nickname. You loved teasing Zayne and watching his reactions in real time—but lately, with how busy he’d been, your windows of opportunity had been getting fewer and farther between.

Even in the low light, you caught the faint blush dusting his ears and the deep breath he took in response to your greeting.

—Good night to you too. Though I figured you’d be deep in your tenth dream by now.

You stood from the bed, set your phone on the nightstand, and crossed the room in a few easy strides. You wrapped your arms around him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

—I had to wait for you… I missed you.

You felt his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close. A soft kiss landed on the top of your head, and when he pulled back slightly, he murmured,

—I missed you too.

Neither of you knew how long you stood there, wrapped up in each other. But after a while, you offered to draw Zayne a bath—part of your ongoing effort to take care of him. “I need my doctor to be healthy and well.”

You made your way to the bathroom to start the water. Meanwhile, Zayne walked to the nightstand to place his glasses down—and that’s when your phone screen caught his attention.

The game was still open, the screen lit up with your avatar. A young man with brown hair and green eyes behind a pair of glasses. He wore a tie, a crisp white shirt, and a medical coat draped over his shoulders. The last thing Zayne noticed was your username at the top of the screen: “Dr. Snow”.

You had just finished checking the water when you came back into the room, ready to call Zayne over only for him to ask, with a raised brow,

—So… did you get yourself a second doctor?

At first, you didn’t understand what he was talking about. But then you saw your phone in his hand and everything clicked. A slow smile spread across your face.

—Mhm. I figured it’s better to have two doctors. While one’s busy with other patients, the second one can look after me.

Zayne’s eyes didn’t leave you as you walked over to him.

When you reached him and gently took the phone from his hand, he didn’t resist. Instead, he asked,

—And which of the two do you think is doing a better job?

You exited the game and set your phone back down on the nightstand. Turning back to Zayne, you looped your arms around his neck.

You pretended to ponder the question, moving one of your hands to tap your finger against your chin in thought. After a few seconds, you finally replied,

—I think Dr. Li is much better at the job than Dr. Snow. The second one’s still too low-level to compete with the first.

—Oh? And what level is Dr. Li exactly?

Zayne asked as he placed both of his hands on your hips. You rose up on your toes, leaned in close, and whispered right into his ear:

—Max level.

Rafayel

Thomas had asked you, practically begged, for help: to convince Rafayel to actually show up to his own exhibition. Rafayel, in turn, had set one condition: you had to be present at every single one.

So you often found yourself tucked away in some quiet corner of an art gallery, quietly watching the crowd that inevitably gathered around your boyfriend. Rafayel would always try to keep you by his side, but you never liked being in the spotlight. So, as usual, you’d quietly slip away, unnoticed, distancing yourself from conversations and curious guests.

At first, you thought it would be easy. A few hours walking around the gallery, looking at the paintings, and then heading home. But with every new exhibition, it all became more and more monotonous. One night, during one such event, boredom finally got the best of you and you pulled out your phone, retreating to your usual quiet little corner.

That’s when you came across a new game. Before committing, you glanced up to find Rafayel. He was still deep in the crowd, utterly absorbed. Judging by the way things were going, it didn’t look like the guests would be letting him go anytime soon.

You tapped “download” and waited for it to install.

You were in his studio.

Rafayel sat on the floor, surrounded by scattered art supplies. A canvas lay in front of him. You were curled up on the couch, your gaze fixed on your phone.

The room was wrapped in a peaceful kind of silence.

At some point, you stood up, still holding your phone, and began to walk. The soft sound of your footsteps caught Rafayel’s attention, and he looked up from his canvas.

The moment his eyes met yours, you dropped down to your knees in front of him, holding the screen of your phone up to his face.

—Which one’s better, the first or the second?

You asked, pointing first to one outfit, then to the other on the screen.

Rafayel blinked, momentarily confused. His brow furrowed. But then his gaze drifted from your calm, focused expression back to the screen. After a moment of inspecting both options, he answered simply:

—The first.

That was all you needed. Without a word, you stood up and returned to your seat on the couch, resuming whatever you’d been doing before. Rafayel, still sitting on the floor, looked after you with the same confused expression—waiting, perhaps, for some sort of explanation.

But when you didn’t offer one, when you just kept scrolling silently on your phone, he finally rose to his feet and approached you.

Coming closer, he managed to catch a glimpse of your screen.

…

—Is that supposed to be ME?!

The outfit he’d chosen—a soft, sky-blue shirt that revealed a portion of the chest and loose-fitting trousers—was now worn by a character with violet hair and eyes like a gradient between rose and turquoise. Even the birthmark on his chest was in the exact same place as his.

Without lifting your gaze from the screen, you gave a small hum of confirmation.

Rafayel sat down beside you abruptly.

—When did you even have time to make this?

—At one of your exhibitions.

He went silent, clearly processing that information. Then, in a slightly wounded tone, he said,

—So you left me alone with potentially dangerous strangers just to go hang out with him?!

It wasn’t long after that you found out Rafayel had downloaded the game too and made his avatar look unmistakably like you. He teased you about it more than once, but eventually, you found yourselves playing together in the evenings. You played as him, and he played as you.

Pt. 2

[studioeisa]

svt x what was. 💌

you've seen what could have been (@gotta-winwin) and what is (@gyubakeries), but not all good things last. this is the deep and dying breath of the love you've been working on.

📦 Choi Seungcheol. 

Neither of you speak as you pack up your lives into respective boxes. Occasionally, there’s a question. Do you want to keep this? Should we throw this one out? For the most part, the two of you move like ghosts through the apartment you once shared. 

You only watch as Seungcheol hauls several of his boxes towards the elevator, like he’s hoping to not have to come back. Like he can maybe walk out in one fell swoop. His fingers are shaking; you don’t point it out.

The hands that once built your relationship— now the ones taking it away. 

🪑 Yoon Jeonghan. 

If Jeonghan could write a guidebook on relationships, the first thing he’d write would be something like this: Don’t take them to your favorite restaurant. 

You’re not here anymore. Long gone. A funny story, a footnote in his life. And yet his eyes keep flicking to the corner you once loved so much. It’d witnessed everything. First date, first anniversary, first breakup. Final breakup. 

“You alright?” the new girl across from him asks. 

Jeonghan forces a smile. “I’m good,” he says, “but I don’t think I’m feeling this place.” 

“You said it was your favorite.” “Was. Not anymore, I think.”

📅 Hong Jisoo. 

The shared Google Calendar glares up at Joshua, taunting him with color-coded reminders of occasions you will no longer celebrate together. His cursor hovers over the Delete button— because he doesn’t need to remember when your next dentist appointment is, does he? 

His eyes flick over the dates, set a long time ago. 

It’s your parents’ anniversary in two weeks. He knows. 

It’s your quarterly check-up in a month. He knows. 

This is the only part of your life he has left. He knows, he knows, he knows. 

What’s one more day?, Joshua thinks as he leaves the calendar alone.

🚲 Wen Junhui. 

Junhui knows this route. He’s gone down it dozens of times before, though you had been by his side back then. Tonight, it’s just him, his rusty bicycle, and the streetlights that seem to be holding their breath. 

They cast shadows on the street. Ones that look suspiciously like you. Junhui chases them until he’s breathless, until he’s crashing and his knees are all scratched from the rough pavement. 

He laughs at himself. At this fucked situation. At his loss. At the world. He laughs until he’s crying. 

Junhui knows this route. He’ll go down it a dozen times more. 

📍 Kwoon Soonyoung. 

You forgot to stop sharing your location with Soonyoung. He had thought of telling you, but he didn’t want to be the one to break the ‘no contact’ rule. (Excuses.) 

Every so often, he’ll check it. Just to see how you are, he reasons. (Excuses.) 

A dive bar on the other side of town. The museum he said he would take you to but never did. A fancy restaurant, the kind you go to on a first date. 

He has no right to be angry, to care. (Excuses, excuses.) 

He watches you chart a map of a life without him. 

📷 Jeon Wonwoo. 

There’s a photo in Wonwoo’s phone that he can’t let go of. He can tell you all about it. 

IMG329.JPEG. 450MB. All other evidence of you has been wiped except this one. 

It’s the very first photo he took of you. It’s terrible, all things considered. The composition could use some work. The focus is abysmal. And you’re not even looking at the camera. You’re looking at the one holding it, at Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo has looked at IMG329.JPEG so much, he thinks he could step right back into it— the moment when you first realized you loved him.

🍼 Lee Jihoon. 

The baby aisle of Toys R Us is Jihoon’s personal hell.

He considers it the beginning of the end. How, six months ago, you had pointed out which pajamas you wanted to give your future child. And Jihoon had winced, his grip on your hand getting a little tighter. You noticed. 

We don’t want the same things, you had realized; the fact, bouncing off the linoleum floor and white-washed walls. 

The relationship died a quiet death afterwards. Present-day Jihoon toys with a pair of baby shoes and allows himself a single thought: He would’ve wished the baby had your eyes. 

🥜 Lee Seokmin. 

“Does that have any peanuts in it?” 

The question is out of Seokmin’s mouth before he can think twice. All his friends share glances, and he pointedly ignores them despite his fingers tightening around the menu. Might as well commit. 

The waitress assures him there aren’t any. Seokmin smiles politely, goes through with his order. 

He doesn’t have any allergies. You did, though. 

His friends don’t point it out, the same way they ignore the hair tie on his wrist; the space he keeps on the chair to his right. How Seokmin still accommodates for you after all this time.

🍚 Kim Mingyu. 

Made too much pasta, Mingyu texts Seokmin. Come grab some. 

“I have a couple of spare brownies,” Mingyu tells Minghao over the phone. “Do you want me to send them over?”

SOS, Mingyu tweets. Someone take this extra bulgogi off my hands. 

There are towers of leftover tupperwares in Mingyu’s refrigerator. They remind him he is physically incapable of cooking just for one person, just for himself. He had gotten so used to making everything for two. 

He does not know how to unlearn adoring you through his cooking. 

He still loves you. He still wants you to eat well. 

✉️ Xu Minghao. 

The airport personnel is skeptical as he holds up the Ziploc bag of Minghao’s postcards. 

“They’re gifts,” Minghao says stiffly, trying to ignore the feeling of being judged. 

“Quite heavy,” the personnel quips. 

“It is.” 

“How many are these, anyway?” 

“Dozens. From all over.” 

“Haven’t set them yet, have you?” 

Minghao falters. He contemplates telling this stranger about your love for letters. About how he’s spent the aftermath jet-setting, writing postcard he’ll never send. 

He loved you in Hong Kong. He loved you in Paris. He’ll love you wherever he runs. 

“Haven’t sent them,” Minghao concedes. “Not yet.” 

🎵 Boo Seungkwan. 

Seungkwan’s voice cracks the moment the lyrics flash on screen. His friends all poke fun at him and he tosses the microphone aside, screeching something about the alcohol messing with his throat. 

Somebody performs instead of him. Seungkwan sinks back into the couch, his expression of annoyance crumpling when nobody is looking. 

He hasn’t sung properly in months. He thought this karaoke outing would fix him. 

Instead, it reminds him of the times he’d hum to you while you were falling asleep, head in his lap. 

He doesn’t think he can ever sing again. Not without thinking of you.

📻 Chwe Hansol. 

The radio is playing your song. 

Vernon had thought it was silly, being a couple with a ‘song’, and yet you’d gone and picked one anyway. It proves to bite him in the ass now as the new girl in his passenger seat begins to sing along. Wrong, he immediately thinks. Not the right voice. Not the right person. 

It makes his skin crawl, makes his pulse race. He reaches off to switch stations just as Matty Healy croons Do you think I have forgotten—

“Hey,” his date complains. “I liked that one!”

“Yeah, well,” Vernon says, “I don’t.” 

💔 Lee Chan. 

Chan is the one who called it quits, which is why he doesn’t know if he has the right to heartbreak. 

Is he allowed to miss you? To want to take it all back? 

He does everything and more. But he never texts at midnight, never calls while drunk. Chan takes the love he has for you and tucks it away, reshapes it into something more fitting for exes. 

“You’ll be okay,” he had told you that night, trying his damnedest to let you down gently. 

You are, now. Okay. 

He will be, too. 

And the world spins madly on. 

footnotes: unlike serena and tiya’s verses, there will be no poll for this one. all these stories have ended, for better or for worse. these concepts came alive with serena, tiya, and ally’s help! i hope you enjoyed the worlds we’ve tried to fit in a hundred words or less. ‹𝟹

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

More to Love | Sebastian Sallow x OC

listen we are all guilty of describing tall, model sebastian with a perfectly toned body and abs who is never insecure BUT NOBODY, AND I MEAN NOBODY, can rid of me of the headcannon that adult seb is a chunky man. nobody. you can tear it from my cold dead hands. have y'all seen solomon? beyond adolescence, sebastian does not have the genes for a fast metabolism, nor does sebastian possess self control against his vices (aka sweets). anyway this is a completely selfish indulgence. thick sebastian supremacy. that is all, tysm.

p.s. if anyone finds any fan art of this version of him i would literally go feral...

Words: ~5,400

Tags: Post Canon, Insecure Sebastian, Established Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Implied Smut, Size Kink(? I mean like I guess but I feel like we should just be appreciating all bodies ?)

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of their cozy cottage, casting a warm golden glow over the kitchen. The faint, sugary scent of last night’s baking still lingered in the air—Evangeline’s attempt at perfecting a new cookie recipe. Sebastian remembered how she had glared at a plate of the so-called failures, muttering something about them being “too dry." Sebastian had happily devoured them, brushing off her perfectionist grumbles with a wink and a mouthful of cookies.

Now, the house was quiet, save for the occasional chirping of birds outside. Evangeline had already left for the market, a wicker basket in hand and a determined spring in her step. She’d kissed him on the forehead before leaving, murmuring something about getting the perfect flour for a sourdough recipe she’d been researching all week. He could still hear the echo of her soft laughter as she disappeared out the door.

Sebastian stretched, his muscles aching faintly in that satisfying way that came from a week filled with physical work. Being an Auror meant he was constantly on the move—tracking leads, chasing dark wizards, and, more often than he liked, dealing with paperwork that made him question all his life choices. But spring Saturdays like this, when he didn’t have to be anywhere but home, were his favorite.

He yawned and shuffled out of bed, raking a hand through his disheveled hair as he made his way to the wardrobe. Spring had finally settled in, bringing mild, sunny weather that called for something lighter than his usual layers. His hand landed on a familiar flannel shirt, one of his favorites. It was soft from years of wear, its faded green pattern perfect for the season.

Smiling faintly, he shrugged it over his shoulders and reached for the buttons—only to stop short when the fabric pulled taut across his shoulders and chest.

Frowning, he tugged harder, but the shirt refused to cooperate.

“What the…?” he muttered, stepping back toward the mirror.

Sebastian frowned deeper as he studied himself, his hands resting on his hips. The reflection was still undeniably his, but as his eyes trailed over his freckled skin, mapping the same familiar constellations he’d had for years, he realized the framework beneath had shifted in ways he hadn’t realized.

He rolled his shoulders experimentally, watching the way the muscle there still moved, still held its strength. Yet the sharp edges of his collarbones and the cut of his shoulders weren’t as defined as they used to be.

Turning slightly, he ran a hand down his chest, his fingers brushing over the faint dusting of hair. His pecs were still firm, still solid beneath his touch, but there was give there now, a softness that made his jaw tighten. He pressed lightly, testing the subtle give in his chest, before his hand drifted lower, skimming over the newfound curve of his stomach. His fingers prodded experimentally at the softness, sinking slightly into the layer of flesh, and he let out a quiet, frustrated huff. The firmness of his abs was still there—he reassured himself of that much—but they were now buried beneath the gentle padding that had crept in without him noticing.

In response, he straightened his posture, tightening his core instinctively as though to pull it all back in. The mirror reflected the faint impression of his old shape, but as soon as he relaxed, the softer curve returned.

Sebastian sighed in frustration, raking a hand through his messy hair. His fingers lingered at his jawline, as though suddenly aware of it, and his thumb brushed along the edge. Even that felt different—less angular than he remembered, the sharpness subtly softened, apparently, by one too many of Evangeline's cookies.

He turned back to face the mirror head-on, his fingers curling into his sides as he tried to reconcile the man in the reflection with the one he thought he’d been. The man Evangeline married had been sharp and lean, all hard edges and restless energy. Now, he looked... well, not like that.

Sebastian shrugged off the flannel and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, staring down at the worn rug beneath his feet. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and the movement made him acutely aware of a sensation he hadn't noticed before: a fold of flesh creasing above his waistband.

His hand hovered over it for a moment before he pressed his palm flat against his stomach, as if to confirm what he already knew.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing deeper.

His mind began to spiral, his thoughts moving too fast for him to catch hold of any one of them. How long had this been happening? Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? And worse—what did she think?

Evangeline saw him every day. She touched him, kissed him, curled up against him at night. She must have noticed. How could she not?

He thought about the way she looked at him—the warmth in her hazel eyes, the teasing curve of her lips. She’d always been affectionate, always quick to rest her head on his shoulder or slide her hand around his waist. But now that he really thought about it, was that affection the same as it had always been?

Or had it changed?

Sebastian’s mind raced through their recent interactions, searching for signs that Evangeline might have been... humoring him. Was she still as playful as she used to be? Did her hands linger on him the way they used to, or had she started pulling away without him noticing?

And what about the times when they weren’t just sitting on the couch or cooking together? What about the moments when they were truly alone, when her touch was softer and her voice was breathless?

The soft creak of the front door opening startled him out of his reverie. He heard the familiar rustle of her skirts and the gentle thud of her basket being placed on the kitchen table.

“Sebastian?” Evangeline’s voice called out, light and cheerful as ever. “I’m back! They had the flour I needed—oh, and I found those dried cherries you like!”

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. He stood, throwing on a plain linen shirt that still fit well enough, though he couldn’t help but feel hyperaware of how it clung just slightly more than he remembered. He made his way to the kitchen, forcing a casual smile as he leaned in the doorway to watch her unpack.

Evangeline was a vision, as always. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, slightly windswept from the walk back. She wore one of her simple spring dresses, the fabric hugging her curves in a way that always made his stomach flip. Her cheeks were pink from the breeze, and her eyes lit up when she spotted him.

“There you are,” she said warmly, walking over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re up late. I thought you’d already be in the garden or reading by now.”

He shrugged, his smile faltering slightly. “Just... taking my time this morning.”

Evangeline tilted her head, studying him the way only she could. She had a knack for sensing when something was wrong, even when he tried to hide it. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, stepping past her to lean against the counter. He busied himself inspecting the contents of her basket—flour, herbs, fresh berries—anything to avoid her gaze. But Evangeline wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

“Sebastian,” she said softly, moving to stand beside him. “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing—I know you too well.”

Sebastian hesitated, the weight of her gaze pressing on him as she waited for an answer. His jaw tensed, the words tangled in his throat. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to seem ridiculous, but Evangeline’s gaze was so steady, so full of gentle concern, that it made it nearly impossible to brush her off entirely.

So he did the next best thing—he distracted her.

With a soft hum, he stepped forward, closing the small gap between them. Before she could press him further, his arms slipped around her waist, pulling her snug against him. His head dipped to the crook of her shoulder, his nose brushing against her neck in a way that made her breath hitch.

“Sebastian,” she said, her voice soft but curious. “What are you—?”

He nuzzled closer, his lips grazing her skin, and she immediately burst into laughter, her hands coming up to push lightly at his chest. “Stop that!” she giggled, squirming against him. “You know that tickles!”

“Do I?” he murmured innocently, his voice muffled against her skin. He pressed a light, teasing kiss just below her ear, which made her laugh harder.

“Yes, you do!” she managed through her laughter, twisting in his hold. She turned her head, her face still alight with amusement, and gently flicked his shoulder. "Release me!"

Sebastian grinned and nuzzled into her neck again, his voice low and teasing. “Not a chance."

Evangeline squirmed more, her laughter bubbling out in a way that always made his chest feel lighter. “Sebastian!” she giggled, half-protesting, half-delighted. “I mean it! Let me go before I—”

“Before you what?” he interrupted. “I don’t scare easily, love. You know that.”

Evangeline huffed and flicked his ear this time. “Before I refuse to share the bread with you, that’s what!”

Sebastian gasped, feigning shock as he finally released her. “Now, now, let’s not say things we can’t take back.”

Evangeline turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she adjusted her skirts. “Then behave yourself,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him in a way that wasn’t remotely threatening.

Sebastian chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the counter, watching her return to unpacking her basket.

“Goodness me,” she said, rolling up her sleeves with purpose. “I’ve been waiting all week to try this recipe and the minute I try, you attack me. Are you going to help to make up for it, or are you just going to stand there being smug?”

Sebastian chuckled. “I suppose I can be convinced,” he said, moving to her side as she began gathering the rest of the tools she’d need.

For the next hour, the kitchen was filled with the quiet hum of their voices, the occasional clatter of mixing bowls, and Evangeline’s soft laughter.

Sebastian found himself relaxing, the familiar rhythm of their routine soothing the restless energy that had been gnawing at him earlier. He teased her gently when she smudged flour on her cheek, earning a playful swat in return, and when she handed him the dough to knead, she watched with an amused grin as he muttered about how much effort it took.

"Thought you were supposed to be a big, strong Auror, Sallow," she quipped, her lips twitching with amusement as she leaned against the counter, watching him wrestle with the dough.

“I am a big, strong Auror,” Sebastian shot back, narrowing his eyes at her. “This stuff is just... deceptively difficult. And sticky. Are you sure this is how it’s supposed to feel?”

Evangeline laughed, the sound light and musical as she stepped closer, her hands lightly dusted with flour. “You’re doing fine,” she reassured him, slipping in beside him. “But here—let me show you.”

She reached out, her smaller hands folding over his to guide his movements. The closeness made Sebastian pause, his earlier insecurities threatening to resurface as her warmth seeped into him. He glanced down at her, the way her long lashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks, her eyes focused intently on the dough. She looked so at ease, so utterly content, and it twisted something in his chest.

“See?” she said softly, her voice breaking through his thoughts. “Gentle pressure. You don’t have to fight it, Sebastian. It’s not a dark wizard.”

Sebastian let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head as Evangeline’s hands guided his own, working the dough until it was smooth and elastic.

When they were finally done, Evangeline patted it into a neat ball and placed it into a bowl to proof, covering it with a clean cloth. “There,” she said, brushing her hands off on her apron.

Sebastian stepped back, wiping his flour-dusted hands on a towel. “So, what now, boss?” he asked, his tone playful.

Evangeline grinned, tilting her head toward the door. “You, my dear husband, are going to go sit on the porch and enjoy the sun while I tidy up. I’ll bring lunch out in a bit.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “You sure? I can help clean—”

“Nope,” she interrupted, shooing him toward the door with a wave of her hand. “Go. Relax. You’ve earned it after that battle with the dough.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, if you say so,"

With a glass of lemonade in hand, Sebastian made his way to the porch. The gentle warmth of the spring sun greeted him as he stepped outside, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath his feet. He sank into one of the chairs, letting out a contented sigh as he leaned back.

The village stretched out before him, quiet and serene, with the distant hum of life carrying on beyond their little corner of the world. The sun’s rays warmed his skin, the light breeze ruffling his hair. He took a sip of the lemonade, the tart sweetness refreshing as he let himself sink into the moment, his earlier insecurities and worries far away now, dulled by the laughter and warmth Evangeline always brought with her.

He was so lost in the peace that he didn’t hear her approach until she appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray with two plates and the pitcher of lemonade.

“Lunch is served,” she announced cheerfully, stepping out onto the porch.

Sebastian sat up as she set the tray down on the small table between them, his eyes flicking to his plate: a neatly arranged sandwich, a small side of crisps, and, of course, three cookies nestled together like a tempting afterthought. He masked a frown, the sight of them stirring the same pang of self-consciousness he’d been trying to forget all morning. So much for putting his extra fluff out of his mind—it was staring back at him in the form of three perfectly golden, innocent-looking biscuits.

Still, he didn’t say anything, brushing the thought aside as he focused on enjoying lunch with Evangeline. The sandwich was delicious, the crisp, fresh lettuce and savory meats hitting the spot as they chatted easily about her market trip and his plans to tend to the garden later.

When Evangeline finished her plate, she leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh, the light breeze catching her hair and carrying the faint scent of flour and sugar. Sebastian moved to gather their plates, standing to take them inside, but paused when Evangeline frowned, her gaze dropping to his untouched cookies.

“Are they that bad?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she leaned forward to inspect them. “I thought they turned out alright this time.”

Sebastian froze, feeling her question land with a weight he wasn’t ready to address. He hesitated for a fraction too long before shaking his head, mustering a smile. “No, not at all. They’re great. I’m just... not in the mood for something sweet right now.”

Evangeline’s frown deepened, hazel eyes narrowing as she tilted her head. “Not in the mood?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “Sebastian, you’ve never turned down cookies. Not once. Not even when you had the flu.”

“I just... figured I’d save them for later,” he said quickly, avoiding her gaze as he balanced their plates on one arm. “Don’t want to ruin my appetite for dinner.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Dinner’s hours away, and we both know you could eat a Hippogriff and still have room for dessert.

Sebastian forced one of his trademark grins, the kind he knew could distract her from just about anything. “I promise I’ll eat them later,” he said, his tone light as he grabbed the empty plates and moved to the door. “No need to worry, love.”

But he should have known better. Evangeline was many things—kind, brilliant, a phenomenal baker—but above all else, she was stubborn.

“Sebastian,” she called after him, her voice sharp enough to stop him mid-step as he crossed the threshold back into the kitchen.

He sighed, shoulders sinking slightly as he turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

“What?” he asked, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Evangeline huffed and stepped forward, plucked the plates from his hands with a deftness that left him blinking, and set them firmly on the counter.

“Alright,” she said, turning back to him and crossing her arms. Her gaze pinned him in place, sharp and unyielding. “Spill. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” he replied quickly, too quickly. He reached up, scratching the back of his neck, a nervous habit she knew all too well. “I just told you—I’m not in the mood for something sweet right now. That’s all.”

“Sebastian.” Her voice softened, but the determination in her expression didn’t waver. She stepped closer, her hands uncrossing to rest lightly on her hips. “You can’t lie to me, you know that."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as his gaze flicked away. He wanted to brush her off, to dodge her questions and let the moment pass. But the way she looked at him—so patient, so steady—made it impossible.

He let out a slow breath, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “It’s just… earlier, I tried on that green flannel shirt—the one you like—and it didn’t fit. It was too small."

Evangeline frowned, her brows knitting together. “So? Clothes shrink, Sebastian. Especially when someone—” she gestured pointedly at him “—refuses to follow proper washing instructions.”

He huffed a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It didn’t shrink,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at himself. “It's me, Evie. I looked in the mirror, and I realized I’ve… gone all soft. I mean, look at me.” He motioned to his chest and stomach, his voice tinged with frustration.

Evangeline blinked at him, her expression shifting into something softer—warmer, with a teasing glint in her eyes that Sebastian immediately recognized. She stepped closer, her hand sliding from his arm to rest lightly against his chest, her lips curving into a small, amused smile.

“I do look at you,” she said softly. “I look at you all the time, Sebastian. And quite often, without clothes in the way.”

His ears burned instantly, a deep flush spreading across his face and down his neck. “Evie, please,” he groaned.

“What?” she asked innocently. “You act like I don’t see you—really see you—all the time. You’re my husband, silly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he avoided her gaze.

Evangeline tilted her head, her lips twitching with barely contained amusement. “What exactly do you want me to say, Sebastian? Do you want me to say ‘Oh, darling, I’ve noticed you’ve gotten a bit squishier lately, but don’t worry—I still love you?’ Because that’s ridiculous.”

“So you have noticed then,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening as he met her gaze. “And you just didn’t tell me?”

Evangeline blinked at him again before laughing outright—a soft, melodic sound that filled the kitchen. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head. “Sebastian, I didn’t say anything because there’s nothing to say! You’re acting like this is some monumental change when it’s not!

“It feels like it, is” he muttered, his arms dropping to his sides. “I’ve let myself go, Evangeline. And you’re just—what? Too nice to admit it?”

Her laughter faded, her brow furrowing slightly. “Too nice to admit it?” she repeated, her voice soft but incredulous. “Sebastian, do you really think I’d lie to you about something like this?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Not lie,” he admitted quietly. “But maybe… spare my feelings.”

Evangeline sighed, her expression softening as she reached up to cradle his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones. "Listen to me. I’m not sparing your feelings. I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will."

He sighed, his hands coming up to loosely grip her wrists as her fingers remained warm against his skin. “But you’re not blind, Evie. This is... this is not the version of me you married."

Evangeline scoffed. “Do you really think the reason I married you had anything to do with how sharp your jawline was?”

“I mean... maybe not completely,” he muttered, his voice trailing off as his ears turned pink. “But it didn’t hurt.”

She sighed, a sound heavy with both exasperation and affection. She tilted her head back slightly, studying his stubborn expression. Clearly, her reassurances weren’t enough to break through that thick skull of his. If soft words and patience weren’t going to work, it was time to switch tactics.

Her gaze darkened slightly, a mischievous glint sparking to life as her lips curled into a sly grin. She slid her hands from his face to rest on his shoulders, her fingers trailing down to the broad expanse of his chest.

“Alright,” she murmured, her tone dropping into something low and silky. “You want me to be honest? I’ll be honest.”

Sebastian blinked, momentarily startled by the shift in her demeanor. “What are you—”

She cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. “Hush. You’ve been doing a lot of talking. It’s my turn now.”

He swallowed hard, his ears burning as she stepped even closer, her body brushing against his, and tipped her head to look up at him through her lashes.

“Of course I’ve noticed the changes. How could I not? But Merlin help me, I love you like this,” she said, her voice smooth and steady, each word punctuated with intent. “Do you know why?”

He shook his head, utterly at a loss for words, his hands falling to rest uncertainly on her waist.

“Because,” she continued, “It tells me that you’re happy and comfortable and loved and well-fed—all the things you should be when you’re with someone who loves you. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

His throat tightened and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. “Evie...” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“I love you with all my heart, and yes, I love the way you look,” her voice was soft but steady, her hazel eyes locked onto his. Her hands trailed down to rest against his chest, her fingertips brushing over the slight softness he’d been agonizing over. “You're the most incredible man I’ve ever met. You’ve got these strong arms I adore, shoulders that make me weak in the knees, and those deliciously thick thighs I can't get enough of. And now there's just more of you for me to love."

Sebastian’s face burned a deeper shade of crimson, his ears hot with embarrassment. “Evie,” he mumbled, his voice caught between a groan and a laugh.

"Sebastian," she said firmly, gripping at his shirt now. "You have always been handsome, but now? Now you’re downright dangerous.” Her hand moved to his stomach, giving it a light pat.

Sebastian stared at her, completely floored. Her words hung in the air between them, weaving through his spiraling thoughts and silencing them one by one. The heat from his ears had spread down to his chest now, but the lingering twinges of doubt started to fade, smothered by the mischievous glint in her eyes and the way her hands lingered on him like he was the only man in the world.

“Dangerous, am I?” he murmured, his voice low, his lips twitching into something dangerously close to a smirk.

Evangeline’s grin widened, a spark of triumph lighting her expression. “Oh, absolutely,” she said, her fingers curling into his shirt as she tugged him closer. “You’re entirely too good-looking for your own good—and mine.”

Sebastian’s lips twitched, but as her words settled over him, something stirred in the back of his mind. Hang on a minute...

He replayed moment after moment from the past few months. The way her hands lingered just a bit longer when they curled up on the couch together. How she’d started sneaking up behind him in the mornings just to wrap her arms around his waist. How she’d tug him back into bed, her lips pressed against his neck as she muttered some excuse about not wanting to let him go yet.

She had been insatiable—more so than usual.

He’d chalked it up to the honeymoon phase lingering well past its expiration date, or maybe the warmer weather putting her in an unusually good mood. But now? Now, standing here with her hands sliding over him like she wanted to memorize every inch of his body, it all clicked.

His lips curled into a slow, wolfish grin, the confidence that had been knocked loose earlier returning in full force. “You have been extra fond of me lately, huh?” he teased, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made her cheeks flush.

Evangeline arched an eyebrow, unbothered by his sudden shift in demeanor. “Maybe,” she replied coyly.

Sebastian chuckled, the sound deep and rich as his hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I suppose I should’ve known,” he murmured, his eyes roaming her face before locking onto hers. “All those extra little touches, the way you’ve been looking at me... You’re absolutely relentless, you know that?”

“And you’re just figuring this out now?” she teased, her smirk widening.

He shook his head, his grin growing wider as he tilted her chin up with one hand, his thumb brushing over her jawline. “I don’t think I’m the dangerous one here, Evie. You’ve been plotting this, haven’t you?”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and unrepentant. “I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, his grin never faltering. “Oh, you definitely know what I’m talking about,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending a shiver down her spine. “You’ve been playing the long game, haven’t you? Buttering me up—literally and figuratively—until I couldn’t resist you.”

Evangeline’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but her smirk didn’t waver. “If by ‘buttering you up’ you mean showing my husband how much I love him, then yes, guilty as charged,” she replied, tilting her head smugly. “And judging by the way you’ve been letting me drag you back to bed at all hours, I’d say you haven’t exactly been resisting.”

Sebastian laughed, the sound low and full of warmth as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “I don’t think anyone could resist you, Evie."

Evangeline laughed, her hands tangling in his hair as she gazed up at him. “Good,” she said, her tone light and playful. “I’d hate to think I was losing my touch.”

Sebastian smirked, his hands settling on her hips as he tilted his head down, their foreheads almost touching. “Losing your touch? Not possible,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “If anything, you’ve only gotten better at wrapping me around your finger.”

She grinned, leaning in to press a quick, teasing kiss to his lips before pulling back. “Exactly as planned,” she quipped, her hands sliding down to rest on his chest again. Her expression softened as her thumbs brushed over the fabric of his shirt. “But seriously, Sebastian, as much as I love you like this—and I do—if it really does bother you, if you really want to change something, just tell me.” Her lips curled into a small, teasing smile as she added, “I can always go a little easier on you, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin turning wry. “Go easier on me? What does that even mean?”

Evangeline laughed again, her fingers toying with the edge of his shirt. “It means I won’t bake as many pastries,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Or at least I’ll stop making so many batches of your favorites.

Sebastian scoffed, though his lips twitched with amusement. “You make it sound like I have no self-control,” he said, his tone laced with indignation.

Evangeline arched an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Do you want me to list the number of times I’ve caught you sneaking into the kitchen at midnight? Because I’ve been keeping track, and let’s just say the numbers don’t lie.”

His ears flushed pink, but he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Midnight snacks are perfectly reasonable. I’m a growing man, after all.”

“Growing where, exactly?” she teased, her grin widening as she tapped a finger lightly against his stomach.

He groaned, though a laugh escaped him despite himself. “You’re merciless,” he muttered.

“Only because I love you,” she replied, her tone softening as she slid her hands back up to his chest. “But seriously, Sebastian, we’ll figure it out. After all, we can’t have you ruining all your shirts, can we?"

Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Merlin forbid I ruin all my shirts,” he said, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “What would I even wear then?”

“Oh, I’m sure we could come up with something,” Evangeline replied, her grin widening as she tugged playfully at the hem of his shirt. “Or nothing at all. That’s always an option.”

Sebastian's grin turned positively wolfish. “Nothing at all, huh?” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that made Evangeline’s cheeks flush. He took a small step closer, effectively pinning her between him and the counter. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Evangeline tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "We would have to give it a try first... for science."

"No time like the present," he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m fully committed to advancing scientific discovery, after all.”

Evangeline laughed softly, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Well, I’d hate to stand in the way of progress,” she teased, looking up at him through her lashes. “Who am I to deny such noble pursuits?”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “That’s the spirit,” he murmured. “Let’s not waste a single moment, then.”

Before she could respond, his arms slipped under her, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. Evangeline let out a surprised laugh, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, her laughter vibrating against him. The sound alone was enough to make his chest swell with affection, and the way she leaned into him, utterly unguarded, set his pulse pounding.

Evangeline’s lips brushed against the shell of his ear as he carried her toward the bedroom, her voice a teasing murmur that made his blood hum. She didn’t hold back—her words playful, wicked, and laced with affection. Every syllable sent heat pooling low in his stomach, her tone the perfect mix of mischief and adoration.

The bread, meanwhile, sat forgotten on the counter, the plans for the afternoon abandoned, and the lingering doubts that had gnawed at him all morning slipped away, irrelevant in the face of the one truth that mattered most: Evangeline adored him, every inch of him.

[cornbread-but-minecraft]

Cornbread's Texture Fixer Devlog v0.5.0 - Beta 2 May 12th, 2024

woopsies. it's been over half a year since i last touched this pack! didn't mean for that to happen. anyway, let's go over some of the changes i made in the last few weeks, mostly in the order i made them.

first things first, i fixed the UV mapping of the regular torch. i already did soul and redstone torches in beta 1, but neglected to do regular torches since they were mostly fine. sometime after that, regular torches decided to not be mostly fine, so i had to fix them.

you might notice i'm not including an image for this, because torches have decided to be mostly fine again. the fix i implemented is still more accurate, and i don't doubt the issue won't try to crop up again, so i'm keeping my fix regardless.

to clarify, bedrock edition doesn't currently allow for custom geometry on vanilla blocks. the way i've been fixing the UV mapping is simply by upscaling the texture. why this works or why this issue even happens to begin with, i can't tell you for certain, but if i had to guess, it probably has something to do with the way the game calculates the size of a texel, since the resolution of block textures can vary. a similar issue occurs on legacy console edition.

actually, you know what, i lied. i will include an image. wall torches are noticeably less accurate than floor torches, so hopefully, this shouldn't just look like the same thing twice.

vanilla on left, resource pack on right.

i lightened the outline for the icon on the new inbox button on the title screen to be consistent with the buttons around it.

now you might be looking at those images and/or listening to the alt text and being all "wait aren't those outlines the same color already? why'd you change them?" i changed them because the bottle icon for the achievements button also needs to be consistent with the icon for the feedback button. here they are on the pause screen.

i chose to lighten the outlines of the achievements and inbox icons instead of darkening the outline of the feedback icon for two reasons:

i already had the lightened achievements icon for previous versions of the pack.

it keeps the overall level of contrast of these screens consistent. the text on these screens is a pretty light gray all things considered and to just have the icons be so much darker would've really messed with things.

i am aware that this kinda makes the darker parts of the inbox icon not really contrast very well against the outline, even being darker than it in some spots. i'm not entirely sure how i want to go about dealing with this, but it's not a super huge deal in-game.

also, i made sure the achievements icon is scaled correctly. i did this via json and not texture, even though i'm already messing with the texture, for compatibility reasons since i know a lot of people, myself included, like to keep their textures' resolutions at a multiple of the vanilla ones. this does mean that the icon is no longer aligned to the pixel grid, but that's not noticeable or a very unique problem in this game anyway.

i fixed the top- and bottom-left corners of the background for the description of a marketplace item, since i missed that when doing the other 'dialogue' backgrounds.

also the background of the readmore button, also for a marketplace item.

mojang recently broke the toolbar on the stonecutter screen. guess someone told them the help button didn't do anything and instead of fixing it they just removed it without thinking about how that would affect things. here's how i've changed it while using a mouse or touch controls:

and here's how i've changed it while using a controller:

i removed the entity folder from the pack, since mojang removed the feature that made it necessary to begin with. i added some notes to an earlier part of the changelog that weren't there before to fix some implied misinformation that i didn't realize at the time was false.

the craftable toggle (the search bar if in creative mode) is no longer a pixel too far to the right. this is actually a side effect of something i did last year, but mojang broke vanilla more since then, so i'm putting it on the changelog separately.

tweaked the nineslice information on UI texture "background_with_border" to be less buggy. i'm pretty sure this texture goes unused in this pack, but i could always be wrong.

reverted the top half of the trade screen to how it is in vanilla. that is, the items in the trade slots are no longer pixel-size-consistent with other items like in previous versions of the pack and the help button is again on the main panel instead of the toolbar. decided the design of this screen was just too much for this pack and that i'd rather mess with it in conglomeration, which i'm thinking of changing the name of to "synthesis".

not quite sure how to show these off so... quickfire round, go!

the X and Y Gamepad Helpers on the trade screen now disappear and reappear properly depending on the part of the screen being hovered over, like they do in vanilla. them not doing this was an oversight on my part as i play with Hide Controller Hints enabled.

rewrote the json responsible for messing with the texture for the scrolling panel on the trade screen. this was done to accommodate the removal of the json it was parented off.

removed the texture for the glyph for the creator tab in the settings screen since vanilla fixed its issue.

removed a misplaced pixel on the critical hit particle.

fixed a miscolored pixel on the firework trail particle.

maps are no longer pixel-size-consistent since i've decided redrawing textures to that extent doesn't fit the spirit of the pack.

the players list in the pause screen is no longer cut off by a pixel when the player permissions buttons aren't visible.

updated the metal bits on the sides of the piston head with the ones from the 1.10 texture update. the rest of the texture intentionally remains programmer art. not quite sure if i want to keep this one.

quickfire round... 2!!

large cocoa pods no longer have visible seams.

chiseled nether bricks now line up with regular nether bricks correctly. (this wasn't an issue in vanilla but rather with the pack.)

removed the json that made the hotbar render at full opacity since vanilla fixed its issue.

the opacity of the hotbar start and end caps is no longer a global variable. as such, the variable has been removed.

removed global variable "$cb_is_not_conglomeration".

the experience bar now uses custom textures at directory "textures/cb_custom_ui/hud/" instead of "textures/gui/icons.png", due to limitations with the game's texture sheet system. it should no longer break when using certain higher-resolution texture packs.

replaced all bed item textures with the ones from legacy console edition, since they're (mostly) closer in color to beds placed in the world. for technical reasons, these were taken from the wiki. i might revert some of these to their bedrock textures, but i don't know yet.

(had to start merging images here for image limit reasons.)

the icon for the general tab in the settings screen is now the correct size and no longer shrunken weirdly.

the icon on the "how to play" tab in the settings screen is now black when the tab isn't hovered over.

and it is also now white when it is hovered over.

the outlines on the heads on the friends tab on the select world screen are now at a level of contrast that is consistent with the icons of the tabs around them.

vanilla on top, resource pack on bottom.

tweaked the nineslice information for the banner / "label box" for the "acheivements cannot be earned in this world" message to be less buggy.

the chevrons on the buttons in the dressing room now properly turn white when the buttons are hovered over or pressed.

the chevrons on the buttons for cycling between items in the marketplace are now the correct color.

last quickfire round for today:

the java edition texture variants for stone, bedrock, deepslate, and related blocks have been moved over to conglomeration (a different resource pack). as such, the textures for these have been removed.

removed an unused dirt path texture that i missed before.

observers now look the same while carried as they do placed in the world since i couldn't manage to fix them.

concrete powder no longer randomly rotates its texture depending on its placement in the world. it has been reverted to how it is in vanilla.

the different sides of netherrack and the netherrack part of nylium are no longer all at the same orientation on the same block. netherrack has been made more similar (though not identical) to vanilla in this way.

lit deepslate redstone ore now has the same top and bottom texture as unlit deepslate redstone ore. (this was an oversight in the pack.)

removed some unused json from the manifest file.

changed pack UUIDs. (this was mostly for testing and not really very important.)

and that should be it, both for this post and for beta 2 as a whole. we're coming dangerously close up to the full release of this pack, so if there are any visual issues you've noticed and i haven't, please let me know about them, otherwise, i may not ever notice.

i've added a to-do list to the files of the pack to keep track of what i have yet to do. it currently looks like this:

i'm definitely forgetting a few things on here, though. we're getting to the point where i can't just look at the game and remember everything i still need to fix because there are so few notable issues left.

also, i changed the pack icon to be consistent with the new Music Fixer icon.

[skyplayssplatoon3]

Ramblin' some thoughts about the new season / game / etc

I really wish I was more hyped for the new season, but I don't really have much TO be excited about, and I definitely feel the 3 month update cycle isn't for me

I have no new weapons I even wanna bother playing (I always try them all out for a bit but I just don't vibe with 90% of them), Bluefin comin back is neat but not my fave, and the new map I like but it'll REALLY depend on how it actually feels to play

(NEW FLINGZA MY BELOVED...Final update probably, I fear /bricked)

BIG RUN IS HYPE THOUGH...I've super wanted another King Salmonid and we got one!! So I can definitely take that!

Though I think the squads in Turf War are definitely doing more harm than good for me these days 😔Don't get me wrong, it's amazing you can just squad up with your pals and have fun!

But in terms of learning new weapons, it's hell when you try something 100% brand new, and get paired against Top 500 X Squads CONSTANTLY (and I mean constantly, I legit saw the same Top 10 Gold X badge player like 7 times now in -Turf Lobbies-, I am nowhere NEAR their skill level /bricked)

And I feel bad squadding up with friends for new weapons cause I feel myself dragging everyone down with terrible performance, so that kinda messes up my fun personally, so I'd rather just practice on my own but THENNN /dies

I ain't worried about like winning a lot or anything, but the matchmaking makes it feel like a pointless endeavor sometimes when there's no spawn bubbles to sit and plan in and instead you just get mega camped 50x over trying to press a button /dies

Splatoon 3 is definitely the better game in a lot of ways of content, but the differences over time made me realize I'm just not adapting well to the changes

And after over a year, I'm not sure I'll ever adapt 😭

AT ANY RATE, I got other games to play soon! Super Mario RPG is very soon, Pokemon DLC is next month, etc! I'll run around in some other games to keep my sanity

It's just a little sad; I had big aspirations to try and be more competitive, maybe to nab a Top 500 X badge myself!! But nowadays due to the regional matchmaking, I can't even GET an X Match anymore LMAO;;; I tried like 3 times and it just keeps kicking me out after 200 seconds

Plus I just can't seem to keep up these days, so yeah, in before "Skill Issue" cause believe me, I'm aware /dies

I'm thinkin' Splatoon 2 was the peak of my competitive skills and, now I just get to coast occasionally as a casual player, which is fine and is probably for the best!

NOT TO SOUND TOO BUMMED OUT KJAHSKJHAS I had these thoughts for a long time now, and I may just be growin' out of the game itself a little bit, which sucks cause I love it so much, but it's gonna move on with or without me

BUT I will still have fun where I can, and I really hope other folks got something great out of the new Season updates so far!!

We got Splatfest and Big Run soon, so hopefully we can all have fun with that! SORRY 2 RAMBLE, just kinda wanted to get some stuff out there

Nothing's happening to this blog or anything; game or not I'm still a fan of the series!! HERE'S HOPIN' SIDE ORDER IS FUNNN

[capyquest-logs]

DFX452 | Post 3 | 4/4/25

It's time to review what I've gotten done over the last few weeks. Here's a quick summary of my work since the last major blog post!

Modeled, sculpted, and textured a LOT of assets

Imported assets to UE5

Streamlined the dialogue system

Scripted cutscenes

Planned and scripted new capybara characters

Scripted cutscenes

Started building out forest grove

Began coding button puzzle

Began coding hand puzzle

Changed some grapple-mode camera mechanics

Now let's dive into some more detail.

Assets

I dedicated several weeks to just modeling assets, and oh boy, what a journey it's been. As a quick rundown of what I've done, here's a list for you.

Main gate

Lever and button

Wayshrine

Swing objects and shot objects

Statue location

Stone walls

Magic stone

Bamboo

Lily pad

Wood platform

Two wooden fences

Bridge

Rotating pusher (not yet textured)

Rotating platform

Up + down platform (not yet textured)

Stone hand statues

Grove wall piece

And here they all are, imported into UE5!

And here are two major pieces that I haven't brough into UE5 yet.

If you want more in-depth looks into these models, I recommend you look to some of my posts from the last few weeks.

Dialogue System

So, in my original demo, I had created a dialogue system that worked well enough, but moving forward past that first semester, I realized it was really inefficient for reusing characters when I wanted them to have fresh dialogue. My options were to either hard-code every single capybara's dialogue, which would be super disorganized and inefficient, or to create copies of every single character for each level. I also had no way of picking animations beyond the first level or so without even more hard-coding. Not good.

Everything would solve my problems if UE5 supported arrays of arrays. Fortunately for me, I found out about a node called Parse To Array, and it allowed me to have a sort of roundabout way of having arrays of arrays. This solves SO many more issues than just the ones listed above!

For reference, I had the dialogue change every time you talked to a capy, with each dialogue "chunk" split up into one or two sentences at a time. I did this by making an array for every single chunk of dialogue.

To fix it, I put each entire chunk in a single array, and would use the Parse To Array node to split up each chunk by using a non-used character to split the chunks into sentences. You can see the original on the left, and the fix on the right.

Now every level's dialogue fits within a single array!

Here is an example of an original capybara's variables next to the improved version.

Same exact result, but now the characters are much more scalable and efficient.

Cutscenes

I can't really write much about the cutscenes, partially because I don't want to spoil them, but mostly because all I have is the script so far. I've never done a cutscene before, so I'm a little nervous about getting it done in time. Regardless, I had my sister (who is both a very skilled artist and an amazing writer) rewrite my original cutscene script to flow better, and she even changed the layout of the script to make it easier to storyboard. Thank you, Claudia!

Dialogue Writing

Again, I don't have much to write about this part, but I've written out the dialogue for 13 new capy characters that exist within the second level. Now it's basically just a matter of copy-pasting the dialogue within a child of the parent capybara class. This won't take more than a day, tops.

Forest Grove

This is part of the demo I may unfortunately have to either simplify heavily or cut out entirely, just for the sake of finishing the demo this semester. If it comes to that, I will absolutely still finish it, even if it's after graduation.

Anyways, many weeks ago I mapped this area out, and just recently got the base landscape sculpt done. Everything is very flat right now, but that'll change.

I also created a grove wall asset that I've been using to make the walls of each area look more realistic.

I'm not yet done setting all the walls up, but I'll be finishing that soon.

Puzzles

I've almost finished the button puzzle and the hand puzzle. I'm super excited about them! I do have some minor issues with the hand puzzle, but I'll be asking for advice during my next critique next week.

The button puzzle is simple: stand on button, gate opens, but it gets a little more complicated as you go on. Still, overall, it was simple to code and will be simple to solve.

The hand puzzle is a bit more complicated. I decided to have it be manipulated by mouse, since the camera mechanics have the player character in the center of the screen at all times. Plus, it would involve line tracing and a lot of complicated (and somewhat expensive) code, so I have the camera shift to allow an overlay where I have UI widget buttons set to 0% opacity that controls the hands.

Grapple Camera

At the advice from a classmate, I'm changing some grappling mechanics. I haven't finished it yet, but what I have done is shift the camera slightly when entering grapple mode, instead of switching abruptly to a first-person camera. This makes it flow a lot better.

I've still got a lot of fixing to do, but this is a good start.

Well, that about wraps it up! See you later!

[laurafaritos]

HDMS036. Funnel Vision: A Comedian’s Guide to Paid Media That Actually Works

There’s this mistake a lot of comedians (and creators in general) make when they finally decide to “do marketing.” We pick one thing—usually Instagram—and throw everything at it. Flyers, clips, podcast promos, ticket links, chaotic rants. We “boost” a post, cross our fingers, and hope it fills the venue.

But here’s the truth I’m now learning: not every stage of your audience’s journey needs the same mic!!!!

Sometimes, the goal is awareness. Sometimes, it’s connection. Sometimes, it’s conversion.

And each of those moments???? They need a different channel!!! A different tone!!! A different energy!!!.

Module 3.4.1. Channel Selection, Brand Objectives and the Marketing Funnel cracked open the idea of paid media channel selection—not just where you advertise, but why you choose each space depending on where your audience is in the funnel.

And for the first time, it clicked: Marketing isn’t just about getting louder. It’s about speaking clearly—to the right people, at the right moment, in the right way.

That’s what this post is about. Not just how big brands choose their marketing channels, but how comedians and creators can use that same logic—even on a DIY budget—to actually move people from “who are you?” to “I bought a ticket.”

Let’s get into what Harvard taught me (and why my next boosted post is gonna slap harder than my last 10!!!!)

I. Harvard’s Take – The Funnel Is Real (and You Need a Map)

One of the most important things this module drove home is that paid media isn't just about visibility—it's about purposeful visibility.

Let’s use OOFOS as the case study again. They didn’t just throw money at ads hoping for magic. Their marketing plan was mapped to their goals:

Their goal was to grow revenue and raise awareness.

Their audience was health-conscious, fitness-focused people—“Workout Warriors.”

Their value prop was all about function, recovery, and innovation.

And their metrics were both long-term (brand lift) and short-term (ROAS, revenue).

So instead of just saying, “Let’s advertise!”—they asked: 👉 Where is our audience in the funnel? 👉 What do we want them to do next? 👉 What’s the best channel to help them do that?

That’s how they built their strategy:

Linear TV for top-of-funnel awareness. Broad reach. Prestige. Mass exposure.

Paid social for middle-of-funnel engagement. Retargeting. Relevance. Interaction.

Branded search ads (SEM) for bottom-of-funnel conversions. Catching people ready to buy.

They also acknowledged that channels aren’t rigid. TV can drive search traffic. Paid social can convert when it’s done right. SEM can boost awareness with the right keywords.

The point is: They mapped their funnel, then picked tools based on what needed to happen at each stage.

And once I saw that? I realized most of us aren’t even thinking in stages. We’re throwing all our budget at one moment—usually right before a show—and wondering why nobody clicks.

That’s not marketing, baby!!! That’s straight-up PANIC!!!!

II. Digital Doesn’t Mean Lazy: Paid Media Channels That Actually Work

Let’s clear this up right now: just because something is digital doesn’t mean it’s low effort or low impact!!!!

In fact, the digital marketing channels available to us right now are some of the most targeted, trackable, and powerful tools a comedian or creator could ask for. But only if you actually use them with intention.

Here’s what Harvard (and my own trial and error) helped me understand:

1. Paid Social Isn’t Just “Boosting a Post”

You know that little blue “Boost” button? That’s not strategy. That’s Instagram offering you the illusion of effort. Real paid social means going into Ads Manager, building targeted audiences (based on interests, behavior, geography), and choosing content that speaks to where someone is in their journey with you.

For example:

Top of funnel: A relatable reel with no context needed

Middle: A clip from your podcast that deepens connection

Bottom: A post with a direct CTA like “Buy tickets now” or “Subscribe here”

2. Branded Search Ads = Comedy's Secret Weapon

If someone’s literally typing “comedy shows near me” or “Laura Faritos podcast”—that’s someone actively looking to engage. Search ads help you appear right when people are already in the mood to act. They’re bottom-of-funnel gold. But you have to fund them, monitor them, and refine your keywords constantly.

3. OTT + Linear TV = Long Game Energy

While this stuff feels out of reach for indie comedians right now, don’t write it off. TV ads are about brand building. Prestige. Reach. And OTT platforms like Hulu or YouTube pre-roll are slowly becoming more accessible with local targeting and lower ad spend minimums.

If you’re planning a special, a docu-series, or a full-on live tour, this is something to work toward. Not because it’ll instantly sell tickets—but because it changes the way people perceive you.

4. Newer Platforms ≠ Automatically Better

Sometimes people chase cheap clicks. “Let’s run ads on Threads!” “Let’s put money into Pinterest!” But if your audience isn’t there, or if the platform doesn’t align with your content style, it’s a waste of time and money.

Your paid media channels should reflect:

Where your audience hangs out

What type of content they engage with

What you want them to do after seeing your ad

This isn’t about jumping on every trend. It’s about showing up where it matters, when it matters, with content that matches the moment.

III. What Comedians Get Wrong About Paid Media (And How to Fix It)

Let’s call it out: most comedians treat paid media the same way they treat self-tapes or taxes—last minute, half-baked, and emotionally charged. We either avoid it altogether or throw money at it when we’re already panicking.

But if you’ve ever spent $20 boosting a post and got zero ticket sales, this is why:

❌ Mistake 1: We Overspend on the Wrong Things

We throw money at a “cool-looking” post or a flyer, assuming that more eyes = more tickets. But if that content isn’t scroll-stopping, relevant, or targeted to a specific funnel stage… you’re just paying to be ignored more widely.

❌ Mistake 2: We Don’t Test or Track

If you’re not measuring your click-through rates, conversions, or even basic engagement... Then how do you know if your paid media is working? Spoiler: “I feel like it did well” is not a metric.

❌ Mistake 3: We Pick the Cheapest Option, Not the Most Strategic One

Sure, boosting a post is cheaper than building an ad campaign from scratch—but cheap doesn’t mean effective. It’s better to run one well-targeted ad to a warm audience than five random ones into the algorithm void.

❌ Mistake 4: We Use One Ad to Do Everything

The same video can’t introduce you, build trust, and sell your tickets. That’s like expecting a first date to end in marriage. Instead, break your content (and budget) down like this:

Top of funnel → Make ‘em aware

Middle → Make ‘em curious

Bottom → Make ‘em act

I need you to understand that each stage needs a different message!!!!! A different edit!!!! A different vibe!!!!!

The fix???? Start thinking like a strategist, not a flyer-flinger. Every dollar you spend should have a goal. Every video should serve a purpose. Every platform should be a choice—not a default.

IV. How I’m Planning My Own Paid Media Funnel as a Comedian/Podcaster

Before this course, I approached marketing like most indie creators:

Make something cool.

Post it everywhere.

Hope it works.

Spiral when it doesn’t.

But after studying this module, I’m building something better. A funnel!!!!!! A system!!!!! A plan!!!!!!! Here’s what that looks like in real life—not theory, but what I’m actually doing to market myself across different stages:

1. Top of Funnel (Awareness)

This is where I get seen. Not necessarily booked. Not even followed. Just seen.

What I’m doing:

Reels with high entertainment value, even if they have nothing to do with shows

Clips that reflect my vibe, even without full context

YouTube Shorts with captions that provoke curiosity (“POV: You grew up Brazilian with Catholic guilt and no boundaries”)

I boost only the content that already performs organically—just to give it extra reach

Goal: Get strangers to stop scrolling and think “who’s this bitch?” in a good way.

2. Middle of Funnel (Consideration/Engagement)

Now they know me. I want them to trust me.

What I’m doing:

Podcast trailers that show off my interviewing style and themes

Behind-the-scenes content of me producing live shows or prepping episodes

Posts that reflect vulnerability, neurodivergence, or immigrant girl chaos—something real

Paid social retargeting toward people who watched my top-of-funnel content but didn’t follow or click

Goal: Get people to care. Or at least stick around long enough to ask “when’s the next show?”

3. Bottom of Funnel (Conversion)

Time to sell. Tickets. Subscriptions. Downloads. Whatever the CTA is.

What I’m doing:

Specific ads with ticket links for local audiences

Reels that say “Toronto! Come see this lineup!” with a quick cut to laughs

Newsletter prompts and “swipe up” ads for podcast subs

SEM/Google Ads on show week for local searches like “comedy Toronto Friday”

So the goal is to get that credit card out!!!! I’ve earned their attention—now I’m asking for their support!!!!

I no longer see my marketing budget as a Hail Mary. I see it as a ladder. And every dollar I spend is helping someone take one more step toward my stage, my show, or my story!!!!

TL;DR: Paid Media Isn’t About Throwing Money Around—It’s About Picking the Right Tool for the Right Job.

This Harvard module broke the myth that all paid ads are created equal. It taught me (and hopefully now you):

Different channels serve different purposes

Your audience isn’t always ready to buy—sometimes they just need to notice you

The marketing funnel isn’t just corporate jargon—it’s a map for real-world action

Whether you're trying to build your brand, sell out your next show, or grow your podcast—channel selection matters. Where you show up says just as much as what you say.

Action Steps for Comedians, Creators & Chaotic Queens

1. Map Your Funnel Ask: where are most people falling off?

Not enough people discovering you? → Focus on top-of-funnel (Reels, paid social reach)

People watching but not following? → Build middle-of-funnel trust (stories, podcast clips, BTS)

Got fans but no ticket buyers? → Focus on bottom-of-funnel CTAs (ads, search, email list)

2. Align Each Paid Channel with a Goal

Paid Social → Awareness, engagement, retargeting

Search Ads → Direct conversion

TV or OTT → Mass awareness, long-term brand building

Display Ads → Retargeting & visual reinforcement

Don’t just “advertise.” Know why you’re using each space.

3. Stop Boosting Random Posts Only put money behind content that’s already doing well. Then target it strategically to people who are likely to care.

4. Spend Like a Scientist, Not a Starving Artist Test. Track. Tweak. Your first campaign might flop—and that’s fine. Use the data to make your next one sharper.

5. Remember: Paid Media Is a Microphone, Not a Megaphone It’s not about being louder. It’s about being clearer AND MORE INTENTIONAL about who you’re talking to, and what you want them to do next!!!!

I hope this lesson was as life-changing for you as it was for me. See you in the next one. Tchau tchau <33

[another-lost-mc]

I really liked the lactation headcanons for the brothers and Solomon! I was wondering if your planning to make more for the other characters?

A/N: This series was a wild ride. It started as crack-treated-seriously and then I kind of liked it more than I thought I would. The comments and requests along the way motivated me to keep going. If you were one of the readers waiting for these characters to show up, I hope the final installment was worth the wait!

LUCIFER, SATAN, DIAVOLO & BARBATOS, SIMEON, KARASU

5k words | NSFW/MDNI | gn!Reader

Content/warnings: due to magical mishaps, reader has larger, lactating breasts that are vaguely described. Mostly hurt/comfort, smut and fluff. Lactation kink, breast/nipple play, breast massaging/fondling, threesome/poly relationship, fingering, cockwarming, oral sex, rough sex. Reader pronouns: you/your, they/them.

More in the Lactation Kink series: Mammon | Levi, Asmo, Beel, Belphie | Solomon

LUCIFER

Lucifer thinks it's so precious when you cross your arms and insist he turn around so you can strip out of your soiled pajamas. Your chest strains against the buttons of the Devilmoth silk pajama shirt he bought you, and it’s dotted with wet spots from your leaking nipples. Your frown deepens when he insists that he’s seen you naked plenty of times before, but he finally relents with a sigh and turns to face the wall so you can undress. 

He’s still not sure how this unusual situation occurred, but he has a gut feeling that a certain white-haired sorcerer has something to do with it. He’ll have to hunt Solomon down and string him up later as penance, but for right now, his only priority is making sure you’re comfortable and cared for. 

The first thing he thought might help your stress and discomfort was sitting in a warm bath. He used his personal shower gel to add a bit of fragrance and foam to the water. The subtle notes of coffee and amber mix diffuse into the steamy air. He was afraid that Asmo’s floral bubble bath might be too overpowering.

(He secretly prefers that you use scented products that will remind you of him anyway.)

Once he hears the soft sloshing of bath water, he finally turns around. There’s a small stool perched in the corner of the room, and he drags it over so he can sit behind you. You look at him over your shoulder and comment that maybe it's best he leaves—you're afraid his clothes might get wet. He offers you a small smile but shakes his head and reminds you to stop being silly.

He assumes that your deflection is your attempt to draw his attention away from you and your body's recent changes. Your breasts are larger now, and he's hesitant to admit out loud that it’s a bit strange. It’s not the same body he’s mapped with his hands and worshipped with his tongue. But what he realized when he found you like this earlier, and what he hopes you'll always believe, is that it doesn’t matter what you look like. Nothing could ever change how he feels for you. You’ll always be stunning in his eyes, the single person who captivates him effortlessly with a smile, a touch, a kiss—all the things you offer freely that prove how much you love him.

He doesn't know how to change your body back, but what he can do is help you feel better instead. He starts by massaging your shoulders gently, and he feels the tension start to melt away under his fingers. Your arms float weightlessly in the water at your sides, and you’re no longer focused on shielding your chest from his view. He uses the opportunity to rake his greedy, curious eyes along your body. Glimpses of wet, naked skin peek through the fluffy layer of bubbles; the slick tops of your breasts rest just above the water’s surface.

He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and scoots his seat a little closer. He kisses the ticklish spot below your ear while his hands curl over your shoulders and smooth down your chest. He cups the heavy weight of your tits in his palms, and his cock twitches when you sigh softly at his touch. You tip your head back against the edge of the porcelain tub so he has better access to the soft column of your throat. He kisses along your jaw and down your neck as his fingers pinch greedily at your swollen nipples. You push your chest against his hands encouragingly, a silent plea to keep going. He rolls the hardened buds between his fingers and smirks into the crook of your neck when you breathe out a quiet moan. He does it again and again, alternating pinching your nipples gently and massaging your breasts until you’re both desperate for more.

The bubbles slowly start to dissipate and he can see more of your naked body below the water’s surface. His cock aches when you start squirming in the water and clenching your thighs together; you're desperate for some sort of friction to relieve the heat building inside you. He’s tempted to tear off his clothes and lower himself into the bath with you, but your nipples have started leaking again. The creamy discharge expels into the water and lingers on the surface like a film. The renewed scent of warm milk in the air envelops him like a fog. He coaxes you to sit up straight, and your tits hang heavily from your chest, no longer buoyant in the bath water. He flicks his thumb across your nipple and gathers some of the pearly-white milk before sucking it into his mouth with a hum.

You shift in the tub to face him properly, and his eyes drink in the delectable sight of your warm cheeks, your lust-darkened eyes and your soft, pouty lips. Your eyes flick down when you notice the obvious bulge in his pants. You slowly lick your lips and all he can think of now is tracing your mouth with the tip of his cock. He thinks about thrusting himself gently into your mouth and teasing the back of your throat while you swallow around him. He’ll have to pull away before he comes because he wants to paint your skin with his release. The thought of his cum mixing with the drops of milk clinging to your tits makes his cock ache and throb against his zipper.

Fantasies can only satisfy him for so long, and he’s run out of patience for daydreams. He stands up and starts unbuttoning his shirt; he’s tempted to tear the damn thing open because the desire to have your mouth around his cock tests the limits of his self-control.

“The bath water is getting cool, my love,” he murmurs thickly. (It's not, but you don't correct him because you already know what he wants.) He keeps his hungry gaze locked with your own as he starts unbuckling his belt. “Rinsing off in a warm shower might be best for now—but this time, I think I’ll join you.”

SATAN

Satan is touched that you would ask him for help with your unfortunate little problem. Problems. He skimmed through his collection of human world medical texts before coming to your room but he’s not prepared for the reality when he walks through your door: the lactonic scent in the air, your damp night shirt that sticks to your swollen chest and hardened nipples, the apprehension in your eyes because you’re afraid he’ll tease you.

Your expression is hesitant because of your self-consciousness, but right now he wants nothing more than to comfort you, to help you so that this strange mishap passes as painlessly as possible. He sent word to Lucifer already and got permission for both of you to stay home: you can relax easier without the others loitering nearby, and he can take care of you in peace and quiet.

He sits at your desk and reads from a medical book in his lap. He explains that massaging might help with the excess fluid and the swelling that's causing you some discomfort. His cheeks burn flaming-hot because he's so tempted to offer to do it for you, but he doesn’t want to make you feel even more awkward or exposed. 

He clears his throat and looks down at his book to give you some semblance of privacy. He pretends to read, but he steals glimpses of you from the corner of his eye instead. You peel away the sticky nightshirt and toss it aside, and his breath hitches when you cup your heavy tits in your hands. You hold them gently, looking down at them curiously like you haven’t really looked at them before. You squeeze them and utter a little gasp that makes his cock twitch inside his pants. You do it again, and again, and you try pinching one of your nipples too. There’s a fresh wave of milky scent in the air, and he can hear the quiet drip—drip—drips as the creamy fluid falls onto your lap.

His fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to squeeze your soft breasts himself. He desperately wants to hear more of your whiny little sounds in his ear as he plays with your tits, but he reminds himself that this isn't about him, this is about you.

(He doesn’t realize you’ve been watching him, too. He thinks he’s fooling you with the upside-down book in his lap that he’s clearly not reading, or the way his cheeks and the tips of his ears are bright-red from embarrassment or arousal—probably both—and the loudest sound in your room is his jerky, panted breaths.)

He stares blankly at nothing while he imagines what it might be like to watch your tits jiggle from the force of his thrusts as he fucks you. He thinks about squeezing them in his hands and watching the milky fluids seep between his fingertips. His mind races and he thinks about jerking off as he kneels over your stomach, spilling his release across your skin and watching his cum drip between the valley of your breasts into the little pools of your milk. He could gather it up on his fingers and feed it to you, if you’re curious what both of you taste like mixed together…?

He looks over in a panic when he realizes you’re trying to get his attention. From the mischievous smile on your face, apparently it wasn’t the first time you called his name. His eyes linger on your chest before he snaps his gaze up to yours, but you look even more devious now. His cock throbs between his legs when you lay back against your pillows, slowly and deliberately, and you start playing with your tits again. 

You ask him in the sweetest, most innocent tone if he’d like to help, and he’s out of the chair in an instant. The book in his lap falls carelessly to the floor, revealing the hard outline of his cock in his jeans and the little wet spot forming near the tip. He climbs onto the bed and settles himself over your thighs. He leans forward and covers your hands with his, squeezing your tits gently and muffling your soft moan when he captures your lips in a desperate kiss.

DIAVOLO & BARBATOS

Your brunch date with Diavolo and Barbatos takes an unexpected turn when you show up with swollen breasts and leaking nipples. You threw on an oversized sweater to try and hide your unexpected condition so you wouldn’t have to cancel on them.

They escort you inside the castle to Diavolo’s private chambers where the breakfast table has been set on his private balcony, but both demons can sense right away that something’s not quite right. Diavolo will know if you lie, and you’re not a good liar at the best of times, so you tell them the truth. You shuffle your feet nervously and brace yourself for their reactions—surprise, worry, disgust?

Above all else, they’re concerned about your condition and whether you’re in any pain. You reassure them it’s mostly embarrassment and they seem relieved to hear it. The three of you loiter awkwardly in Diavolo's room and you realize that they're acting a little strange after you confess your secret to them. They lean in close and sniff curiously at your skin. Barbatos mutters something about not wanting you to get cold and he tugs at the hem of the damp sweater. Once the heavy shirt is removed, you only have a soaking-wet undershirt to cover your chest. The thin, flimsy material is nearly see-through and it clings to your breasts and your hardening nipples in the cool air. Two pairs of eyes roam your chest eagerly, and Diavolo pulls you into his arms—he shrugs off your feeble concerns about his clothes getting dirty too.

(While the young prince distracts you, Barbatos turns away and brings the discarded sweater to his nose. He breathes in your natural scent laced with milk and licks experimentally against the wet cotton. It has a surprisingly warm, semi-sweet taste. He draws a bit more of the fabric between his lips and sucks lightly, but the increasingly persistent throbbing between his legs snaps him out of his daze.)

Barbatos sets everything aside to be washed and by the time he returns to your side, Diavolo reaches for the hem of your undershirt next. The heat in their eyes is unmistakable and you suddenly realize what they mean when they offer to help you. Their dark eyes promise all sorts of sin to distract you from your unfortunate predicament, but like always, they wait patiently for your permission. As soon as you've nodded your consent, Diavolo takes off your undershirt while Barbatos reaches for your waistband. Gentle hands remove the last of your clothing, and they lead you to the bed.

They press against you, Diavolo in front of you and Barbatos at your back, and you're engulfed by the heat of their bodies. They take turns peppering your lips and your bare skin in a flurry of hot, sloppy kisses. Greedy hands roam across your body as they hastily rid themselves of their own clothing.

Barbatos manages to take his clothes off first, and his naked body is hot and firm against your back. He wraps an arm around your waist and buries his nose against your neck. He tilts your head towards his and kisses you while his slick tail strokes between your legs and teases at your entrance. He holds you steady in his arms despite the tremor in your legs as the precise pace of his tail flicking in and out of you teases you with pleasure. Your skin grows slippery from his tail’s secretion, and once he's satisfied he won't hurt you, he replaces his tail with his fingers next. Two fingers slip inside easily and he scissors them wide to stretch you open for his cock. His name falls from your lips in jerky little whimpers and groans, and you grind your ass against his cock when you're ready for more.

You’re so perfectly distracted that you nearly forgot about Diavolo. He watches silently with lustful eyes as Barbatos’ hand works between your thighs. He undresses himself slowly while he enjoys the sight of his butler’s dexterous fingers thrusting in and out of your greedy hole. He meets Barbatos' questioning look over your shoulder; when he nods, Barbatos sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you down into his lap.

Your body trembles with anticipation as Barbatos guides his cock inside you, and you groan his name when he bottoms out. He murmurs praise into your ear about how you take him so well and you’re so warm and soft for him. He holds your hips still when you try to squirm in his lap. He denies you the friction you crave, but he promises they'll both reward you if you listen and behave.

He wraps one arm around your tummy to keep you pressed against him while the other hand starts fondling one of your tits. His cock twitches inside you every time you moan or shudder, but he still won't let you move. His fingers play with your nipple, tracing the sensitive nub before surprising you with a sharp pinch between his finger and thumb. Milk drips onto your lap and rolls lazily down the inside of your thighs. Your face burns with embarrassment and desire, but his lips brush the shell of your ear. You're doing so well, he promises with a kiss. What a delightful treat you are, dearest.

Diavolo watches your sweet torment as he lazily fists his cock. The tendrils of milk and sweat stain your skin and he longs to trace them both with his tongue. These little games benefit from a bit of a tease, and he lets desire build within him like an inferno.

When he can't possibly wait anymore to touch you, he finally kneels between your legs. His large hands push your thighs apart so he can pepper your ticklish thighs with soft kisses. Your breasts bounce lightly each time his feather-light lips brush over a sensitive patch of skin. Barbatos continues pinching your nipples and his young master waits patiently for it to roll down your thighs. He laps up your milk greedily between nips of teeth. Your musky arousal and your sweet milk on his tongue makes him ravenous for you.

Diavolo buries his head between your legs and sucks at your arousal earnestly, and Barbatos finally starts to move. He grinds his hips lazily against yours so his cock fills you deeply with each little thrust of his hips. He fondles both of your tits with both his hands as Diavolo’s hands curl around your hips. Each roll of your hips draws Barbatos deeper inside you while Diavolo ravishes you with his tongue, desperate for every drop of milk and cum your body can give him.

SIMEON

Simeon is startled from his book when an angry knock pounds on the front door of Purgatory Hall. He’s not sure what Solomon did to you, but judging by the frustrated purse of your lips and the angry glint in your eyes, it must be serious. The sorcerer is nowhere to be found, but Simeon leads you to his room—he hopes you’ll be more comfortable and willing to talk to him about what’s bothering you in private.

He’s shocked by the sight of your large chest when you take off your jacket with a frustrated grumble. There are some dried stains around your hardening nipples and you point at yourself derisively. You complain about the mess you woke up to and how most of your tops don’t even fit anymore. You compare yourself to a leaky faucet and he stops your self-deprecating rant with a gentle hand on your shoulder. He’s not sure how he can help but he desperately wants to. Your eyes look so sad and it’s gut-wrenching to see you like this.

You look away from him in embarrassment, but he reassures you that he wants to help. He strokes your cheek gently with the back of his fingers and promises he’ll do whatever you ask of him. His thumb wipes away a stray tear that slips from the corner of your eye, and you melt into his chest when he pulls you into a gentle hug. 

“I could use a distraction,” you murmur quietly into his shirt with a sniffle.

A distraction?

If it’s a distraction you need, then that's what he'll do for you.

He helps you take off your clothes first. Your top is already a lost cause, and there’s small drip stains on your pants now too. He drops them into a messy pile on the floor. He quickly takes off his own shirt and pants next while you scoot back on his bed until you’re resting comfortably against the pillows.

It’s not often he gets to enjoy you like this: naked and trembling with anticipation against his sheets, gazing at him with dark eyes blown-black with lust. He drinks in the sight of your chest and swallows thickly when your breasts bounce slightly when the mattress dips from his weight.

He runs his hands slowly up your legs and pushes them apart gently. He lays between your thighs and press sweet, soft kisses against your warm skin. He teases you with little nips of teeth and leaves behind little marks that you can remember him by tomorrow. He glances at you curiously when one of your hands brushes away the curtain of hair over his eyes. He stares hungrily at the tantalizing sight of your hand cupping one of your swollen tits; you pinch your nipple playfully when you’re sure he’s watching.

You little tease.

He licks a thick stripe up the inside of your thigh before he buries his face against your sex. Your surprised yelp trails off into a moan, and he hisses when your free hand tangles roughly in his hair. You roll your hips against his face while the fingers clenched in his hair keep his mouth exactly where you want him.

He’s messy when he goes down on you, teasing you with kitten licks between greedy sucks between his lips. Your skin grows slick with your own musky arousal and his spit. When he hums at your taste, you can almost feel it vibrating deep in your bones. Your body quakes delightfully as he coaxes you towards your release, and your shaky voice pleads for more. 

He regrets not bringing a bottle of lube with him earlier; you're nearly begging for him to fuck you. He doesn’t want to get up even for a moment, so he settles for the next best thing: he traces your entrance with his tongue instead. One hand holds your hip down on the bed while the other snakes up your body and closes over your heavy tit. He squeezes the soft flesh as he slips his tongue inside you; his fingers dig into your hip when your body clenches around him. You rock your hips to encourage him to give you more, to touch you deeper inside, and he happily obliges.

He might not be fucking you with his cock, but it still doesn’t take long for you to fall apart from his ministrations. His name is a desperate chant that falls from your lips, punctuated by curses and groans and breathy whimpers. Your thighs tremble from your impending release, and his fingers end up covered with milk as he continues playing with your breasts. He ruts against the mattress to provide his cock some relief as you finally fall to pieces against his mouth. He coaxes the last remnants of pleasure from you, lapping greedily at your cum and flicking his tongue against your hole until you’re too sensitive and nearly begging for him to stop.

When you’re satisfied and exhausted, he slides up the bed and braces himself over you. Your chest heaves from exertion and your breasts are soft against his when he lowers his chest to yours. His cock hangs heavy between you and it smears precum where it rests on your belly. He lowers his head and kisses across your chest as he starts grinding his cock against you. Your hands card through his hair as you hold him against your chest. He latches onto one of your nipples and moans as a fresh burst of creamy fluid spills across his tongue.

KARASU

Karasu will gladly do anything you ask, or give you anything you want if it’s in his power to give.

He comes to the House of Lamentation as soon as you call, your voice thick with tears, and he takes a personal day off work to see you. He tries to keep the shock and confusion (and interest) from his expression when he arrives and discovers your temporary ailment. He hugs you and kisses your cheeks and leads you to your ensuite bathroom where he runs a warm shower for you. He changes your damp, milk-stained sheets while you wash. He has a clean, dry set of pajamas waiting for you when you step out in your bathrobe.

He does all these things, and he offers to do anything else you need, because he loves you no matter what. It surprises him when you ask him to fuck you, and for the first time since he arrived that morning, he hesitates. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, because he does. He’s filled to the brim with desire for you, a never ending itch just below the surface of his skin that only finds relief when he’s inside you. 

Karasu expected that you might like a relaxing day in front of the TV. He could help you stay clean and dry while your…larger chest…continues leaking. He thought about ordering your favourite takeout for lunch, and maybe going for a walk in the garden if you’re up to it later.

The thought of spending the day in bed with you never crossed his mind. The idea is awfully tempting, but above all else, he’s concerned about hurting you somehow. It's not a risk he's willing to take, but you reassure him it'll be fine as you unfasten your robe and let it drop carelessly at your feet. He stares at your naked body and realizes that he’s powerless to deny you; if you want him so badly, you can have him.

One thing you can't lie about is your chest; your breasts are heavy and swollen, and he knows they can’t be comfortable. You’re surprisingly shy about letting him touch them, so he doesn’t ask. However, you seem to have a clever idea when you stack your pillows and cover them with a towel. You kneel on the bed and lay with your chest resting comfortably on the pillows to support your breasts while the towel catches any fluid that leaks out. The extra cushioning helps relieve some of the strain on your shoulders.

Karasu can’t deny that you make an extremely desirable sight like this: your back curves beautifully in this position, and your ass is raised high in the air when you lean forward. He strips quickly and the mattress dips slightly under him when he kneels onto the bed. He shuffles into position behind you and runs his hands up and down your lower back before smoothing over the generous swell of your hips and ass.

He prefers to see your face when he fucks you, but you wiggle your hips impatiently and he admits that this position is tantalizing in its own way. If you’d rather feel pleasure than discomfort, why would he deny you when your body begs him so beautifully?

He slicks his fingers with lube and rubs them together for a moment to warm them. You gasp softly when his hand explores between your legs and brushes teasingly against your entrance. He rubs his fingers across the sensitive opening, and each little noise you make shoots straight through him to his cock; he’s already hard and dripping for you.

He ignores the ache of his own desire as he slips one finger inside you. Your body is so inviting, so soft and pliable under his touch. You might’ve begged for him before, but he thinks he might be even more desperate than you are now. He adds another finger, and a third quickly after that. He stretches you wide and savors the whimpered pleas falling endlessly from your lips when you beg him to fuck you already.

He positions himself behind you and rubs his cock between your thighs so the messy slick and lube coats his shaft. He holds you steady with one hand curled around your hip while the other guides his cock tip to your entrance. He slips inside with a groan and pushes in until he’s fully sheathed inside you with one deep stroke. 

Sweat beads along his brow and rolls down his temples. He gives you a moment to adjust as your greedy little hole wraps snuggly around his cock. There’s nothing sweeter than the hot, tight embrace of your body clenching desperately around him. When you push back slightly with your hips to grind against him, he finally starts to move. He’s slow and steady so the force of his thrusts don’t put too much weight on your chest.

He pauses when you whimper quietly, but before he can ask what’s wrong, he sniffs the milky scent of your discharge in the air. 

“Don’t—don’t stop,” you plead breathlessly, hands fisting the sheets.

He snaps his hips harder than before—there’s something about the whiny tremor in your voice that makes lust surge through his veins. “Making a mess already, dear one?” 

You moan his name and roll your hips, trying so desperately to fuck yourself on his cock. He rarely talks dirty like this, and you like it. You nod eagerly with a quiet, uh huh. You roll your hips and urge him to move harder, and deeper and faster, and he obeys. He meets your rhythm, panting heavily as he pounds into you. A stream of curses and moans and grunts fall from his lips while your own pleased noises mix with his own.

The bed frame groans and creaks beneath you, but he can still hear the obscene squelch of his cock dragging against your walls as he thrusts inside you. His own release builds inside him as his pace becomes rougher and faster; he won’t last very long but he'll be damned if he comes before you do. He leans against your back and reaches between your legs so he can stroke you with his wet, sticky fingers. “Come for me, you beautiful thing, that’s it—I want to feel you come on my cock, you‘re so perfect for me, just a little bit more—”

Your orgasm crashes over you as he coos filthy praise against your ear. He strokes you through it until your sinful vice tightens around his cock and he comes too. He pumps into you lazily as thick ropes of cum make his thrusts wet and sloppy. His hips finally stutter to a halt when he’s too sensitive to keep going. His softening cock slips from your body and he collapses beside you with a drawn-out groan.

You rest flat on your tummy while you catch your breath, but there’s a pleased smile curling your lips when you turn your head to look at him. “That helped,” you admit cheekily, and you both break into bashful laughter. “I like it when you’re a little rough,” you admit as you reach for his hand.

He laces his fingers with yours and nuzzles against your shoulder. “Let me order something for us to eat,” he suggests. “After that, maybe we can experiment with other ways to help you feel better.”

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[maybe-its-micheal]

What Happened in Quackity's Stream Today?

Today, June 19th 2023, Quackity went live with a qsmp stream in Spanish titled "El Fin de Quackity" (The end of Quackity) and I'd like to sumarize in English what happened!

I wanted to include as much detail as I could. (Anything added in parenthesis is my own speculation or additional comment)

First 20 minutes

Wearing professional looking clothing and sunglasses irl, he joins QSMP on his "ElQuackity" account, which is different from the account he ussually uses for qsmp. (He has logged in through this account before offline, but does not use it to rp as q!quackity and has in the past implied that there is more than 1 Quackity on the island) There are many past attempts of trying to join the server, which all say "no connection" over and over again, one sayd "limited lives" and the last one says "ETF EHR IER OYR KRO KER NBJ EAD." (?)

He waits in the room Cucurucho took (the former) Quackity to after the wedding, right before he was disconnected from the server. He just walks around and occasionally looks through the window of the door, he doesn't say anything, just sighs a few times, and cannot break blocks but punches a chair, seemingly bored and tired of waiting

Cucurucho arrives! Quackity tells it that its late, and it opens the door and leads him out of the room. He asks if he can be given a key for the doors, and Cucurucho responds by blowing bubbles at him. He laughs it off and says its no problem

Cucurucho begins walking, and Quackity asks it to wait. He asks "where does he work?" Cucurucho blows bubbles. "You don't want to tell me? Which office is it?" He walks down a hallway of identical rooms. "Do you not want to tell me, or do you not know?" Cucurucho stays quiet. This is still the same location Cucurucho took (the first) Quackity to after the wedding, when Jaiden saw them together.

He looks at a door that says "Storage Room" and looks at the button to open the door. Cucurucho looks at him, and then a different door. He follows Cucurucho, and they leave. He asks if Cucurucho also thinks its too cold in there, and says he doesnt know if they can do anything about the temperature. Cucurucho turns to look at him quickly when he mentions the cold, but then turns away and keeps lesding him out

They ñeave the ofices and arrive at the train station, and Quackity, seemly startled, says they should go a different way, back through the offices, because there is no way the other members of the server will be able to pass through there. Cucurucho says no, and Quackity keeps trying to convince it to let them go back. It laughs.

Cellbit says "THEY'RE AT THE TRAIN STATION" in chat, and not long after Mike, Pac, Richas, Fit, Forever, Cellbit, Baghera, Pomme, and Badboyhalo (I think thats everyone?) Show up. Right before they arrive, Quackity sarcastically says "perfect. Here everyone comes," then tells Cucurucho to disapear. Once they get there, he says "friends, friends!" And greets them, hapily saying "I'm back!"

Mike (I think) asks hin where he was, and he says he was with Cucurucho, against his will.

They ask where Cucurucho is, and he says he doesnt know, then asks if anything happened while he was gone, they said not much. He told them that he was taken, and told things, and it was hard. He then said he should probably step away for a moment, and would tell them later.

Forever follows him outside and asks "do you remember what I told you the day of the wedding?" Quackity responds "Forever, I can't talk right now, there are some things I meed to do. We can talk about that later, ok? Is tgat ok?" Forever nods his head to agree.

He runs a short distance away, out of earshot, and starts swearing in annoyance. He also realizes he doesn't have any items on him, and keeps running.

He is filling in new area on his map as he runs, meaning this Quackity has never been to the area outside the train station before

He keeps talking about how Cucurucho left him here with nothing, and didn't tell him about the map. He swears at Cucurucho

He finds a boat and sails for a bit, then gets out and runs again. He is looking for specific coordinates he was given

[newpathwrites]

Mandomera Week 2022 - Day 3

Prompts: Stargazing/Insecure

Note: This one-shot takes place in my A New Creed Universe and was written for Mandomera Week 2022.  It sort of feels like two different drabbles pasted together… I did my best :-)

No warnings.

Read my Din/Omera backstory here.

Word count: ~900 words

AO3: NewPath3432

————————————————————

“That very bright one… there…” Omera questioned, pointing at the night sky as she leaned further into Din’s side.  “Do you know what star that is?  I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

Din reluctantly tore his eyes from her moonlit face to look up at the stars.  “Uhhh… I’m not sure…”. He paused as if in thought before adding quickly, “Hold on.  I’ll be right back.”

 Omera missed his warmth at her side immediately as he left her to head back into the hut, but true to his word, he returned within moments, fitting one of his previously discarded vambraces back onto his forearm.  He gestured to her as he sat down, pointing to a button on his wrist.  “Hit this one.”

 “I’m not going to set the hut on fire or blow anything up, right?”  She smiled in jest, though absolutely half-serious in her inquiry.

 “No… that's the other side.”  He grinned at her wide-eyed expression before reassuring her gently.  “Don’t worry - it’s safe.”

 She looked away from him and took hold of his forearm before carefully pressing the designated button, flinching a bit in anticipation as she did so.

 But, as promised, no fire burst forth from his wrist, and no explosions ensued…  Instead, Omera was met with a shimmering, holographic display.  It was almost like a work of art - reproductions of the stars as seen from any planet in the galaxy.  Din fiddled with it a bit, putting in Sorgan’s coordinates, and finally, a rough facsimile of their own night sky, labeled in galactic basic, appeared before them.

 “Dank farrik, Din… Your vambraces can do all that?”  Omera examined the images with incredulity.  “I’d forgotten that this sort of technology exists.  We have no need for it out here.”

 Honestly, Din had never thought much about that - how incredible it was that he held maps of the entire galaxy quite literally in the palm of his hand.  He turned to watch her face again as she swiped through the images and compared them to the stars above, enchanted by their beauty.  “Yeah… I suppose it is pretty amazing.”

 They spent quite some time like that, Omera laid back on Din’s torso, lazily flipping through the maps on his vambrace as she stargazed, asking him what he knew of the planets she could identify.

 While of course Din told her briefly of each planet’s climate and life forms, she noted a recurring theme that she hadn’t quite expected.  What he spoke of at greatest length and with the most enthusiasm was actually the people…. It turned out her lover was a bit of an amateur linguist and a student of culture.

 And everywhere he’d traveled, he’d not only learned from these people - he’d befriended them… helped them… respected their ways and earned the same in turn… much as he’d done right here in Sorgan all that time ago.  

 Without speaking, Omera flipped off the maps and pulled his vambrace gently from his forearm, placing it on the porch behind them.  She turned in his arms as he looked at her questioningly before bringing her lips to his briefly and murmuring, “You’re a good man, Din.”

 He stiffened a moment before shaking his head.  “You shouldn’t… I’m not… I’m not a good man… I need you to understand that… before I disappoint you…”. While Din had made a point in recent years to atone for his past errors, the nature of the galaxy was that true goodness was a nearly impossible goal.  He felt more like the lesser of many evils - but an evil all the same.  

 Omera knew his worst transgressions… that was true.  But still, he considered himself just barely good enough to be worthy of her affection, and any day now, she might realize he wasn’t.  Din was not insecure about many things… but this - losing her - was one of his greatest fears.

 But then she looked down as if she was shamed and shook her head solemnly.  “No, Din… Don’t put that on yourself.”  She faltered and looked up to meet his gaze, placing a hand to his chest and taking a deep breath as if in preparation.  “There’s a lot I haven’t told you… about my life before Sorgan… I want you to know… when I’m ready…”

 He didn’t respond, except to lay his hand over hers where it lay against his heart, a gesture of comfort.  Omera continued, “If you knew I’d done really terrible things in my past… would it change how you feel about me now?”

 “No.”  His answer was definitive, leaving no room for any other interpretation.  “The person I know now strives to be good… I wouldn’t fault you for your past decisions.  You did what you had to do - the Empire put us all in that position.”

 She looked at him pointedly.  Oh, he’d just proved her point, hadn’t he?  

 And just like that, his insecurity melted away.  He still feared the reckoning that might come for him one day - his past atrocities returning to serve him the punishment he deserved.  But it wouldn’t be by her hand… Omera would not leave him… And likewise, he wouldn’t abandon her when the time came to speak on her own past crimes.

 “We’re both being better… making it right where we can… together…”  She looked at him with the silent question in her eyes - Din wasn’t the only one feeling insecure.

 He brought his forehead to hers, hand at his chest squeezing her fingers more tightly in reassurance.

 “Together.”

[queer-as-used-by-tolkien]

Character Study: Bilbo Baggins

I want to talk about Bilbo's character arc in The Hobbit for a minute. I re-reading the book (and read it aloud to my younger siblings) a few months ago and was able to think new, more detailed thoughts about the story.

The first four chapters (the unexpected party, the encounter with the trolls, and stopping at the Last Homely House in Rivendell) do start the physical journey, but narratively they do more to characterize Bilbo (and a few of the dwarves) than anything else.

Firstly, the oft-repeated joke that Bilbo left Bag End without a pocket-handkerchief is really a marker of his values at the beginning of the story: that his whole concern is with his handkerchief, whether he, personally, is comfortable, and so on.

In chapter two, Roast Mutton, he actively does something wrong and gets the whole party in trouble for it, and Gandalf is obliged to come to the rescue. However, we also see him approaching the red light of the trolls' fire remarkably quietly, supposedly a talent of hobbits, and his rather annoyed thoughts at "all this dwarvish racket" (a phrase that is repeated further on), and we see him doing his best to live up to the dwarves' expectations. This attitude of trying his best, despite his fumbling, is important.

In chapter three, A Short Rest, Bilbo does not do much beyond stare open-mouthed at the elves; he shows his ignorance by pointing at a peak of the Misty Mountains and asking if this is the Mountain (it is chapter three, y'all). This chapter is devoted to worldbuilding and establishing necessary lore such as the moon-runes on the map. Chapter four (Over Hill and Under Hill) is more of the same; although a lot is going on, Bilbo doesn't do much except be a burden on the dwarves, who have to carry him, and get lost.

Then comes Riddles in the Dark, chapter five, where Bilbo is given a challenge he can handle; darkness and loneliness, and being in a tunnel (his specialty given he lives in one), and forced to use his wits during the riddle-game, which he does quite well and comes out of with a much higher level of self-confidence than previously, having got himself out of a significant trouble without anybody else's help. That is step one, and the dwarves praise him for it, delightedly exclaiming over him and how he snuck past Balin.

I also want to pause and draw a parallel to Thorin here; Bilbo is facing the same challenges now that Thorin will upon reaching the mountain, namely the tough issue of greed. In LotR, a huge deal is made over Bilbo's pity for Gollum. Bilbo didn't have to do that. No reasonable person would have expected him to; yet he did it anyway, seemingly small in the moment but just as virtuous for it.

His next challenge is that he is not at all sure that the dwarves also escaped the mountains; he wrestles with himself for a good long while before realizing that, as he has a magic ring, it is his solemn duty to go after them. He makes the decision to turn back. Then he discovers it is not necessary, for they are out already; but he made the decision and that says a lot about both his character and his bravery.

His next challenge (ch6) is hunger, which he copes with relatively well while still being a burden on the party when it comes to fights. He can't even climb a tree properly and needs Dori to help him up, and later can't even get his own eagle but must cling second-hand to Dori. But he hasn't eaten in days at this point, and he was a burden before; he's learning. The little guy is learning, despite the fact that he outright weeps upon learning that Gandalf is going away.

Facing challenges that he can handle and overcoming them is massively character-building and confidence boosting.

In speaking to Beorn, Gandalf uses Bilbo's pre-adventure reputation, and a sharp contrast is brought using Bilbo's missing buttons; he no longer looks the part, although he wishes he did and he is still not done regularly thinking back to his hobbit-hole, "not for the last time." But I would argue that even at this point he no longer is a respectable hobbit.

He's mortally terrified of Beorn in bear-form, diving under his blankets and trembling himself to sleep just hearing noises outside, but on the way to the edge of Mirkwood (ch7) he sees a bear-like creature shadowing them, although he doesn't dwell too deeply on what it means. Inside Mirkwood, he again faces darkness and it doesn't bother him too much; he faces hunger on low rations and isn't terribly put out.

His challenges before now - the ones that the dwarves could handle with ease but put Bilbo at his limit - have toughened him up and he can handle these tougher challenges now that he would never have dreamed of otherwise. They tell you to get out of your comfort zone - this is why.

It is Bilbo who proves useful to the party to see the boat across the Forest River, which even Fili, the youngest, only thinks he can see in the gloom. This boosts Bilbo's confidence in preparation for the next incident: the spiders. Bilbo is alone, it is still pitch-black, and he's half wound up in spider-string. He batters away at the spider with just his hands until he pulls out his sword and manages, after several blows, to slay it.

Despite fainting right after until daylight - showing that even killing a spider was too much for him at the moment and certainly would have destroyed him on the other side of the Misty Mountains, this spider-slaying massively boosts his confidence and he names the sword Sting on the spot, and sets off to rescue his friends. He throws stones, makes up silly rhymes, and uses his wits once again to great effect until he can rescue the dwarves, killing more spiders in the process (without fainting)!

Notice the confidence-boost from something he could do enabling him to do something he couldn't have before, leading to another confidence boost which allows him to do the next thing, and so on.

He eventually reveals the ring to the dwarves, and the book explicitly states that the dwarves don't think any less of him for it. Anyone can have a magic ring and not be half as brave as Bilbo was, repeatedly, while in the forest. The dwarves begin looking to him to lead them (at least in the absence of Thorin).

As we see in chapter nine, Barrels out of Bond, by the time Bilbo found Thorin (whom the book refers to several times in this chapter as "the chief of the dwarves"), Thorin had just about given up and was going to tell the Elvenking what he wanted to know, but when Bilbo showed up and Thorin heard the tale of Bilbo's rescues, he put his faith in the hobbit. His respect for Bilbo grew dramatically just from hearing of Bilbo's courage in saving the other dwarves. Bilbo then proceeds, in a tight spot where there wasn't much hope, to come up with a plan to rescue them from the Elvenking's halls.

Although the dwarves protest that they'll be drowned, even Thorin follows Bilbo to get packed in a barrel. Do remember that Bilbo is a respectable Baggins of Hobbition, not a Took or a Brandybuck, and respectable hobbits absolutely abhor water, especially the moving kind. Despite this, Bilbo forces himself to jump into the river without the protection of a barrel (he didn't even need much preparation for that one! he's gotten used to being outside his comfort zone) and has the responsibility of getting the dwarves out again when the coast is clear.

Thorin then requests that Bilbo come with him and Fili and Kili into Lake-Town, where he is quite incongruous and out of place among the royalty of the dwarves. This shows a high respect.

Then they travel up to the Lonely Mountain, and it is Bilbo who discovers the path to the hidden door, and it is Bilbo who does not lose hope even as the sun sinks low, and it is Bilbo who keeps his wits and remind Thorin of the key that came with the map. He is, as I mentioned, no longer following the dwarves; he is keeping his own counsel rather than depending on them to tell him the way or what to do next.

Then he goes down the passageway despite his fear of the dragon. Here more than anywhere else he actually wishes he were dreaming, that he's walking down his own tunnel at Bag End, and berates himself for accepting the quest in a moment of foolish pride. But he has grown a lot since he left; I don't think the Bilbo that fainted on his own living-room floor at the mere thought of not returning, or the Bilbo who lay trembling in the bushes while the trolls bickered over how to cook the dwarves, could have gone down that tunnel.

But go he did, when the dwarves would not dare. He even recalled back to his running out of Bag End without a pocket-handkerchief; he squares himself and his determination and the book points out that he has not had a pocket-handkerchief in some time. He has left behind caring about such inconsequential things and now he will, actually, go down and face a dragon.

From then on, it was always Bilbo who knew what to do; when Smaug missed the cup and came roaring over the mountain, Bilbo hurried everyone inside the tunnel. When Bifur remembered his cousins, Thorin told Bilbo to stay in the tunnel with Kili and Fili (his heirs) and Balin, saying that the dragon would not get all of them. Once again, this is elevating Bilbo to the status of highly trusted advisor, if not kinsman.

After that scare, they looked to Bilbo for advice and what to do next, and the book flat-out says that Bilbo had become the real leader of the adventure.

Bilbo went back down the tunnel and spoke to Smaug, utilizing every ounce of his cunning although not, of course, doing it perfectly; and managing to discover Smaug's weak point and then repeat it in the hearing of the thrush, who later told it to Bard.

It was Bilbo who urged the dwarves to stay inside the tunnel when Smaug was being uncharacteristically silent, which proved to be the perfect thing to do or they would all have been killed, and, despite the gloom and the belief that they were trapped, Bilbo rose above it, had heart and courage, and said he was going back down again.

Once down, Bilbo had such self-confidence that he made such executive decisions as calling for light when none of the dwarves wanted it for fear of Smaug - when they were hesitant he did really shriek for it in the darkness, and they gave in, saying that was his business if he wanted light. Yes, yes it was exactly his business. He is the leader of the adventure now. He is a burglar, not a dragon-slayer, but the dwarves looked to him for what to do anyway.

However, as Thorin falls under the dragon-sickness, he regards Bilbo's counsel less and less, ultimately rejecting him completely. Bilbo, meanwhile, has grown so much in keeping his own counsel that he trades the Arkenstone for an assurance of peace, not only being independent of the dwarves and Thorin but going against them, and he puzzled that out on his own (in the books at least; in the movies Balin had to tell him) and executed on his own, and Gandalf wasn't even there. This is not the same hobbit from even mid-way through the book who wept at Gandalf just telling them he was going to leave.

This is where the story really ends; the climax was Bilbo's struggle in the hallway wishing he were back home. Bilbo mostly sits out the big battle, invisibly unconscious, because although he has grown a lot he is not a warrior, and it would be a sad tragedy to make him one.

The book does not describe the return journey much, but I think, free of most dangers and hardened to the general inconvenience of the road, Bilbo was far more able to appreciate traveling, seeing things and places he had not before (going around Mirkwood rather than through it).

Coming home, finally, he faces what were his biggest fears at the start of the story: the disrespectful treatment of his possessions and property, not to mention his loss of respectability. And he takes it in such stride that we only get an abbreviated summary of it in the end of the book.

When Gandalf and Balin drop by for another (smaller) unexpected party, Bilbo doesn't even bat an eye and instead welcomes his guests in delightedly and asks for news of distant lands.

[junisfics]

Too Much or Not Enough* — Armin Arlert

Request:

can u write armin with a praise kink???

Summary: Reader gives Armin head for the first time after a particularly long day

Content Warnings: Smut/ Nsfw 18+ (M Receiving Oral, Praise Kink)

Word Count: 2.9k

Notes: (1) i didn't know whether you wanting giving or recieving praise so i just went with this (2) i just binge wrote this mf for that anon that wouldn't leave me alone 😩😩 ugh the things i do for yall

It felt like Armin was always busy; pretty eyes staring down at aged parchments like he’s waiting for their text to change beneath his watch, ancient books flipped open to random pages are littered across the table, his fingers and sides of his palms covered in graphite and ink from his notetaking.

He’s been like this for the past few days, hunched over that creaky wooden desk that’s hidden away in a room he only leaves for meals. He’d slept in that stiff old chair too, face smushed against the wood with his arms curling around his head.

Levi had told him to navigate a route to the nearest town... which sounds easy enough until he realized that there was countless miles of forest in the way.

He was so handsome like this. He’s in his element, brain going a mile a minute, tongue between his teeth and hair falling into his eyes as he scribbles at the wrinkled pages. You could watch him like this forever... sadly, only at his suffering.

"Why don't you take a break, come on a walk with me or something?" You suggest, shifting around in the seat you had pulled up catty corner to him, elbows resting on the desk.

He raises is eyebrows slightly in acknowledgement before looking up to you, "I can't, this is really important. I'm sorry, y/n."

It's not that he doesn't want to, he wants to spend quality time with you more then anything in the world... he just can't. He knows if he doesn't finish this sometime soon that Levi will be on his ass and disappointed... then force Hange to do it and then Armin will feel bad. He looks up to Hange, he doesn't want to throw them under the gutter.

"It could help clear your mind... give you a new look at it..." Your arms fall flat, crossed against the table and you rest your chin on your forearms... pouting.

"Don't look at me like that, I already feel bad enough as it is." He runs his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face before returning to the pages in front of him. His hair falls back into his eyes.

"C'mon," You push yourself away from the desk and stand, making your way behind him, "Just talk with me for a minute about anything but the maps."

You gently place a hand atop his head and ruffle his pretty blonde hair before flattening it again. You continue this process: ruffling, petting, ruffling, petting.

He lets out a little huff, "I — y/n... you're distracting me."

Your nimble fingers take turns running through the strands, swooping his hair one way then the other... combing it flat against his head so his forehead is revealed then pushing it back over his eyes the way he likes it.

"Good, don't fight it." You smile, separating three strands carefully and intertwining them into a braid.

He attempts to continue work, picking up the graphite again and flipping the open pages around with his fingers. He circles or underlines something here and there, taking a moment to stare at it like it has some deeper meaning then flipping to the next page and doing the same thing. Maybe he'll rip out a page and set it in a pile or compare it to the map in front of him then analyze it like he's being graded... which he kind of is.

His hair was always oddly soft, no matter how much dirt or sweat got into it or how long he had to go without washing it, it was always soft. It always framed his face so beautifully.

You press a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, then tilt your head to kiss his temple. He shivers at the feeling, his flushed skin hot beneath your lips.

“y/n, please. I can’t focus with you here.” His voice is quiet, as if he’s scared his words will offend you. 

But then a silly little idea pops into your head and you thank god he cannot see your face because if he did he would see that stupid mischevious smile plastered across it.

“I’m sorry.” You pout, sliding a hand over his shoulder before removing yourself from him entirely to slink around the desk.

Your eyes flicker up to him to check where his own eyes are... and when you realize he’s completely back to focusing on the papers in from of him you crawl underneath the desk, kneeling in front of him and resting your backside on your ankles. Carefully, you place both hands on either knee before you.

Armin jumps, just now realizing that your knelt before him, “y/n — what are you doing.” His hands are balled into fists and forearms glued to the armrests beside him. He’d push himself away from you if he could, but out of fear and... arousal maybe? he’s stuck in his seat.

“Helping you relax.” You smile, rapping your fingers against his pants.

“I’ve — I don’t — we can’t.” Even through his babbling you can make out what he’s saying.

“Look at me,” You slide your hands slowly up his thighs, the muscle twitching beneath you, “I don’t have to do this if you don’t me to.”

A billion emotions flash through his eyes the second that sentence leaves your lips. His palms begin to sweat and stomach clenches at the feeling of him growing hard in his pants.

“No! I — I’ve just... never... done anything before. Not — not anything at all! I’ve kissed someone before! Shit — of course I have, I’ve kissed you. I’ve never done — just not anything... sexual... before.”

You realize then the amount of trust he’s put into you in that moment. All his walls have been broken down, his heart hammering against his ribcage. This is new territory for him. New territory that you, out of all people, are the one to explore. He could pass out.

“That’s okay. Armin, there’s nothing wrong with that, I promise.” You bring your hands back down over his thigh in an attempt to soothe his nerves, but what you don’t realize is that your actions are doing anything but that.

It’s hard for him to make eye contact, his own eyes shifting from your hands to his crotch to your face and then repeating a few times.

“Okay — just you — you don’t have to.” He stutters, clenching and unclenching his fists to take his mind of the growing hard on in his pants.

“I want to.” You scoot a little closer which sends another jolt of electricity to his heart, “Is this okay?”

‘Why would you want to do this?’ He thinks, ‘You gain nothing out of this’

“Y — yeah.” He answers, finally grasping onto the armrests.

Your eyes drop to your hands as they return to the apex of his thighs, pausing for a moment before reaching for the button of his pants. The metal is cold beneath your fingertips as you unclasp it, the same with the zipper.

Armin has officially stopped breathing.

You slowly pull, the zipper making a familiar rattling noise as it’s pulled to the bottom of its seam. With your right hand you take a fistful of his shirt and pull upwards to untuck it. Armin gasps.

“Can you take this between your teeth for me, please?” You ask, voice sweet and sanguine.

He can do nothing but obey, opening his mouth and biting down on the fabric as you bring the fistfull to his face. His pretty blue eyes peer over to watch you as you tuck your fingers under his waist band.

“Thank you, sweet boy... now lift your hips?” You smile.

He does as he’s told, bring his hips upwards so you can pull his pants down to his thighs. He can’t even think. He’s sitting before you in only his boxers and you about to put your mouth on his —

“Hey, you still there? You got that faraway look in your eyes...” You sit back on your ankles, removing your hands from him completely.

“Y — yeah shit, sorry — It’s just a little crazy to me. The girl I’m in love with is about to give me — give...” He speaks through his shirt.

“Suck your cock.”

His dick jumps at the lewdness of your words.

‘Yeah... that’

“Yeah.”

“Is it okay if I keep going?” You sit back up, hands resting on the bunched fabric over his knees.

He swallows hard before nodding, visibly nervous.

Your fingers reach for the waistband of the final layer, grazing over the taught skin of his stomach before delving beneath the fabric.

His breath gets caught in his throat and goosebumps scatter over his flesh, knuckles turning white around the armrest.

You pull, slowly, over his hips and down his legs until his cock springs up and slaps against his chest. He internally cringes at the sound. Armin was big... and thats not being generous. You’d say he has about 7 - 8 thick inches in his favor... your mouth practically watering at the sight.

You look at him, eyes wide and innocent in contrast to the actions you’re about to do. If he wasn’t so nervous he’d smile and tell you that you look so pretty on your knees for him.

Gently, you nod your head in questioning. He nods back.

With your right hand you take his cock at the base, weight heavy in your palm. You can feel him completely shudder underneath your touch, rising ever so slightly in his seat. Slowly, you run your hand up and down his length and twisting your wrist ever so slightly as you do so. 

Your hand is so much smaller and so much softer than his. His mouth falls agape, more blood just rushing to his dick at the sight. He’s going to have this image burned into his brain forever. He bets if he focuses hard enough he could cum right now.

You can feel him pulsing underneath your fingers as you jerk him gently, his breathing already growing audible.

You’re hand is just so much different than his, but it’s the fact that it’s you attached to the hand... your hand... that has him trembling beneath you already.

“You okay?” You ask, voice so sweet and comforting as it pulls him out of his thoughts.

He nods frantically, shirt still pulled between his teeth as he watches you scoot even closer to him. You’re face is inches away from his dick.

You’re eyes look up to him when you lick the first stripe up from the base of his cock all the way to the head, swirling your tongue around him.

“Shit.” His eyes close and his head falls back. He didn’t know what he was expecting but this was not it... but my god was he not disappointed.

You give his length another tender lick, following along a vein on the underside of his cock, before you close your lips around the tip. His hips buck involuntarily into your mouth, sending another good inch or so into you.

“Oh god, y/n.” His voice, rather then lowering an octave, jumps one and strains in his throat.

You never take your eyes off him, watching his every movement to make sure he’s still feeling alright and that you’re not pushing your limit. His jaw is still clenched around his shirt, the hem of it now soaked with his spit, and his throat trembles as he swallows around it.

His cock is still in your hands as you take more of him in your mouth, the head of his cock finally hitting the back of your throat.

Your mouth is so warm and so wet that he can’t help but think that maybe this is what it would feel like to fuck you... actually truly fuck you. 

You close your lips tightly around him before sliding back up with a ‘pop’, a string of saliva connecting from your bottom lip to the tip of his cock.

“You still alright?” You jerk him languidly in your hand, saliva coating his dick and your palm to provide enough slick to slide freely over him.

“Y — yeah... fuckk yeah.” He groans, head coming back up to watch you as you jerk him off.

He twitches in your hand when he sees that look on your face. Your tongue lolling out of your mouth, lips covered in spit and precum, tiny hand beating his dick for him. You’re eyes wide and looking up at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world. He completely melts before you.

“What?” You giggle, teasing him slightly. His eyes are so full of lust and admiration.

“God, you just — shit — you look so pretty.” He whines, hips jerking up into your hand so your fists meets his pelvis. 

“I think you look so pretty, so beautiful.” You smile.

Your mouth is back on him, taking him in over your tongue slowly and fitting him down your throat until your nose hits his stomach. Your eyes close as you gag slightly around him, throat constricting before you pull off of him, his dick now completely coated in spit. 

Then he’s back on your tongue and you’re jerking around the base of him that you can’t comfortably fit in your mouth. The sight, the sound, the feeling is all just too much for him too quickly and he feels that heat pooling in his lower stomach and he knows this is going to be over soon.

“I — I’m gonna cum, y/n, don’t stop please.” He groans, his right hand releasing the arm rest to hover behind your head, not touching you, but shaking just behind you.

Then you pull off of him, jerking his cock a little faster in your hand to tip him over. You feel his hand meet the back of your head and then its sliding around to cup your cheek as you smile at him.

“Yeah? Cum for me, be so good and cum for me.”

You gather spit in your mouth then lean over his dick just enough so when you spit it dribbles off your bottom lip and onto him. 

And that’s what sends him over the edge and cumming into your fist, hot and thick with broken moans passing his lips.

“Good job, baby, you’re so good for me.”

[gothhisoka]

𝑨 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒌𝑵𝒆𝒘

100 follower special!! Thank you everyone <3

Pairing: Chrollo x fem!reader

Tags: College AU, rich Chrollo, Gossip Girl vibes, this is my first draft so sorry about the errors

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: The infamous October party is all the talk at YorkNew University. It takes place at a huge penthouse in the heart of the city, owned by a mysterious man that few know the true identity of.

You attend the party just having entered your freshman year. There, you meet all sorts of people. But one, in particular, intrigues you the most. His name is Chrollo Lucilfer. He is an expensive suit-wearing, whisky-smelling, suspiciously rich graduate student.

And you are going to try to get him to dance.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+, Do not drink underage. You should not use any of the actions displayed in the following story as examples for your own life.

Playlist: click here to listen while reading

Ao3: click here to read on ao3

Chapter 1/?

As you walked through the streets of YorkNew City you felt gusts of wind push past you so strongly that they nearly knocked you over. It was already miserable to be outside, and it was only October. The sky was growing dark, the city growing brighter. Fall decorations adorned the buildings you passed. The Southernpiece Auction House looked the most magnificent of them all– with bright colored lights trailing the pathway and walls.

No time to wonder at your surroundings, you thought. You would have four more years to gawk at the city. You pulled your scarf tighter around you as you walked faster. Although you looked cute in your tights, it was definitely not the appropriate clothing choice for this weather.

Your decision to go to YNU seemed perfect in every way. It was one of the top schools in YorkNew and was in the heart of the city. Unfortunately, you failed to realize that the wind would be whipping for three-quarters of the year.

While it wasn’t the biggest “party school,” there was a single big party in October held by one of the fraternities. That party was the one you happened to be heading to right now. Everyone knew of it and talked about it non-stop. You were reluctant to attend. You hadn’t had many real party experiences at high school. For the most part, they consisted of sitting around drinking cheap beer while your classmates humiliated themselves. Your friends had high hopes for this one, though.

For one, it appeared to be in the penthouse of a high-rise building. You checked your phone to see if the location matched the one on your map. This wasn’t the frat house you had been expecting. Although your and the system’s arrows matched, you really couldn’t trust your directional skills, anyway.

Your hands were near frozen, but you managed to press the call button on your friends’ contact.

“Hey Canary?” you don’t hear her reply as music floods through your phone speaker. Seconds later, it becomes quieter, signaling she moved into another room.

“Hey, it’s absolutely crazy up here, sorry.”

You ask her about the address, and she confirms it. She tells you her location at the party so you can find her later. She hangs up before you can say bye or express more of your listless anxieties. Why were you so worried? You had Canary and Amane and… well, you didn’t know many others. And of course Canary and Amane would be all over each other so really you had no one. That was a valid source of anxiety, was it not?

Either way, you needed to step into the building to escape the cold. Perhaps after you warmed up you could make your escape. I knew this was a bad idea.

The entryway was already magnificent, with tall arches and marble floors. A fire blazed near a seating area on the opposite wall. You rushed over to find it unoccupied, thank goodness. You sat as close as safely possible and felt the warmth creep back into your body.

Your head cleared a bit, thoughts straightening out into coherency. You were at your first party. Your friends were all up there already, so you wouldn’t need to wait for them awkwardly. Everything would go smoothly as long as–

Just then, a group of around six people entered the hall. You couldn’t help but stare. One was over six feet tall, another shorter than five. And some were unbelievably gorgeous. One of them particularly caught your eye. He was wearing all black, styled in an expensive coat and dress shirt. His hair was black as well, hanging loose around his pale face. Dark eyes looked towards a man at his right. He walked with such an intimidating stride that you nearly hid behind the sofa. Luckily, they didn’t appear to be heading in your direction.

They probably were all college students, why else would they be dressed up at a random apartment on this specific day? The thought sent butterflies to your stomach. If the group really was full of college students, maybe you should be going to that party.

Not to gawk at them or anything. Based on their looks, you could tell that they were the rich YorkNew city elite-type students, not the federal loan international-type student as you were. In other words, they had power and you did not. It was best to avoid these types of people. You knew that much just from living in the city for a couple of months.

The group was still waiting outside of the elevators. You made possibly the stupidest decision that you could’ve at that moment. You rose from your seat and flattened your hair. You then proceeded to trot right over to the elevator, behind the group. You had to go upstairs somehow, and reaching the top floor through the stairs didn’t seem like the ideal choice.

Clearly still distracted by the image of that man’s face that was now tattoed onto your brain, you didn’t even notice when the elevator doors opened. A voice sounded from inside that snapped you out of your daydream.

“There’s enough room if you want to come in…” it was the same man that you noticed from before.

An amused expression shone on his face– it was as if he was trying to hide a smirk. He placed his hand on the elevator door so it wouldn’t close. You noticed thick silver rings on a couple of his fingers. It was clear from his appearance that he was wealthy. Not to mention, his mannerisms had an undertone of superiority. Despite yourself, this only enticed you more. Who was this man?

Apparently, you were about to find out.

A blush rose on your face as you quickly gave him your thanks and scrambled inside the elevator. He stood directly next to you, with his friends on the sides. The sudden closeness made your stomach flip.

“What floor?” he asked, hand hovering above the numbers on the elevator wall.

You checked the keypad although you already knew that you would all be headed to the same place.

You tried not to look at him as you responded. “Same as you.”

“Oh,” he replied simply.

The rest of the ride was accompanied by a rising tension. The girls behind you made the only conversation, talking in low voices to one another. You were grateful when the elevator finally stopped on the top floor. You quickly walked out and made your way to anywhere but where that group was. On a second glance, you could see that the rest of them also had that air of wealth and superiority that the man had. That was definitely not the crowd you wanted to get acquainted with tonight.

Besides the music thumping through the walls and people waiting around the entrance, the hall outside of the elevator looked like it could be in any other apartment building. There was a large rack full of coats and hangers to your right. As you walked through the long hall you took off your coat and scarf, happy to get rid of the bulky clothes.

Going into the party was still nerve-wracking, but your outfit gave you a bit of courage. You chose a black silk minidress that accentuated your curves perfectly. You wore fishnet tights and combat boots to complete the look. You did your makeup to near perfection, with a bold red lip and your signature eyeliner. Needless to say, you were feeling good.

You almost forgot that the group that was still in the hall until you felt their eyes bearing into you. In your peripheral vision, you saw them take off their coats just as you finished hanging yours. Without another moment of hesitation, you walked quickly to the door.

The music grew louder and you grew slightly nauseous. This night has already been far too much. Is it really the best idea to continue on? It was too late to turn back, as you would be turning to face those who you wished to avoid.

So, you opened the door. You were immediately flooded with lights and sounds and people. The interior was huge. You guessed that this single apartment took up the majority of the floor, and apparently the one above it too. A staircase on the right side led to a balcony overlooking the main room. Couches and furniture lined the walls, pushed away to form a space in the middle. From what you could see, the entire back wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city below. If you hadn’t felt so dizzy, you would’ve noticed that the room stunning and grand, unlike any you have seen before.

Students were everywhere, crowding on the couches and the dance floor. You couldn’t make out many faces as the neon lights were dim. You guessed that there were at least seventy people in this room alone.

The music thumped in your bones. You tried to focus on the lines of the song playing instead of your rising panic. “Oh god can you make my heart stop… killshot baby.”

After assessing your surroundings, you made a quick beeline to the kitchen, where Canary said she would be when you called her earlier. The walk was only quick in theory. It took you around five minutes to make your way across the room. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience, weaving through drunk bodies dancing with fervor. You smelt the sweet smell of vape smoke mixed in with the sweat. Heads turned to look at you but you did not look back. Nothing interested you more than finding your friends. Meeting other people could come after you were settled.

You bitterly realized that it had been a bad idea not to come with Canary and Amane an hour earlier. You thought as little time as possible spent there would be ideal, as it was your first time at a college party. Little did you know that arriving late would mean a frantic search for your friends amidst the chaos.

At last, you came upon an opening in the wall that seemed to lead to the kitchen. There were neon lights in there as well, lining the counters and cabinets. White marble countertops glinted underneath bottles of alcohol.

There were significantly fewer people crowded into this tiny space. About fifteen people stood around, drinking and talking with one another over the music. Without thinking, you grab a bottle of beer as you pass by the counter on your way to the other side of the room. There was an empty corner that was calling your name. From there you could observe the faces of the people around you. And possibly get a bit drunk while you were at it. You figured it was the only way you could survive the rest of the night.

As you scanned the faces your heart sank. You didn’t see your friends anywhere. Maybe they already moved to the dancefloor. You take another swig of the beer and pull out your phone.

The dial tone for Canary sounded just as you spotted a familiar face. He was leaning against the wall on the other side of the room with his arms crossed, talking to an attractive red-haired man standing next to him. Your mind was slowly growing hazier, but that didn’t mean you forgot about the man from before.

You quickly averted your eyes. Canary didn’t pick up your call so you decided to text her. All the while you felt your heart begin to thrum. Did that man intimidate you? Or was it just because you thought he was incredibly hot?

You couldn’t say for sure, as you have never felt this way about a person before. He looked older than you, a graduate student perhaps. Anyway, he was far out of your reach in terms of people you could talk to. So, you decided right there and then to stop thinking about him.

You wait a few more minutes for Canary’s response. She doesn’t reply to your text. You grit your teeth and pick up another bottle of beer from the counter. Unfortunately, the bottle opener was nowhere to be seen. Just my luck, you thought. Rather than going without the beer, you pulled out your keys and tried to pry the lid off with your sheer force. But your hand kept slipping and you were beginning to feel a bit embarrassed. You cursed yourself under your breath and looked around to see if anyone noticed your clumsiness.

Accidentally peering towards the wall where the man was before, you notice that he was no longer there. You didn’t know why you cared so much about the opinion of a stranger.

You were about to put the bottle down when you sensed someone next to you. A voice that smelt of whisky and cigarettes spoke, “Need some help there?”

You retracted at the sound and sensation until you noticed who spoke. It was him. You froze, unsure of what to do next. Slowly, your eyes trailed up to his face.

You tried not to stare as you took him in full, now that you were finally face to face. The low neon lights highlighted his strong nose and sharp jawline. His black hair was messily swept from his face, displaying a cross tattoo on his forehead that you hadn’t noticed before. He wore small silver hoops in both ears. Shadows formed across his deep-set eyes as he regarded you, emotionless and still.

He asked you again, pointing to the unopened bottle, “The beer?”

You gave him a nervous laugh, “Oh, yes. I don’t know where the bottle opener went…”

He still stood unusually close to you. Obviously, it was only so that you could hear him better over the loud music. Still, it made your heart flutter. You averted your eyes from his only to see the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up, displaying strong arms and hands.

You tried to tell yourself that he was just being nice. And you were making a fool of yourself, just as you were before at the elevator. You knew you had no chance with him, even though a party was a more relaxed environment than most. He would want nothing to do with you after he helped you again. These intimidating upperclassmen were the same.

The man said nothing as he placed the edge of the bottle on the counter, with the cap at the edge. Those beautiful, white marble countertops. Surely he isn’t going to…

With a slam of his palm, the cap came clear off.

“Here,” he said simply.

Why, you wondered, was that so attractive. You couldn’t possibly be getting turned on by the opening of a bottle. Maybe it was only due to the way he did it, displaying his strength so boldly.

He noticed your expression and laughed lightly. “It’s fine, I own the place.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at his statement. If he was a graduate student, how could he possibly be making enough for this entire place? And you were told it was a frat house, not a single apartment?

A little bit of talking wouldn’t hurt, no matter his status. So you decide to allow the questions to flow. Perhaps the beer was finally loosening your lips and easing your anxiety. You really should’ve been searching for your friends, but it seemed that your body thought differently. Something about the man drew you in. Whether it was his flawless appearance or genuine kindness towards you, you weren’t sure.

“You own this place?” you questioned, leaning a hip on the counter with your beer in hand.

He gave you a small smile, clearly trying to appear humble. “Yes.”

All you managed to say was, “How?”

Was it genuine interest in his face that you saw? Or was he simply happy to boast about his tremendous earnings?

“My company. The dealings bring in solid money, so I decided to purchase this place.” He waved a hand, gesturing towards the general direction of his massive living area.

“Your company? Do you go to YNU?”

He couldn’t be that old to have established his own company. And if he was, surely you would’ve heard about it, as he would be famous. Perhaps he was like many of the other kids at this school, enjoying a trust fund to their name and claiming it all to be their sheer success.

He grabbed a beer from the table and opened it the same way as he did before. He seemed to almost be growing bored of the conversation, needing to drink to distract himself. He became more distant as the small talk continued.

“Yes. I’m in the first year of my graduate program. And you?”

God, those eyes. It was hard to maintain eye contact with him for too long. It felt as if he was simultaneously calculating you as if you were a complex math problem while trying to appear as emotionless as possible.

He was the one who needed calculating. His appearance was already bizarre, with the cross tattoo displayed so boldly on his forehead. But the fact that he was only in his first year of graduate school and already running his own company was too much to comprehend. All you wished for was to know more about this strangely alluring man.

You were about to reply when you heard your name being called from the crowd in the large room. Giggles followed the shout.

Canary and Amane were thrust out of the mass of bodies in the living area. Canary wore a minidress and Amane wore a dress shirt and pants, now significantly disheveled. They were smiling like mad.

Your heart jumped at the sight of them. Finally, you were safe. That was your immediate thought until you saw the stumble in their walks. They were drunk.

Canary slurred your name again. “We’ve missed you! Where were you?”

“I was here in the kitchen, where you told me to wait. Remember?”

Canary and Amane simply gave each other a knowing look and giggled. You had almost forgotten the man who still stood behind you.

“We’ll leave you to it then,” Amane said, making it obvious that she was referencing him.

They were about to leave when you called out. “Wait!”

It wasn’t that you weren’t absolutely entranced by the man and wouldn’t give everything to talk to him for even one more minute, it was just that your friends needed you.

You turned to see the man now farther down the counter, talking to the red-haired man again. He noticed your apologetic look and walked towards you.

“Sorry I have to–”

Your sentence trails off as he looks down on you with a slight smile, arms crossed. You almost want to take a step back, his look too penetrating and revealing.

“What is your name?”

You widened your eyes. He wants to know your name. What were you supposed to make of that?

You give him your name.

“I’m Chrollo,” he replies, sticking his hand out for you to shake as if you were making a business deal. You try to hide your laugh.

He simply smirks back at you as you take his hand. The cold metal of his rings contrasted with the warmth the both of you were emitting. The front of his hand was smooth, with light veins running towards his knuckles. A sign of strength. Moreover, his palm rough. His grip was firm and confident as if he had something he wanted to convey with this handshake. What that was, though, you couldn’t be sure.

You felt a tap on your soldier and knew it was time to go with your friends. You just couldn’t manage to turn away. You already began to think, what if I never see him again? What if he doesn’t want to see me again anyway?

“Nice to meet you, Chrollo,” you said before finally turning your back. You felt his eyes bearing into your back as you left. At least, you hoped it was your back. You weren’t used to the tightness of your dresses’ material and the looks that coupled it.

You silently praise yourself for your unusual boldness toward Chrollo. Maybe you were bold enough to make an impression. An impression was really all you could hope for, at this point. That man was impossible to read.

Before you left the kitchen, Amane held out a small cup for you containing a clear liquid. You hardly hear what she says it is before you knock it back. The taste burns your throat. You figured you would need whatever it was before heading out to the dance floor. Amane and Canary do the same as you (as if they needed it, as drunk as they were).

As Canary grabbed your hand, Chrollo’s name echoed in your mind. Where have you heard it before? You probably could remember if you hadn’t drunk that last shot.

“Who the fuck was that?!” Amane nearly screamed into your ear. You were nearing the main dance floor. The sound was deafening and you felt the thump of music in your bones.

“Chrollo. He owns this place, apparently,” your voice gets lost in the noise.

“WHAT?” Canary yells. You were deep into the mass of people so talking was virtually impossible. There was space to move once you reached the center. It was far enough from the speakers that you could hear fragments of speech from the other people beside you. The sound still bounced off of the tall ceilings, echoing through the large room.

A new song started to play and you began to dance. You, Canary, and Amane danced stupidly, movements sluggish yet wild from the alcohol. It was the most fun you had in a long while. Maybe going to the party wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At that point, the anxiety all but left your body.

After a couple more songs, you decided to try to find your way out of the crowd to take a break. Your body ached with all the movement and sensation. Amane and Canary remained on the floor, although they insisted on following you. It was a slower song, anyway. You couldn’t be caught on the floor with no partner.

At last, after much shoving, you found a wall you could rest against. It just happened to be the wall with the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was far less crowded here. The cold glass felt incredible after the mass of sweat that was the dance floor.

The city lights reflected in the glass

You were close enough to the kitchen to peer through the entrance. When you did so, you couldn’t see Chrollo or his friend. Rather, they were talking to one another next to the kitchen, along the plane of windows.

Suddenly, the glass didn’t feel so cold anymore. You began to heat up just at the sight of him. It was too late by the time you looked away, they had noticed your gaze. Chrollo caught your eyes and your heart skipped a beat. But it wasn’t Chrollo who came over to you. It was his friend. You looked towards the red-haired man with apprehension. This wasn’t middle school, was it? Was Chrollo getting his friend to act as their in-between? No , you told yourself. This sly-looking man is clearly here for something else.

“Hello there,” he said in a sultry tone. He leaned against the window just as you did the same.

His red hair hung loosely around his yellow eyes. He wore a loose dark purple dress shirt and black pants.

Your patience was running out. “Who are you?” And why are you not Chrollo?

“Hisoka. And you must be y/n, right?”

Your eyebrows rose as you nodded. Had Chrollo already mentioned you to Hisoka? What made you worth mentioning? Well, apparently you were about to find out.

“I was wondering, dear, would you dance with me?”

That was unexpected. You turned to face him to observe his expression and the one of the man behind him. Chrollo’s face was bank but his eyes looked stormy as if to issue a warning to Hisoka. Something in Chrollo’s look made you want to accept Hisoka’s offer, just to see his reaction. The slight changes in his expression were endlessly entertaining. If doing something as reckless as dancing with a man you had just met would warrant a change, you would happily oblige.

Hisoka’s smirk vanished as you replied, “Sure.”

Now it was your turn to look smug. Chrollo’s eyes widened slightly but he still remained silent, several feet away with his back against the window. If Hisoka was anyone else, say a person who didn’t radiate his dangerously sexual appetite, perhaps Chrollo would’ve been less surprised.

Although you assuredly gave him your answer, you knew you couldn’t trust this man. His sly expression persisted as he snaked a slender hand across your waist. You didn’t turn to see Chrollo’s expression but you could feel a pair of eyes on your back as you walked away. How unfair it was, that Chrollo always got the last look.

Hisoka led you to an opening on the dance floor that was situated near the staircase. He immediately pulled you to his chest. You gasped at the sudden closeness. You felt his torso with your own, his hardened with muscle. He moved his hands tighter against your waist and you nearly melted into the touch.

You were drunk. He wasn’t who you wanted. But you could easily pretend he was.

You tried to peer back to the spot where Chrollo was standing. It was far too dense and dark to make out any faces besides the one of the man before you.

He wasn’t Chrollo, but he was unquestionably attractive. His sharp features were riddled with confidence. He carried himself as a king would, so self-assured that he was borderline unaware.

The slow song had since ended and a faster one began to sound. You began to feel the rhythm and danced along, Hisoka pulling you closer all the while. Although you were significantly intimidated by Hisoka, it was still fun. You couldn’t tell if either of you was dancing well or making a fool of yourselves. All you knew was sound, movement, and the touch of his body to yours.

After another song or two suddenly Hisoka pulled apart. He wore a malicious expression.

“I have to go,” he said, simply.

He didn’t give you a chance to reply. He waltzed up the stairs to the balcony that you were dancing near. You trailed your eyes to where he stood, hands on the railing talking to the person beside him. It was the blond woman you saw earlier, the one who was with Chrollo’s group…

And next to her was Chrollo. He was holding onto the railing for dear life as if he would fall to his death if he let go. A fear of heights? No, you didn’t think so. Based on his facial expression, he looked almost bitter. You didn’t deem that possible based on his mild mannerism so far. And what reason would he have to be angry?

An idea sparked in your mind. A stupid one, undoubtedly. But Chrollo and his group were far too interesting to ignore for the rest of the night.

It was probably too dark for them to see you amongst the crowd, but you crouched as you moved away anyway. You sensed the tension in their conversation all the way from the floor below. You would wait until Chrollo cooled off a bit and then make your move.

You head back to the kitchen to have another drink. You go for something stronger, a shot of a pale liquid that you didn’t know the name of. Or rather, you were too distracted to care.

You made the perilous journey back to the balcony, dodging limbs and drunken stupors. It was nearing midnight at this point and the crowd was sufficiently rowdy. You think you spot Canary dancing near the back wall, but you couldn’t be sure. You will let her have her own fun tonight since you already found yours.

From below, you could see that Chrollo, Hisoka, and the woman were still leaning against the balcony railing. As you dizzily mounted the steps, you realized that Chrollo looked as perfect and intact as when you first saw him, all those hours ago. He must’ve not danced the whole night, even though it was his own party. How strange. Well, you were about to try and change that.

“Hey,” you said as you waltzed up to Chrollo. There was a bit of a stumble in your step so you quickly made use of the railing.

Chrollo no longer had a death-grip on the bar. He looked at you with a blank face.

“Hello,” he replied.

His friends glared at you so hard that you nearly turned back around. You seem to have interrupted an important conversation.

You lazily move closer to Chrollo and speak under your breath, so that his friends don’t hear, “Want to dance?”

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (1/5)

part one of the The Better Love Series 

pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 6.3k 

warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, eventual smut. 

a/n: at the end. @tiffdawg​, I finally did it.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Your alarm buzzes, and you roll over groggily. 

0615.

Goddamn. You flop a pillow over your head, blocking out the early morning sun, and wonder if three hours of sleep is any better than no sleep at all. 

Somehow, you kind of doubt it. 

The alarm blares again, a failsafe you’d been wise enough to set up after round two had led you to the shower. You gather your still-damp hair, wincing at how gross that feels, and elbow Peña in the shoulder. 

“Morning, sunshine!” You toss your soggy pillow onto his face. 

He grunts pathetically, cracks an eye just enough to send you a sliver of resentment, and lifts a middle finger vaguely in your direction. 

You’re completely unsympathetic. “Not my fault this time, Peña.” 

He curses you in Spanish as you flick on the lights on your way to the kitchen. Coffee is your first order of business. 

You’re not sure exactly when Agent Peña became a fixture in your apartment.  Oh, you can nail down the general timeline pretty well - a night out with the Search Bloc boys had ended with Peña coming to your place, and things had unfolded naturally from there. The sex was good. Very good. You’ve always had a high drive, and Peña is a man who can deliver. You’re pretty creative, and he’s fairly open minded, and neither of you seem to care to make things complicated with Labels and Conversations. Somewhere down the line, wild nights out evolved into even wilder nights in, and then, before you knew it, you’d let Peña borrow your spare key when he’d left his wallet on your coffee table. 

That had been at least two months ago. The sex is still good, and Peña is still leaving his shit everywhere, so neither of you bothered to say anything about it. 

It works. That’s all that matters.

You’ve just sat down with your drink in your hands as the doorbell buzzes. “What the fuck?” You glance at the kitchen clock. It’s not even 0630.

The doorbell buzzes again. 

You eyeball the gun that Peña has left lying on the kitchen counter. Nobody should be looking for you this early in the morning. 

“Hey!” Somebody is knocking now, and shouting, and ugh, you recognize that voice. You leave the gun where it is - somewhat reluctantly - and slam open the door with a ferocity that sends Steve Murphy stumbling into your kitchen. 

“Good morning,” you say serenely. 

“Good morning to you, too, Ears,” Murphy grimaces up at you. 

“That’s not my name,” you remind him for the thousandth time. Not that it will make any difference. Ever since you’d made the mistake of introducing yourself as Centra Spike’s new liaison by saying, “I’ll be your ears,” the Search Bloc boys had leapt at the opportunity to tease. You’re pretty sure most of them don’t realize that you have any other name. 

Somehow, it irks you more coming from Murphy. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask as politely as your temper allows. Murphy has never been your favorite person, and your caffeine definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.

Murphy rights himself, fixing you with a glare that doesn’t threaten in the slightest. “I’m looking for Javi,” he says. He has the audacity to glance around your tiny living space, as if he’d come with a search warrant.

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly aware of your too-thin nightshirt, and lift a brow in Murphy’s direction. “And what makes you think he’d be here?”

Murphy pins you with an ‘I see right through your bullshit’ expression. “Call it a hunch.” 

Right on cue, footsteps clatter down the kitchen stairs. Murphy smirks. You don’t bother to hide a sigh. 

Fuck. 

“What are you doing here?” Peña echoes you unconsciously. You try not to cringe at the smug glance Murphy throws your way.

 Instead, you turn to glare at Javi, and oh god. 

His shirt is buttoned all wrong, hanging lopsided and displaying half his chest, if he’d just given up at the top. 

Subtle.

Murphy apparently doesn’t have the stones to address it, because he waves a manilla folder in front of Peña’s face. “Special delivery,” he says, dropping the file on your coffee table with a smack. 

Peña dives for it, brow furrowed. Whatever he sees must be good, because he snaps his head up to stare at Murphy. “Where did you get these?” he asks, thumbing through the pages.

“My contact in Medellín.” Steve rests his hands on his belt ever so casually, as if daring Peña to question him. 

Peña does. “Since when do you have a contact in Medellín?” 

You wonder the same. Partners are usually aware of each other’s informants, unless it’s that kind of contact. Isn’t Murphy married?

“Not important.” Murphy shuts him down quickly. 

“Verdugo,” Peña breathes.

You shoot a questioning glance at Murphy.  In the three months you’ve been in Colombia, your Spanish is rapidly improving, but Murphy has been here longer, and some things are still beyond you. “Butcher,” he translates with a grimace. “Or executioner. One of Escobar’s top sicarios.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Lovely.”

Peña glances up, surprised to hear you speak, as if he’d forgotten that he’s standing in your living room.

Murphy doesn’t acknowledge you. “He’s in Medellín, Javi.” He stretches, then makes for your front door. “I’m gonna turn in for a bit. Late night.” 

Peña grunts, settling on your sofa with the file as Murphy sees himself out. 

You sidle up behind him, curious.  He knows you’re there - your hair is falling over his shoulder and you’re doing nothing to stifle your breathing, but Peña’s only acknowledgement of your presence is to shift his body ever so slightly to the left, unspokenly granting you access to the file.

You bite your lip, pleased and a little unnerved at the implication. You suppose that Peña wouldn’t be Peña unless he’s breaking the rules. He certainly has a reputation for it.

It hits a little differently, though, knowing that he’s committing a felony just to satisfy your curiosity. And on your fucking sofa, too.

You shake the butterflies away. Peña is flipping through a series of grainy photos, each showcasing the same guy. Somebody, Murphy probably, has circled his face in red ink, and there are further notes in the margins, written hastily. Landmarks, you guess. Peña is reading too fast for you to decipher much, but you spot a map of what you assume is Medellín in the shuffle. It is similarly annotated with scrawling red ink.

Peña flips through the file once, and then again, slower. 

You brace yourself on on your forearms, glancing at the clock. You aren’t expected at the embassy until eight - you can afford to be patient. 

Whatever this is, it’s big.

Deciding you’ve gleaned all you can from the file, you turn your attention to Peña. He’s leaned forward on your sofa, arms on thighs, lost in thought. Every muscle is tensed, as if he could spring up at any moment, his gaze is narrowed, his brow furrowed in a way that tempts you to lick it. 

The thought startles you. You aren’t a goddamn animal.

Are you? Your mind drifts to Murphy, smirking with his arms folded in your kitchen like he could see through your nightshirt, right into your fucking brain. 

A stone sinks in your chest. Landing this position with Centra Spike had been your first big break in a lifetime of frustrations. You’d joined the army fresh out of school, angling to be an analyst with the special forces. The good ol’ U. S. of A. had gladly foot the bill for your education in exchange for you signing your life away, and you’d chugged through a mind-numbingly boring double major of mathematics and computer science, all on the sage advice of your recruiter. 

The reality of active duty was a kick in the fucking teeth. The brass had taken one look at you - a wide-eyed, idealistic woman with a big hair and bigger goals - and promptly slapped you with a desk job. You’d spent three more years rotting away in a forgotten back corner of an office building in Kuwait, filing reports and delivering messages. Occasionally, they’d throw you a bone and hand you a code to rewrite. Your commanding officer got all the credit, and you were just a glorified secretary.

By the time your contract was up, you’d been sidelined, interrupted, passed-over, underestimated, scoffed, and just flat-out ignored enough to be thoroughly fed up with military life. The glass ceiling in the U.S. Army is raised just high enough to suffocate its victims slowly, and you were sick sick of being stifled. 

Being recruited by the CIA for analyst work in the hunt for Pablo Escobar had been pure, dumb luck. Right now, you might just be a liaison, but this is your shot. Your last one, probably, and you’re not willing to give it up just to get laid.

Not even for the best lay of your life.

Peña slaps the file shut with gentle smack, startling you from your thoughts. He reaches for his boots, moving with a single-minded determination that you’d find sexy if it weren’t so damned inconvenient.

“Peña.”

He doesn’t react, just gathers his badge and keys from the end table as if you aren’t even there.

“Peña.” You say it louder this time.

“Hmm?” 

“Javi!” You call his name without even realizing it, and it works. His head snaps up, eyes wide, staring at you as if he’s just now seen you for the first time.

You have his undivided attention now. 

“Yeah?” He blinks, all wide brown eyes, and fuck it all, you can feel yourself flushing under his gaze. 

You swallow hard, push past the strange flutter in your chest. “We’re getting too predicable.” 

His brow furrows. “Come again?”

You decide to take the high road, but you can’t stop your lips twitching at the obvious joke that he’s left himself open for. He’s quick to follow your though process, though - his eyes sparkle with laugher, daring you to call him on his blunder. 

Shit.

You press on. “This,” you start, grimacing. He’s still looking at you, and his expression is warm. Flirtatious. “What we’re doing…” Goddamn, your face is aflame. “I mean, we’re not exactly subtle.”

He draws back, expression shuttering instantly. “Don’t worry about Murphy,” he says firmly. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

The ‘if he knows what’s good for him’ is clearly implied.

“It’s not just Murphy,” you press. You can’t exactly put into words what it is that you're trying to make Peña understand, you just know it's important that he does.

“What are you suggesting?” He’s standing now, still holding the file against his chest, as if to defend himself with it. 

You shake your head. “I think,” you say slowly, trying hard not to catch his eye, “that we need to cool it.”

Silence. You can feel his raised eyebrow.

You step forward. You’re focusing hard on finding the right words without revealing too much, but your hands are desperate for something to do. “We need to stop fucking around.”

There, you said it.

“Oh?” There’s something amused in his tone, but you shrug it off, still refusing to look at him.

“Yeah,” you answer hotly. “Isn’t this fraternization? Shouldn’t we be worried about our careers, or some shit? We both have a lot to lose here.” You glance up, emboldened by your speech. “Do you want to catch Escobar or not?”

He’s looking down at you, not taking you the least bit seriously, expression damn near indulgent. 

Indignation sets a fire in your chest.

“You think you can just quit me, cold turkey,” he asks in a voice as smooth as silk.

Goddammit, he’s mocking you.

“Absolutely.” You look him firmly in the eye, former awkwardness forgotten, more determined than you’ve ever been. 

He huffs directly in your face. “You won’t last a week, Ears.” He cups your cheek in his hand, skimming your jawline with his thumb. “I know you, remember.”

Oh, the bastard. “You think you can go longer?” You counter, stepping into his chest. You’re pissed now. Peña is a well-known man whore, and you know, know, that you are exactly his type.

He laughs now, openly and genuinely amused. “Longer than you,” he says, glancing down at where your hands are absently fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. 

Oh, fuck. 

“I’m fixing you, you absolute asshole,” you hiss, beyond grateful that you’ve yet to undo his last cockeyed button. “Unless you want to show up at the office all freshly fucked and lopsided.” You hold up the hem of his shirt, clearly displaying his mismatched edges.

“Oh.” At least he has the grace to look abashed. 

“Yeah,” you swallow dryly, suddenly aware of how close he his, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, sex and the scent of your own bedsheets. 

Goddamn, you want him already. 

You push it all away, patting him condescendingly on the chest. Two can play this game. “Just looking out for your career, Agent Peña.”

He sighs somewhat theatrically, but you can see the conflict warring in him. 

“Well, then, Ears,” he says after a long moment. He rebuttons his shirt properly this time, fingers working quickly. “Guess I’ll see you around.” 

You meet his gaze evenly. “Guess so.”

The door shuts behind him, and you sink to the sofa. It’s still warm from where he’d been sitting.

Oh fuck, what have you done?

♠

You’re not watching, you’re not, but you can’t help but notice when Peña comes swaggering into the office at ten am, wearing those sunglasses and those fucking too-tight, dark wash jeans, chugging a cup of coffee like he knows that his exposed neck is a weapon. 

You make eye contact through the glass, just for a moment, and he winks at you.

You smirk back, a plan forming in your mind.

This means war. 

♠

You retaliate by letting your hair curl wild over your shoulders and squeezing yourself into a leather skirt that is just barely work appropriate. The Search Bloc boys bombard you with whistles and winks and catcalls all day. 

It’s worth it, though, to see Agent Peña’s eyes go wide and blinking, to watch him swallow so hard. 

“Fucking tease,” Murphy hisses as you glide past his desk. 

You flip him off in response. 

♠

Your apartment feels strangely empty. 

It’s Saturday afternoon. Search Bloc is investigating a tip in Medellín, and Centra Spike doesn’t need you in today. You briefly consider going out, but that would involve changing out of your sweats, and besides, aside from the Search Bloc guys, you really don’t have many friends in Colombia. 

You sit down on your sofa, drawing the coffee table toward you, and deal yourself a hand of solitaire. The cards had belonged to your dad before he passed them down to you, and they are comfortable in your hand, worn soft with age. There’s a trick to shuffling a deck this old, and something comfortable in the practice. 

The hand you deal is a losing hand. 

Frustrated, you stomp down the stairs to the little pharmacy below your flat. “Hola, Emilio!” you wave to the older man working the counter. Emilio doesn’t speak much English, and your Spanish is improving slower than you’d like, but you mostly manage to communicate just fine. 

You make your way to the little display of liquor bottles and ponder it for a minute. There’s nothing remotely recognizable on the shelves, but you’re not exactly committed to buying anything, anyway. 

There’s nothing more pathetic than drinking alone. 

 A presence at your shoulder makes you jump. It’s just Emilio. He smiles at you, and reaches for a bottle of clear liquor whose packaging reminds you a little too much of antiseptic hand spray for comfort. He presses it into your hands. “Guaro.”

“This is what I need, then?” you ask him. “Este? It’s good?”

“Guaro.” He’s nodding and grinning, rattling something in rapid-fire Spanish that you’re far too slow to translate. The enthusiasm behind it is hard to miss, though.

“He says it’s good and strong. Respect it, and it will respect you.” Emilo’s daughter winks up at you. She’s bent over, stocking shelves, and you’d missed her, distracted as you’d been by your conversation with Emilio.

You smile gratefully. Ana must be home from university this weekend. You’ve only met once or twice, but she’s kind, and doesn’t mind translating for you. You think you might have been friends, if she was around more.

“Gracias,” you tell her, and mean it. “Aguardiente,” you sound out slowly, frowning down at the bottle. “Sugar water?”

“Something like that.” Ana rises, leaving the box of chicharrones on the floor. “You’ll find that most of the locals just call it guaro. It’s a staple in Colombia. Hard to find anywhere else, and even transporting it between cities is dangerous.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs, as if to say, ‘what’s new?’ 

“But it’s just liquor, right?” 

“Yeah, I think so. Alcohol, sugar, anise…” She shrugs, and laughs. “Simple, but there’s something magic about it. You don’t want to go too hard with this. Sit down and have a small glass with a lime. Slower is better.” 

You frown. Anise. It jogs something in your memory, some long-forgotten fact…

“Trust me.” Ana is at your elbow now, pinning you with an earnest stare. “It hits hard, and fast. Papa wasn’t lying.”

You laugh. “Is that the college experience speaking?”

“Oh, yes. Seguro.” 

Ana follows you as you take the bottle of guaro to the register. “And how are your classes going?” you ask as Emilio rings you up. 

Ana grimaces, shaking her head as she cuts her gaze to Emilio. “It’s good to have a little break,” she admits. 

You sympathize with that. You hadn’t cared too much for the tedium of higher education either. Emilio hands you a little paper bag, and you wave goodbye to him with a smile. “I’ll have to catch you when you’ve got a free weekend,” you tell Ana as you head toward the stairs that lead to your flat. You hold up the liquor suggestively. “You can teach me all about how to respect this guaro.”

Ana laughs. “What are you doing this evening? We close up at eight.”

Your face breaks into a grin. It’s hard making friends in Colombia just with the language barrier alone, never mind that your work with Centra Spike forces you to keep so many secrets. Without Peña around, life here is lonely. But Ana seems innocent enough, and it’s just a drink. “Perfect! I’ll be here.”

You walk up the steps feeling much lighter than when you descended them.

♠

Ana doesn’t stay long. She looks around your apartment, carefully assessing, then nodding as if satisfied. 

You let it go.

She teaches you to tap the bottom of the bottle to expel the liquor, almost as if you’re pouring ketchup from a glass container. Looking at the contents, they don’t seem particularly viscous. When you ask her why this is necessary, Ana shrugs.  “It’s a mystery,” she tells you, and you write it off as one of the eccentricities of Colombian culture, paying rapt attention as Ana begins explaining one of only three acceptable ways to serve the guaro.  

♠

“I’ve got something for you,” you announce brightly, slapping both hands firmly on Javier Peña’s desk and leaning in just a hair too close to be strictly professional. 

“Oh?” His face breaks into a slow smirk, and he tilts back in his swivel chair, stretching just enough to give you a good view of those too-tight jeans as he hooks his fingers behind his head. “And what’s that?”

Smug fucking bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. You cool your jets and wink at him, teasing a manilla file for him to see. “We thought you might like this.”

“We?”

“Okay, fine, Jacoby caught some chatter, but I vetted it,” you press on, refusing to let him derail you. This is huge. “It’s Verdugo.”

Peña glances up at you, suddenly intense. “You sure?”

“Well, it’s not him personally,” you admit. “At least, not his voice. But,” You slam the transcript down on his desk. “We caught an entire conversation verifying his presence at a safehouse in Medellín.” You pause for full dramatic effect before going in for the kill. “A specific safehouse in Medellín.”

Javi reverts to Agent Peña instantly, all flirting forgotten as he leans forward on his elbows. “Show me.”

You bend over, noticing absently that your hair is once again falling into his face as you tap your finger over the address. Peña settles in to read the full report as you watch, his eyes darting back and forth over the pages at a rate that is truly impressive. When he glances back up at you, the ferocity of his gaze is startling. 

“They’re getting ready to make a move.” There’s something like a spark of hope in his eyes, tiny, but growing stronger as he processes the information you’ve given him.

“Yeah,” you say, throat suddenly dry. He’s looking at you with earnest gratitude, and it tugs at something deep in your chest.

“This is big,” he breathes, and just like that, he’s on his feet, gathering the file, punching a number into his desktop telephone. 

“This is Peña,” he says as the call connects. “We’ve got something.”

♠

It’s dark when you finally get home. Claudia Messina, head of DEA operations in Colombia, had cornered you in her office for hours, going over and over the information you’d vetted. You brain is absolutely fried, the victory of the discovery stifled by having to defend your work again and again. 

You just need a drink. 

“About time!” a voice startles you as you turn to shut the door behind you. You jump, barely suppressing a shriek, and whirl around. 

Goddamn Javier Peña with his goddamned spare key.

He’s smirking at you from your sofa, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Any other day, you’d have noticed his presence instantly just from the smell. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice is more of a whine than you’d like, but dammit, you’re tired, and dammit, he’s gotten one over on you. 

He knows it, too, the smug bastard. “Expecting somebody else?” he asks, sauntering toward you with a devastating smile that manages to be both possessive and suggestive all at once. 

“No,” you answer somewhat grumpily. “I wasn’t expecting anybody.”

Given your sulky attitude, you’re surprised to see that his smile brightens a bit. You frown at him, still confused as to why the fuck he is here, and he bustles into the kitchen, clinking around, pouring you a drink. 

You sigh and relax onto the sofa. At least you’ll have that.

He comes back, a tumbler of clear liquor in each hand. Ah, so he’s found your guaro. You suspect that he’s helped himself to at least one measure already. He hands you a glass, and you take it gratefully, sniffing at the contents. 

He’s drinking it neat, apparently.

“So!” he says, settling beside you on the sofa, close enough that your thighs touch. He pins you with an intense stare. You raise a brow in response, intrigued and a little confused. 

He smiles. “Your tip from this morning was a gold mine, Ears.” He eases back, propping his feet on your coffee table in a way that you should probably reprimand him for. He sips, sighs, leans in to bump your shoulder playfully, then settles with his hands at his waist, long fingers fiddling with the glass he’s cradling. “Martinez wants us to go for Verdugo tomorrow,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “Based on your information.” 

“Really?” You can hardly believe it. Most of what you do is verify things that others have found, or carry files from Centra Spike to Search Bloc. Same old, same old. Even though you’ve trained for this for years, you’ve never been integral in interpreting and locating a conversation before, especially not for a target as high level as Verdugo. 

Javi twists to smile up at you, a real smile. “Really,” he says, pointing a finger in your direction. He watches you fight back a grin. “Go on, be smug. This is big.”

“Wow,” you mouth, somewhat awed that you’ve contributed anything, let alone this, to the hunt for Pablo Escobar. 

The reaction isn’t lost on Javi. He sits up, wraps his arms around your shoulders and squeezes gently. “Pretty much. You gave us enough information that we feel confident about initiating a sting in Medellín.” He reaches up with both hands, catching your face at the edge of your jaw and drawing you close. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Ears.”

Ears. Yours are burning at the heat of his touch. You’re acutely aware of his palms cupping your cheeks. His eyes are dark, too dark, and open, looking at you as if you’ve single handled handed Escobar to the DEA on a golden platter. 

You suppress a shudder, leaning in to him as he pulls you in for a hug. Christ, his body feels so good as it cradles yours, arms snaking around your back, stubble gritting awkwardly into your cheek, the scent of smoke and liquor clouding you -

You wonder, abruptly, how much he’s had to drink.

“Peña,” you say swiftly, pulling away from him to stand. The way he’s looking at you right now, giddy and awestruck and openly hungry, well, it’s not going to last. You know it won’t. It can’t. 

His face falls, as if he’s confused at your sudden rejection. 

You shake your head. Peña is just drunk. You guys aren’t like this. You don’t hug and share and hold each other. It was only ever sex, and it’s not even that anymore. 

You’re overwhelmed, suddenly and without warning, at how desperately you want him. 

Not just the sex, though honestly, you have missed that. No, what you want is - 

You shove that thought down, locking it away so deeply that it will never see the light of day. 

You cannot have feelings for Javier Peña. 

“Ears?” he questions, tilting his head just so, managing to look more sober than he has all evening. 

“I just need another drink,” you say as you sidestep him, making your way to the kitchen. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as his gaze follows you. He seems to take your deference at face value - he’s lighter than you’ve seen him in weeks, excited, almost chipper, if you can believe it. The meeting with Martinez must have gone very well. You snort, contrasting his meeting to yours with Messina. The dissonance is enough to wonder, offhandedly, if some not-so-subtle sexism is at play. 

You shake off that thought. It’s not helpful, just depressing, especially here in Colombia. Instead, you turn to look at Javi. 

He’s still flopped on your sofa, his original drink in his hand, hunched over the stack of playing cards that you’d left out last night. 

Your dad had taught you to play solitaire from a young age. There’s a variation for two players, a game which one will inevitably win, but the real challenge is for the single player, in which triumph relies equally on skill and luck. Last night, after Ana had left, you’d played a long, brutal game, ultimately finding yourself blocked, helpless to do anything but shuffle the deck over, and over, and over again. 

Losing two games in a row is just shameful, and you’d left the cards on the table, eager to look at them again with fresh eyes. 

Javi eyeballs the game with a furrowed brow. You’d managed to make it quite far. Had the cards fallen in any different order, you’d have won easily. Carefully, Javi flicks over one card from the stack, frowns, then another. This one is a red queen, and he plays it eagerly, shuffling the black jack to its new position and opening up another space. 

“Hey!” you protest. He glances up at you, bemused, and you shove a newly made drink into his hand as you settle beside him. 

“You missed that move,” he explains, pointing exaggeratedly with the pinky finger that holds the tumbler. 

You roll your eyes. “I play draw three,” you correct him. You reshuffle the cards to their original places, this time drawing three from the deck: a five of spades on top, Javi’s red queen in the middle, and the ace of spades below both. The top card, the five of spades, has no place to be played, so you flip all three cards into the discard pile and draw three more from the deck. 

Javi frowns. “Seems like you’re making it a lot harder than it has to be.”

You sigh. Men. “Single draw solitaire is for kids,” you counter with a vicious smile. “Just for them to learn to play the game. Real players draw three.”

He huffs, “Oh, really?” he’s smirking up at you, eyes sparkling in amusement. “Are you the kind of woman who likes a challenge, Ears?”

He’s just dying to prove you wrong. 

“I’m the kind of woman who refuses to cut corners just so I can win a dumb card game.” you inform him sagely.  

“Hmmm,” he says, staring contemplatively at the cards. You let him shuffle through the deck twice, each time verifying what you already know - the game, played as it is, is unbeatable. 

‘Seems a little silly to me,’  he teases, bopping you on the nose. “Letting your ego get in the way of winning.”

Of course Javier Peña would see it that way. You kick back, letting your feet settle at the edge of the coffee table. “Go on then,” you tell him, siping at your drink. “Swoop in and save my game with your kiddie version, you fucking hero.”

He laughs overtly at that, eyes sparkling, and something clenches hard in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so open, laughing and flirting and playing stupid games after a long day at work. 

It’s nice.

You settle in to watch him work his magic. He’s making plays at an alarming rate - it seems like no time at all before the deck is empty. 

You glance at the clock, biting back a sigh. Less than five minutes. 

He’s smirking up at you, all mussed and smug, eyes alight with warmth, and suddenly, something swoops dangerously in your belly.

That hair, those eyes, his laugh. Warm skin in the dim glow of the lamplight, his body sprawled over your sofa, just begging to be teased. 

You wonder again why he’s here. You’ve made it clear that there’s no more sex, so…

Oh, god. 

Glancing back down at him, tousled hair and crooked smile, ridiculous mustache, plopped indelicately on your sofa, you suddenly realize. 

Javier Peña had sought you out for your company. For no other reason than that he’d had a good day, and wanted to share it with you. 

And oh, oh god.

You’re still so caught up in the sex and your fucking feelings that you can’t divorce that from your friendship, which is obviously important to him. He’s not out celebrating with Murphy - he’s here, in your apartment, with no expectation other than to kick your ass by cheating at children’s card games. 

The realization takes the breath from your lungs. 

You’re the problem here. Just like with the fucking card game, you’re the one making it complicated. 

Javi needs a friend. 

Javi needs a friend, and he’d sought you out so that you can just chill together, and all you can think as he shuffles those damned cards is how the callouses of his fingers would catch deliciously against your clit as he dips them inside you. 

And, and…

You cut off that dark thought. You are not going there.

Jesus Christ, what kind of friend are you?

“Well, this calls for a celebration,” you say. It’s a beat too late and obviously hollow, but Javi doesn’t seem to notice, and you’ve managed to keep the tremor out of your voice, so that’s a win. You rise, making for the kitchen, desperate to do something with your hands. You find yourself pouring Javi yet another drink - is this his third? Or fourth? You aren’t sure - and making yourself a second, much lighter version. 

The last thing you want is to do something stupid.

Javi meets you at the kitchen bar, and you slide the tumbler across to him. He eyeballs it speculatively, raising it and tilting it to view the contents in the dim kitchen light. 

“Goddamn, Ears.” He snorts. “Are you trying to poison me?” 

The denial falls from your tongue as he tilts back his glass from earlier, his second, - or third? - the one that you’d made. He swallows, pushing the empty glass back into you hand, and stands, catching himself on the edge of the table as if he’d moved too fast.

“Alright?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath, then straightens, slowly letting go of the countertop. “Fine,” he says, cocking a brow at you. “But what is that stuff?”

You laugh. “Emilio, you know, from downstairs, he found it for me. Says it’s a Colombian staple, and I can’t leave without having a bottle at least once.”

Javi blinks one too many times, then giggles. Despite your best effort, you snort at the sound. "Well then,” he raises his full tumblr to your half full one, and they clink awkwardly. “To local rotgut and poor life choices,” he toasts, as solemnly as he as able.

“Salud!” you counter, managing to sound a just a hair more sober. Javi is swaying as he stands, and suddenly, you’re concerned. “When did you last eat?”

He glances at you, tilting his head as if your question makes no goddamn sense, and you sigh heavily. Idiot man.

“Okay, hold off on that one,” you warn him - he looks as if he’s about to toss it back, too. “Let me at least make you some eggs first.”

“Eggs?” 

You’re already bustling around your tiny kitchen, pulling a pan from below the stove. “Yeah, moron,” you tell him, unable to stop the grin that catches your lips. “Eggs and salsa. Best food for staving off a hangover that I’ve found so far.”

Javi throws back the rest of his drink anyway, then comes to press his body to your side. “Is that a fact?”

“It’s a fucking science,” you counter, unable to resist slamming your hips into his to nudge him out of the way as you reach into the fridge for the butter. 

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, sinking his face into the crook of your neck. “How can I be of assistance?” he purrs into your ear, and suddenly, it’s very, very hard to concentrate on cooking. 

“Sit. Down.” You hiss, slapping his butt with a dishtowel. He yowls more than strictly necessary, the drama queen; you’re an excellent towel-popper, but it shouldn’t hurt that much. 

Still, you rub his ass in compensation, matching his lecherous grin when he fixes it on you. “Have a seat,” you tell him again, kicking a barstool vaguely in his direction. “And watch the magic.”

♠

Javi cleans his plate enthusiastically. “So what’s the secret?” he asks, mouth full, still staring up at you like your shitty scrambled eggs are the best meal he’s ever eaten.

You snort. “No secret, Peña.” You hold up your stick of butter, much lighter than it’d been before, and toss it back into the fridge. “You literally just watched me cook them.”

He grins loopily.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile. How could a man as competent and independent as Javier Peña forget to do something as basic as eat? 

Well, it hardly matters. Even with the food you’ve made, he’s going to have a massive hangover in the morning. Ana had cautioned you several times to go easy on the guaro, and you trust her judgement. Emilio’s shit, in particular, is cheap, potent, and deadly. 

Well, he’ll pay for it tomorrow. You shake you head, watching him bumble around the kitchen and drop his dirty plate in the sink. Javi stands at your side, warm and solid as you draw just enough water to let the dishes soak. 

He reaches for your dish soap, and you stop him with a hand on his arm. Javi glances down at you, still a little drunkenly, but his eyes are warm, his lips parted just slightly, and you pull away from him as if burned.

“I’ll get them in the morning,” you manage hoarsely.

He shrugs, brushes your shoulder with his hand as he bumbles away, and you take a moment to lean against the sink and calm your racing heart. 

God, what is with you lately?

Javi has already crashed on your sofa, shoes kicked off, legs sprawled, grinning lazily in your direction. 

You manage not to oogle at him, but it’s a near thing.

Instead, you flop down on his opposite side, allowing your legs to tangle in the middle.

He makes a big show of yawning, tilting his wrist up to glance at his watch. You crane your neck to look at the kitchen clock. It’s only 10:33, but you’re both feeling a little lit - Javi more than you, thankfully - and you both have a big day tomorrow. 

You sigh, reaching down to collect the empty glasses and discarded playing cards, slipping Javi’s keys in your back pocket while he’s not looking.

He scoffs.

Oh. You whirl, realizing he’d been watching you all along. 

“So, am I staying over, Ears?” He grins up at you, a little tired, but still in an excellent mood. 

“You are definitely staying over, Peña,” you tell him firmly, trying not to laugh at the wounded puppy expression on his face as he reacts to your tone. His eyes have gone so wide, pout so pathetic that you can’t help but grin, even as you toss a throw pillow haphazardly over his lap. 

That seems to get a rise out of him. He sits up, frowning at the pillow. “I’m on the sofa?” he whines. 

“Yup!’ you say happily, enjoying the power dynamic for what it is. Putting Javier Peña in your bed tonight would lead straight to…

Well, you’re both drunk, and even if you weren’t, you’re not willing to give up on your bet. Not with the nasty realization that you’d had tonight, for sure. 

Javi must follow your thoughts, because he sobers instantly. “Okay,” he says softly, settling back down and cramming the pillow beneath his shoulder.

You’re kind enough to tuck him in, which really just consists of dragging your comforter from you bed and draping it over his ass and shoulders. His boots are lying haphazardly on the floor - you decide to leave them for him to trip over in the morning - and you don’t bother to cover his feet, knowing that he sleeps with his socks outside of the blanket, the weirdo.

Just as you turn away, a single brown eye catches your gaze. He’d been watching you again.

The thought sends a tremor down your spine. “Need anything else?” you ask clinically, trying to ignore the urge to either kiss him, or scream. 

He huffs contentedly, rocking against the cushions like an animal sinking into a burrow. His eyes drift closed, and you can’t help but just notice how dark his lashes are against his cheek. “Can’t think of anything,” he murmurs, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Okay. Good night,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulder as you pass by to turn out the lights.

“Night, babe.”

You choke. Well, maybe he won’t remember. 

Fat chance. He’s drunk, but he’s not wasted. You decide to raise him, because any other response from you will be awkward, forever.

“Good night, honey,” you answer sweetly as you flick off the light. 

In the darkness, you hear him snort.

♠

author’s notes/confessions: 

I have never written Javier Peña. I have never written in second person. I have never written decent smut. I speak no Spanish. Advice and criticisms, if delivered kindly, are very welcome. 

Yeah, I realize that I wrote Javi a little lighter/goofier here than he’s probably typically depicted. Hang tight, guys. He’s not taking this seriously yet, but he will be. Just wait. 

Guaro/Aguardiente a legit Colombian liquor, and I tried to depict it as accurately as possible for never having tried it. The anise thought that reader has is a reference to absinthe, which is a trip if you’ve ever managed to acquire the real deal (something that’s kind of difficult if you live in the States, unfortunately). Also, I’m unsure if you can just walk into a pharmacy and buy liquor in Colombia, but hey, just go with it. 

This started as a conversation with Tiff and turned into... well, this. I am so, so sorry. Expect about 20k and three chapters. Probably. 

Not beta’d. you get what you get, my friends. 

At the risk of sounding pathetic, your feedback absolutely inspires me to write faster. I don’t make the rules, guys. I just write.

This installment is (mostly) complete, but I’d love to hear what you like and what you don’t, and what you want to see next. My inbox is open. I welcome messages. I want to make friends.  

Love you guys big, and happy holidays to those of you who are celebrating!

[nctsworld]

pedal to the metal

✩ jaemin x reader | mall au | arcade attendant!jaemin | fluff | 3.3k

SUMMARY ⇾ when the claw machine eats your money, jaemin, the cute arcade attendant, offers to play a game with you in lieu of a refund. little does he expect you to beat him. | based off of @mistymark​​’s nct mall employees post WARNINGS ⇾ fluff, bit of angst, jaemin is competitive, kissing in the epilogue     RATING ⇾ teen+ 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t share or repost without credit!

Leaning over the glass counter filled with endless prizes, Jaemin holds out two large plushies, one in each of his hands. 

“Pikachu or Spongebob?” He swivels his head to them individually before beaming down at the little girl in front of him. 

With the alternating supervision of her parents, she’s been one of the recent regulars at the arcade and finally saved up enough tickets fo a decent prize, deciding to cash them in today. Her face lights up and targets in on one particular plushie, already inching towards it with open hands. 

“Pikachu, Pikachu!” she squeals. 

The worker’s smile deepens, “Great choice. Couldn’t have picked better myself.” 

He laughs airily as she squeezes Pikachu like it’s the last thing she’ll ever love, bouncing up and down with joy. Today, the girl’s mom is with her and she holds her ecstatic daughter close to her leg, rubbing her arm warmly. 

“So I guess I’ll see you two next week?” Jaemin asks. 

“If she gets over Pikachu as fast as she did with Olaf, then probably yes,” the mom replies with a defeated head shake. “Thanks again, Jaemin. Say bye to the nice boy.” 

“Bye, Jaemin!” 

The mother and daughter wave good-bye with wide smiles, as did Jaemin. Giving prizes out and seeing the delightful reactions on the recipient’s face was one of the best parts of his job. 

Oh, and so was being able to play all the arcade games for free. 

For Jaemin, being the arcade attendant at the local mall was a dream come true. He was once in the same place as the little girl—always coming to the same arcade every day after school. Although he loved winning prizes (who doesn’t?), he also prided himself in being the best at every game, knowing all the secrets and strategies like the back of his hand. Dance Dance Revolution, Street Fighter, Beatmania, Time Crisis, Super Bike, Pac-Man… You name it, and Jaemin can wipe the floor with anybody. It’s why none of his friends liked to play the games with him, but they still had fun nonetheless.

“That girl is insane!” Chenle exclaims with a point of his thumb, strolling up to the counter. He’s one of Jaemin’s many friends and an everyday mall-goer. Jisung comes up next to him, also a friend and works at the mall’s McDonald’s. The mall was really a second home to them all. 

Jisung bobs his head in disbelief. Then, he turns to face their worker friend. 

“You’ve gotta admit she’s really good, right?” 

The lanky figure cocks an eyebrow. “What are you guys talking about? I was busy giving out a prize to someone.” 

The shortest individual of the three widens his eyes. “There was a girl who was just playing Super Bike. She kept kicking everyone’s ass, even us.”

Jisung nods fervently, “I was telling Chenle that she’s probably as good as you, maybe even better.” 

Jaemin scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “No one can beat me at Super Bike, you both know that.” 

“You haven’t seen her play, though…” Chenle sighs dreamily, perching his chin into his palms, as he drifts off into space and replays the gameplay in his mind. 

“I don’t know, Jaemin,” Jisung shrugs. He absentmindedly fiddles with the bundle of tickets left by the little girl. “It’s about time someone beat you at one of the games.” 

Suddenly, Jaemin snatches the tickets from his hands, startling the younger boy. Said younger boy glances up to meet a pair of slitted, burning eyes. In an instant, Jaemin’s eyes melt and a cocky expression flashes by.  

“Like I always say, I never lose.” 

He begins to count the tickets, but the thought of someone being better than him makes him lose track. 

After he finishes counting the tickets, he casually checks-up on the motorcycle racing simulator to see what all the fuss was about. To his disappointment, he is met with a young boy, playing by himself.  

Jaemin makes a mental note to keep an eye and ear out for this mystery Super Bike girl.  

A few days pass. You’re at the mall by yourself to kill some time and to procrastinate on studying. You spent a while at the bookstore already, so you decide to do something a little more fun. 

At the bustling arcade, you’re quickly drawn towards the claw machine with the mountain of plushies. You know the odds of winning are low, but one round couldn’t hurt. Placing your money into the claw machine, you begin to fiddle with the joystick. However, nothing’s moving. 

Your face crinkles in confusion, so you add money again, thinking that maybe it was a one-time fluke. Nope, definitely not a fluke because the claw still doesn’t work. You’re now two dollars down and you didn’t even get the chance to play.  

Walking around the arcade, you try to find a worker, but to no avail. You stand in front of the glass counter, waiting for an attendant. While waiting, you’re peering at all the variety of prizes to be won and wish you were skilled and patient enough to obtain such things. It’s no wonder why the claw machine drew you in, at least that game filled you with a false sense of a fast and easy win.   

After finishing a supervising round in the arcade, Jaemin notices a girl at the front counter. Actually, scratch that, a stunning girl—one that he hasn’t seen in the arcade before. He’d definitely remember you if you had. The ends of his mouth stretch and he strides towards you with a wind of confidence.

“Hi, do you need help with something?” 

Jolting slightly, you’re taken aback by both the handsome figure and the question. You saw him earlier at one of the games, but it never crossed your mind that such a young, attractive guy like that would be the resident arcade attendant. You subconsciously do a double take, eyeing him up and down, causing Jaemin’s grin to become more cheeky.

“Hi, yeah,” You point to where you were previously. “I was trying the claw machine and it took my money, but it didn’t let me play any rounds.” 

“Oh?” He scrunches his face and heads toward the machine. You follow behind. “We just fixed it a few weeks ago, that’s weird.” 

At the claw machine, Jaemin feels around the machine, checking on the knobs and buttons, and even places a coin into it to test out your claim. He tinkers with the joystick, and realizes you’re right; the machine’s only taking money without allowing any plays. 

So he kicks it. Hard.  

You break out into a chortle. “Does that actually help?” 

“Always works like a charm.” 

Another kick, and more chortling. 

Jaemin shifts his head towards you and places a hand on his chest. His eyes waver, searching around him as if someone would be listening, and lowers his voice in a hush. 

“I’m a secret machine whisperer, you gotta trust me,” he says with a small wink, and you trust him by standing back and resuming to observe him with a fluttering heart.  

The attendant tries the machine with money once more, but the kicking evidently didn’t help. This only leads Jaemin to increase the intervals of his kicking. Soon, kicking evolves into desperately shaking the contraption.  

Bemused and shaking your head, you comment, “I don’t think your whispering is working very well.” 

He attempts one last time, but to nobody’s surprise, it fails. He tapes an out of order sign onto the glass. With hands on his hips, he exhales a lengthy sigh.  

“Sorry for your lost money. I can give you a refund.”

“Aw, no. It’s okay, it was only a couple of bucks. I was more so looking forward to playing the game, really.” 

A lightbulb goes off in Jaemin’s head. 

“Did you wanna play a game with me to make up for it instead?” 

Although he enunciates the question slowly, cautious of your reply and potential rejection, there’s a contrasting smug expression on his face. Your teeth tug at your bottom lip, about to answer, but then you pout.  

“Aren’t you working right now though?” 

Jaemin shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s kind of slow at the moment and I can argue that I’m maintaining the game.”

“Like what you were just doing with the claw machine?” 

“Exactly.” 

Both of you laugh in unison, gazes converging together. If only the strong sparks flying between you two could somehow fix the claw machine... but then again, you would’ve never had a reason to speak to the beautiful boy in the first place. 

“Sure, what game did you have in mind?” 

Tapping a finger on his chin, Jaemin runs the possibilities in his head. What’s a game that he can easily impress you with his skills, but is also equally fun for you to play? 

“Super Bike?” he offers. 

You nod with a small smile, “Okay, lead the way.” 

Thankfully, as the two of you arrive at the game, no one’s currently playing. You jump onto the left motorcycle, while Jaemin gets onto the right. He enjoys how you cutely sway back and forth, accustoming yourself to the fake motorbike. He gives you a quick breakdown of the controls, and tells you to focus only on the gas and brake since he’ll choose automatic transmission to make things easier for you. You hum with puffed cheeks, ready to play. 

Following Jaemin’s choices of the easiest map level and transmission settings, the race immediately starts. 

Jaemin can play Super Bike in his sleep, so he starts off the first half of the lap with his eyes on his screen, then for the second half, he looks over at you for a few moments. You’re glued to your screen. The glint in your eyes sparkles with pure amusement and an edge of competitiveness. He breathes in the enticing sight, especially as you bite your lip with heightened focus. 

But then, flashes of red flare upon your face. Jaemin’s heart knocks nervously at his chest because the flashes are coming from the sign above your screen with the words ”RACE LEADER”. He’s dragged straight into the match again, not wanting to lose.  

“Have you played this before?” he shouts over the background noises and music. 

“Only a few times,” you shrug lightly. Your eyebrows raise as Jaemin catches up, trailing almost nose to nose with the end of your motorcycle, yet the finish line is approaching fast. Narrowing your eyes, you accelerate and curve around the last bit of the map without struggle. Before you know it, you reach the finish line right before Jaemin does. 

As the first place win radiates from your screen, you pump your arms in the air and remove yourself from the bike. 

On the other hand, Jaemin’s gaze is stuck on the screen, jaw hanging. The big two taunts him with every flicker.  

“Well, that was fun. Thanks for the game—” 

You’re about to ask for his name, but his odd reaction catches you off-guard. You take a step closer to him until someone cries out:   

“That’s Super Bike girl!”

Swinging your head towards the origin of the cry, you see a boy jog over with a wave of his index finger. Chenle’s voice breaks the arcade attendant out of his frozen state. Jaemin whips his head towards you, still on the motorbike.   

“You’re Super Bike girl?!” he echoes, eyebrows knitted. 

“I already have a nickname around here?” you giggle. “I only played this game once a few days ago.” 

Chenle asks him, “Did Biker Girl beat you?” 

Jaemin avoids the inquiry, darting his eyes and pressing his lips together tightly. The friend passes the question onto you with owl eyes, and you shyly nod. 

“Oh, my God, and I missed it?!” He huffs in disappointment, but then recollects himself as he takes a few steps toward you. 

“Are you free after seven to come back and play again? Our friends need to witness this. This is history in the making.” 

Immediately, Jaemin shoots daggers into Chenle. The daggers definitely have profanities written all over. You catch a glimpse of Jaemin and can practically read every word.  

“Uhm,” you lower your voice, despite the fact Jaemin can still hear you. “Your friend looks pretty pissed. I feel kinda bad to just come back to beat him in front of people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about feeling bad,” the attendant’s friend waves his hand carelessly. “He always makes us feel bad when he constantly brags about how he’s the best at every game in here.” 

“Is that so?” You glance at the boy on the bike with a new perspective. You could definitely see this guy as cocky, but maybe he’s still sweet underneath the exterior. You also wouldn’t mind seeing him once more before you head home, and now you had a reason. 

“Well, count me in. I’ll be back at seven on the dot.” 

With a flutter of your fingers, you say your temporary good-byes to the pair of boys and head out of the arcade. Jaemin finally props himself off the motorbike, getting back to work.   

Passing by Chenle, he half-jokingly seethes, “I hate you,” into his ear. 

Without a care in the world, Chenle frantically messages their group chat to come by the mall later to witness the match of a lifetime. 

“Hey, did I miss it?” Mark pants as he puts an arm around Jeno from behind. 

“No, you got here right on time. Super Bike girl should be coming any time soon.” 

On the backend of the motorbike, Jaemin sits at the edge of it, studying the modest crowd around the racing simulator. Along with Jisung and Chenle, several of Jaemin’s other close friends are here to cheer for his downfall. For those who aren’t there, his friends are equipped with their phones in hand, ready to record the monumental event. 

Weaving through the crowd with mumbles of “Excuse me’s,” you reach your destination and appear in front of the arcade worker. 

The rising buzz of the crowd fades from your ears and into the background within his presence. You melt at him looking so coolly, bending over the motorbike with folded arms, and give him a warm smile. 

“Just because you’ve got a sweet smile, it doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you.” 

You playfully drop your mouth as the people around “Ooooh” in harmony. Your tongue is pressed against your lower teeth as Jaemin spins himself to the front of the bike. You get onto your previous seat from hours ago, grasping onto the fake vehicle as if you owned it.

You watch Jaemin enter the settings in. He’s not underestimating you this time and he executes his promise of not going easy on you—the hardest map and manual transmission are chosen, signaling you to really bring your A-game for this round.    

At first, the match is tight. You’re practically side by side on the map, even having the occasional opportunity to push him off track and vice-versa. Changing up techniques, as the second lap rings in, you switch transmission gears and ease on the brake for a brief moment, hugging the curve of the map. 

With that move, the red light flashes above him. Jaemin believes, no, he knows he’s going to win. Sweet victory is on the tip of his tongue, he can taste it. Ten seconds are left on the clock, ten seconds left until he beats you and continues to reign king of the game.

But, you suddenly speed past him and the game’s over before he can properly process it.  

The screams surrounding you engulf the entirety of the arcade.

Jaemin’s mouth is on the floor as he realizes he lost. 

No, his mouth is six feet under because you’re currently entering a nickname into the all-time best rankings. You beat Jaemin’s time on the map, seizing the new first place rank for the game. 

Everyone circles you in congratulations, but your eyes are honed in on one individual in the crowd. He hops off the bike, brushes past the crowd, and escapes to the counter, continuing his shift like nothing happened. Hastily, you go after him and find him crouching down behind the glass. He’s unpacking boxes filled with what you assume are prizes. 

On your forearms, you lean over the glass counter. “Hey, when does your shift end?” 

Your assumption is answered as you see him restock some of the plushies in the transparent container underneath you. 

“Why do you want to know? So you can beat me again at another game?” he grumbles, the bitterness blatant in his voice. Nevertheless, you persist. 

“‘Cause Super Bike girl wants to get to know the cute Arcade Boy she met today over dinner.” 

He pauses and his eyebrows perk up at the words cute and dinner in the same sentence. His ego is still sore, but he’ll bite.    

“Is it a date?” he presses further with a disinterested tone, continuing to move the items.  

You drag your bottom lip up, drumming your fingers slowly against the glass. 

“Only if you want it to be.” 

Your words bandage his sore ego quickly, but he wants to bathe in his pity a little while longer. He twists his mouth, fighting against the urge to show you his teeth.  

The boy stands up and leans over the counter too. He’s greeted by your strong aura, yet it doesn’t completely reach your eyes; your gaze is soft and gentle. “I get off at nine, so it’s pretty late.” 

“That’s okay. I can play games until then—” 

You peel yourself off from the glass and properly introduce yourself, holding your hand out. He glances at it for a second, then at your tender look. He gives in and can't help himself from grinning. The arcade attendant reaches for your hand and reciprocates the shake.  

“I’m Jaemin.”  

That day, Jaemin learned that losing at the arcade games wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

EPILOGUE 

Clutching onto Jaemin’s waist underneath his leather jacket with your chin resting on his shoulder, you’re swaying side by side with him on the racing game that brought you two together. It’s his day off today, and both of you thought it’d be cute to spend some time at the arcade before the movie showing later that evening. 

“Ease on the gas!” you dictate. He rolls his eyes at your backseat driving.    

“No, it’s too early!” he protests and goes against your advice, accelerating further. When that makes him go off-road a bit, you sigh smugly while he groans meekly. 

“See, and this is why I’m better at Super Bike than you,” you tease before pecking a kiss on his cheek. Tingles rise to his cheeks.

“Yeah, but I’ve played this game a lot longer than you.” It’s the second lap and he’s inching towards the finish line.  

“Yeah, but who holds the record?” 

After he speeds through it, the list of the best times roll onto the screen. Your nickname still stands proudly at number one from the day you asked him out on a date. 

Jaemin smiles at the not-so far memory. He then twists and extends his neck over his shoulder, sharing a sweet kiss with you. Your grip around his waist tightens, your fingers sinking into his skin. His palm raises and cups your face, deepening the kiss.    

Breaking away for a moment, he says, “Yeah, well, I’m the better kisser.” 

You sweep your nose against his. “That’s up for debate…” 

Your lips meet once more lovingly.  

“Can you guys stop making out in the arcade again?” Jisung groans. “Kids are here, you know. Like me.” 

Chenle cuts in, “I thought you were glad someone beat Jaemin for once.”

“I mean, yeah, but I didn’t expect the same person to have her tongue constantly down his throat!” 

Still lip-locked, Jaemin and you smile into the next kisses from their remarks while Jisung and Chenle run off to play another game, far away from the new couple.