#gold bangles images

[maehwajuuuu-chu]

Varesa Redesign! (Extra Notes Below!)

Rahh, as soon as I saw her in-game design, I started sketching out some ideas. I adore pastel strong girls (I have an genshin oc in that category myself - she has braids like Varesa actually! Which was why I was excited when I saw her silhouette in the to-be-released genshin character silhouette announcement), but I was definitely quite iffy with her design ngl - it did feel a bit like a vtuber design to me at least (I used her splashart as a reference for her pose btw hehe :D)

Her beaded belt, earring, necklace and bangle is based off Zulu jewellery (as seen in the inspo sheet) as her name 'Varesa', is most likely Zulu fertility goddess Mbaba Mwana Waresa. Her pleated skirt is also based off the skirt used in Zulu traditional attire (I forgot to add the image in the inspiration sheet, but feel free to look it up!). Her overall design is a lot more flamboyant, as she is based off luche libre wrestlers and outfits generally used in luche libre are often quite bright and bold. I replaced the knitted sleeves with arm sleeves that are used more in luche libre outfits! I also added some body sparkles to her thigh and put on face makeup over her eye, which is reminiscent of the luchador mask (this was inspired by a makeup look I found online - as seen in the image collection). I kept some aspects of her original design, such as the gold mask on her belt, her luchador mask and her hair accessories! I aimed to mix both aspects of Zulu and luche libre attire for Varesa! I moved her cardigan aspect to her pyjamas, as it seems more fitting to have something soft and cozy in a time of rest rather than fights. Honestly, I was first confused why a knitted/crocheted aspect was incorporated into Varesa's design, until I read this thread by @/astrunaria, which had pointed out her arm warmers were likely inspired by Randa (Mexican crocheting). I used the patterns from Diego Armando Juarez Viveros' crocheted Tlapetlantli piece as an inspiriation and reference for the patterns on Varesa's cardigan/jacket (please do look into his works, they look rather fantastic - he is a tapestry crochet artist!). I designed a rough sketch of Varesa being in a different outfit for farming...cause well why not honestly haha (also her farming aspect and fighting aspect are so different that I honestly wished hyv would design different outfits)

Overall, I hope y'all do enjoy these redesigns! If there is any improvements I can make to these designs, please do tell me! However, if you cannot provide constructive criticism and only have a negative view on these redesigns, please do not interact with this post and move on!!

[beansprean]

Is now a good time to post this one

Prints available on Redbubble!

Support me on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Full body of Nandor, dressed in a fine buckled tunic and fur overcoat, lounging in an ornate persian-style throne. Guillermo is sitting on the ground between his knees, facing the audience with his knees tucked under him and his head tipped back with a confident and seductive expression, lips parted in the subtlest of smiles. His left arm is draped casually over Nandor's left thigh and his right is gripping Nandor's right thigh from beneath. Over his usual sweater and chinos, Guillermo is draped in finery: a fluffy fur cape, chunky jeweled rings on nearly every finger, gold and turquoise bangles on his wrists, dangling boteh earrings, and a gold chain diadem dripping with garnet stones haphazardly draped over his head. There is a flood of necklaces spilling down his chest: a gold choker, a small turquoise stone collar, a large gold usekh collar, turquoise beads, gold beads, pearl beads, and dozens of beaded bangles with garnet, azurite, pearl, and other precious gems. Nandor, left elbow draped over the arm of his throne, is gazing down at Guillermo with an affectionate and satisfied smile, gently stroking his cheek with the back of his right hand.

2. Same image, cropped to just their faces. /end ID

[quarterlifekitty]

I'm begging with all the devotion I can muster PLEASSEEEEEE write part two for the goddess reader its such a unique creative concept that was written so well for being so short the people NEED it thank you for your service 🙏🏽

here's a little something something. Also, not really a content warning, but I feel the need to mention: I write intimacy/romance like a freak

cw: non-graphic sexual intimacy, mentioned death of a child

You can only appear to your devoted one through significant offerings. Trapped in the realm of the gods, you are powerless for as long as you lay forgotten by mankind. You tell König that his love is what gives you power.

His usual gifts to you are fruits and jewelry. At the end of his battles, he collects the gear of the fallen– armor, weapons, shields– and has it all melted down. He commissions the best craftsmen to create delicate chains, cameos in your image, beautiful bangles engraved with processions of animals. Rabbits are his favorite to adorn your altar with– representing luck, quickness, numbers… fertility.

His favorite piece for you is a hair pin. He had it made from the guard of a sword he pulled from some foreign noble– embedded with small jewels and molded leaves. He loves to see it glitter in the light as you turn to see him with that inspiring smile when he comes to visit.

Your temple features an impluvium– a tiled pool for catching rainwater. It’s purified from your influence, he’s drank from it many times. And one day, he sees your stolla neatly draped on your pedestal. Gold and silver are the only things decorating your ample form as you relax in the cool water, beckoning him forth like a nymph. He’s never shed his things more quickly.

He’s had women before. Paid women. Women whose time had a price– who wanted him to take what he wanted and leave quickly. He’s an efficient man, and it was never a problem for him, he understood that there was no room for true intimacy in a brothel.

You treat König to something so different it’s almost antithetical. It’s tantric, cool and warm at the same time, as many square inches of your skin pressed to his as possible. You are entwined. He could swear his flesh feels wedded to yours. To part from you would be death– to be alone in his own body.

The last time a person’s touch made him feel beautiful, he was a boy holding the hand of a girl, the young daughter of the man who owned the farm his family worked on. They were children when she died. He has felt robbed, alone, and abandoned ever since. You crack him open by the sternum and climb in between his ribs the same way that she once did. He would die for you and fight his way back from the underworld to die for you again.

[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella x fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 10.4K

Warnings: Non explicit smut, and sexual harassment (non explicit: it is a hand on the thigh but it does warrant a warning I think). So as always minors DNI xo

A/N: apologises this took so long! Work and life has been hectic but I should be back to updating more regularly and for those who enjoy my Agatha works, I have quite a few things to publish soon xo 💜🪻

The morning air is already thick with heat, the Mediterranean sun beating down mercilessly on the yacht's upper deck. The brunch plates have been cleared, fresh drinks poured, and now the group is settling, finding their places in the slow, indulgent rhythm of the day.

Duke, unsurprisingly, has stripped down to his swim trunks and is doing laps in the pool, his massive frame cutting through the water with precise, practiced strokes. Every time he reaches the edge, he stops for just a second to glance over at the side of the deck where his gun sits, gleaming in the sun, like he can’t stand the idea of being too far away from it. Like it’s an extension of himself, something he needs within reach to feel whole.

Peg is hunched over her laptop, her bucket hat pulled low, shielding her face from the sun as she furiously types away, looking like a stark contrast to the scene around her. Her legs are pulled up onto the sunbed, bare knees pressed together, her fingers flying across the keyboard with stressed efficiency.

Birdie, on the other hand, is a fucking spectacle.

Living up to her namesake, she is absolutely peacocking, standing near a sun lounger, posing like she’s waiting for someone to paint her rather than just exist in the space. She’s draped in a swimsuit so needlessly complicated that it looks more like an avant-garde fashion piece than something meant for swimming. Her hair is perfectly styled, makeup flawless despite the heat, and she’s decked out in more jewelry than necessary- chunky gold bangles stacked up her arms, oversized hoops catching the light, rings weighing down her fingers. And, of course, she’s in heels.

High heels by a pool? You try not to think too hard about it.

Lionel is sprawled out on a lounger, sunglasses perched on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. His posture is relaxed, but the stress radiates off of him, his fingers twitching slightly, like he needs something to do, something to focus on. You can practically hear his brain working overtime, even though he’s technically supposed to be relaxing.

And then there’s Whisky.

She’s walking across the deck with slow, deliberate movements, every step purposeful, every inch of her oozing that lazy, confident sex appeal that makes it clear she knows exactly how she looks.

She makes her way over to Miles, who has picked up an acoustic guitar of all things, strumming lazily, looking insufferably pleased with himself. The image of it is enough to make your skin crawl: Miles Bron, billionaire, tech “genius,” barefoot on the deck of his fucking yacht, playing guitar like he’s some soulful artist just waiting to be discovered.

Whisky drapes herself over the back of the couch he’s perched on, her fingers trailing over his shoulders as he plays, and you tear your eyes away before you have to see him eat up the attention.

Instead, you focus on Claire.

You find her sitting stiffly beside you, eyes locked onto something across the deck, a very specific look settling over her features, the slight furrow of her brows, the way her lips press together, the subtle way her fingers twitch against her knee.

You follow her gaze and… oh, of course, she’s staring at Peg’s laptop.

You frown. “Oh, no. No way,” you say immediately, turning to face her fully, voice firm.

Claire blinks, like she wasn’t aware she’d been caught, turning her attention back to you. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence.

You narrow your eyes. “Baby.”

She huffs, shifting slightly, but doesn’t deny it. “I was just thinking I could-”

“No.”

“Just a few-”

“No, baby. No.” You shift onto your knees, leaning in closer, placing both hands on her cheeks dramatically. “You promised. No work this weekend.”

She sighs, her hands coming to rest on your thighs as she looks up at you, something playful tugging at her lips.

“I know, but-”

You pout.

Claire pauses.

You know what you’re doing, you know she hates when you pout, that it wrecks her every time.

“I never get this much time with you away from your laptop at home,” you continue, voice soft, a little wounded, pushing just enough to make her feel it.

She exhales sharply, her grip tightening on your thighs, like she wants to argue, wants to say just one email, just one quick check-in, but she can’t. Because she knows you’re right. And you know she hates disappointing you.

So she groans, tilting her head back dramatically. “Fine,” she relents. “No work.”

You beam, kissing her quickly. “That’s my girl.”

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head as she pulls you back into her lap, her arms wrapping around you completely, like she’s trying to prove she’s really, fully present with you.

And for the first time all morning, you feel like you can actually relax.

The sun glints off Birdie’s oversized sunglasses as she pushes them down her nose, appraising you and Claire with a slow, deliberate sweep of her eyes. The expression on her face shifts almost instantly, first with mild intrigue, then thinly veiled irritation as her gaze lands on you.

It’s subtle, but you see it, that tiny, involuntary twitch of her lips, the way her brows tighten ever so slightly.

It’s your youth, your freshness. It bothers her. You’re effortlessly radiant, still glowing from the morning’s laziness, from Claire’s kisses, from the unbothered softness of being utterly wanted without having to ask for it.

And Birdie knows it.

But, of course, she doesn’t comment on you. No, you’re not the target here. She turns to Claire instead, sliding her sunglasses off completely, flashing a too-wide, saccharine smile.

“Oh, Claire,” she coos, voice dripping with manufactured sweetness, “you look so cute.”

You arch an eyebrow, shifting slightly in Claire’s lap to look at Birdie properly, but Claire doesn’t even hesitate, she just deadpans right back at her and gives her the finger.

Birdie gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. “God, rude.”

You smirk, a little proud, but then a better idea hits you.

Birdie thinks she can just throw little jabs and keep moving, that her beauty, her legendary status, means she never has to sit in that discomfort herself. Maybe it’s time she gets a taste of her own medicine. You shift, tilting your head just so, letting your lips curl into something sweet, saccharine, but pointed.

“Oh, doesn’t she?” you say, voice light, airing on thoughtful, as you turn to Claire instead.

You drag your fingers along Claire’s shoulder, watching her eyes slightly darken at the touch, and then smile as you continue:

“Always so elegant and sexy,” you say, voice slipping into something deliberate, something knowing, “she doesn’t even have to try.”

You feel Claire react, the subtle shift of her muscles, the way her hands tighten just slightly around your waist.

Birdie’s expression hardens. It’s quick, the way her lips purse, the way her perfectly arched brows pull just a little, but you catch it. Not that she has time to say anything, because you keep going.

“Not that trying really hard is a bad thing, Birdie,” you add, still smiling, still so fucking sweet, “I mean, you’ve obviously spent hours on this, uh…” you gesture vaguely, taking in the chaotic swimsuit, the towering heels, the excessive accessories. “…ensemble.”

Claire chokes on a laugh.

Birdie’s jaw tightens.

Your smile widens, eyes glinting as you deliver the final blow. “You look cute, though,” you say easily. Then, after a beat, “Adorable, even.”

Birdie glares.

Claire loses it.

She actually snorts, a rare, genuine sound of amusement, before she hooks her arms around you, pulling you straight into her lap on the sun lounger.

You laugh as she presses a quick, gratified kiss against your temple, murmuring “Fucking love you” into your hair as you hand her the glass of white wine you had been holding.

You settle against her, draping yourself in her warmth, and let yourself relax.

Because here’s the thing, you never put other women down, you don’t believe in it. But Birdie Jay? Birdie needs to learn that messing with Claire means messing with you, and that’s a mistake she will always regret.

You sigh, fully melting into Claire’s arms, letting her warmth wrap around you as you rest against her chest. The midday sun is relentless, the heat seeping into your skin, making everything feel hazy, lazy, but Claire’s fingers, tracing soft, idle patterns up and down your bare back, keep you grounded. She smells like suntan lotion and white wine, and when you glance up at her, she’s already looking elsewhere, her sharp eyes locked onto Whisky.

Whisky, who is currently draped over Miles, her toned, bronzed legs curled over his lap, her manicured fingers trailing up and down his chest as she giggles at something he’s said.

It’s the fakest laugh you’ve ever heard.

Claire huffs softly.

You grin. “Oh, come on,” you murmur, just loud enough for her to hear. You tilt your head, resting your chin against her collarbone, eyes gleaming as you press closer. “It’s so obvious, right?”

Claire hums, still watching them, her fingers slowing as she absently traces the line of your spine. “I know,” she mutters, voice low with disbelief. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”

You giggle. “You’ve been a little preoccupied, baby.”

She smirks at that, but her eyes stay on Whisky, her brows furrowing just slightly. “I just…” she exhales, shifting, adjusting you in her lap, her free hand reaching for her wine glass. “I wonder what she’s really getting out of this. I mean, what could possibly be worth having to act like Miles is desirable?”

You snort. “Not his billions?”

Claire scoffs, taking a sip of wine. “You couldn’t pay me enough.”

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh. “I think the second he pulled out his acoustic guitar, I’d lose it.”

Claire actually groans. “Jesus, don’t remind me of that. He thinks he’s fucking John Lennon.”

That sends you giggling, tucking your face into her shoulder as she shakes her head, lifting her glass again.

“God,” she mutters, “she must have the patience of a saint.”

You pull back, still grinning, and glance over at Duke, who is sitting at the edge of the pool, watching Whisky with open pride. His gun, because of course he brought it, rests beside him within arms reach, like being too far away from it would kill him.

Claire follows your gaze and sighs. “And Duke,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I mean, I know he’s a meathead, but I’m still… God, I’m so disappointed in him.”

She tightens her hold on you slightly, shifting as she moves her wine glass to the table beside her. “I’d never pimp my partner out to get something. I don’t care what it is.”

You smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, you sure?” you tease, tilting your head, your lips brushing against her jaw as you murmur, “You don’t wanna rent me out for Senate?”

Claire stills.

And then… she growls. It’s low, deep in her throat, as she immediately turns, shifting so quickly that you let out a surprised squeak. Her hands move fast, one gripping your waist, the other sliding down, fingers digging into your ass as she pulls you into her.

“Don’t even joke about that,” she mutters, voice dangerously low.

Then she kisses you. It’s not soft, it’s claiming. Possessive. Her fingers dig in, pressing you down hard against her, and you gasp, lips parting as she deepens the kiss.

“You’re mine,” she murmurs against your mouth, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Your head spins. You can’t help the breathy little moan you let out, or the way your fingers tangle in her hair, or how you immediately tilt your head to chase her lips when she pulls back, just slightly.

“I know, Mommy,” you whisper.

And fuck, her eyes go dark. She groans, kissing you again, slower this time, her hands smoothing up your back, her grip still firm but gentle, grounding herself in you, needing you close.

And honestly?

You love it.

The sun was relentless, pressing down on your skin in thick, golden waves. The day had barely begun, yet the air was already heavy, swollen with heat and tension that had nothing to do with the weather. You’d curled yourself into Claire’s side, letting her fingers trace lazy patterns along your spine, her touch grounding you, anchoring you to this moment.

“Claire.”

Lionel’s voice was quiet, almost careful.

You didn’t move immediately, still curled against Claire’s side, your lips brushing against the warm slope of her shoulder. But you felt the way her entire body tensed beneath you, the way the soft circling of her fingers stilled against your back, as if bracing herself.

You turned your head just enough to look at Lionel, sunglasses shielding his eyes, but his mouth was set in a firm line. His fingers tapped against the condensation on his glass.

“How are you feeling?”

The words might have seemed harmless to anyone else, a polite check-in after a night of drinking, a casual question between friends. But you weren’t just anyone else. You knew exactly what he meant. It had nothing to do with Claire’s hangover.

It had everything to do with Andi.

With the court case.

With the weight of what they’d agreed to do for Miles.

Even if you hadn’t been privy to all of the discussions, hadn’t been included in all the hushed, conspiratorial conversations that happened behind closed doors, you still knew. Because it was written all over Claire’s face. And Lionel’s.

They were the two most moral people in the group. The ones who should have been the first to walk away. The ones who, in any other scenario, wouldn’t have let themselves be backed into a corner like this. But instead, they were here. They were staying. They were testifying.

And you knew it was eating them alive.

The moment stretched between them, thick and suffocating. So you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Claire’s lips, trying to ease some of the tension gripping her body. You pulled back just slightly, brushing your thumb over her cheekbone.

She blinked, brows drawing together, concern creeping into her expression. You already knew what she was thinking. That maybe you felt pushed out. That maybe she wasn’t being a good enough partner to you, too caught up in her own shit to be fully present with you.

But you just gave her a small smile. “You and Lionel talk, baby.”

Claire’s frown deepened, searching your face, as if trying to make sure you really meant it.

You did.

You knew she needed to talk to someone about this. And Lionel was the only one who truly understood what she was going through.

She exhaled softly, her lips parting just slightly as she mouthed thank you before turning to Lionel.

You stood, stretching slightly, feeling the heat of the sun immediately settle against your skin.

You needed a drink. Something cold. Something that might help quiet the buzzing in your head, the unease curling in your stomach. As you walked toward the bar, you caught a glimpse of Claire and Lionel slipping into the infinity pool, the two of them drifting toward the far edge, the part where the water met the sky, where they could talk without worrying about being overheard.

You swallowed, jaw tightening. You hated this for her. Hated that she was carrying this. That she even had to make this choice. But you also knew she wouldn’t let you carry any of it for her. She was protecting you. Even if it hurt.

You reached the bar, stepping under the large umbrella and relishing the brief relief from the heat. The bartender glanced at you, wiping his hands on a towel before leaning forward slightly.

“What can I get you?”

You hesitated, considering. Something light. Something that wouldn’t add to the already growing nausea in your gut. “Just a pineapple juice, please.”

The bartender gave a short nod, turning to grab a glass when you felt it. A presence behind you. Too close. A hand on your waist that wasn’t Claire’s. Wrong.

Before your brain could fully register what was happening, you heard his voice, low, casual, friendly.

“Oh no, no, no,” Miles chuckled, his fingers pressing just slightly against the soft skin of your hip, too close to the knot of your bikini bottoms. “You have to try the Cuban Breeze. It’s so good. That was the drink that got us on the no-fly list at St. Barts.”

Your whole body locked up.

The heat of the sun suddenly felt suffocating.

Too hot. Too much.

You weren’t a stranger to touch. You liked being touched by Claire. By people you were comfortable with. People who had earned the right to put their hands on you.

But this?

Miles’ touch felt wrong.

It wasn’t overtly inappropriate, but it was just enough to set off every single alarm bell in your body.

Your heart started hammering, your stomach twisting as a sharp wave of unease rolled through you.

The urge to yank his hand off of you, to push him away, was immediate. But you hesitated, your mind racing. You knew exactly how dangerous Miles Bron was. You knew exactly what he was capable of. He could ruin Claire. Could ruin her campaign. Could ruin everything she had spent her entire career working toward.

And after last night, after the veiled threats and the barely concealed gloating, you knew better than to put a target on your back.

So you forced yourself to stay still.

You forced yourself to swallow the nausea rising in your throat, to keep your voice steady as you reached for the drink he was offering.

You barely looked at him.

Didn’t meet his eyes, didn’t give him anything.

Just took the glass, gripped it tight, and stepped away from his orbit, you from him. Your entire body felt cold, even as the sun blazed down on you. You needed to get back to Claire.

Now.

The ice in the glass clinked softly as you walked back to your sun lounger, the condensation slipping between your fingers as you lightly sipped at the ridiculously gaudy drink Miles had pushed into your hands.

It was absurdly overdone, chunks of pineapple bobbing at the surface, a skewer of bright red maraschino cherries resting precariously on the rim, and, as if that weren’t enough, a cheap plastic straw adorned with a fake parrot, its tiny beady eyes staring blankly at you.

You barely tasted the drink itself, the lingering unease from your interaction at the bar curling like smoke in your stomach. You needed to breathe, needed to sit down. Needed Claire.

Because Miles had touched you. And now, even as you walked, the phantom weight of his hand on your waist still lingered like an oil stain, seeping under your skin, impossible to scrub away.

Your sun lounger was waiting, shaded slightly from the relentless midday sun. You settled down, adjusting your wrap skirt, crossing your legs as you tried to will the tension from your shoulders. You weren’t going to let this ruin your day.

You’d just sit here, sip your ridiculous drink, and wait for Claire to finish her conversation with Lionel and come back to you.

But then you heard him. Again.

Miles’ voice, still that same casual, easy-going tone, as if he hadn’t just made your entire body lock up at the bar.

“So,” he started, walking up behind you, the sound of his bare feet padding against the deck making your stomach tighten. “Been getting any writing done on this trip?”

You took another slow sip of the Cuban Breeze, barely reacting before you calmly responded, “No. Claire and I agreed not to do any work while we’re here.”

It wasn’t a lie. It also wasn’t the whole truth. Because even if you wanted to write, there was no way you’d be able to focus, not with this group. Not with the stress and the constant, looming reminder of what Claire had agreed to do for Miles.

Miles hummed as if considering your words. “I like that,” he mused, stepping further into your space, his shadow briefly passing over you. “I respect that. Work-life balance, that’s important. But listen…”

He sat down across from you, too close, the movement making your body tense involuntarily.

“I’ve been on the phone with some high-profile publishing houses,” he said, flashing that Miles Bron™ smile, the one that was meant to be charming but just felt like a sales pitch. “They’re very interested.”

You blinked at him, fingers tightening slightly around your glass.

There it was. Again. That same offer. That same temptation. And for a split second, you thought about it.

Not because you wanted Miles’ help, but because you knew how easy it would be to say yes. To let someone like him open doors that were otherwise bolted shut. To skip the years of clawing your way through an industry designed to keep people like you on the outside. But you’d already made your decision.

So you exhaled softly, offering a polite, measured smile. “Thank you, but no thank you.”

Miles laughed like you’d just told him something hilarious. “Why not take the help?” he grinned, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “This could be so good for you.”

And before you could even think, even process, his hand was suddenly on your thigh. Just resting there. Casual. Like it belonged there. Your entire body went rigid.

Your breath hitched. You knew what he was doing. It wasn’t an accident. Wasn’t innocent. It was a test. He was seeing how far he could push you.

Your skin crawled, the urge to shove him off of you overwhelming, but you hesitated. Because what if? What if you pushed back and he made things worse? What if he decided Claire wasn’t worth the effort anymore? What if he destroyed her campaign just because he could?

Panic started creeping in. Your throat tightened. And without thinking, your eyes darted to Claire. She was in the infinity pool with Lionel, their backs to you, she had no idea what was happening. She had no idea that you were sitting here, frozen, with Miles’ hand on you, with his voice in your ear, pressing you, pushing you, trying to see how much he could get away with.

And for the first time since this entire trip began, you felt unsafe. Miles’ hand was still on your thigh. Heavy and possessive like it belonged there.

Your breath caught in your throat, body locked up so tight you thought you might snap. The more he talked, smooth and friendly, the more you shrank, wanting to disappear, to fold in on yourself until there was nothing left. You barely even heard his words, too busy trying to keep yourself still, too afraid that pulling away too sharply would be seen as rude, that it would set him off, that he’d take it as an invitation instead of a rejection.

Say something.

Move.

Do anything.

But you felt frozen, caught between the weight of his palm and the horrible sinking feeling in your stomach, the knowledge that one wrong move could make everything so much worse.

And suddenly a voice cut through your inner turmoil. “Miles,” Birdie drawled, lazily pushing down her sunglasses to peer at the two of you. “Is that my Cuban Breeze?!”

Your heart lurched.

Miles’ head turned at the sound of his name, his hand still firm on your thigh as he smirked at Birdie.

“The very same,” he said, tipping the glass toward her.

Birdie gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest like she was shocked, but you could see it now. The carefulness. The practice. The way she made her voice all light and excitable, playing into the only role she knew how to play, the fun and brainless Birdie J she’d curated so perfectly over the years.

If you weren’t still reeling, still trying not to shudder at the feel of Miles’ touch, you might’ve been impressed.

Instead, you just sat very still, barely breathing, barely blinking, as Birdie tossed her hair and insisted, “Miles! That was mine! Okay, that’s it, come on, we’re getting another one! We are ending up in the pool tonight.”

Miles chuckled, finally pulling his hand away as he stood, letting Birdie loop her arm through his. “We’re starting in the pool,” he teased.

And just like that, he was gone. Dragged away in a flurry of heels and jewelry and gleaming white teeth.

The second he was out of reach, your breath left you in a sharp, uneven rush. It was like you could breathe again. Like you were finally allowed to.

Tears pricked at your eyes, burning hot and humiliating, and you hated it. Hated that your body had betrayed you. Hated that your hands were shaking, that you felt gross, that even now, with him gone, you could still feel his palm on your skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, fingers curling into the fabric of your wrap skirt, trying to keep yourself together.

“Hey.” The sound of Peg’s voice made you stiffen.

When you turned, she was already watching you, her lips pressed into a thin line. Laptop snapped shut. She’d seen the whole thing. And even though Peg was a lot of things, tired, overworked, probably one bad day away from quitting, she wasn’t heartless.

“…You okay?” It was a simple question, one that you should’ve answered easily. But the words stuck.

You swallowed hard, nodding too fast, forcing out a shaky, “I… I’m fine.”

Peg didn’t believe you. Didn’t even pretend to. She sighed, fingers drumming against her knee before she suggested, “You wanna go to the bathroom? When Birdie frustrates me, I splash some cold water on my face. Helps.”

You hesitated, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “…Yeah,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, okay.”

She stood up, waiting for you, and you went to move, only to stop short. Because the second you stood, you felt exposed, like everyone was watching you.

Your bikini suddenly felt too small. Your wrap skirt felt too sheer. You wrapped your arms around yourself, willing the rising panic to settle, but the words still came out wobbly when you stammered, “I—I think I need to grab a cover-up or something.”

You felt stupid the second you said it, but thankfully Peg was patient. Like she understood. Like she’d been in your position before, like she knew how it felt to be powerless, to be just unimportant enough that speaking up against the wrong man could destroy your entire life.

She just nodded. “Okay.”

And you were about to move when a familiar voice called out: “Baby?”

You froze. Oh, God. Claire. She was still in the infinity pool with Lionel, but now she was frowning at you from where she leaned against the edge, arms draped over the stone, her body half-submerged in the water.

She’d been distracted before, caught up in the kind of tense, anxious conversation that made the heat feel more oppressive than it already was. But now? Now she was looking at you. And seeing.

Your stomach twisted violently. The last thing you needed was Claire’s attention on you. The last thing you needed was for her to notice. To ask questions. To put things together. Because if Claire figured out what had happened, she would kill him. You knew that. And nothing good could come from that.

So before you could even try to answer, Peg, calm, steady and carefully measured, gave her a practiced smile and called back, “We’re fine! Just going to get something.”

You could still feel Claire’s eyes on you, heavy with suspicion.

You forced yourself to nod like that was true, like that was all it was, and then quickly turned, following Peg inside while trying not to let the horrible weight in your stomach sink you.

Peg followed you into your room, letting out a low whistle as she took in the space. “Damn,” she muttered, hands on her hips. “You got this? I have a glorified closet next to Birdie.”

You barely heard her. Your heart was still hammering, your skin still crawling, the weight of everything still pressing down on your chest like a slab of stone.

You beelined straight for the bathroom, fingers gripping the door frame as you mumbled, “Um- thanks for, uh…getting me here. But I’m fine now. You can go.”

Peg frowned. You couldn’t see it, you were already pushing the door closed between you, but you could hear it in her voice when she asked, “Are you sure? I can wait, if you want. Saves me from getting splashed by Duke’s cannonballs.”

She was offering kindness, a way out. But you couldn’t take it. Because even though she’d helped, even though she’d seen what happened and quietly stepped in, it didn’t change the fact that you felt like your skin had been stripped raw, like you’d been ripped open and had nowhere to hide. The only thing you wanted, the only thing you needed, was to be alone.

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, and murmured, “No, it’s okay. I might take a nap. Barely slept last night.”

Peg was quiet for a second, then she sighed. “…Alright.”

You heard her step away. The door clicked shut behind her. And then… nothing. Silence. For the first time since Miles had put his hands on you, you were alone.

You turned the lock with shaking fingers, turning the tap on full blast.

And then, you collapsed. Your knees hit the tile floor as you folded in on yourself, arms wrapping tight around your legs, forehead pressing against them as the first sob wrenched out of your chest, sharp and violent. You couldn’t stop it. Didn’t even try.

The sound of the rushing water drowned out your cries, but it didn’t drown out the feeling, the raw, suffocating sensation that filled every part of you, like your own body was a cage you were desperate to escape.

You could still feel him. His hand on your thigh. His arm around your waist. His voice, smooth and friendly, like he hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Like you were supposed to just accept it.

You pressed your hands against your face, trying to breathe, trying to make it stop, but nothing was working.

Because this wasn’t just Miles. This wasn’t just one moment. This was every time you’d felt small. Every time you’d felt powerless. Every time a man had looked at you and seen something that was his to conquer before you even got the chance to say hello.

And the worst part, the very worst part, was that you hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t pushed him away. Hadn’t made a scene. You just sat there frozen.

Another sob tore through you.

You clutched your knees tighter, nails digging into your own skin, trying to ground yourself, trying to remind yourself that he wasn’t here, that you were safe, that Claire would never let anything happen to you… oh god, Claire.

A new wave of panic crashed into you. Because Claire had seen you, she’d known something was wrong.

And if she found out, if she figured out what really happened, she would kill him. And Miles knew that. He counted on that. That was why he did it. Because he knew you wouldn’t dare tell her. Wouldn’t dare start anything that could ruin Claire’s chances, that could put her in a position where she had to choose between her career and you. You couldn’t let her find out. You couldn’t. Because if she did, this trip would turn into a bloodbath.

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking, trying to shove that thought down, trying to shove everything down, until it was buried deep enough that it wouldn’t come back up.

But for now, you could do nothing but sit there hugging yourself, rocking slightly, crying so hard it hurt. You didn’t know how long you sat there, curled up on the cold tile floor, knees hugged to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself like you could somehow hold yourself together if you just squeezed tight enough.

At some point, the sobs slowed, your chest stopped heaving, and your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps instead of frantic, desperate gulps of air.

But the weight, the awful, sinking weight, still pressed down on you. You felt raw and stripped open. Exposed. Like if you looked in the mirror, you’d see something hollow staring back at you.

You couldn’t stay here, not on the floor. Not in this stupid fucking bikini that suddenly felt far too small, far too revealing, far too much like the exact thing Miles had been looking at, had been touching.

Your stomach turned as you forced yourself to your feet. Your legs were weak, shaking, like you’d been drained of everything that kept you upright, but you forced yourself to stumble out of the bathroom anyway.

Your vision blurred with the remnants of tears as you moved on autopilot, crossing the room to Claire’s suitcase, flipping it open, digging through neatly folded clothes and expensive fabrics until you found something soft and worn, something familiar.

An old Harvard alumni t-shirt.

The fabric was faded. The letters were cracking. The material was stretched from years of being yanked on, pulled over her head in half-asleep movements, tossed into the wash again and again.

She’d had it since college and she still brought it with her. You clutched it tight in your fingers, holding it to your chest for a moment before tearing the bikini off, ripping off the sheer skirt, pulling on a pair of Claire’s boxers, and yanking the t-shirt over your head.

The second it was on, you curled up on the bed, knees tucked to your chest, hands clenched in the fabric like a lifeline. It smelled like her like home, like safety.

You inhaled deep, trying to pull yourself together, trying to to fix yourself before she got back. Because if she saw you like this, if she even suspected something was wrong…

The door handle rattled.

You froze.

“Baby, why the fuck is the door bolted?” Claire’s voice called out, sounded worried and frustrated.

You scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to reach the door, unlocking it with trembling fingers before pulling it open.

Claire was standing there, brow furrowed, eyes scanning over you the second she saw you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you rushed out, voice still hoarse from crying. “I just… I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking.”

Claire crossed her arms, still looking at you like she was trying to figure something out. “Why are you in here?” she asked, tone shifting from frustration to confusion.

You swallowed, heart hammering. “I-I wasn’t feeling great,” you lied. “Thought I might nap.”

Claire tilted her head, studying you closer. Her gaze drifted down, taking in the clothes you were wearing, her boxers, her t-shirt, and her frown deepened. “…Why are you in my clothes?” she asked. “Not that I mind, but…you look like you’re ready for bed.”

You clenched your fingers tighter in the fabric, struggling to keep your voice even. “I just- I just wanted to be comfortable.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed like she sensed something wasn’t right. And fuck, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it together.

Claire didn’t let it go, of course she didn’t. She was a politician. She was sharp, too sharp to let something like this slip past her. And you knew that. Knew that the second she’d seen you, standing in the doorway in her old t-shirt, looking pale and shaken, something in her had clicked.

So you weren’t surprised when her eyes softened, not with relief, but with something much worse, with worry and with concern. With that keen, assessing gaze that meant she was already putting together the pieces of something you weren’t ready to say out loud.

“Baby,” she murmured, voice gentler now. “Are you sure?”

You nodded too fast, too eager. Too desperate.

“I-I’m fine, Claire,” you said, voice tight. “I just… I wasn’t feeling great, Peg walked me up, that’s all.”

Claire’s frown didn’t lift. Her hand came up, her soft, steady fingers reaching for you, instinctively seeking out the warmth of your skin… and you flinched.

It was a small movement, barely even noticeable, but Claire had felt it. She felt it and she froze. The space between you, already so small, suddenly felt like a canyon.

Her hand, still suspended midair, twitched before curling slowly back into a fist, falling back to her side. And the look on her face… that fucking look. You’d seen her angry, seen her livid. But this? This was something else entirely. This was something fragile.

“Baby,” she said carefully, like she was afraid you might shatter if she wasn’t careful. “What’s happening?”

You forced yourself to smile. Your face felt stiff, unnatural, like it knew you were lying before your mouth even formed the words. “It’s nothing,” you said, voice falsely light. “I’m fine.”

Claire’s expression darkened. It was clear she didn’t believe you, but before she could push further, something else flickered across her face.

Something pained, something hesitant. She swallowed thickly, shifting on her feet, suddenly unable to meet your eyes as she murmured, “Is this about…? About the trial?”

Your stomach dropped. “I-…”

“I know how you feel about this,” she said quickly, voice just shy of desperate. “And I know I should’ve said no, I know it’s fucked, I know it’s Andi, and I—”

She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. “But I didn’t know what else to do,” she admitted, shaking her head, and you could see it, the spiraling thoughts, the gnawing guilt. “I couldn’t say no, I-”

She broke off, biting her lip. “Baby, please don’t be upset with me.”

The pain in her voice made your chest ache.

“Oh, Claire,” you whispered, stepping forward, practically scrambling into her arms. “I’m not, baby. I promise. I’m not.”

Her arms hesitated for half a second before they locked around you, pulling you tight against her like she’d been starving for you, like she had thought you were slipping through her fingers and she needed to hold on.

“I swear,” you whispered against her neck. “I swear, baby, I’m not upset with you.”

She still looked unsure, still looked unconvinced.

So you tilted your chin up, kissing her. Soft. Sweet. Like a vow. “Claire,” you whispered against her lips. “Kiss me.”

She exhaled shakily, brushing her lips against yours again, slow, hesitant, like she was still bracing herself. “Baby,” she murmured, voice barely there.

“Please,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

And that was all it took. Her hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing firm against the cotton of her boxers as she pulled you flush against her. Her mouth was soft, desperate against yours, kissing you with all the words she wasn’t saying, all the emotions tangled in her throat, all the tension coiling in her shoulders.

It wasn’t enough.

You kissed her harder, clutching at her like she was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. Because maybe… maybe she was.

Claire pulled away just slightly, enough to put space between your lips but not enough to let you go. Her hands still held you tight, her breath warm against your cheek as she searched your face.

Her fingers traced over the fabric of her old Harvard t-shirt on your body, her thumbs just grazing the bare skin of your thighs where the hem of the shirt rode up. The concern in her eyes was clear, cutting through the heat of the moment like a cold breeze.

“Baby,” she murmured, voice husky but still gentle. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to think about Miles. Didn’t want to think about the weight in your chest, the sick feeling in your stomach, the way your hands still trembled from earlier. So instead, you kissed her again. Only it wasn’t soft this time, it wasn’t careful, it was desperate. A need. A distraction.

Claire inhaled sharply through her nose, surprised, but didn’t hesitate to return it.

Her fingers tightened against your hips as you parted your lips, letting her deepen the kiss, her tongue sliding against yours. The room felt smaller, hotter, the air between you thick with tension.

She kissed you slowly, like she had all the time in the world to explore you, like she could feel something was off but wasn’t willing to pull away again just yet.

You weren’t going to let her. Your hands slid up her back, tugging her even closer, feeling the warmth of her skin through the lightweight linen of her shirt. You sighed against her lips, tilting your head to let her kiss deeper, harder, her teeth just grazing your bottom lip before she sucked it into her mouth.

And it worked for a while.

She let herself get lost in you, let you pull her down onto the bed, her hands exploring, moving under the oversized t-shirt to squeeze your waist, your hips, her fingertips grazing the sensitive skin at your sides. But then, again, she pulled back. Not much, just enough to make you chase after her, lips parted, eyes hazy, wanting more.

She smiled softly at how eager you were, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Baby,” she murmured again. “Talk to me.”

No. Not now. Not when you could still feel his hands. Not when you could still hear the low rasp of his voice, the forced friendliness of it, the way his fingers had lingered.

So you did the only thing you could do. You took her hands, her strong, capable, safe hands, and guided them up your body. Up, under your shirt. Up, over the bare curve of your breasts.

The second she realized what you were doing, her breath hitched.

“Touch me,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Claire groaned. A deep, low sound in her throat, her fingers instinctively flexing over your soft skin.

Her thumbs brushed over your nipples, making you shiver, and you gasped softly as she squeezed, kneading the weight of your breasts in her hands, her eyes darkening as she watched you react beneath her.

“You’re not playing fair,” she rasped, her voice deeper, rougher.

You didn’t care. Didn’t care if you were playing fair, if you were playing dirty, if you were making it impossible for her to think straight. All you wanted was to forget. To lose yourself in her. To make this, her, the only thing in your head.

Claire groaned again, leaning down to kiss you, slower this time, deeper, her hands still warm, still perfect as she touched you exactly the way you needed.

And for the first time that day, you let yourself breathe.

Claire groaned against your lips, her fingers flexing, kneading the soft weight of your breasts. She squeezed, just enough to make you gasp, her thumbs brushing over your already sensitive nipples. You whimpered, arching into her touch, your body desperate for it, for her.

“Shit, baby,” she murmured, voice low and rough, breath hot against your cheek. “Love playing with your tits.”

A whimper caught in your throat as she rolled your nipples between her fingers, tugging just enough to make your back arch. Your head spun, pleasure drowning out everything else, every thought, every memory, every trace of him.

There was only her.

Only Claire. Only the warmth of her hands, the teasing pull of her fingers, the way she cupped and squeezed and played with you like she had all the time in the world.

Your hips shifted restlessly against her, desperate for more, but Claire was focused, obsessed even, her eyes locked onto you, watching every little reaction, every soft whimper and sharp intake of breath.

“Look at you,” she muttered, voice thick with want. “So fucking pretty, baby. You like this?”

You could only nod, lips parted, a tiny, desperate sound slipping from your throat.

Claire smirked, then tugged at your nipples again, harder this time.

You whined, thighs squeezing together, body writhing under her.

She groaned at the sight, shifting to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your neck, nipping lightly at your skin. “Sensitive little thing,” she mused, rolling her hips just slightly against yours. “Love having my hands on you. Could touch you all fucking day.”

You gasped, your body a live wire under her touch, your mind too fuzzy to hold onto anything else, no worries, no fears, no past. Just Claire. Just her hands. Just the perfect way she owned you, made you forget everything except how good she made you feel.

Claire groaned, her fingers still teasing, still tugging, still making you squirm. Her thumbs brushed over your stiff nipples, and you gasped, your whole body trembling under her touch.

“Touch me all day,” you whimpered, desperate, pressing your chest further into her hands. “Please, baby. Don’t stop. I don’t wanna leave this room, I don’t wanna go anywhere, I just wanna stay here with you. Till this trip is over, till we’re home even, just stay with me, please.”

Her hands squeezed, tugged, making you gasp again, back arching. “Not until you tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” she murmured, voice husky but firm, her thumbs rolling over your sensitive peaks.

A whimper left your lips as you scrambled for something, anything to keep her from pressing, to keep her hands on you, to keep you here, safe.

“Nothing,” you gasped, shaking your head. “Can’t think of anything but you, please, mommy.”

Claire froze.

For the first time since she had laid her hands on you, she paused, fingers still resting against your flushed, sensitive skin, her dark eyes searching yours. Because she knew. She knew you. She knew how you sounded when you were desperate, when you wanted her. She knew how you sounded when you were trying to run. And right now, she could tell the difference.

She frowned, torn, her fingers twitching against your skin. Because fuck, here you were, your tits out, gasping, offering yourself to her like the sweetest fucking thing she’d ever seen, like all you wanted was for her to take care of you, to make you forget. But she hated that you needed to forget something. She hated the way you had flinched before. She hated the way you were running from something you weren’t telling her about.

Her jaw tensed, eyes flicking between yours, searching, debating, trying to decide whether to push or to give in, to give you what you wanted, what you needed, or to pull back, to demand the truth. Her hands were still on you, warm, steady, but her gaze was something different now, something deeper, something filled with something close to fear. And she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with it.

Claire’s hands dropped from your body completely as she stepped back, putting space between you for the first time since she’d walked into the room. The shift in her presence was instant. Where there had been heat, hunger, devotion, there was now something sharp, something concerned, something demanding.

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “Baby, no. I love you, but no. You’re talking to me about this.”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, and you sighed, tugging your top back down to cover yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed, too vulnerable. You folded your arms over yourself, hugging your own body, trying to push down the sting of tears in your throat.

“It’s nothing,” you murmured. “It’s stupid. A total overreaction, honestly, don’t worry.”

Claire’s eyes darkened in an instant. “Overreaction to what?”

You exhaled heavily, your gaze flicking anywhere but her, trying to will the tension in the room to evaporate, to let this moment pass. But Claire wouldn’t let it pass. Not when she was looking at you like that, standing there so still, so steady but ready, like a storm just before it broke.

You clenched your jaw, fingers gripping your own arms. You could still feel it, the weight of his arm slung around your waist, the press of his palm against your hip, the casual, entitled way he had touched you, like you were just another thing in his collection.

You swallowed, forcing the words out. “Miles touched me.”

The room went silent. Claire went rigid. “What the fuck did you just say?”

You sighed, shaking your head quickly, already seeing the way her expression was shifting, darkening into something terrifying, something lethal.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” you said quickly, voice tight with nerves. “It was nothing, really.”

But Claire was already moving before you could stop her, spinning toward the door like she was about to hunt him down, like she was going to tear him apart.

“Claire- no,” you gasped, grabbing her wrist, holding on tight. “Please. It’s not- it’s not that serious.”

She turned back to you, her entire body vibrating with fury, her jaw clenched so tightly you could hear her teeth grind. “Not that serious?” she repeated, voice low, dangerous. “He touched you. You flinched when I tried to touch you, baby. And you want me to pretend that’s not that serious?”

You swallowed, shifting closer to her, your grip on her wrist tightening as panic built in your chest. “Claire, please,” you whispered. “You know him. You know what he’s like. If you make this a thing, he’s gonna- he’s gonna lash out, he’s gonna make things worse. I can’t- I can’t let you do this. It’s not important enough to make waves, okay?”

Claire’s nostrils flared, her entire body tense, her fists clenched so hard they shook. “Baby,” she said, voice low, raw, pained, “you are the most important thing.”

You let out a shaky breath, moving in closer, pressing yourself against her as if you could just melt into her body, as if you could disappear into her arms and make all of this go away.

“Then don’t say anything,” you whispered, voice pleading. “For me, okay? Just- just don’t say anything. Just stay with me. It’s not long now, till this is over. Just stay with me.”

She let out a slow, heavy breath, and for a moment, you thought she might argue, might tell you she couldn’t stay silent, that she wouldn’t. But then she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly, her hands finally coming up to grip your arms, sliding up, squeezing gently.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead against yours, her breath warm on your lips. “Fine,” she murmured. “I won’t say anything.”

You exhaled in relief, letting yourself fall into her, wrapping yourself around her, inhaling the scent of her, the scent of something grounding, something safe.

“But I promise you this,” she said, voice firm, unwavering. “I won’t leave your side for a second.”

Claire held you close, arms locked around you like she was anchoring you to the world, keeping you safe. And for a second, just a second, you let yourself believe that maybe she could, that maybe if she just held you tight enough, she could erase it, make the sick feeling in your stomach disappear, make the memory of his hand on your thigh vanish.

But your chest tightened, and you let out a shaky breath, pressing your face into the crook of her neck as the tears finally spilled over.

Claire’s grip immediately tightened, her hand stroking up and down your back, her lips pressing against your hair. “Baby,” she whispered, pained, helpless. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

And that only made you cry harder.

“It wasn’t even explicit,” you choked out, voice thick with tears. “It’s not like he- he said anything outright, or, or forced anything, or even made me feel threatened exactly, it was just…” You swallowed hard, hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt. “It was just the way he made me feel.”

Claire exhaled slowly, her jaw clenched against your temple, silent but listening.

You sniffled, trying to collect yourself, but it was so hard when she was holding you like this, when the warmth of her body was so safe but the memory of his touch was still lingering.

You took a shuddering breath. “And the book deals… God, Claire, the way he talks about them, it’s like a business proposition. Like- like, look at Whisky, she played the game, she made herself useful, so why wouldn’t I?” Your throat tightened. “And the worst part is, it didn’t even feel calculated. He wasn’t, like, deliberately pressuring me. It’s just…”

You shook your head, letting out a bitter, wet laugh.

“It’s just that he assumed,” you whispered, voice raw. “He assumed that if he made a move, if he offered himself up, I wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Claire’s hold on you turned almost crushing, her breath shaking as she nuzzled into your hair. “He really thinks he’s that fucking irresistible,” she muttered, voice dark, dangerous.

You huffed out a small, mirthless laugh, tears still slipping down your cheeks. “I mean,” you said weakly, “I’m a lesbian. Surely he must know this won’t work on me.”

Claire let out an incredulous breath, shaking her head against yours, and then she pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands, wiping your tears away with her thumbs.

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, voice thick with a painful sort of fondness, something utterly devoted but also furious on your behalf.

You sniffled, pressing into her touch, her warmth, her safety.

“I hate him,” Claire said simply, fingers stroking your cheeks, voice soft but lethal. “I hate him so much, baby.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. “I know.”

“And I can’t do anything about it?”

You swallowed, looking at her desperately. “Please, Claire.”

Her jaw clenched, and she took a slow, grounding breath. “Okay,” she murmured, voice rough, uneven. “Okay. But I’m not letting him near you again.”

You nodded, finally, fully collapsing into her arms.

And she held you like she never intended to let you go.

~

Claire had been holding you for what felt like forever, her hands gentle but firm, her touch grounding you, keeping you here, keeping you safe. Her thumbs kept stroking small, soothing circles into your back, and every few moments, she’d kiss the top of your head like she needed to remind you she was there, like she needed to remind herself that you were safe in her arms.

Eventually, you sniffled, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Okay,” you whispered, voice still thick from crying. “We should go back out.”

Claire searched your face, her hands coming up to cup your cheeks, her thumbs brushing over your damp skin. She hesitated, like she was looking for any reason to keep you in here, away from them, but eventually, she nodded.

“Yeah, baby,” she murmured. “Wanna swim together?”

The corner of your lips quirked, a small, shy smile as you nodded.

She beamed, her whole face lighting up like she was so proud of you for being brave enough to step outside again, and she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back. “Okay,” she said gently, giving your arms a little squeeze. “Let’s get changed.”

Your heart fluttered as you moved to grab your bikini, but the moment you held it in your hands, you hesitated, suddenly feeling too exposed, too seen.

Claire noticed immediately, stepping behind you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “Hey, baby,” she murmured, voice soft. “It’s okay. Why don’t we bring a cover-up for when we get out of the pool, yeah?”

You nodded, letting out a small breath of relief, and Claire kissed your temple before helping you change. She took her time adjusting the strings of your bikini, making sure you were comfortable before slipping a light, soft cover-up over your shoulders. Her fingers smoothed down the fabric, and then she pulled you into her chest, wrapping her arms around you.

“Perfect,” she murmured, lips pressing softly against the shell of your ear. “So, so perfect, baby.”

You melted into her, letting her kiss you slow and sweet before she finally took your hand and led you back outside.

The sun was bright, almost too bright after the dimmed comfort of the bedroom, and for a moment, you hesitated. But Claire squeezed your hand, glancing over at you with a warm, reassuring smile, and just like that, the tension in your shoulders eased.

She guided you to a sun lounger, settling you down before straddling the lounger behind you, reaching for the sunscreen.

“Can’t have my baby getting burned,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck before squeezing a generous amount of sunscreen into her hands.

You shivered as her fingers smoothed over your back, rubbing the lotion into your skin with slow, thorough movements. She took her time, her hands massaging over your shoulders, your arms, your spine, her thumbs pressing gently into the muscles of your back.

“You’re so tense, baby,” she murmured, kissing the top of your shoulder as her hands kneaded softly. “Just relax, I’ve got you.”

You let out a small, content sigh, leaning into her touch as she continued working the sunscreen over your skin, her hands trailing down your sides, over your stomach, your thighs. By the time she was done, you were practically boneless, melted into her lap.

She chuckled, kissing the side of your neck again. “All good?”

You turned to her with a soft, sleepy smile, reaching for the sunscreen bottle. “Your turn.”

Claire smirked but let you maneuver yourself onto your knees, facing her as you squeezed some sunscreen onto your palms. You started at her shoulders, your hands gliding over her skin, taking your time to rub in the lotion with the same slow, methodical care she’d given you.

When you reached her chest, you frowned, tsking lightly. “Baby, you’re burning up,” you murmured, pouting.

Claire laughed, shaking her head as you ran your hands over her collarbones, her sternum, rubbing in more sunscreen than necessary, but she wasn’t about to complain when you were touching her so sweetly.

“Is that so?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded firmly, smoothing more lotion over her shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss to her clavicle before finally pulling back. “There. Now you’re safe.”

Claire grinned, stealing a quick kiss before taking your hand and guiding you toward the pool.

The water was cool against your overheated skin, and the second you both stepped in, you melted, your muscles relaxing under the gentle sway of the water.

Claire waded in deeper, and the moment she was deep enough, you launched yourself into her arms, wrapping your legs around her waist, your arms around her shoulders, clinging to her like a little koala.

She let out a soft, delighted laugh, immediately wrapping her arms around you, one hand splayed over your back, the other cupping the back of your head. “There’s my baby,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You hummed, burying your face in her neck, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of her sunscreen, her shampoo, her everything.

She swayed the two of you gently in the water, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back.

“Better?” she murmured.

You nodded, nuzzling into her.

She kissed the top of your head, her arms tightening around you. “Good,” she whispered. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m not letting go.”

And you believed her.

You were so warm, so content, pressed against Claire’s chest in the pool, her arms wrapped around you as the water gently rocked you both. The sun was high in the sky, making everything hazy and golden, and you felt yourself slowly slipping into that perfect in-between space, not quite asleep, not quite awake, just floating.

Claire must’ve noticed, because she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring, “Getting sleepy, baby?”

You hummed, barely able to keep your eyes open, completely at ease in her arms. “Mhm.”

But before you could drift off, a loud, roaring noise shattered the peace, making you jump in shock. You instinctively clung tighter to Claire, heart thudding as the sound grew closer, and then…

VROOOOM.

Your head snapped around just in time to see three luxury jet skis zooming through the water at high speed, the engines slicing through the otherwise still bay. They were sleek, brand new, painted in obnoxious metallic colors, gold, deep red, electric blue.

From the deck, Miles clapped his hands together, grinning wildly. “Gang! The speedboats are here!!”

Lionel, who had been sitting with his sunglasses on, letting his stress radiate into the atmosphere, slowly turned to look at Miles and sighed heavily. “Miles… these are jet skis. Very different.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Same thing.” Then he grinned again, rubbing his hands together like some cartoon villain. “Now, c’mon! Let’s see who can beat Duke!”

Duke, already puffing up with pride, flexed his arms, the ridiculous tattoo of a gun on his bicep bulging. “Hell yeah, bro!” He turned to Whisky, all amped up now. “Babe! We need to take some videos for the channel, c’mon!”

Whisky, who had been lounging under the sun with an expression of mild boredom, suddenly perked up. She flipped her hair back, flashing a camera-ready smile. “Yes, Duke-y! Sounds good!”

You could tell immediately that she was excited to be featured more on the channel. A chance to get more views, to build a bigger following. She was already pulling out her phone, checking the angles, making sure she was camera-ready.

You sighed and turned your attention to Claire, who was watching the scene unfold with the most unimpressed expression you had ever seen. “…Baby,” you murmured, voice amused, “you don’t look very excited.”

Claire scoffed, glancing back at the jet skis with an expression like they had personally offended her. “That’s because I’m not.”

You grinned, already knowing full well that high-speed water sports were not her thing. “Aw, come on. You don’t wanna go race Duke?”

She shot you a look. “Absolutely not.”

And honestly? You were kinda with her on that one.

Taglist: @harknessshi @agathascoven1 @notorious-vick @jessica-mcd @sapphicfleur @lisqueen @starryjeongyeon @brekker157 @maximilfism @meghina18 @onlybynightandonlybysea @buttercandy16 @milflovers4 @rigglemethat @mistyshane30 @certified-sleep-deprived @agathaallalongg @yun4-st4rx @psychickryptonitebouquet @athnastasia @eletricheart @her0in-addicttt @writerspirit @sarahhh-plz @imlike-so-gaydude @morallygreymilfs @worstendingever @trasheddoll2 @womankissersworld @rizzlesregal13 @lowlyjelly @nightlyconfusion @morgananyx @agathaspett

[taylorswiftstyle]

MTV Video Music Awards | September 11, 2024

Monse Fall/Winter 2024 custom

For Future Reference Vintage 'Omega Chain' - no longer available

Rainbow K Jewelry ‘Diamond Horn Earring’ - € 7215.00 Ali Weiss Jewelry ‘Baby Pave Hoop With 2 Diamond Drop’ - $375.00 Grown Brilliance ‘Emerald and Heart Lab Grown Diamond Two Stone Stud Earrings’ - $1,895.00

Lizzie Mandler Jewelry ‘Pave Knife Edge Bracelet’ - $13,665.00 Mateo New York ‘Carabiner Bracelet’ - $300.00 Mateo New York ‘Lock Link Bracelet’ - $350.00 Rainbow K Jewelry ‘Diamond Horn Bangle’ - €18,575.00

Ali Weiss Jewelry ‘Thin Gold Band With 5 Diamonds’ - $650.00 Jade Ruzzo ‘Tennessee Drop Ring in Demantoid Garnet’ - $5,600.00 Retrouvai ‘Platinum Magna Ring’ - price upon request Grown Brilliance‘Marquise Lab Grown Diamond Eternity Band’ - $2,190.00

A brief moment of pride for me because I happened to predict a different look from this exact same collection for the MTV VMAs. I'll take the win! Taylor changed partway through the show, shedding her tartan Dior look for a party look that was easier for her to dance in but still retained a high shine award show appeal. While Taylor's look is obviously custom, the tapestry alien print and buckle detail are clear riffs from the Monse FW2024 runway. This was a fun and flirty mid-show change that reminded me of her strategy at the 2022 MTV EMAs. Though for that award show, there was a clearer throughline between both her looks as they were by the same designer - David Koma. Here, there isn't as obvious a connect between the two aesthetics. Although perhaps it's the notion of translating older notions of art into surreal, modern takes. With Dior, an ode to the secret messages Mary Queen of Scots embroidered in her clothes and with this Monse look, reimagining the antique tapestry to feature futuristic visions of alien invasion. Which feels very "Down Bad" in imagery.

For her second look of the evening, Taylor swapped out her singular pair of Lorraine Schwartz earrings (a go-to jeweler for her red carpet looks) and tapped into one of her style pillars: indie designers.

The mix of metals feels very Taylor - she often swaps between gold and silver and looks equally great in both, lucky her. Though I did most appreciate the silver tying in to the buckle detail on her Monse dress.

Of all her jewels, the piece that most caught my eye is Jade Ruzzo's ‘Tennessee’ ring. I spoke to the designer and she described the Tennessee as her “signature” collection, inspired by her late father who was a drummer. “I designed the Tennessee ring, the first piece from the collection, while in Tennessee,” she told me. “Tennessee has a heart and soul that I felt I could literally hear a beat to - it felt like it moved.” Jade translated the kinetic energy she felt in the city into a hand bezel ring with hanging gemstones that create a subtle movement - “as if [the stones] are dancing on each piece.” She added, “I wanted the movement to be subtle enough that it felt Iike soft steady music throughout the day.“ What an appropriate thing for Taylor, who calls Tennessee her home, to wear.

Photo by John Shearer via Getty Images

[friend-shaped-but]

Marathi Rukmini Jewellery Breakdown

Ok so I found this art of Krishna and Rukmini by Himanshu Bankar where rukmini is shown in marathi traditional attire and it made me SO SO HAPPY to see that because she's rarely depicted like that! And thenI saw it being shared on tumblr by a lot of ppl who didn't know that whatever clothes/jewellery rukmini is wearing is traditional marathi bridal attire.

So I thought I'd do a deep dive into this painting and talk about her clothes, hair, and jewellery! This is a long post, imma put everything under the cut! Tagging @cyndaquillt because you asking me about marathi miku made me learn a lot more about marathi jewellery, @sharngapani for showing me this image in the first place, and @chahaa-piun-ja for cheering me on!

Hair:

Her bun is a hairstyle called "Khopa" (खोपा) and the gold pin in her hair is called a Juda(जुडा). These can either be gold pins or have strings of pearls attached to them and I'm thinking that the latter is what she is wearing. Then the maang tika is pretty standard across cultures. The golden band between the maang tika and the juda is called a Bijwara(बिजवरा) and it's not used much in the modern day so I did have to do a bit of research to find out what it was.

Images, from left to right: Khopa, juda, and a minimalist maang tika/bindi.

Face

On her forehead, and hanging on either side of her face are Mundavalya(मुंडावळ्या), a forehead ornament worn by Maharashtrian brides & grooms. It is made from pearl & has two pearls strings which stand for the togetherness of bride & groom. Chandrakor is actually my ABSOLUTE fave part about maharashtrian culture it's the crescent moon on her forehead. Then on her nose is a pearl Nath(नथ). She's also wearing Kanpatti(कानपट्टी) aka ear strips on her ears and they're attached to her normal earrings. Fun fact btw the kanpatti in her ears looks a lot like the one my mom has.

Images from left to right: mundavalya+chandrakor, nath, kanpatti(without earrings)

Neck:

Generally what I've seen people wear at their fanciest is three-four necklaces, one right at the throat, one slightly lower, and a couple hanging almost down to mid-chest or upper stomach. Rukmini in that drawing is following that pattern. The choker-style necklace she's wearing in the picture isn't super clear but I think it's a thushi(ठुशी). It is a choker necklace crafted out of gold beads in varying sizes and is adjustable thanks to a soft thread that can be adjusted according to the wearer’s convenience. The next one seems to be a plain golden chain but the fact that she's wearing a mangalsutra at the time Krishna is taking her away is icing on top!

Thushi, mangalsutra and mohanmal in the picture below!

Arms:

There is a shela around her shoulders. These are generally made of silk and worn by brides.

Rukmini is wearing a vaki(वाकी) or bajuband(बाजूबंद).

Maharashtrian women generally wear green glass bangles(I've heard north indians wear red ones someone pls confirm this), and for weddings and festivities they're layered with gold bangles. Today, for everday wear, some people wear only one golden bangle on each arm(like my mom) or they might wear glass bangles(my grandma does this), and only do the gold-glass layering during special occassions.

The names of these bangles differ according to the way they're made and where they're placed on the layering. The thickest gold bangles nearest to the hand are called Tode(तोडे) and they're pair of heavy gold bangles that feature intricate designs that go all around the bangle. Since they keep the layering in place, they're generally smaller than the actual wrist and include a screw and hinge to fasten them. The gold bangles in the middle and back are called Patlya(पाटल्या), are a type of traditional gold bangles and are often decorated with intricate designs on the outside.

She also has a kamarbandh on her waist but ig that's also pretty standard so I didn't include separate pictures

[sare11aa11eras]

Daenerys Missandei Irri and Jhiqui!

[Image Description: A full-length drawing of four people, Daenerys Targaryen, Missandei of Naath, and Dany’s two Dothraki handmaidens, Irri and Jhiqui. They are standing progressively farther back from the viewer. Daenerys stands in profile, walking forward, talking to someone. Missandei and Jhiqui have their bodies facing the viewer, Irri is angled slightly to the right side of the drawing. Missandei, Irri, and Jhiqui look at Daenerys. They are standing on a red carpet against a blank background.

Daenerys wears a purple tokar with a gold fringe. She wears her dragon crown, a gold bangle, rings of various materials, a gold vambrace with purple stones, gold earrings with purple stones, and an elaborate necklace with purple stones. From the necklace and the crown dangle long strings of red and black beads. She wears an anklet and leather sandals. A few golden bells can be seen in her hair.

Missandei wears a knee-length light orchid-color dress. It hangs loosely around her. Her dress is trimmed at the hem with purple and blue beads of different lengths. She wears sandals similar to Dany’s. She wears a large V-shaped piece of jewelry similar to a collar around her neck and over her collarbones. It is gold, mostly decorated with purple stones, and a blue butterfly design. Missandei wears earrings with blue butterflies and purple, pink, and yellow stones. She wears a bracelet of alternating pink and yellow stones. Her hair is in braids to pull it away from her face, but is otherwise in an Afro-type style. She holds a tablet and writing utensil in front of her chest. She has an interested expression as she looks up from her writing towards Dany.

Irri wears Dothraki clothes. She wears long trousers, which are blue fabric with a fringed panel of leather along the inside of her leg and groin. She wears leather boots with green, white, and purple painted swirls on them. She wears a dark leather belt around her middle and a belt of gold discs over it. The central gold disc has a green stone. More blue fabric wraps around her chest, either pleated or wrappings. Over this is a painted vest, primarily decorated with blue, green, and white. On her upper arm is an armband with an illustration of a horse galloping in grass. She has leather wrappings on her wrist and opposite upper arm. She wears one visible ring. She wears a leather necklace with a triangular gold pendant and gold triangular earrings. Her hair is in at least three braids, tied off with gold beads. She has bangs. She wears a woven headband of green and blue, with jade stones. Her face is neutral.

Jhiqui also wears Dothraki clothes, although hers do not look practical for riding. Her clothes are primarily fabric of a deep raspberry color. Along the outer side of her trousers is a stripe of leather, fringed at the end, painted with pink and pale purple flowers. On her chest she wears a beaded brooch shaped like a flower, with pink petals and a green “stem”. She wears slippers, in the same material as the rest of her outfit, with a decoration of pink flowers on yellow around the heel. Her vest is laced closed over a green and gold under layer. Her vest is trimmed at the hem with gold discs. Around her middle is a dark leather belt, with a thin belt of gold discs over it. She wears a leather necklace similar to Irri’s, with a circular gold pendant with a garnet stone. Her earrings match this pendant. She wears two rings. Her arm band is gold and garnet. Her hair is worn similarly to Irri’s. She has a bracelet with chips of green jade set in silver on a leather cuff. She has a nose piercing with a gold chain that leads to her earring. She appears to be wearing rouge. She looks mildly interested in whatever is happening. End ID./]

[beetlethebug]

hello friends, enemies, countrymen, i am here to ramble about emmrook breeding kink that will eventually be a fic if i can pull myself together long enough. once we get to the cut it will be NSFW under there, just an FYI

so, starts with emmrich seeing rook with a child

not quite with manfred--but another child. perhaps in the aftermath of minrathous. holding a lost child on their hip, their hand taken by another, a third child clinging to their legs. the way they crouch down, uncaring of the dirt and the blood and the ache in their knees to answer every question. the kindness of their hands as they wipe away smudges of dirt and ichor and brush strands of hair back into place.

he watches as rook is eventually coaxed into sitting, and no less than five children have flocked to their side, settling around and listening to them as they start to regale the story. There's a little girl on their thigh, and they have an arm around her back; she's hiding her face in their neck, clinging to them, and he is struck by how nice the image is. how he wants, desperately, to have a large family with rook. how he wishes he could slot himself within the picture, but it is perfect as it is

and then rook's head raises, and they meet his gaze and smile, warm and kind, and say, "and i couldn't have done it without my partner, emmrich. he's very smart, and can do magic. shall he show you a couple tricks?"

he is, on principle, opposed to being reduced to mere parlor tricks. but it is far worth it to perform small, ultimately meaningless acts of magic for his captive audience. their joy is infectious, bolstering his spirits.

and none raise him more than rook, who's eyes are shining, trained on his hands the way they always are when he casts. who's eyes grow dark, nearly possessive, when a little boy climbs up and into his arms to start examining his grave gold and demanding he create illusions of nugs and dragons and all manner of things.

that night, after they have bathed and are basking in the comfort of one another, rook rolls over and mentions, soft, "you were good with them."

he feigns ignorance, turning to meet them, running a hand along their cheek just because he can. "I do not know what you mean, darling." there's an excellent crinkle to their nose, a furrow to their brow that is annoyance, nothing heavier, and he lets himself grin. "the kids. you were good with them." a pause, as rook considers, and then, "did you ever think about having them? kids, i mean."

and it is easy to confess that yes, he did. that he wanted a family, and a home. a place that was warm, and safe. that he does not feel he could have such a life now, at his age, and that he is perfectly content to raise manfred alongside them.

rook listens, and nods, and the conversation is good and heartfelt, but it is the words they say at the very end that catch his attention. mumbled, perhaps not even meant to be said aloud at all.

"i could give you a baby, if you wanted."

and thus starts his obsession

it is one thing to imagine a family with rook; another entirely to imagine the act

and there is something about their wording that piques his interest. it is not rook having his children, or taking his seed and bearing new fruit. they are giving a baby to him. there are implications, there, surely, unless he is thinking about it too deeply

he has been known to fall fast and hard and recklessly, especially when it comes to rook

rook does not top often--a matter of preference, an arrangement on both their parts. but tonight they are, and it is driving him wild

he is on his back, legs wrapped around their hips, arching into the mattress as rook holds both of his hands. they're wearing at least three of his bangles, and the new set of earrings he bought for them, and they are so, so beautiful he could nearly weep

"is there something you want, emmrich?" they ask, indulgent, slowing the roll of their hips so that he is forced to consider. forced to writhe as they hold him steady, unrelenting in the all-consuming wave of his arousal.

he is an eloquent man; he is a man of articulate desires, well-crafted passions, and no blushing virgin. and yet he is a bumbling fool as he admits, with hardly any class at all, "I want you to give me a baby."

rook laughs, because of course they do. but it isn't cruel--it's surprised, joyful, and they're leaning down to kiss him before he can retract his words. bringing teeth, and quick, deep thrusts, as they growl against his mouth. they want it, he does not need to hear the words. but they pull back and demand, "say it again," and who is he to deny his darling anything?

so he says it. again and again and again. asks to be bred, to be filled, all manner of deplorable, shameful things as rook finds pleasure within his body, promising him the world and more with every plea that falls from his lips. it is shameful, surely, how hard he gets when rook hisses that he's going to be so round and full of his cum, that he's going to have to take another sabbatical because there is no way they are letting him leave the house until he's well and truly pregnant. it doesn't matter that it's impossible; what matters is that they want it, desperately, and the thought is enough to bring them to the edge over and over again.

what really does it though is rook's devilish voice, somehow still composed even after they are both sweaty and shaking and fucked out, pressed right against his ear, asking, "you want to be a daddy, emmrich?"

and they say old dogs cannot learn new tricks

[haemocyaninz]

Aint he cute?

[Image ID: A digital drawing of haemocyaninz’s oc, Hiro. Hiro is a man with light brown skin, long kinky curly light blue hair with braids framing his face, a curvy medium build, and a magenta scar on his stomach. He wears a aquamarine bra top with matching shorts and darker colored mary jane shoes. He also wears gold bangles and matching hooped earrings. Hiro smiles while winking as he sits criss crossed on the floor. End ID.]

[ltash]

Scream

Ghostxfemalereader

The opulence of your office was a stark contradiction to the chaos unravelling beyond its walls. The mahogany desk, polished to a mirror-like gleam, stood as a testament to power and wealth, its surface immaculate save for the glowing monitors streaming live footage from the CCTV system. The images on the screens told a grim story: Task Force 141 was storming the building with relentless precision. The faint echoes of gunfire filtered through the fortified walls, each sharp crack a harbinger of impending doom.

You adjusted the Prada spectacles perched delicately on your nose, the gold frames catching the soft glow of the chandelier above. Rising with deliberate grace, you smoothed the rich, velvety fabric of your brown jersey dress, its figure-hugging cut sculpting your petite, hourglass silhouette Gold bangles chimed softly as you opened the drawer and retrieved the sleek, matte pistol resting inside. Its cold, familiar weight steadied your trembling hands.

For a moment, you allowed yourself a single deep breath. Control. Poise. Resolve. The words repeated like a mantra, a fragile bulwark against the growing panic clawing at your chest.

The corridor stretched before you, bathed in the dim, foreboding glow of emergency lights. Shadows danced on the walls, twisting and shifting as if alive, feeding the unease you tried desperately to suppress. Each step you took, the click of your heels on the marble floor echoed louder in your ears, amplifying the stark emptiness around you.

Then the lights went out.

Darkness enveloped you with suffocating immediacy. Your breath hitched, coming in shallow, uneven gasps. You gripped the pistol tighter, the weapon feeling small and insignificant against the mounting dread. Somewhere ahead, gunfire crackled faintly, punctuated by muffled screams. Each sound hammered at your composure.

Turning a corner, your pulse skittered into chaos as a figure emerged from the shadows. He was a phantom in the dark, broad shoulders, towering frame, and an aura of menace that seemed to fill the space like a tangible force. The skull mask obscuring his face glinted faintly, its hollow eyes fixing on you with an intensity that froze you in place.

Before you could react, he closed the distance, a blade flashing in the faint light.

The steel kissed your abdomen with cold precision before sinking in. Pain erupted, hot and blinding, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips as your knees buckled. The rich fabric of your dress darkened as blood seeped through, warm and sticky against your skin.

His grip on your wrist was unyielding, pinning you effortlessly against the wall. The sheer strength in his hand was enough to force a choked cry from your throat. Shadows framed his masked face, but his eyes, deep, piercing pools of brown, locked onto yours with a cruel, magnetic pull.

"You don't look scared enough," he murmured, his voice low and edged with menace.

The knife twisted, a calculated motion that drew another strangled cry from you. Agony bloomed, spreading in sharp, unbearable waves, but it was his presence that overwhelmed you, the heat radiating from him, the dominance in his every movement. His breath was warm against your cheek, steady and deliberate, a contrast to the chaos inside you.

"P-please," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Please, what?" His tone mocked your desperation, lips brushing so close to your ear that the words felt like a physical caress. "Begging won't save you."

Your body arched involuntarily as the blade shifted again, the pain electric and all-consuming. You clawed weakly at his forearm, your strength insignificant against his iron grip.

"Such a fragile little thing," he mused, his voice almost amused. "And yet, you're still fighting. Adorable."

The humiliation burned hotter than the pain, yet you couldn't ignore the way his words sent an unwelcome thrill skittering down your spine. His masked face loomed closer, the hollow eyes seeming to drink in your every reaction.

"Why..." Why are you doing this?" you choked out, trembling under his hold.

His reply was cold, absolute. "Because I can."

The simplicity of his answer was more terrifying than the knife. It carried no malice, no justification, only a detached certainty that rendered your defiance meaningless. He tilted his head, studying you as if you were a curiosity.

"You're trembling," he said, his voice soft but edged with dark amusement. His gloved hand gripped your jaw, forcing your face to tilt up toward his. "Your fear is... intoxicating."

Your breath hitched as his hand travelled lower, a possessive touch that burned even through the barrier of his glove. "So small," he murmured, the words a cruel taunt. "So delicate. I could break you so easily."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but his hand wiped them away, the leather rough against your skin. "Don't cry," he whispered, his tone darkly seductive. "Not yet. I want to see how far you can fall."

The knife twisted again, and the sound that escaped you was different this time, soft, breathless, a sound that betrayed far more than pain. His eyes narrowed behind the mask, the cruelty in his gaze sharpening with satisfaction.

"Do you like this?" he asked, his voice a dangerous purr. "Does the pain excite you?"

"N-no," you whispered, but the tremor in your voice betrayed the lie.

His chuckle was low, vibrating through the narrow space between you. "Liar," he said simply. "Your body doesn't lie."

Shame and fury warred within you, but his dominance was absolute. The weight of his presence, the heat of his body, and the unrelenting intensity of his gaze, it consumed you.

"You'll scream for me," he said, his voice soft but menacing, a promise etched in stone. "And when you do, it will be the sweetest sound I've ever heard."

You clung desperately to the shreds of your composure, but in your heart, you already knew the truth. You were his, trapped in a web of fear, pain, and something darker, something you couldn't name but couldn't deny.

His fingers tightened around your jaw, forcing your gaze back to his. The touch was demanding, almost domineering. His eyes were deep pools of brown, the colour of rich earth.

He whispered, his voice low and cold. The blade twisting agonisingly inside you...

"Scream."

Gif credits: @yumethefrostypanda

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

My mc has this really really elaborate time consuming hair style with hoops and braids and everytime i try to draw it i die a little bit inside

Now i just imagine him sometimes just waking up and choosing to let those hoops roll far away from his sight (more like stopping mid braid out of frustration and feeding the fish in the river some gold to go back and be recycled by nature . Mc goes about the day with a weird half finished tiny braid and long ass hair held together by a random tree branch they just stabbed in after rolling it like a noodle)

If the ros/siblings are used to elaborate hairstyle!mc will they have a reaction if mc stops- I can’t articulate dundjdh not the question i wanna ask hmm what's the importance of hair in their land? And the traditional styles-?

Dying drawing the hair 🤝😔 (lol why did I do this) The sib designs are mostly casual things they’d wear everyday at the palace or their armor like with Aurora, so I didn’t give them overly complicated hair but they’d probably wear much more complicated designs at formal events. But I didn’t want to murder my wrists drawing those rn lmao 💀

But that’s a cute image lol of mc walking around with half finished hair or hair rolled around a twig 🤣😭 The sibs and ROs would probably just recognize mc got frustrated and quit halfway lol.

The traditional hairstyle with braids around gold bangles is reserved for royalty, though most Theians practice some degree of ornament in their hair, like with Samira’s braids. It’s a cultural stylistic thing, though plenty of people prefer simpler hairstyles etc. For nobility, appearances are important so there is more pressure on ornamentation in one’s clothing and hairstyle. Among nobility, elaborate hairstyles are considered sort of a status symbol and there is a social pressure to ornament one’s appearance—sort of like irl social pressures or expectations on things like gendered clothing or wearing a suit to formal events etc. So mc isnt necessarily expected to adhere to the traditional style reserved for royalty, but they are expected to maintain a certain degree of ornamentation about their appearance. An mc who wears their hair and clothes very simply would be seen as sorta like walking around in a T shirt and jeans in a palace. If that makes sense lol :)

[sw124]

The Swapstroth

[ok, I could not stop myself! I keep reading and re-reading the swapped Astaroth comic. I’m going to write it out now! For the entertainment of you all but more importantly @kikorikoiko and @whysoblue2 I hope you both like it! This is of their Witness swapping so check it out]

One moment he was working on papers, next he was in a place he didn’t recognize. Hmph, well he knew he was still in Anchordeep and in the temple of Kallamar. That much Astaroth could see, though looking around…it was obvious that it was redecorated…yet again.

‘Not even the time to blink that the harlot has already remodeled the entire temple. What a waist of godly powers…’

Despite that thought…Astaroth had to give credit where it was due, the details were impeccable and the colors..well befitting for someone like Kallamar. Soft pale curtains as light as sea bubbles wafting in the currents, almost looked like jellyfish frills. The swirling carvings on the columns mirroring the spirals of whirl pools, Astaroth began to wonder how his bishop came to become so creative with such details.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a voice, ethereal and alluring like ocean waves. “Since you are standing there doing nothing as usual…” Astaroth turned, eyes widening at…an image that was and wasn’t his Bishop! They were leaning against a marble counter, back to him…a well toned, slender, battle scarred back. Soft teal green skin, fading into four deep abyssal blue arms. Speckles of gold bangles, bracelets and rings adorned this doppelgänger. Precious crystals and rings adorned their head fins, eyes that rivaled the most perfect cerulean waters and lips..like the petals of the sea. They wore a tunic of costal lavender..the clasp..yet to be buckled. “Make yourself useful and clasp my tunic, soldier.”

Astaroth was frozen to the spot, even more so when their eyes met. He couldn’t tell if he was blushing or coming down with a fever…maybe both! What words he was going to say were swallowed, Kallamar blinked.

“Astaroth?” This…this wasn’t Astaroth…well it is and yet not… no this…..this was…ADORABLE! Kallamar pushed away from the counter and strode over, letting the front of his tunic fall forward…showing his flawless physique. “Aw! Look at you! You’re so tiny and cute…my sweet pocket sized general!”

Astaroth was frozen to his spot, this ‘Kallamar’ towered over him, the shadow of their many tendrils over him….the only thing he could do…was whimper. In a blink he was ensnared in a wave of tendrils, lifted into four arms and his face pressed against skin so soft one would mistake its texture for that of a camellia petal. Tendrils and hands gripping him all over as he was cuddled against this doppelgänger god. His blush now a full on fever at this point, his skin dotted with perspiration.

“Come here, let me squeeze you! Your re so adorable!” Kallamar squealed, oh he truly was! That blush, his soft whimper, this was like a perfect doll sized Astaroth!

Oh even his voice! Despite trying to sound intimidating it came out in squeaks! “T-too many tentacles, too many hands, too shirtless! U-Unhand me…this instant i-if you want….”

This was to grand, his tunic could wait. In fact, this seemed like a perfect time to…relax. Enjoy a nice drink even, it had been a while since he took the time to unwind. Kallamar turned and strode to one of his favorite chairs, settling down with his little pocket sized general in his lap. A titter of laughter escaped his lips, oh the irony…usually Kallamar would enjoy sitting in ‘his’ Astaroth’s lap but now…

Well, as sweet as that thought was he was still missing that drink. His tendril rung a nearby bell, in just a minute a servant appeared with a drink in hand. They paused…staring at…well a much smaller version of the great Witness Astaroth who…was wrapped in three of Kallamar’s arms with his face buried in their bare chest.

“My lord…that isn’t general Astaroth.” Said the servant, Kallamar didn’t miss a beat or bat an eye. “I am aware this is my new pet, Atsy.” The servant tilted their head just a bit. “But…what about the general?”

Kallamar gave a sly but knowing smile. “Oh, he is a big boy he will find his way back to me, I am sure of it.”

Of course he’s always confident his beloved prince would return, until then he’d enjoy this adorably smaller version of him. Oh…Kallamar noticed he wore a bow, tying his tendrils back…hmm he might keep that for later. Astaroth though….was currently having a crisis…to move and run…or stay..

He apparently…was gonna stick to the latter.

End

[happypopcornprincess]

Tangled Fates

Part 2

A Phaya x Tharn fic about their past life as Sapuna and Wansarut.

GIF by @25shadesoffebruary || Original Post by creator is here

a/n - As a desi, this series has captured my heart with the mythology and storytelling! So I wrote this fic as I believe this backstory was one of the best in BL! This happens right after Sapuna is saved by Wansarut and left on the riverside. All of this is my imagination this is not from the book as i haven't read it yet. A lot of this is inspired from indian and thai mythological stories that my grandparents would tell me (shakuntala, nala-damyanti, radha-krishna, etc)Some terms might be difficult to understand so I have underlined them and provided a guide at the end for them.

The Sign series spoilers ahead!

---/---/---

Leaning back on the tree bark under the night sky, Sapuna winced as he tried to calm down. He took shallow breaths while pain coursed through his body. Within a single day, he had been bitten by Prince Chalothorn, thrown from the skies, almost died from Naga venom, and saved by a Nagini.

He was experiencing the after effects of detoxification. His eyesight was weakened, he couldn’t see the infinite like he used to. Is this what human vision is like? How do they manage to live like this?

He closed his eyes in frustration, trying to get some rest so he could gain strength to go back to the battlefield. He was worried that his brothers and sisters were searching for him. But the image of Prince Chalothorn flying towards his army in his serpent form worried him more. He wasn’t even in Garuda Lok. Everywhere he looked he found huge trees and dense forests. The shallow river on whose bank he sat was clear and cold, he craved for the warmth that was native to his kingdom.

This was Naga Lok, or somewhere near it. Nagas were territorial. They would never wander far from their home.

The Nagini earlier was proof of it.

“You will not be safe here.” Her eyebrows scrunched, she gazed at him with a blend of curiosity and caution.

“And why should I believe you?” Garuda retaliated with anger, looking at her legs that were still in the water, her territory, ready to run in case he attacked.

“I extracted all the venom but I can’t help with the after effects. You should return to your kingdom and let the vaidyas heal you.” She pleaded, looking around. “You will be killed if you stay here.”

The Lady turned away from him to face the water, and he flinched in habit when she turned into a serpent and dived into the water.

Did she go away to warn him? Will she be back? Why did she help him?

He could now hear the rumble in his stomach as if it were the roar of a lion. He remembered the lavish banquet he had shared with his clan before the war. In spite of his best efforts, Sapuna couldn't help but think about the delicacies he had been served just a day earlier.

Another sound echoed through the forest at the moment, the simmering sound of bangles. Sapuna sat up abruptly, on alert. He looked around but saw no one.

Was the Nagini back to finish me off?

Something brushed against his hand. Without his divine vision it took him a while to see what was in front of him in the moonlight.

It was a lotus leaf filled with berries, fruits, and edible flowers from the wild. His hunger only grew as he smelled the freshly picked mangoes, and throwing all caution to the wind, he dived in. Halfway through, his eyes caught a movement in the water.

He lifted his head to see a blur of green and gold; the same as the Nagini's clothes.

---/---/---

The sound of Wansarut’s bangles echoed through the plains as she picked the fruit. She chose the mangoes carefully for the injured Garuda. She saw how he ate the mangoes happily yesterday, they seemed to be of his liking. What do Garudas eat anyway? She has heard about them eating serpents since she was young. It sent a shiver down her spine. She will simply leave the food like she did yesterday and won’t talk to him. The quicker his health improves, the sooner he will leave.

She gained her composure, and took off her anklets and bangles and kept them by the riverside. She almost got caught yesterday. She saw a fawn and its mother drinking water by her side. Smiling, she said in their tongue, "Keep them safe for me now, will you?” The fawn nodded, standing guard over her jewels with its tiny form.

She got into the water, smiling back at the fawn. Spending time with wild animals in this forest has always been her joy. This place was the divide between Naga Lok and the human world, a place she accidentally stumbled upon while wandering in the woods. It felt like a hidden haven, known only to her; a sanctuary where she felt safe.

She surfaced by the bank where she had left the Garuda, quietly approaching the tree where he had fallen. There, she delicately placed the lotus leaf, ready to run away the second she placed it on the ground.

"Why are you here?"

Wansarut screamed as the heavy voice echoed behind her, causing the food to fly from her hands and land on the ground. Startled, she turned to find the Garuda staring at her with an unpleasant expression. Although color had returned to his skin, and he no longer appeared pale, his armor was still stained with blood. Other than that, he seemed to be in good health.

“Do you often save your enemies and treat them with mangoes?" Sapuna inquired, a strange sensation in his chest as he observed her green attire and flowing hair.

---/---/---

"Do you make a habit of lurking in the shadows to frighten others?" the Nagini screamed once more, eyeing the scattered food on the ground.

His gaze remained steady as she gathered the fallen fruits, placing them on a lotus leaf and gently allowing the stream to cleanse the mud. Garuda found himself unable to look away, his attention fixed on her delicate wrists and the fluidity of her hands in the water, reminiscent of the mudras of Kohn.

Sapuna snapped back to reality. "Why are you here again?" he asked, approaching her as she handed him the food.

"Because I want you gone," she declared, scrutinizing him from head to toe.

"Is this a farewell lunch, then?" he inquired, taking a seat under the tree where he had fallen. Diving into the mangoes, he saw the Nagini looking at him, puzzled.

"You need to regain your strength to fly. Mangoes help," she explained, turning to leave. "I hope you leave this place by tomorrow."

Sapuna quickly swallowed his food and shouted, "Wait." She halted, looking back at him, one foot in the water and the other on the stones near the bank.

"Thank you. The Garudas will never forget your kindness and hospitality," he expressed.

The Nagini locked eyes with him. "I hope you don't forget to repay me." Sapuna recalled her asking for this war to end, for peace among her kind and his.

“I will do what I can," Sapuna replied.

The Nagini nods, stepping into the water to go away when the Garuda shouts again, “What is your name?”

She pauses yet again, but doesn’t turn.

"Wansarut." After saying so, she shifts into her Nagini form and dives into the water.

“Wansarut.” Sapuna smiles, whispering her name as he looked at the half-eaten food with a smile on his face.

---/---/---

Sleep didn’t come easy for Wansarut that night. The image of the Garuda's face lingered in her thoughts.

There was an unusual aura about him; something she had never witnessed before. His presence seemed to glow, and his features were perfectly sculpted. In his human form, he could easily be mistaken for a heavenly demigod. Truly divine.

She thought about the possibilities if he was a Naga like her. She could have asked him for courtship. They could have had the blessings from the elders and…

Wansarut sat up, shaking her head to dispel the fantasy.

He was a Garuda, her enemy. She could be in grave danger if discovered that she helped a Garuda. She didn’t even know his name and she wanted to do what? Ask him to court her? Love her?

Attempting to push these thoughts aside, she tried to sleep, resisting the image of him standing by the stream where he fell, waiting for her.

But she made a firm decision - she wouldn't go back. It wasn't just for her safety but for his as well.

---/---/---

More to come soon...

---/---/---

Guide

Sapuna - Phaya's name in past life as a Garuda

Wansarut - Tharn's name in past life as a Nagini

Naga - A creature from Hindu and Thai mythology who has magical powers and can shapeshift into a Serpant

Nagini - Females of Naga clan.

Garuda Lok - The realm of Lord Garuda

Naga Lok - Realm of the Nagas

Vaidyas - healers

Smiling, she said in their tongue - Naginis have magical abilities to talk in any language (be it human or animals)

Mudras of Khon - Khon is a classical dance in thailand and mudras are different types of hand movements in classical dances like odissi, khon, bharatnatyam, manipuri etc.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 30

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5k

Masterlist

Genie gives you a sly smile when she sees your smirk when you sit back down on the couch.

Javier trails behind you, excusing himself to the kitchen to cook. You’re not sure what you’re doing. Honestly, you’re probably going to regret this. Fuck it. It felt too good to hold him. You tasted him, lips pressed to his neck. Touching someone you love,  what a dangerous game. You’ll stay here tonight, then you’ll make a decision on what the next week looks like. A personal test that will probably have Jayla yelling your ear off about how bad of an idea this was. 

 Still you watch him from the love seat that faces the doorway to the kitchen. Seeing him move in the kitchen with deft, wiping his brow, clenching his jaw and looking oh so tortured. Your legs crossed, preventing any silly ideas you might conjure up from the beers Genie kept feeding you. 

Everyone in the house seemed to be in good spirits. Even your mother who had been housing a glass of wine. Everyone was a bit tipsy by ten. The girls asleep atop coats on Chuchos bed down the hall. They’ll be woken from their slumber at midnight to ravage through the gifts under the tree. 

Javier comes in alas, two beers in hand and beelines straight toward the empty seat next to you. Settling down, legs spread, offering up a beer for you. Your cheeks redden at the gesture, feeling your brother's knowing gaze. “Thank you.” You whisper, nudging him. 

He doesn’t respond and just shifts to get more comfortable. Settling into the couch, shoulder to shoulder with knees pressed against each other. He could give you space but he decided against it. The closeness sends a shock to your core and you wish to forget it. He clears his throat and looks ahead at his father who also had a knowing smile at the interaction.

“It’s great to finally have both of you home.” Chucho nods. “Through all the ups and downs I’m just happy to see the four of you— Frankie, Genevieve, Andrea and Javi still friends. Just glad you guys are over your marijuana phase.”

The room erupts in laughter, you put your hands up in defense. “I never! Never smoked in here.”

Frankie cackled, “Yeah because Javi never let you, he was all— she’s too young for that shit.” The living room swirled with another round  of laughs at the spot on impression of Javier. 

“Wait… you guys smoked pot?” Your mother asked, eyes wide. Devoid of anger, just shock. The four of you grinned. 

“It was the seventies.” Genie comments, cringing and bringing her water to her lips. She had been the only one of us completely sober. Your mind began to wander. James shook his head.

“Listen, they smoked pot and look how well off they all are. Beautiful family and two thriving salons. School teacher in New York City. And an American hero.” He butts in. Everyone in the room nods, your brother and his wife leaning into each other with smiles. Your eyes fall to your lap and slowly ride up from Javi’s knee to his face. A frown taut on his lips. 

“Don’t look so down Javi. What are your next steps now that you’re here?” Your mom slurs, gesturing for him to speak. Her gold bangles sounded like sleigh bells from hell. You suck your teeth, feeling him tense up next to you. An American Hero. It strokes something in him and you feel him closing in on himself beside you. 

“Uh- I just-I haven’t”

“Mami, he just got home today.” 

She waved a hand for you to scratch. “Ay nena, I’m talking to Javier here.” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, seeing him struggle to adjust to all this attention. He must have spent a lot of time talking about anything but himself. It would be a lot for anyone. To come home after three traumatic years to pestering questions from drunk elders. You see his eyes, nervous and unlike himself. You resist the urge to place your hand on his knee. He glances at your eyes then down at your lips swiftly before focusing on your mother again. Your brain short circuits at that, severely confused by his decision to fuck up your plan to keep your panties on tonight. 

 “Uhm-ehem.” He clears his throat. “I’m going to take it slow. Hopefully find someone, start a family. All in due time I suppose.” He chuckles and your mother nods curtly. 

“Well…” And when your mother begins a statement this way you have to brace yourself for complete and utter nonsense. Shoot. “Lorrianne is still single only–”

“We do not speak the devil's name in this house.” Chucho cuts. And thank god he knew how to dial a room because still you all drunkenly laugh together. Your mother cackled, repeating that it was a joke. Some part of you feels like it’s not. 

Still you laugh anyway.

Your mother is too tipsy to question why she’s now riding home with your brother. So is your brother but Genie—she’s winking at you while she pulls out of the parking lot. And Don Chucho doesn’t seem to be bothered. He squeezes your shoulder while you sit at the kitchen table, watching Javier rinse off the dishes. 

Truthfully, you’re a bit more tipsy than you thought. There’s something about stepping out into that brisk December air that really hits you with the reality that you had been fed beers for the past five hours. 

“You heading to bed?” 

“Yes, happy you're home. Don’t do anything stupid.” He whispers the last part in your ear and kisses your cheek before exiting. “Merry Christmas!” He calls from the hallway, a bit slurred. 

The entire night had been filled with stolen glances and knees pressing against each other. Not a direct word shared but now you were alone in the kitchen. The tipsier you got, the hotter your cheeks grew. Staring at his back while the stream of the water he uses occupies the silence, you cross your legs. He clears his throat, like he’s waiting to see who breaks this game first.

 But honestly, all you could do is stare at the way the ripples of his back muscles and shoulder blades stretch his shirt. 

Christ, you think while sipping the cure to your state. Water.

Luckily the pressing questions died down into a session of nostalgic storytelling. You try not to be bothered by your mother not being able to recall one dear moment from your childhood. It seemed everyone had one about you except her. 

It made you think of the bee earrings that catch dust on your vanity. You are suddenly too sad to speak. 

He clears his throat and turns. Arms crossed, making his biceps bulge in his shirt. Fuck, he was sexier than before. And he’s looking at you that same way. Like it’s taking a lot from him to not just spread you open right there in the kitchen. Your stomach pits at the distant memory of your breasts rubbing against the kitchen counter while he fucked some sense into you. Pretty little wife. 

“I’m going to head out for a smoke. My clothes are unpacked yet, there should still be some old shirts in the drawers for you to change into.” 

His words are like a splash of cold water, he exits the kitchen and the front door follows. Your brain barely caught up with anything he said. You were faced with the reality once again. You were going to sleep in Javier’s bed, and you promised yourself it was going to be casual. 

Good god, why do I set such unrealistic expectations for myself?

You get up anyway, relieved that he’s allowing you privacy to change. You think if he was in the room while doing so you might’ve urged to just take it off himself. 

You expected there to be more sentiment when you walked into his room after so long. After the last time.

It was the last time you had sex. It was a memory you liked to not look back on. Your last time being spent with him comforting you after having a panic attack. It was when you told him that you never thought you’d have a healthy sex life. Yet it was so much more than that. You were overcome with the trauma of your first relationship and the blistering reality of being so in love, that you couldn’t bear to watch him leave. 

You’re back in that same spot, yet the room is empty, filled with boxes and suitcases. 

You feel nostalgia run down your throat with a swallow. But ultimately are left with yearning to make more revelations here. 

His bed was ruffled like he napped during the day and he had a suitcase open with clothing jumbled. You know he said to check his drawer but the smell of his cologne enticed you far too much to just throw on some old threadbare shirt that probably smells like a closet. 

You pick a green t-shirt. A favorite of his, you remember him wearing it at Xavier’s memorial day barbecue a few years back. With a sting at your knee, you bend down to grab it before striping yourself of your sweater dress. Stockings off and tossed on the floor. With just your panties and hardened nipples grazing the thin material, you climb onto his bed. Dazed and determined to not let your pussy get the best of you. 

The door creaked open and he came through. Hooded eyes blinking in disbelief. Maybe being perched on the bed with your thighs on display wasn’t the smartest. Perhaps shuffling under the covers would have been preferable to keeping his or your hands to yourself. He clears his throat and gives you a nod. 

“You still smoke.” You comment. You never liked it, far more research has been done and you hate for him to get himself sick over something so trivial. 

He clenches his jaw, eyes stuck on the curve of your breasts and nipples for a moment before he bends down to grab a pair of sleep pants from his suitcase. “Yes.” He turns, the unzipping of his pants makes you shift on your heels. Dropping his pants, the backs of his thighs and black boxers in your sight. Still, he respects your earlier requests of no funny business and he pulls on his new pants without a lingering second of sexual suggestion. 

Much to your dismay he keeps his shirt on. “It’s still really bad for you.” You whisper, changing your seating position— knees to your chest now, back against the headboard. Javier turns with a small smile on his face observing your things tossed on his floor. 

“Wanting things that are bad for you is healthy.” He murmurs, bending down with a soft groan. Folding his pants and placing them back in his suitcase. He looks up into your eyes, “So is wanting something that’s good for you. Makes us human.” He gets into bed with another grunt, old man. 

You nod, hands holding your knees. Feeling your wound throb. You bite back a wince. Javier’s eyes are on your knee the second he feels you next to him. Creased brow, he takes his big fingers around your wrist and reveals the injury to him. In an instant, he’s manhandling you, still delicate and considerate of your stinging knee. He moves your legs across his lap. “How’d you get this?” He thumbs the surrounding area, inside of your knee and you throb. More ways than one. 

“Fell in the subway.” 

He grumbles, stroking and soothing your skin. It’s so much contact in one moment. You’re overcome with the urge to cry and tell him that every time you’ve ever felt pain you wished he were there. Any tiny cut, any feeling hurt, you wished to come home to tell him about it and curse the world together. 

God bless you, you’re an honest drunk. 

“It was a brutal fall, ripped my stocking and bled all the way home. Then it was snowing so it was all dirty. You ever get hurt and realize you’re no better than a kid, like you just wish there were someone there to kiss it better. Or like wanting someone to rub and be like sana sana colita de rana.” You ramble, eyes on the way his hand covers your entire knee and the way his thumb works into your soft skin. You gaze trails back up to his face and his stunning side profile is what you’re met with. The arch of his nose, the thick hair above his pretty pout. You wanted to drag your lips across it all and claim him. 

His brow furrows, and you realize that may be its natural state. His free hand comes up and points at a tiny scar across the bridge of his nose. Eyes widening, you shove your face into his to get a view. Tip of your nose touching his cheek while you observe a new part of him. He chuckles. 

“I’ve been on scene for more raids than I can count. Usually it’s a shoot out.” Your chest tightens and you back your face away. “Dodging, frantic, whatever. But there was this one, where we had one of Escobar's sicarios cornered. Well I had him cornered. Really fucked up guy, got two pregnant women killed sort of fucked up. Anyway, I was tired, and angry. And I should have just detained him when I had the chance. But… I was the one who saw the bodies. I wanted to rough him up myself. And I did, but in the midst of it all he head butted me and—yeah. Cracked my nose. Had a small gash and was bleeding all the way down to my teeth.” His finger traces to his mustache.

 “Went back to my team, blood still pouring, drying on my mustache. In so much pain I could barely see. The adrenaline was so high so no one bothered to help me. I didn’t want to help me either, I just wanted to get the night done and over with. It was when I got home and dunked my face in cold water that I really wished I had someone there to take care of me.”

He frowns for a moment, not able to look you in the eyes. You both sit in silence and you digest it all. You knew—know, that your lives turned out very differently, you guess you haven’t even thought about how different. 

 Your frown isn’t momentary, your heart slows in your chest and you swear you don’t think. Maybe you can blame it on your drunkenness tomorrow. But you bring your pointer finger to the scar on his nose and he doesn’t flinch. The crease between his brow just flexes then smoothes out all together.

You rub the scar, and trail down the bump of his nose. You feel the slight crook that it must have left. You move again, grazing the tip, and landing on his mustache. The thing that used to brush against you, and at one point soaked his blood. His lip twitches when the tip of your nail brushes the soft skin of his cupid's bow. The pad of your finger presses against his lips and he cracks into a smile. One that’s more genuine than any he let out today. Maybe it’s because you’re both tipsy that he allows his eyes to crinkle and dimples to deepen. Your finger slipping and pressing to the cold surface of his teeth. 

You let your hand fall to his chest, “I wish I was there.” You admit in a whisper.

“I don’t.” His voice vibrates against your palm. 

You know what he means, and he knows you know what he means so he doesn’t rush to reassure you. You’re beyond need for that. “I know it was dangerous but I wish I was there to listen to you, wipe off your blood or whatever.” You whisper, doubling down. He huffs, he’s much more solid under your palm than he was a few years back. It must be tough work. You fight the urge to press your lips against the scar on his nose. 

“You would have been disgusted by the person I was there—the person I've become.” 

“No.” You mutter, you’ve already thought of all the horrible things he could have been doing and forgave him in your head years ago.

He shakes his head and grabs your wrist to move your hand onto your own lap. “I’ve killed people.”

“I know.”

“I fucked at least 2 hookers a week.”

He’s saying it like he wants you to run away or tell him he isn’t good enough, that he’s not the same person. Does he want you to snarl in his face and be angry? It seems like he must have forgotten the type of person you are. “Was it a different one each time?” You ask so maybe you cared more than you’d like to believe. 

“It was the same four women.” He burns a hole through the wall with his gaze. He couldn’t even look at you. 

“What were their names?”

He snaps to look at you, eyes roving around your face. Utter confusion between his brow. “Do you want me to hurt your feelings?”

“What did you think I was sitting with my legs crossed in New York City?” 

He quirks a brow for a moment, you see the smallest glimpse of jealousy in his eyes before he sits up right and smirks. “Julia, Camila, Daniela and Dulce.”

You nod, “I’m hooking up with my colleague.” 

He tightens his lips, “Alright.”

You chuckle dryly, tilting your head. “Does that bother you?”

Javier shrugs, “No but unlike you I rather not hear about my exes sexual whereabouts” 

Your eyes drop to your lap at that. Tiredness creeping in to protect you from the danger that is speaking to Javier so late in the night. You hated that, “I never thought we’d ever be exes.”

It's silent again, you can almost hear Chucho snoring down the hall. How is it Christmas already, how is he here? How, why the fuck are you in his bed. “I don't typically go into relationships thinking we’re going to be exes.”

“I never thought we’d even be together.” You whisper the confession. Sometimes, she creeps through, who you were ten years ago. Insecure and unsure of everything when the answers are right on display for you. Javier's body is much closer to you this time, sneaking his chin on your shoulder. Lips grazing your jaw. It sobers you up, you bring your hand to the back of his head. Cradling him, while he presses slow kisses to your jaw. Lips just as soft. Your eyes flutter shut, “This is such a bad idea.” 

“Why?” He gravels out. His adams apple rolling against your shoulder. 

“Because we’re going to end up fucking.”

His teeth grazes your neck, “Would that be so bad?” He slows down, nosing your chest, with hands coming to your waist. Like he’s ready to pull you into his lap at any moment. 

You don't want him to stop, the way he’s moving is all that you've craved for years. His shirt thin on your skin, he’s all opened mouth–inching toward your peaked nipples through the shirt. Threatening to mouth away at your breast. His large hands move from your waist, up, up to your breasts. Holding the weight of them, palms covering it all, he inspects it like it's his job. He looks up at you through his brows. Your mouth is open, unable to speak. “Huh Andrea?” He teases. A smirk twitching the edges of his mustache. 

Your mouth dry, you lick your lips and snap out of it. “We can’t kiss.”

He takes it as a go ahead, and it is. He kneads at your chest, palm grazing against your nipples and causing your legs to part. “Can I touch you like this?” It's husky and mocking, the way he’s already done it without asking. It's pathetic the way you’re allowing all of this to happen before you even have a serious conversation about everything that went down. You nod. 

“We can’t kiss–oh.” He lifts the shirt and attaches his wet mouth to your bare breasts. You moan, toes curling. “We can’t fuck.”

“I'm clean.” He mumbles against your breasts.

“Me too-that's not why–Javi…” Your breath catches in your throat when his free hand grabs a handful of your inner thigh. He’s like a starved man, you, a delicious meal out in front of him, prepared for devouring. Your hand comes to cover his. Moving with him while he moves up the inside of your thigh.

“Why not?” The both of you are staring at your hands conjoined, slipping dangerously close to the gusset of your panties. His eyes flick up to you but your mouth is agape and distracted by the closeness of him, about how he smells the same, how everything feels like before. Why is it so easy to fall back into him, why was it so hard to resist. 

Because it’s too much, I’ll tell you I love you again. I’ll never leave. I will never let you leave. His pointer finger grazes then slips in between your panties and your cunt. You were destined to fail your attempt at self preservation. “Just…” You lean back fully and you can feel him heat up beside you. “Just touch me, make me forget.” You whisper. Legs spreading he takes his place, on his knees in the space you’ve made. His hands make no hesitation, he grips at your simple cotton fabric and pulls them off swiftly. He stares, hands on your knees. Eyes hooded and his length hardening before your eyes. Licking his lips, his brows furrow. 

“Que quieres olvidar?” It comes out low, whispered and strained. He knows that this means more than just two horny exes rekindling for a night. He knows this comes with years of pain, and bliss and confusion. Slightly toxic, beautifully romantic. He knows this could never be just two people having casual sex, he ignores it anyway and so do you. 

You shut your eyes for a moment 

“Summer.” 

Is all you can think of. It answers everything. Javier’s jaw tightens, you watch the word take meaning in his brain and he nods. Good thing we have all other seasons, he thinks out loud, beyond a whisper. You know he’s your one and only. He leans forward and flips his green shirt up the slightest. He presses two wet kisses to your belly and whispers words unheard before inching his lips right where he’s needed most. His bottom lip ghosts over your clit and your stomach pits. He cuts through his breath with his hot and heavy tongue flicking you. “Mnm” It’s one touch and you're reduced to whimpers of jumbled letters. His pretty lips kissing and sucking at your bare cunt. 

“Still…” He grunts, before licking again from your pulsing hole up to your clit that's doing just the same. “Still taste so good.” His southern drawl that he loved to hide creeps up in moments like this. Moments when your face is flush and your chin is quivering from pleasure and agony. Your legs are spread wide and you feel your bruised and cut knee sting but your senses are overloaded so the pain is close to non-existence. You squirm and he murmurs, stay fucking still, before swinging your good leg over his shoulder and continue his feast. 

His hot mouth moves to your labia, sucking just to make noise, and back to your cunt that's weeping for him to just put a little bit of him in. But no Andrea-no. You're making such a mess of his face you feel slightly sheepish. His eyes are closed and he’s in his element between your legs. Chin quivering, you want to hold him, he’s reminding you that sex is fucked if its not with him. Your hands fly to the mess of hair on his head. Tugging and moving him, you sit up slightly. Finding him rutting his hips against the bed below him and you feel for him. Your hands slip from the back of his head down to his broad back, taking advantage of the width of him. The hand that found its place holding your thighs in place reaches to your sensitive knot of nerves. 

Thumbing you and your body drops back down on the bed. Desperate to scream and moan his name, your shaky hand grabs a pillow from next to you. You stuff your face, and weep against it. “Javi–I’m going to come– oh god please.”

His moan vibrates against your core and he drives. Sloppy and rushed, he rubs you out while his tongue fucks you. On the silent Christmas night you whimper against a bitten pillow while Javier makes out with your pussy. “You're so close baby– did this pretty little cunt miss me?”

“It did–no one compares–oh!” You shriek but it's muffled. He lets your other leg go and slips two fingers inside of your unexpecting cunt. He’s relentless, finger fucking you knuckle deep while his tongues makes its deft movements against and it was enough. You're gushing all over his hands, he moans at the sight, smiling at the way you writhe and hold the pillow against your made up face. Hips twitching while he coaxes you with kisses on your stomach. “Easy…” He holds your belly with the wet hand, settling your twitching form down. You always come this way when it's him, embarrassing to you when you come down, completely out of control of your body for a few seconds. You toss the pillow, white with black streaks of your mascara. 

He’s kissing you all over, lifting your shirt– his shirt, kissing your hip bone, kissing below your breasts, your neck, your jaw, your cheek, eyelids and the corner of your mouth. 

You lay side by side. Sweating and unsure what happens next. You let the sound of his ceiling fan play out for a moment.

“I thought about you every day.” He speaks and it's gravelly. “Sometimes I’d see something so horrible or embarrassing and think only Andrea would understand– only she would laugh with me.”

Chest rising with a stutter, you're on the verge of a sob. “I pay ten dollars a month for a Colombian newspaper subscription because they have a DEA column.” Suppose it was time to be honest. “Every time I saw a bee I thought of you.”

He chuckles next to you, “C’mere” He whispers and you move immediately. Finding your head on his chest and your arm snaked on his waist. His large palm covers the back of your head. You’re in heaven. Complete bliss. How have you been so strong without him? “I’m not taking time off, I was fired and paid to not expose the DEA.”

You nod against him, not entirely shocked. You never really liked the idea of Javi– Javi, who has so much good to offer- selling his soul to government agencies. It was a selfless thing he did for a selfish system. “I have birds.” You giggle, not having a great follow up. He laughs with you, your cheek vibrating. 

“What in the world are we doing?”

You have no fucking clue. But you think you understand him now, the way he wanted all of you before he left for Colombia. The way he seemed selfish to others to keep you wrapped around his finger when he had a flight booked. 

Now it's you leaving, you’ve got that flight, you’ve got a life elsewhere, yet you can't help but keep him while you can. 

“Being selfish. Or at least I am.” 

“No.” His response is quick and cutting. “You can do whatever you want to me. You can leave tomorrow and I’ll be satisfied that you gave me a chance again.”

Your brows furrow and you don’t like that at all. You hate to hear your own thoughts out of his lips. You don't scold him for being honest. “I leave two days after New Year's Day.” It's so dark in the room, still you look up at him when you say and you see his face unmoved. 

“Stay here… for the week I mean.” He's desperate, holding onto you. You want to kiss him. “Cancel your hotel, bring your things here. You know this is your home.” 

 “Okay.” You nod instead, “I will.”

“Good.” He smiles in the dark, his teeth illuminating the perfection that is his face. He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Good.” He says it to himself.

“Can we keep being honest?”

“Yes. I had a picture you taped to my desk.” 

“Must have scared all of your sexy female co-workers away.” You grin. 

“Sure did, doing your job from countries away.”

“Hm.” You catalog all that he has missed in your head, thinking what to tell him next. “Do you know Whitney Houston?”

“Eh.” 

“Well…the week after we broke up. When Lorraine was staying with you, I listened to ‘Saving All My Love For You’ and cried like every day.”

“Andrea…” He groans teasingly like you’re hurting him. “What was the song about?” 

You burn bright red, “Being the other woman…”

“Oh please.” He grunts, holding you tight against him. You almost forget you're completely bare from the waist down. “No seas tan ridícula” He mutters against your head while kissing you aggressively there. 

“Let's just sleep before I embarrass myself some more please!”

“Mmm good idea. I was close to telling about jerking off in a storage closet because someone smelled like you.”

Your mouth drops wide and you slap his chest, “Javi!” 

“All right I’ll save it for a less… holy day.”

Right, good ol’ JC’s B-day. 

“Fuck… I was making a mess of your bed on our lord's day.”

He shrugs. It’s so easy to just fall back into everything when it’s him. Like four years haven’t passed. 

“Well, consider it a Christmas gift.” 

You chuckle, “Well Merry fucking Christmas.”

 “Maybe I do know how to be your friend in the winter Andrea.”

It's a whisper, like a prayer.

[cryptid-stimming]

Shadow the Hedgehog (Sonic) Stimboard (for Anon)

x x x / x x / x x x

[Image ID: a still image of Shadow the Hedgehog surrounded by 8 gifs. Line one has a gif of a spherical plasma lamp with electrical currents moving inside, a gif of a thick gold bangle being crafted with a blowtorch flame, and a gif of a capsule-shaped plasma lamp with the currents moving inside. Line two has a close-up gif of hair being brushed with a comb, the still image of Shadow, and another close-up of hair being brushed with a comb. Line three has a gif of someone holding a thick gold bangle between a finger and thumb, a gif panning over different shaped plasma lamps, and a gif of a gold bangle being smoothed with a metal chisel tool.]

[hiddeneosbymrsflowerpot]

The timepieces of Eos You may have noticed that Noctis's trendy outfit includes a wristwatch. This highly detailed chronograph features the royal mandala, date dial, a dial with what looks like a map and a another dial with the legend XV Final Fantasy. They even made a real version! Caelum chronograph black. Other characters wear wristwatches too. Weskham has a gold watch with a W on the dial. Camelia's watch has a rectangular dial and a brown leather strap. Monia wears a minimalist timepiece with a white metal band. Dustin wears a classic wristwatch with a metal band. Sania has modern chronograph with a black plastic strap and square shaped lime green face. It also has a compass. And in the present day, Talcott wears a large, modern chronograph with a leather strap. The random NPCs in Lucis seem to prefer wearing cuffs and bangles but some of the the NPCs in Altissia wear watches. The men all seem to wear the same chronograph with leather strap and the women wear a simple wristwatch with narrow leather strap.

All images copyright Square Enix Co Ltd.