#and since I was familiar with the term I just answered without thinking

[bluemoonpunch]

Hey dear,

First I wanted to thank you for all the readings you prepared for us, and for your dedication to our community 💜

I wanted to ask you - if you don't mind sharing - a little bit of your own spiritual journey?

What was the process for you to get so incredibly good at your craft? 🤭

How did you get interested in reading cards?

What was your spiritual awakening?

How do you usually practice? Do you have rituals (meditations or other things)

What is your advice for people who want to start reading cards? (I know some people are interested)

Can you tell us your opinion again about the concept of free will on making readings about celebrities, and your point of view on it? (Many people are turned off to interact with those readings because they feel it's invasive.) What's your own personal stance on it? Can you explain like we are 4?

I know this is a lot of questions. Answer only to what you're comfortable with of course!

Thanks again for everything 💜🥰

Fun stuff!

What was the process for you to get so incredibly good at your craft? - Very annoying answer, but I have no idea. In terms of the more technical side of reading, which is mainly just learning the cards and other various tools, it was just basic study and familiarization. My way of reading, how I actually go about doing readings, I really don't know. It's not something that I learned really, it was something I was always doing since I was a tiny kid (I was one of them "I see dead people" kids).

I mostly just stick to trusting myself, not really looking too far out into things, both in terms of spiritual matters as well as things online, other readers who cover similar topics, just keep things contained and manageable so that I don't look my own lens. I have a lil mantra for myself that I've had since I was little, "those who need to find it will find it, and those who need to understand will understand. Fuck the rest." It was originally applied to art and writing, but it applies greatly to my work here too especially in terms of my bigger intentions in regard to helping people with self-navigation, exploration, and personal development.

How did you get interested in reading cards? - I just randomly decided to buy myself a tarot deck back in 2016. Before that, I used to use standard playing cards or uno cards, as well as books, dice, a magic 8-ball, and chains or bracelets as pendulums. The thing is though, I didn't know what I was doing with any of those other things, like I didn't intend to do readings for people, but that... basically what I was doing in elementary and middle school. Most of the intended readings I did for myself back then were channeled, and handled through very deep meditations without any other tools.

I was living alone in 2016 and was just not having a very good time, so I got the cards so that I could have something to do, to learn, to be interested in.

What was your spiritual awakening? - I think, technically, I've had a few. So, again, "i see dead people" type child I was, however, I was completely unaware of the fact that everyone else couldn't see what I was seeing up until I was about 9 or 10 when I saw the spirit of my grandma's dog that had just passed away. Obviously, I was aware she was dead so, started putting some pieces together there. But even with that, it still wasn't an all-go situation because where I'm from people are all kinds of open-minded when it comes to the paranormal and aliens and all kinds of stuff like that (very closed-minded to everything else of course, small town), and my mom was a practicing wiccan as were most of her friends, my grandpa was way into psychics and there's a bit of an interesting history to part of my family regarding some stuff, so me bringing any of this up didn't really cause a fuss and therefore it just sunk into the background again. It just wasn't a big deal, so I really didn't think about it too much.

Then, through middle school, I was exploring things more on my own, experimenting with quite a lot of stuff while living in an extremely haunted space (in activity not the quantity of spook) with my mother and her then-husband. All kinds of spooks were happening, we were being put THROUGH IT in that house, but I was also going a bit insane due to some mental health stuff at that time that had me coping in very bad ways. Ended up having to go to the hospital and it kind of shocked my system a bit so I did the whole "none of that's real, I was just completely insane" for about 8 or 9 years after that.

Had my 7 years of self-imposed isolation between 13/14 - 20/21. Didn't leave my room for 3 years, then didn't leave the house for an additional 4 until my mom died and then I had to move. Spent one more year alone in hell (literally, the Universe set the fucking plagues to the house I was living in to get me to leave. Worst year.). In that last year on my own, I kind of went SO INSANE that I looped back around to being sane (with just a wee bit of quirk for fun) and was like why the hell have I been raw dogging all of this shit for all of these years, I got contacts, I know how to DO SHIT. And then I just kind of fucked around and found out with this really intense 3 day ritual thing that just so happed to line up with that Leo Eclipse that year (it was on my rising) and I SCREAMED to the universe, as I did most night, but on this one particular night I VOWED that if I could just get one more opportunity, one more chance to get out of that house, then I would just trust everything that I see, feel, hear, and I will not question any of it or deny it ever again. Swore on, did all the shit, two or three days later my gram shows up telling me that I have to move because that house is required by another. Then I moved in with my grandparets, and then two months later I started my first job.

Reminder, 7 years of isolation up to this point, so that first job, working retail, in a mall, in a massive department store... I wasn't doing so good at first. But I really, really enjoyed working there adn there was a lot of bullshit (harrassment, robbery, liquidation sales, someone shot their whole ass up the bathroom wall once, 40 year old bullies) but I literally learned how to be a person again there. AND TO THIS DAY I have never known a feeling more pure and genuinely fulfilling than the day, about 5 months, I was actually working on the cash register, something I thought I would literally never be able to do because of all of my issues.

One day, randomly, one of my gram's co-workers (she worked at the makeup place) asked me to do a reading for her and I was like O.O pardon?? You see, literally no (or so I thought) knew that I did readings or that I even had cards to begin with, and even now I don't know how my gram knew and according to my gram she doesn't know how she knows, she just randomly brought it up and then boom here we go, Spiritual Awakening: Chapter 4.

I end doing a pretty long reading, a reading that would eventually give birth to the first 5 readings I ever had online. Got the reading to her, then two other people in the store wanted them. Then this one day they were all stood together talking about their readings because something that had been mentioned in one of them had already come to fruition, so they were all really excited (and scared omg). Then my gram's friend was just like "you should do readings for other people, like make a website." And then clear as day, everything, vision and sound, just dropped out and heard this DING DING DING type bell go off, followed by "that's it! go!"

I knew this was my sign to quit working, but I was so scared of quitting and rolling backward with everything, ending back up in that house, and so I didn't. Which meant that I just broke a vow with the universe by questioning and denying a very clear checkpoint road marker thing telling me to turn left or die. Exactly like the plague that was unleashed onto my house, a hoard of demons was unleashed onto the mall, and they possessed all my co-workers, had everyone BOTHERING ME in the middle of me managing the HOME DEPARTMENT during a LIQUIDATION SALE on a FRIDAY. It actually is a long story, all the stuff the went wrong the week leading up to my last day, and then that last day itself... that requires a six-part docu-series.

So, long story short, I quit about 2 months or so before the store was to be completely shut down, and I took my last 640$ and bought a bunch of decks, and then started designing readings. I was just kind of going with the flow, like I had been handed a map there, it was clear to me what the next challenge or task was, and it was just this.

I feel like I hit awakenings all the time, little upgrades, most not too noticeable but some completely throwing me on my ass. I don't know if this would make a lot of sense, but I feel like, if I had to put it down to just one experience, there was this time where I had this "outbreak meditation" where things just went way off the rails but it was only in the span of about 5 minutes. I ended up writing down this back-and-forth conversation that was just so bizarre but, in my current standing, so prophetic and affirming. I think when that happened there was one final corner laid flat that let me see things fully with my own eyes again, without so much forceful doubt, shame, or fear.

I could also, giving an opening to my current state, say that when I first wrote "BlueMoonPunch was created in 2018 with the intention to help people broaden their perception of themselves and the world around them by presenting a deeper understanding fo the people they look up to and admire." and put it at the bottom of my original tumblr page, something happened. Some stone was placed, a brick was laid, like there's something more behind that statement that I can feel very strongly, but I can't see it, can't even begin to conceptualize it. There's a tiny part of my that thinks in like 5 years I'm going to look at my little tagline statement the same way I look at that written back-and-forth conversation. Like, I'll just be side-eyeing it for the rest of my life like I don't know how you got here or why but clearly you knew what was up, so sure, you can live in my desk drawer for all of eternity.

How do you usually practice? Do you have rituals (meditations or other things) - I used to be a lot more disciplined with it, but I do occasionally get on a daily meditation kick. At my absolutely best, I'm doing 30 minutes AT LEAST every morning and night, and am doing weekly cleanses, and grounding and centering through out the day. That's more maintenance stuff though. In terms of spiritual matters, I have my alter, I have my own readings, my own way of communing with my Guides, working with cosmic energies. I can only think to describe it as saying I make a great and deliberate attempt to be as within and harmonic with my own nature and the nature around me, and in that effort is my continuous, un-ended, eternal, daily practice or mindfulness and willful inclusion of the reality around me. (PS, so sorry, but I might have taken an edible before I started writing this, and it may have just kicked in, just a fair warning I might get WAAAAAYYYYYYY more rambly.)

What is your advice for people who want to start reading cards? - Oh, goodness, I always say the same thing and I know it can get a bit twisted for some people sometimes, but I like to keep in mind that everyone can read cards for themselves, but not everyone could or should be reading for other people. So, no matter what a person's goal is, it is always best to start reading for yourself exclusively.

Starting with the basic Rider-Waite Tarot deck and the Biddy Tarot website will give you a good foundation. If you're just looking to tap into it for fun and just want to learn about it, just shuffle the deck, pick a handful of cards and just start reading about them. Biddy Tarot has really great and detailed descriptions of the cards (based on Rider-Waite deck) upright, reversed, and the images themselves.

If you're looking to build a deeper connection or are planning to branch out in any way, I would suggest moving just a bit slower, creating a routine, perhaps a lil ritual of sorts to help you open things up and designate a "reading mode" for you body and brain to get used to it. Same with the mind in terms of clearing space and time for yourself that can really be put all on you by retraining your focus. A journal would be very beneficial with this as well.

Every day, either before or after journaling (which is best done after at least 5 minutes of a good guided meditation uwu), shuffle the deck (or shuffle before and just pull a card from the top every day) and select a card. First, really look at that card just as it is on its own, without thinking too much about what it's "supposed to mean," or what you already know about it, or what someone else has said about it. in that moment, you and that card are two people meeting for the first time, but you already know you're gonna become best friends (yes, even Death, The Devil, and The Tower). Look this person over, get to know them. What vibes do you pick up from the environment, the sky? the weather? What's this person's temperment, humor, voice? What's on the ground, at the feet? Growing? Sinking? Is that dirt? Rock? Water? Does this person feel reliable? Could you lean on them? Do they need to lean on you? Would they come to you for advice? Would you go to them? What would you ask? What do you think they'd say? Are there any animals in the image? Plants? A lot of people? No people? Standing? Sitting? Where are we? Why did they invite you here? Why did you invite them here? Does it even matter? Or is it all about your connection? Are certain elements of the card falling away while other pop out? Are some of this person's features shining and grabbing all the attention while others get lost behind their hair or clothing? Why do you think that's happening? Are they trying to hide something? Are you just very focused on those few features? Why would you be? What connects those elements? How do those features work together? What expression is this person making? What is your intuition trying to tell you right now as you hold onto this card and stare into it as if it has only ever been nothing more than a mirror.

Then write about it in your journal. If you did your regular writing before pulling a card - did anything interesting come up that could connect back to what you were already writing or thinking about? If you haven't written anything yet, start with an introduction to the card, your thoughts and feelings on the card, how you saw this "person" form. Write your own notes on what stood out, why you think it did, what it meant if anything in the moment.

Lastly, read the entire entry for that card on Biddy Tarot. Learn about the more technical meanings, elements, and stories of the cards. Do not take any of it in to a point where you are deleting your own thouhgts and feelings of the card in order to make room for the "right answer" that someone else is now giving you. When you "meet" your cards for the first time, you are establishing your personal intuitive foundation, the baseline of your personal language through which your Higher Self, Guides, and the Universe will attempt to converse with you at some point if they're not already. You've just built a foundation interpretation, a personal, unique understanding, and as you read the more technical explanation you are not learning something that is right or wrong, you are simply learning more about your friend. You know what your friends Temperance and Miss. Two-Swords told you about themselves, and now you're just hearing some of their history from our Biddy.

You are building on your own foundations in this way. Do not sacrifice your own personal understanding or experience in order to accommodate someone else. We are a marvelous type of creature, the kind with EYES, and like most EYES, most of us have peripheral vision, yes? To sacrifice your own personal interpretation, understanding, and perspective, would be to rip your own eyes away from that bird flying around in the sky to look at a squirrel that is running around in a tree because someone told you to. With a bit of practice and effort, utilizing your peripheral vision to simply catch a glimpse of one while looking at the other can greatly help you to move away from the more polarizing, based-in-opposition idea of there being a clean cut right and wrong to everything, as if everyone exists on the same exact level, dimension, governmed by the same laws and principles. This is, basicallly, the art of consideration. AND INTERESTINGLY ENOUGH!! The art of consideration, and the effort to bridge a gap between two perspectives rather than percieving one as always being over the other, is nearly identitcal to the art of channeling, reading, or spirit commuication. Boom, two pearls one snowglobe.

TLDR: A big part of being able to read anything is being able to maintain your own perspective while occupying another, and still being able to tell which is which. The issue of not being able to discern which is which is where I tend to find a problem with "anyone can read tarot and start doing readings for people!! :D!!" Like, yes, gold star for inclusivity, but also, shame shame, you get a moldy star too because now that wayward pilgrim is spiritually traumatized and the tarot hobbyist was just arrested with 250 of her closest cult members after getting caught pouring ayahuasca into the town's water supply.

Can you tell us your opinion again about the concept of free will on making readings about celebrities, and your point of view on it? (Many people are turned off to interact with those readings because they feel it's invasive.) What's your own personal stance on it? Can you explain like we are 4? - OMGGGG my favorite thing to talk about. It's a major grey area thing 100%. Like, I certainly couldn't (shouldn't, but I do lol) judge someone else in general for reading for celebrities, because, aside from the hypocrisy, I'd have to judge anyone who's ever written anything about a celebrity too. Reading and writing are very similar. If you can write about them, I can read them, and I can write what I read, and then you can read what I've written and write about what you've read of my reading, and neither of us has committed a crime or caused any more or less damage than what was there and would have been there had neither of us never opened our ears to listen nor our mouths to speak the very same.

Again, grey area. I claim absolutely no moral high ground over anyone who does the exact same thing I do but, perhaps, in a slightly different way. However, people who get on the internet, wave cards around, charge people to hear answers to extremely personal questions that anyone with common sense could tell you the subject of that reading wouldn't want people discussing, constantly play into drama or actively try to insight division or separation in a space that is not their own, communities and fandoms that are not their own. Extra points if they're actually completely full of shit and aren't actually reading at all. Yeah, I'm morally superior to those types of people, for sure.

My personal rules and such have been the same forever and they're not really based on any kind of moral code or what I personally think is right and is what everyone should be doing, it's mainly just what was in my head to begin with, it's just what made sense.

I do not know these people, I do not have permission to do these readings. These people are public figures, they're celebrities. I am not a person screaming into a microphone at a packed stadium, I am a speck of dust floating in space screaming into the void with millions of others who are much louder than me. To speak about them and to share ideas and thoughts about them is fine. In the way of the world as it is now, this is fine. However, when I do readings for them, I am not doing a reading for a "public figure" or a "celebrity," I am doing a reading for my guest. A guest's who's energy I have invited to connect with, with the proper precautions taken, protection, Guides on standby. My intentions are always made clear of what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I make it clear that I am aware that I am not in charge here, their infomration is not mine, their energy is not mine. If I'm too close, tell me to get back. If I'm seeing something that I shouldn't because you didn't know how or that you had to hide it, that's fine, tell me to stop looking. All is well. I'm not stomping throuhg people's soulscapes ripping flowers out of thier garden and then bringing them out here to throw onto the internet all wilted and dead looking from how detached from the soul it actually is.

I learned in 2013 about Guides, but especially Spirit Guides, stepping in and blocking or warping information in order to protect their person. Certain information can be triggering to the soul or the conscious level mind, but it is still important for me to know as the reader in order to understand other things that I am allowed to share. There is an issue with sharing information, both written and spoken, where this can carry transmissions, sometimes intended sometimes not, which then can, even if they themsleves never actually hear it or know about it at all, travel to them and just kinda... POP! into awareness. It can be troubling on multiple levels, so never ever ever have I ever argued with a Guide about blocked information. I have, once or twice, argued with a Spirit Guide but that was only because it was her past husband and he was trying to help her by making her seem better off than she was at the time and he didn't realize he was kinda making things worse. And that other time where there was a Spirit Guide dressed up like an angel because (first-timer) he thought that's what he was supposed to look like.

UMMMMMMM... but yeah, I don't know if I actually have anything of interest with this one. I'm very in the grey area. I have no issues at all with people who have a problem with it, I only have a problem with people think they need to like kill me and shit over some blog posts that most people probably don't look at too differently from fanfiction or something. I respect the people that I read for - I do nothing different between the celebrity readings and paid personal readings when it comes to how they are perfromed, how I engage, what I look at. The only difference comes with how they are written. Obviously, no filter applied to paid readings becasue that's straight between me and the person who got the reading. Filter obviously yes applied to public readings because that is not my info to give out. Just in general, it's not.

Similar to how if I posted a photo of a celebrity out and about in the world that I was able to capture. That's not my information to give BUT grey area shit. I can share it becasue there is such a social norm to this when it comes to celebrities that this is just a thing we know we can do. Every individual can have a different degree that they fall into. Some will say any and all photos are stalker photos and should be criminalized, others will say as long as they're in a majorly populated place it's fine. If you post it the next day, that's fine, next week, even better. Post it, but blur the location. Post it, but make it black and white so it's harder to identify details. I PERSONALLY would be okay posting a photo, but I would probably block out anything that gives away specific location, and I absolutley would wait a couple of days. This is exactly how I am with how I post readings.

In the same way, if I ran into a celebrity, got a picture, and they specfiically said, please do not post that for like three months, then that picture is not going up for three months?? If they say don't post at all?? THEN IT'S NOT GOING UP AT ALL??? LIKE??????? THERE ARE TWO PEOPLE IN THE PICTURE????? NOT ONE PERSON AND A DECORATION THAT YOU GET TO SHOW OFF I don't know why I'm yelling, I have pizza here now :D

So, yeah, again, grey area, listen to the spiritual chaperones, respect poeple like they're people and always treat them like they're people becasue people like that. I personally say no to posting family, relationship, sexuality, and mental health-related information unless it's been made clear that that person has in fact spoken about it publically before. And even if they haven't but their soul's in there like SPEAK IT SPEAK MY TRUTH, I absolutely will not. Respect and preservation hits the conscious level first. Like lolololol that's kind of how Jungkook is, and I think there was someone else from a long time ago, or maybe a couple of years ago that had that same kind of pushy I NEED YOU TO SAY IT BECAUSE CONSCIOUS ME WONT like lollol NO!!!! We gotta look out for flesh and bone counterparts. Can't be making thier experience strenuous and brittle just because we're getting a bit impatient now, can we?

I'm going to stop talking now, thank you thank you !! :3

[jov1ii]

Mine, All Mine

♡⃕.pairing: Husband!Salesman x Wife!Reader ♡⃕.synopsis: life with your husband. ♡⃕.word count: 1.4k+ ♡⃕.content warning: a little suggestive if you squint, arranged marriage.

The corner of his lips twitched as a hint of a smirk danced upon his lips. He had been watching you since the onset of morning. There was just something so…so captivating about the way you moved, the subtle grace of your mannerisms.

He supposed, it was the simple things that enticed him the most.

Tearing his gaze away, he rose and crossed the room to the mahogany desk; a silent cue for you to do the same.

"I suppose we shall get to know each other better?" You propose.

He watched silently as you stood and approached the desk. This arrangement, it was strange, unconventional. And yet, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to abhor the idea of spending every day, every hour in your company.

"Oh yeah? Is that what you want?" He was somewhat bemused by your suggestion.

You were hardly the type inclined toward the idea of matrimony, and neither was he. But here you were, his wife. His wife—the term sounded foreign upon his tongue.

He regarded you with a stoic eye, head canted slightly to the side. He was trying to figure you out, to understand the machinations of your mind. Such a task was seemingly monumental, no doubt, by the way of your closed off demeanor, a quiet, stoic disposition. But that was all the more reason he wished to figure you out.

You were... intriguing.

Days had come and gone since their first conversation.

He had, for the most part, settled into this married life quite well.

There was something soothing, peaceful, about the quiet domesticity of it all. Both you and him became acutely aware of each other's presence.

They say familiarity bred contempt, but for you and him, it bred something much different.

Every now and then, he would recall the subtle slope of your nose, the elegant dip of your shoulders, the way the sunlight pooled upon your skin… It took every bit of self-restraint he possessed not to ravish you there and then.

He had always thought of himself as an individual who could not possess emotions such but it wasn’t just carnal desire that he felt, rather, there was a certain depth to this feeling. A feeling he wasn’t quite able to place.

He tried to push away those thoughts as best as he could, but in the hours at night when he laid in bed, with you so close, it became harder to shut you out.

He laid awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep and plagued with the memory of your smile, the way you laughed, the scent of your hair- Wait.

"Can't sleep?" You ask, looking back at him.

The abrupt voice broke him from his trance. And then he groaned for the second time that night. He remained motionless for a few moments and then he rolls over, only to find you staring back at him from the other side of the bed.

”Clearly, neither can you…” He said, raking a hand through his rumpled hair which earned a chuckle from you.

The corner of his lips quirked into a smirk as the sound of your laughter reached his ears. He propped himself up on one elbow, studying you in the dim light. There was something rather enthralling about seeing you like this, all relaxed and vulnerable in the quiet night.

“I’d ask why you can’t sleep, but I think I already know the answer,” He teased.

"Oh yeah? What do you think is the cause?" You ask, smiling softly.

“You don’t seem to have much trouble sleeping during the day, when the sun is out. But come night time, suddenly there’s a change." He responded without a bit of hesitation. He wasn’t one to sugarcoat after all.

“You’re nervous about this new... condition, and about the future, and, if I’m not mistaken…a little scared of me,” He said, glancing back at you.

His words earned a huff from you. "Scared of you?"

His smirk widens into a sly smile as he props himself up on an elbow. He meets your gaze, regarding you with a keen eye.

“You are,” He states bluntly, reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I can see that little shiver that goes through your spine every time I touch you. That little bit of hesitation in your movements whenever I’m around.”

Oh.

When he suggested leaving the house “to get some air” on a Friday evening, you didn’t think much of it.

After all, for the first few weeks after marriage, he had spent his days working and evenings on the armchair by the fire. However, the last thing you had expected was to be led out the door and into his black car.

A date—was, and is, the furthest thing you had expected from a reserved man like your husband.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was nervous. A man as stoic and reserved as he, nervous for a date? Who would’ve thought. He had never been the romantic sort, too occupied in work and realistic for the idea of romance.

You tried to catch a glimpse of his expression from the passenger seat, but he was avoiding your gaze at all costs. Not a word was spoken, only the steady hum of the engine was heard as the scenery passed by.

Eventually, he pulled into a secluded spot overlooking a shimmering lake. A modest family-run restaurant on the edge of town.

He gets out of the car and comes around to your side, opening the door for you after. And as you get out of the car, you are quick to glance around and take in your surroundings. Expensive.

The restaurant looked modest and homey, quaint even. You watch as he speaks a word to the waiter who leads the two of you to a secluded table.

He gestures to the table and pulls out your chair for you.

A soft “thank you” escapes your lips in response as you sink into the seat, before he takes his own seat across from you. He reaches for the wine list, scanning it before ordering a bottle of red.

"Do you plan on staying this quiet, or...?" You ask, biting back a teasing smile.

So she hasn't quite lost her bite, then. He leans back in the chair and crosses one leg over the other, a sign of feigned aloofness. "Perhaps I'll save my tongue for our food." He said.

"Boring." You comment, watching as the waiter approached with a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses.

You took the glass, now filled with wine and brought it towards your lips, glancing at him.

"Boring, eh?" He asks. "Maybe I should order a second round of drinks just to shut you up," he retorts with a smirk.

"You look a tad too cocky for my liking."

....

It did not take long before the drinks started to get you. You were laughing louder, talking more freely, and your cheeks had taken on a rosy flush. It would almost be cute, were it not so annoying- or so he liked to believe.

He sets the glass down on the table and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Perhaps one drink too many.

He watched you from across the table, the smile never leaving your lips, the glint in your eyes all the more noticeable when your guard was down like this.

"Don't look at me like that." You whispered, swirling the liquid in the glass, your voice slurred.

"And how exactly am I looking at you?" He asked in a low voice, leaning forward ever so slightly.

"Like you want to rip my dress right here, right now." You said, smirking.

He blinked, that little remark sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. He tried his damned best not to react, but the words had an immediate effect on him.

"Don’t be ridiculous." He mumbled. But your words were doing all kinds of things him, in all the right places.

And he could only take so much.

And just like that, one last drink, a ride home, a few fumbled steps in the doorway and a heated night later, when you woke up the next morning, you think all of it had been a dream- the dinner date, the alcohol, the lust-filled return home... But the sight of a slender arm curled around your hip said otherwise.

You can't help it, a smile starts to form on your own face. If this was how married life was supposed to be, then you were more than ready to welcome it with open arms.

[purplemoonfox]

On and in defense of Commander Fox and the Corries, and why I think they were set up to fail

Summary at the bottom because I like to go on.

Things we know for sure about clones and Fox and the Corries in the strictest canon sense (which ain't a lot):

1. They are stationed on Coruscant.

That is definitional, now remember what Coruscant is.

2. They have no Jedi in charge of the Guard, they report directly to Palpatine.

Although I adore the fanon that Quinlan Vos is their Jedi, it’s not canon.

3. Clones love their brothers dearly.

That is almost without exception, even the clones we see acting against the Republic (hi Slick) at least believe they were acting in their brother’s interests.

4. They seem to accrue extra responsibilities as the war goes on, up to the point of being the ones we see Palpatine with in ROTS.

Even if they don’t, the idea of a law enforcement/military unit answerable only to Palpatine is a shit idea. There’s reasons people worry about accountability in real life, and sneaky little shits who act all nice and innocent at first but eventually show their true colors once they have power in the bag is one of them.

These are all very obvious.

In very short terms, it's very likely Palpatine uses the Coruscant Guard to sow public dissatisfaction.

And all those that hate Fox fall for it by proxy, because I think you're essentially seeing of him (and the Guard, and by extension the clones) what Palpatine wants the public to see and think of clones.

The Coruscant Guard are probably the most consistently accessible and visible of the clones in the galaxy to its biggest cultural and political hub. Most of the time the 501st or 212th or any other seems to drop in, fights a battle, and apparently fucks off afterwards? Obviously, planets like Ryloth have a stronger personal connection--some GAR contingent seem to have been there practically the whole damn war and Howzer was obviously very familiar with the Syndullas, and they with him (and look how personable Howzer is, and how quickly and somehow easily he extricates himself from the rationale clones held about their orders; maybe it makes sense to think of it like how leaving your little hometown where everybody thinks the same affects a person)--but otherwise I feel like the clones, to the rest of the galaxy, are (expensive) theoretical constructs.

The vast majority of the public aren't likely to have any personal experience with a clone, let alone a develop personal rapport with one, unless they happen to go to specific places like 79s where they can be found, and that still doesn't necessarily lend itself to extended relationships since most of the clone patrons would only be on Coruscant temporarily. Some fics portray clones as being refused entrance to establishments (especially later in the war when people were protesting clones themselves) or restricted in where they can go (like grocery stores, etc.). I think that's plausible, even realistic--but it doesn't seem to be a focus of canon aside from showing some protests so I'll let it alone.

What we know of that IS canon is that clones aren't allowed to even think about having families or doing anything with their lives besides being soldiers (even though all of them have thought about it, even just secretly; I'd wager that all of them have secret dreams they don't share); it's against regulations as we see with Cut Lawquane in season one of TCW. So to effect this, clones are probably actively or passively discouraged from forming close friendly relationships with anyone who isn't a clone and who they have no reason to be speaking with—aka most people besides Jedi (and if the fanon can be believed, if decommissioning/euthanization is a concern, they would have the motivation to avoid even the perception of such a relationship). Obviously there are going to be exceptions, but you can scrutinize a stable population a lot better than an itinerant one.

The point is, if your only tangible frame of reference is a rigid hall monitor that doesn't demonstrate much of a personality (even though clones have real, complex personal lives beneath that surface) and is behind a faceless mask--and we see so little of the Guard that what exists of their personalities is, let's be real, nearly all fanon--then you never really have a chance to acquire a sense of their humanity, and a strict enforcement of regulations tends to breed resentment in a population for whom strict adherence to regulations isn’t normalized. There will be cultural differences in play.

This is not the clones' fault, they neither asked to be created nor put into this position, they’re only doing what they’ve been asked to do, but it plays directly into Palpatine's goals.

Moving on.

Sure, the Guard answers to Palpatine in the chain of command, and we see them actively serving him in ROTS, but Palpatine definitely isn't doing shit for fuck for the Guard's administration in a daily sense, so Fox basically runs that whole bitch by himself in every practical sense--a clone, with no rights of his own, considered property, in a situation increasingly hostile to him and his.

Now let's think about the clones we see: as far as we can tell, clones' social lives are largely insular. They mostly see and talk to each other, and that's not necessarily by nefarious design (as discussed above), that's just what happens (military people tend to hang out with other military people, that’s just how it is; you’ll spend most of your day around other military people, most likely stationed in a place you’re not so familiar with that it’s easy to do anything else). Remember: we as viewers get access and insight that people in-universe don't.

And, significantly:

The Corries do not have a Jedi. The Jedi see value in their lives beyond their merely being expendable, faceless, and unthinkingly obedient droids wearing flesh, this point was made multiple times--and the Jedi are able to walk the line between orders and the bigger picture, which rubs off on the men they lead. Go watch Nala Se’s (bitch can catch these hands) comments about the Jedi’s influence on the clones when she’s speaking to Dooku.

I can see leaving the Corries without a Jedi being another saccharine, oh-so-magnanimous moment from Palpatine (he has so many of these) in the vein of expressing confidence in the clones' capability and in being very undemanding of the Jedi, in order to “free up” Jedi (whom he so totally trusts) to fight the war…but in effect leaving the Guard without anyone familiar with Coruscant and equipped to play referee with the environment and peoples they're bound to serve, and with no one batting in their corner or showing them any other way to exist and think.

On a side note:

Fox is an interesting clone commander anyway, not least because he doesn't have a Jedi to bounce off of. In a sense, whether or not Fox had his chip activated, we’re probably seeing how a clone commander was originally going to behave on their own initiative: see problem, address problem, think no more deeply than that. The Kaminoans did not want creative thinking in the clones. The clones were trained to fight the enemy they’re pointed at with singleminded intent, it stands to reason that that straightforward directness would transfer to other instances which might have been more kindly served by a different mindset. Their mindset isn’t even like a real life military where you’re still obligated to think about the nature of what you’re ordered to do—just following orders hasn’t been a valid defense since 1945.

TBH I've got a lot to say about fandom, the fetishization of actual violence through the lionization of fictional violence (although I don't think that fictional violence breeds actual violence; rather, I think people who were already interested in it go looking for things they think reflect their beliefs), and why we even have war crimes as a concept (and the absolute ignorance perpetrated by an increasingly illiterate populace), but...

I digress.

You cannot claim to have sympathy for clones without acknowledging their humanity and that includes for the ones who didn’t have the chance to grow beyond the limitations built around them. It was awful that Fox killed Fives, but it’s a tragedy like so much else in this franchise, not proof that Fox is awful. Part of the horror of what we see everyone go through in clone wars is how many times Palpatine’s plans almost derail but it never happens.

If your complaint is that Fox didn’t think any more deeply than what was right in front of him in the moment, remember that that’s exactly what’s been expected of Fox and all other clones: obey orders, and it’s not their role to determine what those orders are. Abstractions are for those who are not expendable, made to die. Orders are orders, and good soldiers do what again? He quite literally all but says “my opinion doesn’t matter” when he tells Ahsoka that he doesn’t blame her for (apparently) killing Letta, but she’s under arrest anyway.

Fox is put in a position of having to wield authority in a very different way than any other clone commander, has no direct support from or evident collaboration with the one group of people who generally see clones as living beings worthy of compassion, and deals with the public while having been trained to lead a war campaign. His is a war of attrition, not dropping in on a planet and fighting a battle, and he’s responsible specifically to Palpatine, who is literally the big bad. Fanon tends to think that Palpatine either activated his chip early or tortured him; honestly either one tracks, it's Palpatine after all--and in two major instances, we don't see what Palpatine says, to Fives or to Fox--but the fucker is a masterful manipulator so anything and everything is still on the table.

But in the midst of all this, because clones aren’t unthinking or unfeeling, and the dissonance is tragic but not absent:

Clones do give a shit about their brothers. Fox is no exception; he's audibly upset when he asserts that Ahsoka killed three troopers. And the immediate order to shoot to kill is pragmatic--he only issues it after he believes she was willing to kill clones to escape. That’s a fair order; if she’s willing to kill clones as he believes she did, then his men should at least be able to defend themselves as well as they can. See issue, address issue.

I mean. Shit, he doesn’t stick around after he shot Fives; we see his face once and that is not a triumphant posture. If he wanted to gloat or be an asshole about it he had the chance. Rex probably would've gone for the throat, but he had the chance.

The way he dies also suggests this. He could have thrown somebody else under the bus--called the men who fired on Vader defective, shifted blame somewhere else, somehow. He did not. There was one thing Fox ever had control over in his life, and that was how much he let anyone else take the fall. Hell, his answer wasn't even that bad, but Anakin (who is on my permanent shit list for not putting two and two together from the Sifo-Dyas reveal and what Fives told him earlier) probably did have it out for him, because Vader is an asshole. He's a Sith, it comes with the territory.

So, to summarize:

Clones are trained from decanting to do as they're told regardless of their personal feelings, and Fox in nearly so many words states that he acts regardless of his personal feelings. He is not likely to be in a position where he's shown a different way to behave, or interact with anyone that does anything but reinforce that expectation.

(Side note, I feel like Palpatine would have a great time tormenting Fox by sending him off to do shit he personally disagrees with but is technically correct according to the letter of the law..................)

Fox essentially is on his own in an environment unlike what most clone commanders deal with that he probably wasn't trained to understand much of (cultural understanding is important); it's rather likely the Guard hews very close to their training because of that. They'll stick to what's familiar and what's expected of them as they understand it. That is a very normal human response.

Leaving the Corries without a Jedi means that, as well as lacking anyone who sees them as individuals worth more the money it cost to make them and who treats them as such, they lack a go-between and likely familiarity with the population they're policing but are subordinate to, legally speaking, as clones are seen as government property, not people. This is going to breed resentment; somebody is going to bitch that no clone has the right to do bla bla bla.

The vast majority of the galaxy is going to take cues from Coruscant whether they like admitting it or not. If Coruscant has a bad impression of clones, then the vast majority of the galaxy—for whom the clones are (expensive) theoretical constructs—will have a bad impression of clones. Clones may not be in a position to pursue close relationships with someone not in their near orbit, and may be likely to actually avoid them because of regulations.

The vast majority of the galaxy would likely see them as unthinking, rigid hall monitors (whereas non-clone troopers, stormtroopers, think for ourselves and we wouldn’t act that way..........).

Which all gives Palpatine an excuse to give in soooo magnanimously to the public's demands to stop using clones as troops.

[letterlitter]

Pacify Her

Lando Norris x reader

•Tags: smut, toxic Lando, hate-fuck, makeup sex

•Loosely based on a song by Melanie Martinez with the same title.

•Wordcount: 1.6k

It was unbearable how Lando squeezed this new girl's thigh and whispered in her ear. You knew it was to make you jealous, he was a tease even more when you two were in a relationship. You had really bad arguments that let to the decision of splitting, but since you didn't want to break up the friend group, you agreed to just say the relationship ended on good terms and decided to be friends which was a total lie and both of you knew it.

Now, only a couple months after everything, Lando had shown up with a new "girlfriend" which drove you absolutely mad how uncouth he could be. Bringing this girl in your group out of the blue fully knowing that neither you nor himself had moved on from that deep, long term thing you had.

She looked at you like she wanted to be your friend and get your validation so bad. You didn't know if Lando had told her you were his ex. He didn't even dare mention it when he was introducing her. You automatically hated her, although her big brown eyes seemed lovely and innocent. She didn't have a clue what she had gotten herself into. You pitied her cluelessness.

You noticed Lando's griny glances at you, he kept making sure you were looking before each kiss he left on her cheek. The bastard had all his moves coordinated and planned but you had been with him for too long not to see right through his facade.

You were at your limit, who was he to inflict this hurt on you after all that he had done?

Rage made your body dense as you walked towards Lando's house the night after, when you made sure nobody else was with him. His Friday nights had always been free on purpose to sleep until noon, game, and sleep again. You remember trying to wake him up for lunch and he was dead asleep because he had stayed awake to play with friends.

You rang and he buzzed the door open without asking. Walking towards the stairs you noticed the rose garden you had planted in a corner. The thought of Lando's face after a thorn had poked him in the arm and how he treated the flowers as his enemies forced your lips into a fainted smile. You hated that his memories made you happy. You hated it was him you had those memories with.

You pushed the thoughts away and tried to focus on why you were here. Lando opened the door, a confused look on his face, "y/n? What is it why are you here?"

"We need to talk." And you stormed in.

"Please come in, make yourself comfortable." The sarcasm in his voice was familiar, and now that you weren't in love with him, infuriating.

"Want to talk about what?"

"About how you're being such an asshole."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't act like this Lando I know you did those things on purpose."

"Damn I don't know what you're talking about." He kept his sarcastic tone. You hated it.

You pushed his chest back in anger, "stop playing with me. You know damn well this girl you keep bringing is just a doll to mess with my head."

Lando smiled as if he had been expecting these words from you.

"This is way too low, even for you Lando."

"Everyone thinks we're friends, why can't friends introduce their new girlfriends to their other friends?"

"I'm not everyone. I know this is a lie stop trying to make it sound casual."

"What do you expect me to do? Stay single until you're over me?"

"Yes!" The loud sound that exited your mouth surprised you as it did Lando. You never planned to sound weak or needy. You just wanted to get closure, "look. I'm not trying to control your life or whatever, but what you're doing to make me jealous is messy and fucking pathetic. Fix it. Goodbye." And you started walking towards the door.

"Well did it work?" Lando's voice stopped you. He sounded sort of genuine for the first time in months.

You kept silent and still, wondering what to answer. Turning around to face him you said, "well do you love her?"

"Of course I do. She's very real."

You took one step closer, "stop lying."

Lando took a step closer to you, "stop being jealous."

You took one more step, "she looks way too innocent for you. I pity her."

Lando took another step , "I can teach her."

-"Funny."

-"I know."

-"You're insufferable."

-"I know."

Silence.

Now you were only one step away from eachother. Only one breath. You were mad at him and the tension felt heavy in the air as the sun was halfway set. His eyes looked crazy blue in the last golden rays of sunshine coming in fron his big windows. His face stingy and lips so soft it made you even more angry at him.

Your self control was getting shaky and you felt it shatter when Lando swinged his arms up to hold your face to kiss you deeply on the lips.

You squeezed your hand on his arm in protest to rip him off of you before it was too late but he was desperate.

He kept kissing you harder and harder like you gave him air to breathe.

You hated this. You hated the way his body pulled you in and you hated how it felt so good. He knew his way with you. Every single button, all the nooks and crannies.

You finally eased into the kiss, letting go of Lando's hoodie that was balled up in your fist and started to kiss him back.

His hands unzipped your sweatshirt and pulled it off your arms as soon as he felt that you wanted this as well. You let him. He slipped his hand under your tshirt, pinching your belly, messaging your back.

You let out a heavy exhale.

"I missed you." He whispered into your mouth, putting his lips on yours before you could say anything back.

Lando's hands moved down to your jeans but you held onto his hand to prevent him from going on. He stopped kissing you.

It was all too much for you and you hated him for being so good at this. You stared dead into his eyes, knowing full well that you were helpless, and said, "you fucking bastard."

He giggled when you pressed your debating lips on his again.

You let him kiss your lips, your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, your belly. You let him get down on his knees for you, between your legs.

His wet tongue on you made you jump in a surprising pleasure. The tip of his tongue moving in circular motions, in search of the place that made you moan the loudest. You tried fighting the sensation but failed miserably when he raised his finger to your entrance, messaging and warning about what's to come.

The moan that left your lips after he pushed his finger inside you was involuntary. You could feel Lando smiling on your pussy with the sound. He kept moving his tongue with your hand in his curls; pumping his finger and pulling moans out of you until you felt like you could take it no more. That's when Lando pulled his now soaked finger out and stood up, Leaving you clenching around nothing.

He faced you again to continue his kisses; you could taste yourself on his lips as he took off your tshirt and your bra, leaving you completely naked in the middle of the house. He looked at you once more before taking off his own hoodie you've been pulling on to get rid of since the start, he turned you around and got closer. His bulge rubbing against your butt from under his sweatpants.

"You're so pretty." He whispered into your ear, "wait here okay?"

You turned around to see him almost run to his bedroom to get condoms and you got a chance to take a look at his smooth, tan skin as he walked back.

Lando kissed you shoulder and your back as he slowly bent you over the handle of the couch. Messaging your body as he bent on you to let you feel his skin, his pants were off, your could feel his hard dick against the back of your leg. He adjusted himself on you and pushed in. You weren't hesitant to moan anymore. His length inside you was a familiar sensation of pleasure after this long. He was all you needed.

Lando started pumping deeper into you, making you feel fully stretched. You could hear his little groans and exhales when he grabbed your neck to make you arch your back more, pulling your head towards his mouth. "I bet nobody fucked you like this since I was gone." And he started moving faster. You pushed back your body into his, blurring the lines infront of your eyes.

You came within seconds after that.

He pulled out of you. You turned around quickly, grabbed his shoulders and lead him to the couch to sit down.

"Could you ever teach her this?"

And you climbed on top of him, each leg on each side. Leading his still erect dick to your hole and pushing down on him. Lando threw his head back with a moan. You took his hands and put them on your ass. He squeezed his hands with every movement you made.

You started kissing under his ear, where you knew he was sensitive. Moans started turning into whimpers and he started pushing up his legs towards you. You both moved faster as you reached your high. You nails dug into Lando's shoulder and his hands tight around your back when you both came and you collapsed into his arms.

****

"What a stupid decision." You said through your panting and you both giggled since you knew you were going to make more.

(This is the first time I'm posting a smut one shot online sorry if it's short or lacking♡)

[thesiltverses]

Hey Jon! Looking for a bit of writing advice since you seem to be pretty good at this- How do you write metaphors without being too on the nose? It’s something I’m struggling with at the moment. Thanks!

I'm probably not the right person to ask this question because I have very strong and specific opinions.

When we talk about metaphors being too on-the-nose, I think we're really saying one of three things.

It's too obvious in the sense that it's been done before (e.g. an oppressed fantasy race being used as a catch-all metaphor for real-life marginalised peoples)

It's too obvious in the sense that it's offputtingly reductive and over-simple, either in terms of making the story and characters feel real, or as a tasteless misrepresentation of the issue it aims to address (e.g. an oppressed fantasy race being used as a catch-all metaphor for real-life marginalised peoples).

A century's worth of establishment critical analysis attempting to make sense of modernism and post-modernism has made us all hopeless idiots who believe an allegory is invariably no good unless it's buried deep in complex referentiality and can only be retrieved with months of study. (e.g. a very timely example - J.B. Priestley's An Inspector Calls, where the author uses the format of the detective mystery to address the role of the super-wealthy in social murder and make the case that it is every bit as real as lawless murder, is extremely on the nose! It's taught in schools because the message is very clearly spelled out! But that's exactly what it needs to be and it would not be better if it was subtler! Being on the nose means you've landed the punch!)

So for me there is no broad-brush answer, it depends very much on the position and role of your metaphor in the story (and so this answer is probably useless, again, without knowing the specifics). I'd begin by asking yourself the same question on two fronts: where does the metaphor take me next?

As the writer, does the metaphor give me more to play with, or is it entrapping me into an over-familiar structure or tropes? A much-discussed 'bad metaphor' right now is horror movies where the monster is Trauma...which then blocks the narrative into a predictable corner where the hero inevitably has to cathartically overcome the Trauma or it'll send the wrong message.

Correspondingly, as an audience member, once I grasp the metaphor, what am I going to feel other than 'oh, I get it?' Children of Men is too direct and on-the-nose to even be considered an allegory. Its extremely unsubtle and one-note depiction of a monstrous near-future Britain that's forcibly rounding up refugees fills me nonetheless with powerful emotion - with terror, with unease, with anger, with a faint hope in the kindness of strangers. But that's in the immense strength of its characters, its careful observation, and its tense action to make me care. By comparison, when a fantasy story has human bigots locking up impoverished nomadic elves or what-have-you, I usually feel absolutely nothing, not because it's too fantastical, but because the writer doesn't have any genuine insights or depth of empathy for the issue or the (in)humanity involved, and is instead just using the metaphor as a piece of worldbuilding shorthand to signal to the audience who is good and who is bad. (Some writers will then attempt to gussy up the metaphor by introducing moral complexity - oh, no, the elves have stabbed a random innocent human! - but this doesn't actually improve anything, it only makes the parallel ever more tasteless.)

[spinchip]

Just Don't Call Me Late For Dinner

transgirl Zane and picking out a new name.

“So,” Cole asks with an air of curated nonchalance, like asking the question he’s about to ask might be uncouth, “Do I still… call you Zane, or have you um, picked out a new name?”

She glances over at him, pausing the mental calculation she and Pixal had been working on to pin him with a soft smile. The question was meant in good faith, an effort to be supportive, but they were currently held prisoner in the dungeon of a madman, “Zane is fine. I have not had much time to think about my name, and considering our current situation I do not think it’s wise to split my attention.”

Cole chuckles a little at that which is good, she was trying to add a bit of levity to her words with the inflection of her voice, “That’s fair. Just let me know if anything changes, yeah?”

“Of course.” She goes back to work, the conversation sitting in the back of her mind for her to examine later.

I would be happy to take a break and consider the matter of your name, Pixal informs her in that familiar matter-of-fact way, It could prove a good mental reset, though i imagine that term does not accurately ascribe itself to AI.

Thank you, but really, I am okay. I would prefer not to pick out a new name while in captivity. She thinks back at her, a dungeon is not quite conducive to the process. I would prefer something so important not be sullied by this experience.

Understood. Pixal says simply, and they move on from the topic.

Later, after everything is over and done and mostly-processed, Cole glances up at her as she enters the living room with a curious smile, “how was the mall?” He asks her.

“Looks like you got a lot of stuff.” Lloyd comments from his spot on the carpet in front of the TV. He’s laying flat on his back and reading a comic book above his head casually.

“It was a total success!” Kai answers for her.

She supposes that is alright, considering he did most of the heavy lifting when it came to her new fashion choices. He had an eye for clothing- it was the main reason she’d brought him along. Before she’d rebuilt herself, everything she owned was bulky and big and picked out for how it hid her silhouette. With her new body, she found her old wardrobe… lacking character. Boring. But having been so ignorant to the fashion world, she’d enlisted the resident stylist for his help. Thank the first master for all those magazines he got every month. She’d done her homework before they went out and knew somewhat what was in style and what she liked (they didn’t always overlap) and Kai had helped her build outfits and pick out several cornerstone pieces in her new wardrobe.

“I am happy with our trip.” She says with a smile, setting down several bags. Kai took the liberty of showing off a few of her new things. Dresses, skirts, jeans and tops, sweaters and shoes. It had been a long day, but she felt exhilarated by the experience instead of exhausted and sad like she always had when shopping in the mens section.

“Speaking of new things, given any thought to your name?” Cole asks again, the question much more casual than the first time he’d asked.

She wasn’t completely unobservant to social cues, and she’d certainly noticed and appreciated that they were all somewhat avoiding the name Zane for her since she’d informed them of her new identity. Her life as of recently was full of a myriad of nicknames.

“I am… still thinking about it.” She admits a bit bashfully, “I’m not sure where to begin.”

“It’s a big decision. Do you need any help?” Jay says without looking away from the video game he was currently horribly losing at.

She takes a moment to ponder that before she sits down on the couch next to Cole, “I would be open to suggestions.” She says agreeably, “Are there any names you think would fit me?”

Cole humms and flips his sketch pad to a new page, scribbling Possible Names? On the top, “Well, that depends. What are you wanting? Something that starts with the same initial?” he thinks for a moment before he starts writing things down as he says them aloud, “Zinnia? Zoey? Zuri?”

“Zinnia sounds too similar to Nya,” She says with a shake of her head before shooting the girl a smile, “I mean no offense.”

“None taken,” Nya says with a shrug, “I get it. What about something more technology based? Perl? Ada? Siri? Maybe Julia or Ruby?”

Jay curses as his character dies on screen before throwing his two cents in, “Tera or Zetta, like the bytes?” He starts the level over again, “We could get weird with it. Circuit? Mimo? Variable?”

“Variable!?” Kai repeats, looking at Jay like he’s grown a second head.

“Var is a beautiful name for a girl!” Jay insists instantly, defensively huddling over the controller in his hands.

“I’m not sure about that one Frosty.” Kai says frankly before his eyes light up, “Hey, what about names having to do with ice? I’ll look some up.” He says excitedly, pulling out his phone.

While he’s doing that, she leans over to see what Cole has written down so far and to also stage whisper to him, “You do not have to write down Variable.”

“It’s not that outrageous!” Jay pouts.

“Okay, what about Winter? Neve? Noelle?” Kai's clicks over to another article, “This one says Frostine but that feels a little heavy handed to me. Ooh, I like Ivy and Holly if you want something more nature-y. Aurora is nice too.” He narrates as he scrolls through different lists.

“Neve feels like something my Father would have picked in another life,” She says wistfully, “But I am not certain it feels quite right for me in this one.”

“How about Lena?” Lloyd offers up, peeking over his comic.

“Isn’t that Fritz Donnegans love interest in starfarer?” Nya asks suspiciously.

“Actually she’s his twin sister.” Jay corrects, “Well they made her his sister in the third movie, before that it wasn’t canon.”

“I thought the third movie was about Fritz Donnegans dad turning evil.”

“No, those are the prequels. That’s the sixth movie they made.” Lloyd says as he flips his comic book back open.

Nya rolls her eyes, “If it’s a prequel then chronologically that is the third movie.”

“We’re getting off topic.” Cole interrupts before the conversation can devolve any further. He holds out his sketchpad for her to examine, “Do any of these speak to you?”

Zinnia Zoey Zuri Perl Ada Siri Julia Ruby Terra Zetta Circuit Mimo V Winter Neve Noelle Frostine? Ivy Holly Aurora Lena

“I like Perl?” She offers.

“That didn’t sound very confident.” Kai points out with a raised brow.

“Okay, so that’s the closest. What do you like about it?”

She rolls the name around her head for a long moment, trying to figure out why it stood out to her, “It is one syllable, like Zane. It does not end in an ‘a’ sound.”

“Short and to the point. I can work with that.” Nya tilts her head to think, “Sage. Elle? Skye?”

“Skylor.” She reminds Nya with a shake of her head.

“Jade?” Jay suggests, “Oh, too similar to Jay.”

“And Harumi. Jade princess?” Lloyd points out with a cringe.

“Oh, right.”

“Wynn? Oh, hey, Wren? You like birds.” Cole scribbles down the new names while she mulls over his options.

“Wren is closer.” She says slowly, “A high contender for sure.”

“Birds!” Kai says excitedly, “What are more one syllable birds?”

Lloyd closes his comic book again so he can think better, “Lark?”

Nya taps her fingers against her chin, “How about Dove?”

“Raven?”

“That’s two syllables Jay.” Kai groans.

Jay throws his hands up in defeat, “I’m not good at this!”

“Dove.” She repeats suddenly into the room, the name tasting sweet and comfortable on her tongue, “I think my name is Dove.”

“Nya you got it!” Kai whoops before he deflates, “Aw, I'm jealous she picked your suggestion.”

Nya sits back with a smile, preening at her choice.

Cole’s smiling ear to ear as he straightens up on the couch, “Alright, let’s try it out! A little role-play.” He turns his body to face her and pretends to hold a cup in one hand and a marker in the other, “Alright, Ma’am, i’ve got a Venti Oat milk latte with toffee nut and pumpkin.” He spins off the top of his head.

“I would not order that.” She interrupts, “I do not like toffee.”

“Can I get a name for your order?” Cole railroads on, giving her a meaningful look.

She doesn’t roll her eyes at his shenanigans because this whole thing has been incredibly sweet, “My name is Dove.” She tells him, the words fitting perfectly in her mouth. There’s a joy bubbling up her chest making her giggle as he pretends to scribble her name down on an invisible cup.

“It’s spelled D-O-V-E.” Jay explains slowly as Cole writes.

“Just in case you weren’t sure.” Lloyds plays into the bit.

“Shut up.” Cole rolls his eyes, but there’s no real heat to it before he offers her a genuine smile, “That’s a great name.”

“It suits you.” Kai adds and Nya nods along.

“Thank you.” Dove says, unable to hide her bright smile.

[zorosdimples]

AFLOAT

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ this fic is slightly suggestive, but it’s more fluffy than anything else. reader has an unspecified devil fruit power, and thus cannot swim. reader wears a bra and underwear, and is implied to be shorter than zoro, but no gendered terms are used.

word count ༄ 1365

notes ༄ my birthday fic for zoro! this has been in my drafts since july. it’s disgustingly self-indulgent and filled with emotion; i hope you all enjoy regardless <3 tagging my beloved wife @redskyvenus!

sitting on the edge of a rickety, weather-worn dock, you dip your legs in crystalline water and try to keep your focus on the depths: on the flora that roots at the bottom and reaches to the sun, on the schools of tiny fish that flit around the underwater jungle.

but your gaze keeps drifting to the man swimming laps around the spring, admiring how gracefully his strong body cuts through the water. the midafternoon sun hotly caresses your skin and presses into you like a greedy lover. you lean back on your palms and tilt your head up to soak in the barefaced sky; its cerulean is only obscured by the dense foliage that surrounds the secluded watering hole.

you’re startled from your thoughts when you feel something tickle your toes. with a strangled yelp you scramble back from the edge of the dock. as you steady your breathing and wonder what the hell just touched you, a familiar mint green head bobs up to the surface.

“asshole!” you shout, slamming your hands down on the wooden planks for emphasis.

zoro laughs heartily as he hoists himself out of the water and plops down next to you. he ruffles his hair, sending sparkling droplets flying in the sunlight, landing on your sweat-damp flesh. your eyes flicker to the rivulets that ebb and flow down his naked torso into a little pool beneath him.

remembering your irritation, you half-heartedly punch his tricep and scold him. “you scared me so badly i could’ve fallen into the spring and drowned. and then you have the audacity to laugh at me?”

zoro snorts at your dramatics, but glosses over them, nudging you with his elbow. “i’d never let you drown and y’know it.”

he’s right, of course. zoro is certainly strong enough to haul you out of the water. you’ve watched him save countless people—friend and foe alike—from a premature grave. you put your feet back in the spring, playfully kicking the swordsman’s leg in the process. the chilled water cools your body but isn’t enough to stop the perspiration that beads at your hairline.

“i miss swimming,” you state, thinking aloud more than speaking to the man beside you. you can’t see the way his lone eye maps your profile as though he will forget the cant of your nose and the curve of your lip once this moment passes.

silence hangs comfortably for several breaths before zoro turns to you with a sly—or is it sinister?—smile. “let me take you swimming.”

you blink at him a few times, face scrunching into the signature scowl he secretly adores.

“did you hit your head on a rock or something? i’m a devil fruit user. it’s physically impossible for me to stay afloat in water, let alone swim in it.”

his grey eye shines with mirth. “just listen for a sec, will ya? no need for insults,” he chuckles as he rises to his feet and offers you a hand.

you appraise him with a quirked brow. you will yourself to push away thoughts of how beautiful he looks bathed in sunbeams and how you wish you could chart the planes of his body the same way you are charting the grand line. how you would see and count and kiss every scar etched in his flesh and tell him how happy you are that he’s alive.

zoro keeps his expectant stance, and you focus on his outstretched hand, just as sinewy and scarred as the rest of his body.

“d’you trust me?” he inquires. his eye searches yours for truth.

“more than i trust myself,” you answer without thinking. the admission is perhaps too honest, but you catch his dimpled smile and feel a little lightheaded as you grasp his rough palm and stand up beside him.

zoro leads you off the dock and around the rocky curves and edges of the spring to an ideal point of entry. you reach a stretch that resembles a beach: a sandy shore that slopes into the water. he starts walking into the spring expecting you to follow, but when you hesitate, he pauses and spins to face you.

“somethin’ the matter?” he asks.

you wordlessly glance down at your jean shorts and white top. “ah,” he says with a curt nod. “you should just wear your swimsuit. don’t wanna get all bogged down with wet clothes.”

you absentmindedly fiddle with the edge of your shirt and clear your throat. “i don’t have a swimsuit, zoro.”

“huh? nami’s always got one on. you’re tellin’ me you don’t?”

you rub your temples. “oh my god, zoro. nami can swim—i can’t. why would i ever wear a swimsuit when i have no intention of swimming?”

after a few tense beats, he tries again. “so—”

you interrupt him with a huff. “just turn around and wait a second. please?”

he obeys without question and you sigh. before you second guess yourself, you undress, leaving your shirt and shorts in a tidy pile on the sand. you’re left in your bra and underwear. they’re nothing special: just a matching cotton set that has seen better days. they are well-worn and comfortable—perfect for the sticky summer heat. you muster all your courage and start walking toward the shoreline.

it’s not a big deal.

it’s just like a swimsuit.

he won’t care.

it’s not as though he likes me.

zoro can hear your tentative steps, faint splashes in the water behind him. he doesn’t turn to you since you never told him he could. once you reach his side, he angles his head so he can look you directly in the eyes, saying, “we’re gonna walk until the water is up to your shoulders. is that okay?” if you saw a rosy flush on his cheeks, you could have easily mistaken it for the heat or too much sun.

“yeah,” you breathe.

the two of you walk in silence. you feel fine until the water hits your waist, then reality sets in. you haven’t been in a body of water since you were a young child. icy panic surges through your veins when you feel a fish graze one of your legs; you instinctively grab zoro’s tanned forearm to steady yourself.

“easy there, s’okay,” he soothes, stopping so you can get your bearings. when you don’t let go of him, he adds a simple “c’mere,” securing a strong arm around your waist. the water is cold, but his touch burns you.

it’s a strange sensation, delving deeper in the clear water, the surface lapping at your shoulders. it’s both nostalgic and new, familiar and foreign, frightening and exciting—even more so with the man holding you.

“see? you’re a pro,” zoro teases, calloused fingers gentle as he squeezes your waist.

usually, you would bite back, but you’re transfixed by the feeling. you attempt to turn and face zoro, but stumble in the process, unused to how clunky your legs feel underwater. he wraps both his arms around your waist, anchoring you to him.

it dawns on you how close you two are: your bodies pressed together, a thin layer of sodden fabric separating your flesh from his. the swordsman hopes you can’t feel how fast his heart is beating. (you would if you weren’t so focused on your own heartbeat.)

you peer up at zoro, hands splayed on his firm pecs, and for the first time, you see unguarded longing in his steel gaze. it’s awkward, the way neither of you can bring yourselves to speak. but leaning into one another feels right.

uncharacteristically, zoro breaks the quiet. his voice is rich—husky—as he asks, “you okay?”

boldly, you link your hands around his sun-warmed neck, thrilled when he doesn’t pull away, but instead sinks into your touch. you stand on your tiptoes, inching closer to him. zoro’s head hangs low, chapped lips parted, breath heavy. he’s so close that you can see him and smell him and hear him and feel him, but you want to taste him, too.

“let’s just stay like this,” you murmur.

and in the middle of the chilly spring, two burning souls stay afloat, zoro’s lips moving, melting, blurring against your own.

[movingmusically]

What Are Friends For? - Chapter 24

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist

I was standing outside my building with my suitcase and a tote packed with snacks at my feet, sunglasses perched on my head, squinting down the road. I’d packed for more than just the weekend—enough to cover the whole half-term break with Austin too.

A horn beeped twice, and I looked up to see Callum’s car pulling up to the kerb—a battered old thing he refused to part with for sentimental reasons.

He was driving, window down, sunglasses slightly crooked on his nose.

The door popped open and Callum unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair.

“Alright, sunshine?” he called, grinning.

I waved, laughing, and bent to grab the tote. Austin got out too, rounding the front of the car—and my brain stalled for a second.

Baseball cap on backwards, sleeves shoved up, grin easy and open. God, he looked good. Stupidly, unfairly good.

“Hey,” he said, already reaching for me.

“Hey,” I breathed, a little dazed, the tote bag slipping to my elbow as he caught me around the waist.

Callum swooped in and grabbed my suitcase with a grunt. “What the hell have you packed, Ange? Bricks?”

He hauled it toward the boot without waiting for an answer.

I barely heard him, because Austin was already closer, his hand firm on my waist. Then he kissed me—slow and certain, like he had nowhere else to be. Like he’d been thinking about it since the moment they left set.

My fingers bunched in the fabric of his t-shirt before I remembered we weren’t alone.

Behind us, Callum’s voice carried from the boot. “If you’re done snogging, we’re burning daylight.”

Austin only laughed against my mouth, stealing one last kiss before letting me go.

I shoved his chest lightly, trying—and failing—not to grin.

“Come on,” Callum said, clapping Austin on the back and jerking his thumb toward the car. “Snacks or no entry.”

I held up the tote bag. “Already sorted.”

“You angel,” he said, grabbing it and tossing it into the back seat.

We piled into the car, doors slamming shut in a chorus, and pulled away from the kerb, the city already starting to peel away behind us.

The drive out of London wasn’t bad.

They’d wrapped filming on time, for once, so we hit the motorway just before rush hour properly kicked in. The sun was still up, hanging low and warm through the windscreen, casting everything in that late-May kind of gold.

Callum’s playlist was a chaotic mess—some old Britpop, a bit of 90s dance, the occasional rogue musical theatre track that made Austin lean sideways in his seat and glance back at me like, Really?

I just grinned and shrugged. “You haven’t lived until you’ve screamed ‘Defying Gravity’ at full volume in a traffic jam.”

Callum pointed at me without looking away from the road. “She’s not wrong.”

Ten minutes after merging onto the motorway, I started passing out snacks. I leaned forward between the seats, fishing through the tote.

“Driver first,” I said, handing a pack of Mini Eggs to Callum.

He tore it open with the focus of a man who hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “You’re an angel. A literal saint.”

“Remember that when you start complaining about my packing later.”

Austin rifled through the bag next, pulling out a pink pouch.

“What are these?”

“Percy Pigs,” I said. “National treasure. They’re technically for children, but don’t let that stop you.”

He opened the bag, squinted inside, then popped one in his mouth.

“This tastes like if a jellybean went to private school.”

I tried to hold in a laugh and failed.

“Here,” I said, reaching back in and pulling out an orange bundle I’d hidden at the bottom. “Thought you might want something a bit more familiar.”

Austin took it from me and blinked in surprise.

“Reese’s? And—Cheetos? Are you serious?”

“You’ve been very brave about the Percy Pigs,” I said solemnly. “You’ve earned it.”

He twisted round in his seat to look at me, that wide grin breaking across his face.

“You’re the best.”

“Obviously.”

He held up the Cheetos like a toast. “I will never forget this.”

Callum glanced at him in the mirror. “If you get orange dust on my seats, you’re walking the last ten miles.”

Conversation stayed easy. Light. The kind that just flowed without anyone steering it.

We shared awful impressions of each other—Callum’s version of my “teacher voice” was criminal— and made a collective vow to drink enough over the weekend that Callum’s karaoke renditions would be slightly less painful.

It felt effortless. Easy in a way that made my chest ache, just a little.

By the time we turned off the main roads and onto a winding gravel drive, the sun was dipping low, stretching the trees into long shadows across the bonnet. The countryside opened up around us, soft and endless, and the air through the open windows changed—greener somehow. Quieter.

The house came into view just ahead—a big, rambling stone thing with ivy curling up one side and tall windows winking in the light.

Austin craned his neck slightly, watching it come into view. “This it?”

“This is it,” Callum said proudly, easing the car into park. “Three nights, fully stocked fridge, minimum two haunted bedrooms. What more could you want?”

Austin laughed under his breath. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Callum stretched as he stepped out of the car. “Come on, lovebirds. Bags in, drinks out. Let’s go.”

I caught Austin’s eye once more in the rearview mirror before we opened the doors. He didn’t say anything. Just gave me that soft, quiet smile—the one that made it feel like no matter where we were headed, we were already exactly where we needed to be.

The gravel crunched under our feet as we climbed out of the car, the air carrying that end-of-day warmth, soft and earthy and just a little wild.

Callum popped the boot and immediately started hauling bags out with unnecessary theatrics.

“Why is mine the only bag under thirty kilos?” he muttered, struggling with his own duffel.

“Because you don’t believe in clean clothes,” I replied sweetly, grabbing the tote of snacks from the back seat.

Ahead of us, the house stretched up—stone and ivy and charm. A few other cars were already parked in the drive, half-haphazard, like people had arrived in a hurry to start relaxing.

We hadn’t even made it to the steps when Ellie spotted us.

She burst out of the front door with a glass of wine in one hand and a yell of, “Finally!”

Her blonde hair was already windblown, her cardigan halfway falling off her shoulder in the way it always did when she was a glass and a half deep and thrilled about it.

She launched herself at me in a hug that nearly sent us both off balance.

“I was about to send a search party.”

“You’ve been here for an hour.”

“Exactly. That’s like five years in weekend time.”

She leaned back and turned her grin on Austin, giving him a very obvious once-over. “So this is him, huh?”

I felt my face warm but Austin just smiled, easy as ever, and offered a hand “Austin. Nice to meet you.”

Ellie shook it firmly. “Likewise. I’m the one who’s been hearing far too little about you.”

“Ellie,” I groaned. “I’ve told you plenty.”

“Hmm. Debatable.”

Dan appeared behind her then, a little more measured but no less friendly, looping an arm around her waist.

“Don’t scare him off, El. He’s only just arrived.”

Ellie winked. “Not making promises I can’t keep.”

We climbed the steps into the house, where it already felt like we were in the middle of something—music drifting from someone’s speaker, open bags and half-finished drinks scattered across surfaces, the kitchen full of warmth and laughter.

Ollie and Mia waved from the sofa, where they were deeply embroiled in a debate about which room had the best view.

Finn wandered out of the kitchen holding a chopping board and looking far too pleased with himself.

“I’ve made guac,” he announced.

Callum leaned over to me as we passed him. “No one asked him to do that.”

I laughed and tugged Austin toward the stairs. “Come on. We should dump our stuff before all the decent rooms are taken.”

We slipped upstairs while the others carried on arguing over music. The air was thick with leftover sunlight and the smell of garlic and something sweet. The house creaked in that charming, old-building kind of way—like it had seen a thousand weekends just like this one and approved.

Our room was at the back, tucked away under a sloping roof. The windows were flung open, the late light spilling across the floorboards in long, lazy streaks.

Austin dropped our bags just inside the door and looked around with a smile.

“It’s nice,” he said.

“It is.”

He turned to me, eyes soft with something familiar now.

Then he crossed the room in two easy steps and tugged me in by the belt loops of my jeans, smiling down at me.

“Happy?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded. “Very.”

He kissed me—slow and sure, like he already knew exactly what I needed. One hand at my waist, the other brushing lightly up my spine.

Downstairs, someone had turned the music up louder. Laughter echoed through the floorboards.

“We should go,” I said eventually, though I didn’t move.

Austin kissed me again. “In a minute.”

I sank into him, chasing his mouth for another kiss, slower this time, more lingering. His hands slid a little lower, fingertips dragging gently over the curve of my hips as my own found his jaw, his hair, anything to hold onto.

We kissed like the rest of the house didn’t exist—like we had time to waste.

Then he pulled back just enough to breathe, resting his forehead against mine.

“Alright,” I said softly, brushing one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go be social.”

He smiled, lacing his fingers through mine.

And together, we headed downstairs.

The kitchen had filled out even more while we were upstairs—someone had uncorked another bottle of wine, and the speaker had been moved closer to the open doors, music drifting out onto the terrace. The air smelled like garlic and smoke and charred sweetness.

Outside, the barbecue was going strong—Dan manning the grill with a pair of tongs like he was hosting MasterChef, Finn offering unsolicited advice between swigs of beer. Plates were being passed around in all directions, everyone helping themselves as the sun dipped lower behind the trees.

We ate crowded around the big wooden table, out on the terrace. I ended up between Austin and Ellie, who was already on her second drink and narrating the meal like it was a tasting menu.

“Right, that potato salad?” she said, pointing at my plate. “Mia made it. Went rogue with the mustard. It’s incredible.”

It was. I made a mental note to ask for the recipe.

Conversation rose and fell in waves—stories overlapping, laughter carrying across the garden. At some point, Finn knocked over a nearly full glass of rosé and swore like he’d lost a limb. Callum handed him a kitchen roll and told him to pull himself together.

It was warm and loose and threaded with the kind of comfort that only comes from years of knowing each other.

At one point, Ellie leaned across me and said in a voice that wasn’t exactly quiet, “So. Didn’t think you were gonna keep him hidden forever, did you?”

I felt my cheeks heat, but Austin just smiled, completely unbothered, and reached under the table for my hand. His fingers found mine, warm and certain, brushing once before lacing through.

“Might’ve been tempted,” I murmured. Ellie laughed and squeezed my arm, then turned her attention back to Mia, who was explaining why grilled peaches absolutely counted as pudding.

By the time the food was mostly gone and plates were pushed aside, the light had gone soft and low. We drifted over to the fire pit at the edge of the garden, flames already flickering in the bowl, smoke curling into the air.

Chairs were pulled in. Someone brought out blankets and hoodies. Finn threw a bag of marshmallows into the middle and declared, “Alright—best toast wins eternal glory and first pick of breakfast.”

I was tucked into Austin’s side on one of the wide chairs, his arm snug around me, fingers grazing the top of my shoulder. I felt the low vibration of his laugh when Ollie’s marshmallow burst into flames and Finn declared him disqualified for arson.

A bottle of red was passed to us. Austin took a sip straight from the neck and passed it to me without a word. I tilted it to my lips, the wine warm and earthy, the firelight catching in the curve of his jaw.

We didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. Everything felt easy. Like we’d done this before—like we belonged here, among this mess of firelight and laughter and half-told stories.

After a while, the guitar came out—someone had found it tucked behind a sofa in one of the lounges.

Ollie tried first and failed spectacularly, managing two chords before declaring the instrument possessed. Dan took over with more confidence, strumming his way through the opening of a couple of recognisable songs. He made it nearly a full verse into Brown Eyed Girl before tripping over a chord change, laughing and shaking out his hand.

“You’ve been holding out on us,” Austin said, raising his glass. “That was actually good.”

Dan gave a mock bow. “Tell that to my wrist. I haven’t played properly in years.”

“Still better than me,” Ollie muttered, and everyone laughed.

Eventually, people started to drift—back into the kitchen for snacks, in to the loo, searching for jumpers or just a bit of quiet.

Austin stood, pressed a quick kiss to the side of my head, and said he’d go grab us both another drink. Then he disappeared through the open doors, swallowed up by the glow of the house.

I spotted Callum over by the table, collecting empty glasses and stacking plates into a precarious tower.

I got up and wandered over, grabbing a few things on the way. “You cleaning now? Who are you and what have you done with the real Callum?”

He looked up, grinning. “Trying to earn my keep. And maybe get ahead of the inevitable hangover.”

I nudged a napkin into my stack. “Look at you. Grown-up.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, mock-horrified. “I’ll break out in hives.”

Finn appeared beside us and wordlessly took the armful of plates from my hands with a salute before heading inside.

We worked in a comfortable rhythm for a few moments—no real plan, just gathering what we could from the table, brushing away crumbs, straightening chairs. The fire pit crackled behind us, low and steady. Somewhere beyond the hedge, an owl called out.

Callum broke the quiet. “You doing alright?”

I glanced over, surprised by the question. “Yeah. I am.”

He nodded once. “Good. You look it. Happy, I mean.”

I smiled, soft and quiet. “I think I am.”

He exhaled, almost like he’d been holding that in for a while.

“Told you,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I’m a bloody genius.”

I laughed, bumping his shoulder with mine. “You’re something, alright.”

He didn’t joke back right away. Just looked at me for a second—really looked.

And suddenly I was seventeen again, heartbroken and puffy-eyed on the floor of my childhood bedroom, while he sat beside me and said, completely serious, that he’d fight someone with a chair if I wanted.

My oldest friend.

The one who knew all my tells.

The one who never needed me to explain.

“Setting you two up,” he said quietly. “Best thing I’ve done in a while.”

I didn’t say anything—just reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

He squeezed back, then let out a breathy laugh and said, “Watching you together… it’s made me think maybe I’m ready for something again too. You know, something real.”

I blinked at him, caught off guard. “Yeah?”

He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “I dunno. I’ve been floating for a bit. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

“You’ll find it,” I said, certain. “Whoever she is, she’s gonna be lucky.”

He gave a wry smile. “Don’t go getting sentimental on me.”

“Too late.”

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me back immediately—tight, familiar, warm.

It felt like home. Like the kind of comfort only a best friend could give.

Then he pulled back, cleared his throat, and nodded toward the house. “Go on. He went inside a few minutes ago. Probably trying to be polite and not drag you off for a snog in front of everyone.”

I laughed, turning toward the kitchen.

“And Ange?” he called after me.

“Yeah?”

He held up the last empty glass. “If he hurts you, I’m still prepared to fight someone with a chair.”

I shook my head, grinning. “Good to know.”

And then I slipped inside, the warmth of the fire fading behind me.

The house was quiet in that way it only gets after a long, laughter-filled evening—soft music still playing from the speaker outside, the air still warm from the oven and the heat of so many bodies moving through it.

I stepped into the kitchen and found Dan crouched by the fridge, grumbling about needing something fizzy, and Mia scraping leftovers into a Tupperware.

“Back already?” Mia asked, not looking up.

“Just grabbing something,” I said vaguely. They didn’t press, just smiled as I slipped past.

I moved quietly, following the soft creak of old floorboards into the hall. The rest of the house felt still—shadows long, doorways darkened. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for until I heard it.

A low thread of music, rising up from deeper in the house. Simple, unshowy. A few wandering chords. Beautiful.

I followed the sound down the hallway, past the staircase, and into one of the front sitting rooms.

Austin was there.

Perched on the edge of a worn leather sofa, head bowed, feet braced on the wooden floor. The guitar rested easily against his thigh, his fingers moving slowly along the strings—steady, thoughtful, almost like he was working something out by feel rather than sound.

His cap was gone. His hair was slightly mussed, softening his profile in the lamplight. He looked rumpled and tired and unfairly beautiful. He wasn’t showing off—wasn’t even aware of an audience. Just letting the notes drift out of him, quiet and clear.

He looked so relaxed like that. So open. His fingers moved with a confidence that came from long familiarity, not performance—sliding easily along the neck of the guitar, coaxing something rich and lovely from the strings.

He didn’t see me at first.

So I just… watched. Leaned quietly against the doorframe, heart fluttering somewhere between my throat and the curve of my ribs.

He wasn’t playing anything I recognised. Just letting the music unwind itself slowly into the room, like it didn’t matter where it was going.

And maybe it didn’t.

Maybe it was just for him.

He looked up then, and his eyes met mine. No surprise, no startle—just that same soft smile that made something inside me tug loose.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and warm.

“Hey,” I whispered back, pushing gently away from the doorframe and stepping inside.

He didn’t move to hide the guitar, didn’t explain himself. Just shifted slightly on the sofa and nodded toward the space beside him.

I crossed the room, the floor creaking softly underfoot, and sat.

For a moment, we didn’t say anything. Just sat there in the hush of the old house, the air thick with the faint scent of woodsmoke and something sweet.

“Didn’t know you played,” I said eventually, voice barely above a breath.

“I don’t. Not really,” he murmured, still half-focused on the strings. “Taught myself when I was a kid. Locked myself in my room for hours. Glued my fingers once trying to build calluses faster.”

I blinked. “Wait—glued them?”

He gave a sheepish shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Superglue. Saw it on a forum. Thought it’d toughen them up. It… didn’t.”

I laughed, and he finally set the guitar down beside him, the last chord echoing faintly in the warm hush.

“Well, it worked. You’re good,” I said.

His eyes met mine. “Only when no one’s listening.”

“I wasn’t trying to spy.”

“I know.” His voice dropped a little. “But I’m glad you did.”

There was a pause, soft and comfortable.

“Do you still play much?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly. “Not really. Sometimes. Just for me.”

I nodded, then leaned closer, my hand brushing lightly over his. “I liked hearing it.”

His thumb traced a lazy line across my knuckles. “You can, any time.”

I smiled, then tipped my head toward the guitar. “Play me something else?”

He didn’t answer right away—just looked at me for a long moment. Then he picked the guitar back up, settled it against his leg again, and started to play.

No performance. No flourish.

Just a melody unfolding slowly in the quiet room—something wordless and warm, like he was giving me a piece of something he didn’t often offer.

And I stayed there, close and still, letting it fill the space between us. Letting it settle deep.

When he stopped, the room felt different somehow. Full. Like something important had been shared without needing to be named.

I leaned in, brushing a kiss to his cheek, just above the curve of his jaw. “Thank you,” I whispered. “You’re really good.”

He set the guitar down again carefully, then turned to face me fully, his hand curling around my knee. “Just don’t tell Callum,” he murmured. “He’ll make me play Wonderwall.”

I smiled. “Your secret’s safe.”

He looked at me like he wanted to say something else—something more—but didn’t. Just leaned forward instead, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was soft and slow and full of quiet weight.

And we stayed like that a while longer—quiet, close, and completely at ease—just the two of us in the hush of the house, with nothing but the music still hanging in the air.

Taglist:

@slowsweetlove @thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @myradiaz @butlerrizz @chocolatetree222 @richardslady121 @ilovereadingfanfics @faegoddessog @lucianegm @butlers-angels

[lau219]

Intuition

Part 2

Previous part here

*No disrespect is meant toward anyone with a PhD. The way it’s discussed in this chapter is just a point of view of the characters.*

…………………………………………………………………………….

Forty-five minutes later, and Tom had concluded the little tour of the lab he’d given Y/N, getting her familiar with the layout of the place and the general organization of where all the equipment was kept.

She’d remained pretty quiet, letting Tom talk as he showed her around, and she’d smiled to herself multiple times when it was obvious he was slightly nervous. Not in a shy way, but just in that it was clear he wasn’t used to having anyone to work with other than Margaret.

With every stop they made around the room, he kept realizing there were additional things he forgot to mention, and so Tom would stutter an apology of interjection for himself to Y/N as he remembered something and then backtracked to show it to her. She’d never heard someone interrupt themselves so many times before in her life.

“Oh, uh, and this…”, “Sorry, uh, I forgot, there’s also…”, “Oh, yeah, uh, and then…”

It was so cute, and while she was nervous herself, Y/N just kept thinking how amusing it was that this poor man wouldn’t ever win any contests for being smooth or suave, despite the fact that he’d definitely win in the looks category. But this was the most she’d ever heard him talk, and the most enthusiastic she’d ever seen him get about something, and it was surprising yet nice to see him like this. Every time he showed her something, Y/N nodded quietly and smiled, softly asking the occasional question and carefully following where he led her.

When they’d eventually made it back to the table Tom had been sitting at when Y/N had first arrived, he stopped next to it and met her eyes once more. They’d met eyes multiple times as he’d shown her around, and despite how moronic he knew he’d probably sounded (since when did he become so forgetful or unable to say a single sentence without inserting “uh” a million times?), she’d smiled at him sweetly each time, just as she was doing right now. It was obvious she was nervous, too, clearly feeling timid and staying pretty quiet, trying not to talk too much and stepping carefully through the room, but she was still somehow emanating her warm charm and listening to Tom with interest.

“That’s pretty much it,” Tom concluded as he laid a hand along the back of the chair at the table. “We just, uh, ya’ know, grab whatever stuff we think we’re gonna need for any given, uh…situation, and then take it from there.”

Nodding, Y/N replied.

“How often do you and Dr. Matheson go out to look into these…situations?” she asked, smiling as she used the term he’d used, since she had no idea how else to label what they did.

Tom gave a small exhale of a laugh and another half smile as he answered, giving a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“It just depends on how many people reach out to Margaret at any given time, but we’re usually always working on at least one case. But with her most recent interview on TV last month, we’ve gotten a big surge of requests, with people asking that we come and investigate either something or someone.”

There were certainly more questions Y/N had about Dr. Matheson and her work that she wanted to ask Tom, but she knew that right now wasn’t the time. She had a lot of questions for Tom about his own involvement in all this as well, but seeing as this was the first time he’d ever even spoken to her, Y/N wasn’t going to push it. Instead, after nodding again, Y/N’s eyes drifted over Tom’s shoulder to the table behind him, and she nodded her head towards the remaining stuff he’d left out before he’d begun showing her around.

“What were you working on over there earlier?” she asked, her eyes traveling back from the table to Tom. “Those track spools look like they’re from one of those huge tape recorder things.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tom replied, raising his brows momentarily as he quickly looked over his shoulder at the table and then back to Y/N. “They are. I took them off the machine to make some adjustments to it.”

“Can I see?” Y/N asked cautiously, her brows raising in shy curiosity.

“What?” Tom replied. “You mean the machine?”

“Yeah,” Y/N blushed. “I mean, sorry, you don’t have to show me. I was just curious.”

Again, Tom quickly reacted, as he didn’t mean to imply he wasn’t willing to show her.

“No, no,” he replied. “It’s fine.”

He really needed to stop being such an idiot, he thought to himself.

Turning, he reached for the piece of the machine he’d removed to work on. Grabbing it, he turned back around toward Y/N and held it out as he spoke.

“This is the part of the machine that’s supposed to pick up sound waves that are undetectable to human ears. But we’re looking to make it even more sensitive, and so I’m adding a small amplifier to it.”

“Wow, that’s so cool,” Y/N said as she reached out and took the piece Tom was offering her. Carefully, she turned it over in her hand, and then laughed to herself as she saw all the little microchips and wires on it.

Tom nearly smiled and raised his own brows in question as Y/N looked up and met his eyes.

“I don’t know how anyone even understands how this kind of thing works, let alone is knowledgeable enough to make adjustments to it,” she gave another little self-deprecating laugh. “I can’t even figure out the right cords to plug into which ports between my TV and my DVD player.”

At that, Tom fully smiled and released a laugh himself, and it only had Y/N smiling even bigger. So this man was capable of laughing? She never thought she’d see the day.

“It’s really not that complicated,” Tom said, still smiling.

“Oh sure, that’s easy for you to say,” Y/N lightly joked. “But didn’t Dr. Matheson say on the first day that one of your degrees is in computer engineering?”

Surprised that Y/N had remembered that fact about him, Tom replied with another half-smile.

“Most physicists have two degrees,” he reasoned with a shrug of his shoulders.

Smiling again, Y/N began to shake her head, but then realization clearly dawned on her as her eyes suddenly widened and then just as quickly, she furrowed her brow in questioning.

“Wait, you’re a physicist? Dr. Matheson never mentioned that. So you must…” she held Tom’s eyes. “So you have a PhD then, don’t you?”

Tom had an almost guilty expression on his face as he replied.

“Uhh…yeah.”

Y/N shook her head again.

“Why haven’t you ever mentioned that in class? And why don’t you have people call you ‘doctor’? Even Dr. Matheson refers to you as ‘Mr. Buckley.’ Why?”

Even though Y/N was looking at him in awe and not judgement, Tom still suddenly felt guilty.

“It’s just…it’s really not a big deal,” he replied with another shake of his head and shrug of his shoulders. “I never really felt like the degree warranted that title for me. I just know physics, ya’ know? But the ‘doctor’ title isn’t really anything that matters.”

After hearing Tom’s explanation, Y/N smiled a smile of awed disbelief and scoffed, shaking her head.

“You’re too modest,” she said. “Most anyone with any kind of degree that earned them the title of ‘doctor’ would be milking that for all it’s worth.”

Releasing another laugh, Tom shrugged his shoulders yet again, and he took the machine piece back from Y/N that she had held back out to him.

“It’s just not a big deal, ya’ know?” he repeated.

Y/N shook her head again.

“Well, I hope I’ll still be helpful to you and Dr. Matheson without any knowledge on this kind of thing,” she said as she gestured to the machine piece.

Tom smiled again.

“Don’t worry, there’s a lot of stuff we do that doesn’t involve any of this,” he held up the piece.

“Ok, good,” Y/N grinned, “because, like I said, I can’t even get my DVD player to work.”

“Did you try just turning it off and on again?” Tom joked, surprising himself. Where had that come from?

Y/N giggled at his joke, very pleasantly surprised to see that he perhaps had a personality after all.

Enjoying the sound of her laugh, Tom just looked at her for a moment, her pretty smile incredibly distracting. Y/N was looking back at him, admiring those eyes of his briefly before they each realized what they were doing and things suddenly became awkward.

As Y/N blushed, Tom shifted and cleared his throat, but they were both saved from anymore nervous awkwardness when Tom’s phone suddenly dinged again.

“Uh…” turning to retrieve his phone off the table, Tom quickly looked to read the newest text Margaret had sent him, and after reading it, he looked at Y/N once more.

“Margaret’s wondering if you can come by again on Thursday at the same time,” he said. “Then she’ll fill us in on what she has lined up for the next case.”

“Oh, um, I think that should be fine, let me just check…”

Pulling her bag from her back to over her shoulder, Y/N opened it and pulled out her calendar, quickly glancing at it.

“Yeah, that should be just fine,” she nodded, looking back up at Tom. “Should I just meet you here again?”

“Yeah,” Tom replied. “Margaret will be coming from across campus, so she may be a few minutes late, but I’ll be here.”

“Ok, great,” Y/N replied. Then she shifted her bag over her shoulder again before continuing. “Well, thanks for showing me around today. It was really interesting.”

Tom nodded and gave her that half smile.

“Of course, no problem.”

“Ok, well...I guess I’ll see you on Thursday then?”

Tom nodded.

“I’ll be here,” he confirmed.

They looked at each other once more, and Y/N spoke a final time on her way out of the lab.

“See you then…doctor,” she gently teased. And when Tom heard her, his smile was suddenly as wide as her own, which Y/N caught a glimpse of just before she fully turned around and then walked out of sight.

@nyxxie-pooh @xsweetcatastrophe @allie131313 @empatheticlove @febris-amatoria

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[pitchsidestories]

If I was a man II Mapi León/Alexia Putellas x Readers

warnings: talk about the Rubiales case and it's a longer oneshot than usual

a/n: based off this request

barcelona women masterlist

OCs are sisters, face claims are the women in the picture underneath: Luisa Ruiz Moreno is a journalist and is dating Mapi Leon, Elena Ruiz Moreno is a football player for Barcelona and Spain, she's in a long-term relationship with Alexia Putellas

Her heart was beating fast against her chest while Luisa Ruiz Moreno tried to videocall her girlfriend Mapi León before the final game of the World Cup 2023 in Australia.

The journalist could not help but smile as Claudia Pina spotted her with a wide grin on her face from the small phone screen of the defender: “Lu!” “Move over, Claudia. I want to talk to my girlfriend in peace.”, Mapi asked her to but even she was smiling because the positive energy of the younger player was infectious.

Watching this all too familiar scene play out, Elena could not help but long to be reunited with them again, but choose to greet the footballers for now: “Hi love, Hi girls.” “Shut up, we want to talk to her too, Claudia rolled her eyes, before she excitedly waved into the direction the phone was standing, Hello Lu!”

“How are you all doing?”, Elena asked in a curious tone, trying to braid her dark hair at the same time.

Truthfully Patri answered the question smirking: “We could be doing good if there wasn’t this final coming up.” “Will you watch it later though?”, the Journalist wanted to know from them.

With a tortured smile her girlfriend replied: “We’re planning on watching it together. Claudia already organized the snacks.” “And Sandra got the alcohol, it might be needed.”, Patri added with a mischievously grin. “However, it ends, it will be needed.”, Claudia clarified.

Slowly Mapi nodded: “Exactly, so..” “So, what?”, Elena interrupted her softly. Slightly annoyed Patri looked at her: “Mapi, hurry up. We don’t have all day.”  “I need to talk to her under four eyes for a second.”, the defender decided quickly and went into a room without any persons in it.  

Amused Elena teased her: “So what do you want to ask without your girls in the background?” “Can I not just talk to my girlfriend?”, Mapi asked back, adding a playful frustrated groan for the dramatic effect.  More seriously, the brunette continued: “Of course you can. I miss you; it’s been a month apart from you now.”  

To be fair Elena felt extremely grateful for the opportunity to write about the sport she loved the most on the biggest stage that existed for it, and what an unforgettable tournament it has been so far, but equally could not wait to see and hold her girlfriend again. 

“I know, I miss you too.“, Mapi replied into the front camera of her phone. “But you know, I have to look after my sister now too.“, Luisa stopped her girlfriend, laughing.

Mapi had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, “Your sister is an adult.“ With a shrug, Luisa answered, “Yes, I know but…“ A small smile tugged on Mapis lips as she finally gave in, “Go and take care of your sister.“ Luisa suddenly turned serious, “You don’t think it’s silly, right?“ „No. I think it’s good that you’re close by and can have an eye on her. I don’t trust this.“

Luisa nodded slowly, taking her girlfriends hint immediately, “You don’t trust him.“ “No, I don’t.“ Everything in Mapi refused to believe that things have changed since the players protested in September of last year. And her former teammates gave her more than enough evidence that they still weren’t happy with the leadership of their head coach. And apparently, her girlfriend must have seen the same because she agreed, “I don’t either.“

“You will tell us if you find out that something weird is going on, right?“, Mapi asked now. “Of course.“ “Good.“ Mapi watched her girlfriends gaze shifted towards the time on her screen before she smiled, “I’ll call you after the game, okay?“ “Okay, enjoy the final.“

Mapi ended the call with a smile and a feeling of uneasiness at the same time but there was no time to think about it because Patri was yelling from her living room, “Hurry up, León, or you won’t get any snacks!“ “You can’t eat all the snacks before the game even started!“, Mapi protested while hopping over the backrest of her sofa and landing right between Claudia and Patri. Claudia was now holding an empty bowl in her hands by, “Oops.“

"Claudia!", Mapi shot a playful accusing look to the younger player. With a red face Claudia tried to cheer her teammate up:" There's still a little bit left for you." "Thanks, appreciate it.", Mapi smiled at her. Softly Claudia answered: "You're welcome."

"Can you guys shut up now.", Patri begged them, because the final just started. With big eyes the younger midfielder decided to apologize: "Sorry." "There's a game going on.", she stated, gesturing her hands into the direction of the TV screen.

A few minutes later Mapi mumbled under her breath: "Shit, Olga scored." With a curious look Claudia turned her head to the defender:" I thought we were neutral?"  "Yeah one of your best friends and your girlfriend's sister is in the final.", Patri reminded her.

Not even that reminder from her friend could stop Mapi from swearing:"I still don't want this disgusting asshole to win anything." "Trust me no one does her.", Sandra tried to reassure her. The latter one let out a loud sigh:"I know. Or else you would be on the pitch right now."

Hesitantly Claudia proposed a question to all of them:"True.. do you guys feel like you're missing out?" "No.", was the defenders quick answer. Comforted by it the younger midfielder added:" Me neither, I'm in good company." "Pina, you're adorable.", Patri commented touched by the statement of her teammate. "I know." "But I'd like to watch the remaining part of the game in peace now.", the woman who was born on the Island of Callorca finished her sentence by staring at the two of them.

Laughing Mapi asked:"Why you're looking at us like that?" "Because you two are distracting from the action.", Patri groaned. Swiftly Claudia got to her feet:"I'll get more snacks!"

"It's not our fault you've the attention of a goldfish, Patri.", the defender mocked her friend. "Rude"

In a serious tone Mapi turned to her other teammate:" Claudia, come back. You don't have to get more snacks. It's over."

"Get the alcohol instead!", Sandra requested.

Claudia stopped in the door frame of Mapis living room. With a frown on her face, she turned back towards the TV where the final whistle was just blown. The Spanish player were hugging each other tightly and Claudia understood immediately. “Alright.“, she mumbled before disappearing into the kitchen.

She came back with a bottle of tequila and four shot glasses that she quickly filled up with the alcohol. Mapi took the first one and lifted it towards the screen, “Cheers.“ Patri was following suit immediately, rolling her eyes, “To the World Cup.“ With a hard swallow and glassy eyes, Claudia joined them, “To our friends. Here and there.“ “And definitely not to this clown.“, Mapi added as their head coach was shown. “Honestly.“, agreed Patri. The four women tipped their heads back to take their tequila shots and then continued to watch the celebrations in silence. They all were following the live pictures with mixed emotions.

Until the Spanish players were awarded their medals. In stunned silence, they watched the president of the football federation grab and then kiss Jenni Hermoso on the lips. Patri was the first to find her voice, so she yelled out, “He did not just do that!“ Claudia was shaking her head over the few seconds that the cameras captured this moment, “Please tell me this only looked weird…“ “I will ask Lu about it later.“, stated Mapi, knowing that if her girlfriend had seen this, she would be just as disgusted as they were. Patri nodded, “Please.“

Mapi was still looking at the screen in disbelief, “This man!“ Sandra, in the mean time, filled their shot glasses again, “Way to ruin a perfect night for the girls.“ “They deserve so much better than this.“, agreed Mapi, taking the offered tequila. “Fit rights into their shitty behaviour!“, Patri spat, her shock now turning into anger. Mapi watched with a set jaw as the president lifted another player, touching her bare leg, “But now everyone can see their real face and why we striked.“

Hopeful Patri turned to her:"Not when people ignore it. Do you think Lu could do something?" "I'm sure she can.", the defender answered, knowing her girlfriend and her skills in writing about the ills in society and her calls for change with the use of powerful words. "That would be perfect.", Patri mumbled. Still Mapi did not want to get her hopes too high, knowing the spanish federation all too well, so she said:"We'll see."

"Lu just texted and told me that she's too tired to call but she said the kiss will blow up in the news tomorrow. During a locker room interview Jenni stated that she did not like the kiss.", the defender informed her teammates. Excitedly Claudia stood up:" Yeah, I just saw it on instagram live!" "Guess now they will believe us.", Patri concluded with a bitter undertone.

Truthfully Mapi confessed:"I don't believe it's going to be that easy." "Probably not.. because when was this ever.", the older midfielder sighed. Slowly Sandra nodded:" You've got a point there." "But we keep on fighting.", Claudia tried to stay combatitive. A weak smile showed up on the defenders face:"Of course we do, we did not miss out on the World Cup for nothing."  "Exactly.", Patri agreed. That's when Mapi felt the calm before the storm which one could already see up on the horizon:"We'll wait and do whatever the other girls need us to do."

A few hours before the conversation of their teammates in Barcelona, Alexia Putellas hugged her girlfriend from behind with a joyful smile on her face while they were lining up in the players tunnel, anticipating the start of the final:"Ready to write some history, El?" "History, huh?", Elena smirked at her. In a solemn tone the famous midfielder replied:"That's what this is. Spains first World Cup final." "Right.", the brunette woman whispered in awe. That final was full of firsts and they could not wait to make it into the history books as the champions of tonight and the world.

“Let’s go. It’s showtime, lovebirds!“, Jenni called them. Elena furrowed her brow, “Lovebirds?! We were just talking about making history, Jenni.“ “Sure, you two. Stop staring at each other and let’s kick some ass.“, the striker rolled her eyes. Alexia did the same, defending herself, “We were about to.“ “I bet so.“, Jenni answered laughing. Elena smiled at her two teammates, “Can’t wait.“ “We only got a few more minutes, so go.“, Jenni replied, pushing the two of them into the tunnel where they waited for the game to start.

While they waited, Alexia casually slipped her hand into Elenas and hooking their pinkies into each other. Irene, who was standing behind them, leaned forward to call over the row of players, “Jenni, they do the hand thing again!“ “The hand thing?“, Jenni repeated as she turned around. “Yes, look!“ The corner of her mouth quirked upwards while she turned her eyes upwards in feigned disgust, “Annoying.“ “We heard that!“, Alexia yelled out, offended. “Good. I hope you did!“, Jenni laughed as they finally walked out onto the pitch.

For ninety minutes they put everything they had into the game. England fought hard but they fought harder. And when the final whistle blew, one goal was enough to secure them World Cup title. Irene was the first one to speak after the game, still breathing hard and with tears in her eyes, “Girls, we won…“ Elena stood close to her, hugging her from the side, “Yes, we did.“ Her voice was a whisper. She still hadn’t realized what had just happened. Jennis beaming face appeared in front of the two, “I’m so proud of you all!“ “We’re proud of you too.“, Elena smiled back at her. But then her sister caught her eye. She was standing outside of the pitch with the other journalists, her face blank. “If you excuse me, my sister is over there.“, Elena added, turning away from her team mates and making her way over to her sister.

Proudly Luisa smiled at her:"El, hi." "Hi.", the older of the sister greeted back. Nervously the journalist pulled a loose hair behind her ear:"I don't know how to feel, but how are you?" "I'm happy that we pulled that off, Lu.", Elena confessed.

Cautiously Luisa asked her:"Even after all the things that happened? What about the girls at home?" "Lu, we just won the World Cup.", the football player gave the younger sister a grave look. Guiltily Luisa bit her lip:"Sorry, you're right, enjoy your celebrations and lifting the trophy you girls deserve it." "Lu.."

Apologizing she gave her a rushed hug:"El, I'm really proud of you, see you later in the changing room." "Alright.", Elena nodded slowly. 

With a smile, Alexia joined them, clearing her throat to get their attention:" Come on, time to get the medal love." "Coming... Lu wasn't happy with us winning.", her girlfriend sighed.

Empathetically the midfielder strode her shoulder:" Don't think about it right now. This is a moment to enjoy." "You're right." A big grin showed on Alexia's face as she catched the sight of Irene's son:" Look at Mateo." "A cutie.", Elena whispered. The mother of the child came up and beamed:"Right?" "Definetly.", the sister of the journalist agreed, knowing that she would want something like that with her girlfriend at some point in the future too. "He's not even tired yet.", Irene giggled.

Softly Alexia called her girlfriend:"El?" "Yes?" "You can be happy now. No matter what Lu says.", the midfielder reminded her. Unhappy Elena looked at her:"It's hard when your little sister is clearly disappointed in you." "She isn't disappointed in you.", Alexia disagreed.

After the ceremenonial part of the evening was over,Jenni excitedly shouted:"Time to party, girls.""We're coming.", Alexia answered with a huge grin on her face. 

Immediately Elena started dancing and singing with her teammates. Enchanted by that view her girlfriend was shouting to be heard over the loud music:"El! Smile for the camera." "Where did you get the Polaroid camera?", the blonde football player asked curiously. Casually Alexia shrugged:"Some of the girls."

"Come on you need to be in the picture too.", Elena requested, the highly decorated midfielder followed her demand swiftly as she placed a kiss on her cheek while the couple was taking the photo. "And ? is it a good one?",  Alexia wanted to know.

"Yes, I'll put it in my journal."  "I want one for me too.", the woman with the pink hair smiled sheepishly. The blonde nodded and took another picture for her, the girlfriend thanking her with a sofr kiss. "Here you go."  Alexia was admiring the photo in her hand:"Beautiful, I'll keep it with my medal." "You're welcome."

Like her sister Luisa was in the changing room and approached one of the players in her journalistic manner: "Jenni, can I ask you something?" "Sure", the striker nodded. Before proposing her next question, the journalist cleared her throat:"The kiss from rubiales, was it consensual?"

"It was..I mean..I did not enjoy if that's what you mean?", Jenni answered hesitantly.

The journalist blushed, aware how terrible it was to ask her something like that during the glorioust moment in her career:"Sorry, if you don't want to talk about it, I absolutely understand that."

"I should go and celebrate with the other girls."

"Yes, you should. Thanks for your time, I appreciate your honesty.", Luisa thanked her.

The striker sighed: "Lu?" "Yes?" Jenni took a deep breath before she said: "He grabbed me and kissed me. That's the truth." "And you did not like it?" "No.", the striker answered without a doubt in her voice.

She could see the younger woman opposite of her swallowing hard:"You know this will be a big story by tomorrow, right?"

"Does it have to be?", Jenni asked, clearly uncomfortable about those news. In an honest voice Luisa replied calm:"It depends on his reaction."

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Close To Home Part Six

Part Five

***

Your sister was already in the kitchen when you arrived, barefoot and multitasking like always—talking to one of the kids, stirring something on the stove, and somehow still managing to sip her coffee without spilling a drop.

“You’re late,” she called as you stepped through the back door.

“You’re lucky I showed up at all,” you teased, kicking your shoes off and dropping your bag by the door. “I'm so nervous, nearly talked myself out of coming.”

She gave you a look. “Because of Joel?”

You didn’t answer right away, just leaned against the kitchen counter and grabbed one of the sliced strawberries from the bowl. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

She turned off the stove, wiping her hands on a towel. “You already told me he’s nice and funny and that he texts like he actually enjoys hearing from you, which is already rare enough. So what exactly are you scared of?”

You sighed. “It’s just… nerves. You know? It’s been a while since I’ve felt like this about someone. And I don’t know what it is, but something about him—it feels different.”

“Different can be good,” she said gently. “Sometimes it’s exactly what you need. As your sister it's nice hearing that you're being treated right. If I ever see Adam again I swear I might have to pu-”

Your niece came running into the room then, launching into a dramatic retelling of a disagreement over crayons, your sister cut herself off, crouching down to handle the minor crisis. You watched her with that familiar flicker of envy—how easily she moved through the chaos, how at home she seemed in the noise.

You weren’t sure what you were doing, not really. But you knew you were drawn to Joel in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Once the living room had swallowed the kids again, your sister turned back to you. “Are you seeing him today?”

You nodded. “Yeah. We didn’t set a time, but I think it’ll be later this afternoon.”

“And do you have a plan? Or are you going to let the universe work its magic again?”

You rolled your eyes. “The universe and I are barely on speaking terms.”

She grinned. “You’ll be fine. Just… don’t get so wrapped up in what it could be that you forget to enjoy what it is. If it’s meant to grow, it will.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your phone buzzed on the counter.

Joel:

Hey, you still up for coffee? I’m free earlier than I thought.

Your pulse skipped.

“Speak of the devil,” your sister said, reading your expression like a book.

You bit back a smile as you typed a quick reply, then stood a little straighter.

“Go,” she said, waving you off, a knowing smile on her face.

You grabbed your bag and stepped out into the spring air, nerves and anticipation twining together in your chest.

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. This chapter also has some suggestive themes and language

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men

Chapter 20

[Prev] [Next]

Law’s grip on your sweaty hand was grounding for you as you fidgeted in your seat.  Across the table from the two of you in the tiny medical conference room was Robin, who was silently shuffling through papers in front of her.  The room was so silent you could almost pick out the sound of the clock hands ticking away each passing second, each interval seeming to grow longer and longer.  You anxiously bit the inside of your cheek as you watched your doctor diligently sort through your comprehensive patient history.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally looked up.  “I think IVF will be a good method to try.  The success rate for women with endometriosis successfully conceiving and carrying to term with IVF is much higher than going without.  Additionally, you have undergone some treatment for your condition, which improves your chances much more substantially.”

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief, the tension seeming to roll off of your shoulders.  You glanced up at Law beside you, whose face was contorted in confusion.  The sight made you stifle a chuckle.

“Sorry, can you, uhm… explain what IVF is?” he asked Robin.  “Sorry I’m a bit useless with gynecological stuff.”

The question made Robin smile, appreciating his candidness.  “Of course, Law.  IVF stands for in vitro fertilization.  It’s a procedure where a mature egg is fertilized outside of the body and is then implanted into the uterus, thereby increasing chances of successful conception and embryo growth.  Of course, that’s the layman’s version of it.  But once I have your official go-ahead, I will explain in much greater detail.”

You could see the gears turning in your husband’s head, making you grin.  You loved the way he was clearly dissecting the mental image of what Robin had just explained.  He silently nodded.

“I would like to go through with it,” you affirmed.  “If it will increase our chances, then I’ll do anything.”

Robin organized your patient files in front of her, a content grin on her lips.  “I’m delighted to hear that.  If you’re ready, we can begin discussing the full process, since I imagine you would like to begin as soon as you possibly can.”

You eagerly nodded.  “Yes, absolutely.”

Law was counting in his head.  “How long has it been since the last miscarriage?”  He was growing so nervous in the stifling room that he was losing track of time.  You started to worry that he might be the one to pass out this time.

“Almost six months, I think,” you answered, rubbing the surface of your glass ring with your thumb.

Robin nodded.  “I believe that’s correct.  That’s a good amount of time for your body to heal, so you should be ready to conceive again with little issue.”  The black-haired woman reached into her bag in the chair beside her and procured her laptop, opening the device and clicking through a few windows.  “Are you okay if we begin discussing the procedure?”

“Yes I am,” you confirmed.  Law nodded beside you.

“Perfect.  The entire process could take anywhere between six to eight weeks, so I want you to be prepared for that waiting period.  Because, trust me, there will be a lot of waiting,” she explained.  She turned her computer around, displaying an illustrated diagram of a uterus and ovary.  She used her finger to point around the screen.  “I’m sure you’re more than familiar with what you’re looking at, so I won’t have to explain the anatomy.  We’ll monitor your menstruation cycle briefly, and then the process will begin with ovarian stimulation, which alone can last anywhere from eight to fourteen weeks.  This will ensure that multiple eggs can grow to maturity, instead of just one.  We will most likely use an injectable hormone medication for you, considering your condition.  Are you following?”

You once again nodded your head, laser focused on her words as her fingers moved around the diagram.  “Following.”  You weren’t so sure about Law, but you thought somewhere in that thick head of his he was absorbing your doctor’s long-winded explanation.

“Alright.  After ovarian stimulation, we’ll be monitoring your eggs while they’re still in your body every few days to ensure they are maturing properly with the medication.  36 hours before the retrieval, you’ll be given what’s called a “trigger shot,” to stimulate your eggs to complete maturation.  Egg retrieval will be done as a minimally invasive procedure, so you will be put under general anesthesia, but the process is quite short.  A suction tube will be inserted through your vagina with the help of an ultrasound, and a small needle will be placed through the tube to puncture your ovary and extract a small amount of mature eggs.  The eggs are stored on a petri dish and placed in an incubator to prepare them for fertilization.”

“Kind of like chicken eggs,” you joked.

Robin snapped her fingers with a chuckle.  “That’s a good comparison.  Once they’re ready to be fertilized, a single sperm will be injected into each egg on the dish.  It’s likely that not all the eggs will successfully be fertilized, but having the multitude of mature eggs greatly increases the chances that at least one will form an embryo.  You’ll have to wait a few days while the embryos develop on the dish, but once they have progressed far enough, they will be able to be transferred.  You also have the option to freeze unused fertilized embryos, in case you want to conceive again in the future.”

You and Law nodded along with her words.

“The embryo transfer itself is a very quick procedure, similar to a pap smear.  A speculum will be inserted into the vagina, and a catheter will be used to insert one or more of the fertilized embryos into your uterus.  Your body will usually take care of the embryo from there, having it latch to your uterine wall and form a placenta.  After about 14 days, we’ll give you a blood test that will determine if the pregnancy was successful.  If it is, then we’ll go about the usual pregnancy monitoring.  If not, we try again after a few menstrual cycles.  Understood?”

You and your husband leaned back in your chairs, taking deep breaths.  The explanation of the process was almost as exhausting as actually carrying out the procedure, but something in your chest told you that this was a good idea.  You had a giddy feeling develop deep within, almost begging you to go through with the long, arduous process, somehow promising that it would be worth it.

“I understand.  I want to go through with it,” you once again confirmed.

Robin smiled, amused by your willingness.  “I’m happy to hear that, we’ll be there constantly to support you and monitor your progress.  Let’s officially begin the process in a week.  We’ll need to do a comprehensive full blood panel, infectious disease screening for both of you, an evaluation of your reproductive system, and a male fertility test.  It’s just a formality,” she explained.

Law became slightly rigid in his seat, alerting your attention.  He appeared nervous as he asked, “Will I have to go back to the fertility clinic?”

Robin looked confused at his question.  “Yes, is there a problem with that?”

You thought briefly about why your husband would be so uncomfortable with returning to the clinic, until a sudden memory flashed into your brain.  The sight of Law, hunched over your kitchen counter with his head in his hands, guilt plaguing his entire being as he informed you he couldn’t ejaculate into the cup at the fertility clinic until he watched 15 minutes of porn on his phone with the volume as low as it could go.  You had laughed at his misery then, and you had to fight your entire body to hold in your laugh now.

Law quickly shook his head, collecting himself.  “No, no problem at all.”

The gynecologist’s eyebrow tilted up in confusion, but she dropped the subject as she wrote a list of instructions on a piece of paper before handing it to you.  “Take this to the reception desk to schedule your appointment for next week.  Most of the tests on you we can perform in this clinic, but your blood panel will have to be done at the outpatient laboratory.  I’m also going to file a prescription for estrogen patches so we can begin regulating your cycle.  Once all your tests are done and approved, we can proceed to the next step!”

You enthusiastically took the paper from her, reading over her guidelines and dates.  You smiled at your doctor, standing when she did and shaking her hand cordially.  “Thank you so much, Dr. Robin, I really appreciate it!”

“Of course, I’m more than happy to be able to help you two with this.  I’ll see you next week, alright?” she asked as she gathered her papers and laptop into her bag, preparing to leave the room and let you two continue on with your day.

You and Law gave her an affirmative nod as you departed, your husband following you like a lost dog to the reception desk so you could schedule your next appointments.  The only thing in his mind at that moment, however, was the dread of returning to the fertility clinic.  He did not want to have to deal with Dr. Franky again next week.

—

“HEYYYY, TRAFALGAR!  It’s good to see you again, welcome back!”

The booming voice of Dr. Franky made Law wince as the giant man entered the small room, another clear plastic cup clutched in his abnormally large hand.  The cardiac surgeon looked at the fertility doctor differently now that he knew that your gynecologist was this man’s wife.  What a small world.

“How are those swimmers doing, huh?” the blue-haired doctor asked, a bright smile on his face as he plopped himself down in the swiveling stool that rested below the medical counter.  He clacked a few times on his keyboard, looking up Law’s patient info.  “Here for another sperm sample, I see.”

“Just part of a protocol,” Law muttered, his face growing red with shame.

“Ahh, got it, got it.”  Dr. Franky nodded a few times as he typed.

Law felt his phone buzz a few times in his pocket, but ignored the urge to reach in and check his device while the boisterous man was in the room.

“Well, you know the drill!  Just–”

“I know, Doctor, I know…” Law mumbled, fighting the reflex of pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

With a pout, Franky passed over the clear cup, gave his regards, and left Law alone in the room.  Finally surrounded by silence, the man slipped his phone out of his pocket to see who had texted him during his brief yet horrendously awkward discussion with the fertility doctor.  His spirits immediately brightened upon seeing your name on the screen, followed by slight confusion upon reading your messages.

Wifey

Good luck at the clinic today baby!!!

Wifey

Thought these might help you ;)

Wifey

[3 Image Attachments]

Wifey

[1 Video Attachment]

Wifey

See you later darling <3

Law felt his face grow heated upon seeing the images you had sent him.  Suffice to say, he was not expecting it.

But his wife’s beautiful body was always worlds better than porn.

—

“Hey, I’m home!” you called into your apartment, kicking off your shoes.  The excited tapping sounds of Bepo greeted you, your cloud of a dog skidding across the floor into your entryway, his bushy tail wagging a mile a minute while his pink tongue lolled out of his mouth as he smiled up at you.  “Look who’s happy to see me!”

“Hey, hon,” Law called from around the corner, leaning against the wall as he watched you be smothered by the thick, billowing fur of your four-legged baby.  He had a smirk on his face as you stood to greet him, a surprised gasp leaving your throat as he grabbed your arms in his calloused hands and brought your lips to his, kissing you dumb.

When he finally pulled away, you flashed him a knowing grin.  “I take it you appreciated the ‘help’ I sent you?”  You used air quotes to punctuate your sentence.

“Oh, I more than appreciated it,” he hummed back, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck where he knew you were the most ticklish.  He delighted in the giggle that left your lips as you fisted his shirt in your hands.

Bepo eagerly butted in between your pairs of legs, demanding the attention to be on him.  He had spent so much time with Shachi and Penguin as of late that he was desperate for the love from his parents.  His big, beady eyes gazed up at the both of you as he silently demanded you to go to the living room and sit on the couch so he could curl up next to you.

“Okay, okay, let’s go sit down,” you relented, laughing as your dog immediately sprinted to his favorite couch cushion.  You followed your furry baby, Law’s hand in your own, a pleasant, content grin on your face.  You flopped down next to your dog, your husband following your lead and pulling your body down on top of his, your ear resting over his heart.  You could hear it thrumming away, endlessly excited about the concept of holding you.

“You know what I like about you, Law?” you asked, adjusting yourself to be more comfortable.  

“Other than the fact that I’m married to you?” he teased.

“Yes, other than all the obvious things that I like about you,” you joked back, poking a finger into his side.  “I like that you still treat me like you did when we were dating.”

Law’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to deconstruct what your words meant.  “What do you mean?”

You sighed.  “I don’t know… I was just thinking about it today.  Like, some married couples drift apart after they have kids or after big life tragedies, but you didn’t do that.  And I like that about you.”

Law wrapped his arms around you, linking his fingers together as they rested over the small of your back.  “Couples who leave each other after having kids probably didn’t have a spark to begin with,” he replied.  “Same with couples who give up on each other after bad events happen to them.  But that’s not us, it never has been and it never will be.”

“So you’ll still like me when I’m old and shriveled?” you asked, your voice holding a hint of sincere insecurity along with your joking tone.

“I’ll love you even when we’re decaying skeletons six feet underground,” he replied, planting a kiss to the crown of your head.  “Who knows, maybe the 80-year-old you will be even sexier than you are now.  Only one way to find out.”

“Law!” you yelped, laughing at his flirtatious remark.  A few more jokes were tossed between you two, lighthearted giggles floating through the air as you cuddled before you finally relaxed in his embrace.

“How did your tests go today?” your husband asked, idly trailing his hands up and down your sides.

“They went well, my blood panel was completely normal, but the nurse said I should try to up my Vitamin D intake,” you explained.  “My ultrasound and saline sonogram were fine, there was some endometrial tissue on the outside of my uterus but Robin said it shouldn’t pose a problem.  And my infectious disease panel…”

The way your voice trailed off made Law pick up his head to look at you, concern bubbling in his chest.

You gazed back up at him with a cheeky smile.  “No tuberculosis.”

Law barked out a laugh.  “I sure as hell hope not!”

You giggled along with him, dropping your head back down onto his test.  “Aside from my texts, how did your test go?”

Your husband grinned, though you couldn’t see with your current position.  “It went fine, thanks to you I was out of there much quicker.  Nothing abnormal with my semen, and I hope to whatever’s up there in the universe that I won’t have to go back there again.”

“Is it really that bad?” you asked, holding in your laughter.

“It’s just that Franky guy.  He’s so… loud.  He’s always the last person I see before I’m supposed to jerk off into a cup,” he lamented.

“Fertility doctors don’t get you hard?” you teased.

“Not when they call semen ‘little swimmers,’' he griped back.

The conversation was making you giggle uncontrollably, your body trembling in your husband’s grasp as you poked fun at his misfortune before finally getting your energy out and settling down.  “Well… for your sake, I’m happy you’re done with that, too.”

Another comfortable silence settled over the two of you as you lay back on the couch, your dog snuggled with both pairs of your feet.

“Are you feeling ready to start this whole thing?” Law asked.

You pondered your thoughts briefly.  “I’m… I’m definitely really nervous, but I think I’m ready.”

Law’s hand rested on the back of your head, supporting you against his chest.  “I’m not leaving you, baby.  I’ll keep promising that until my tongue falls out.”

His words made a relieved, content grin crawl to your lips as you buried your head further into the junction between his shoulder and neck.  “I love you, Law.”

“I love you, darling.”

[climbthemountain2020]

To Know That I'm With You - Ch. 23

Nessian | Ch. 23 | Ao3

Friends, I cannot believe we are approaching the end. This week and then next week's epilogue finish us up. Thanks so much to those of you who have been with me on this one since the start. Your comments have genuinely been such a joy to me! Hope you all love these last two chapters! Love, as always, to my best friend, @popjunkie42 who really suffered through too many words with me this past year lol.

Nesta felt the touches on her skin before awareness surrounded her fully. A tug here, a press there. The motion moved around her like she was bobbing underwater. 

It reminded her of the times she’d chased Feyre into the lake. Deep summer, nearly winter– it hadn’t mattered. Feyre had gravitated to that stupid body of water like her life depended upon it, sinking beneath the surface until the ripples went placid, making a habit of scaring Nesta half to death. The lake itself wasn’t deep, more of a pond, really. Even in the center, she could still touch on tiptoes. It wasn’t at all like the dark, vast expanse she’d seen recently. 

Where had she seen a lake recently?

Thoughts twirled around her head, winding back to the familiar feel of a memory. She’d grab Feyre’s clothes in a fist, tearing her up to the surface where her littlest sister would break into open air with a grin, water dripping down her lashes and into her eyes while Nesta’s treading legs caught amongst the reeds. 

“You found me,” she’d say, exhilarated and through a grin. 

“I always do, you feral little thing.” 

Nesta was irritated, always irritated, but the term held a strange tinge of affection reserved only for her sisters. 

I always do. 

I always will. 

Now, whatever water she waded through felt tight against her skin as she waded near-weightlessly to the middle. The night sky spanned above her, full of sparkling stars and a harvest moon that illuminated the darkness, casting an orange glow across the water’s surface. Hands–or reeds–grabbed at her, but in a way that felt familiar. She was not afraid. 

When her hands reached out to grab Feyre, the fabric bunching beneath her fingers, muscle memory did the rest, pulling her to the surface. Waiting for that wild, childish grin. 

But beneath her fingers, sequins crunched. When Feyre breached the surface, the glittering jewels of an evening gown sparkled as the water sluiced down it. 

She was smiling just the same, but her face was older now. So beautiful that it almost hurt to behold. Ethereal. Otherworldly. Her pointed ears, her pointed teeth. She was surrounded by the glimmer of stars, the night sky holding her like its favorite child. And when Nesta didn’t let go of the dress, Feyre placed her own hand on her sister’s. 

Her smile softened. “You found me.”

Without thinking, Nesta answered. “I always do.”

Feyre’s smile widened, and the sight of it was so radiant that she truly looked woven from the galaxies above. Nesta’s heart cracked and filled. Awareness creeping in. 

“You died.”

She knew the truth in the words as she spoke them, a confirmation instead of a question. But Feyre’s smile didn’t falter. 

���As did you, Nesta.”

Am I dead?

Feyre held Nesta’s hand, now unclenched, in both of hers. She brought it to her mouth and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “This isn’t death, Nesta. This is living.”

Nesta’s attention caught suddenly on the orange glow of the low moon. It reminded her of waking to warmth at her back, to his lips on her neck. The rumble of his voice rushing over her like a mountain stream. The comfort and safety it brought out in her was indisputable, something she had become familiar with. A rush of heat, a beat of wings. 

Cassian.

Her eyes tracked back to Feyre, the look on her face a thing of knowing. 

“I’ll see you soon, Nes.”

Nes.

Feyre had never called her that. 

No one called her that.

No one except–

Nes .

Nes.

“Nes!”

The word clanged in her head, so much sharper than the dream. The lake dropped from beneath her, her body no longer weightless but heavy, jostling.  

She opened her eyes.

“Nesta, please.” It was a sob against her chest, the world coming into clear and abrupt focus around her as her lungs filled with the force of a crack of thunder. They were in open air, the wind breaking against her body so violently that her skin pebbled. She could feel the icy gale in the tears against her ribcage where Cassian held his face to her. 

He felt it when she stirred, his hazel eyes lifting to hers, onyx hair ruffled in the strong gusts across what she imagined was the top of Ramiel. But her eyes were only for him.

His face crumbled. “Oh, gods. Gods, you’re okay.” He was already cradling her, his strong arms banded beneath her body. 

How long have we been here?

She went to move her hands to the back of his head, to hold him to her, to reciprocate the gentle but strong comfort. But her arms felt clumsy, limbs too long and stiff and strange to respond how they should. 

How long have I been out?

The ground was no longer shaking, she noticed, finally taking in the scene around them. It was just as she had left it, the dark obelisk catching the glinting light beside them. She had gone in with the rising sun, but now the pastels of the clouds signified that it was sinking. Hours had passed within the mountain, time no longer making sense. She'd thought she remembered the mountain collapsing in her memory, but here they lay atop it, the clouds swirling and the wind blowing.

With great effort, she ran a hand through Cassian’s hair, the movements stuttering and strange, her fingers off. As though she’d come home to a home she knew like the back of her hand, where everything had just barely been moved.

You died. 

As did you.

Understanding was a gentle wave over her, realization creeping like a warm blanket on a cold night.

She felt strange because she was no longer herself. Not fully.

Nesta was alive, but no longer the same. 

With great happiness must come great sacrifice.

It had been her mortal life. But by letting it go, she had gotten something better–something new.

She looked into Cassian’s eyes again, the patience there, the waiting. 

She had gotten eternity. She had gotten Cassian. 

Without waiting a moment more, she kissed him, body still moving clumsily as she did. But there was nothing clumsy in the way their lips met, nothing awkward or hesitant in the glowing ribbon that connected them. Nesta could feel it now, as certainly as she felt the wind on her skin. That bond connecting them, that pull in her chest. 

It was him. It always had been. 

From the moment he’d dropped from the sky, risking his wings to keep her safe, she had belonged to him, and him to her. He had pushed her, given her just enough space to learn, to thrive. He’d believed in her, and he’d made her want to be better. 

She loved him. Her mate. 

When they pulled apart, so slowly that she felt the moment the last point of contact of his lips left hers, she settled her gaze on him through half-lidded eyes. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

A broken grin split across his face as though she had told him heaven existed. “Hi,” he said back through a harshly exhaled laugh. 

Above them, his wings towered. Beautiful, dark, healed.

“Your wings…” she breathed, aching to run fingertips along them. Even the scars were gone, the membranous flesh pristine as though nothing had ever touched them before. 

“Healed. She healed us.” As he looked down at Nesta, his eyes were uncertain, as though he wasn't sure she understood what change her body had undertaken. As though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Nesta felt it. She knew she was no longer human. Her hand raised to her ears to feel the arched points, elegant and long as they crested through her hair. Her tongue ran over pointed canines, the sharp ends of them enough to draw blood.

She was something else now, but the knowledge didn’t scare her. She belonged with him. And now they would have all the time that they could not have before. 

It hadn’t truly been a sacrifice at all.  

As though watching her to see how she reacted to the news, Cassian’s eyes followed her every expression. His hand rose to brush her cheek, the touch featherlight across her skin and still enough to send sparks flying through every inch of her. 

“I love you.” The words fell forth from her mouth like they were meant to be there, like they’d been there longer than time itself as she leaned her face into his palm. 

They were a promise, an apology with an acceptance of his, an understanding, an olive branch. 

On the very top of Ramiel, they were a new beginning. 

“Little witch.” The affectionate words tumbled in the air around them, drawing Nesta and Cassian’s eyes to the obelisk. There, Elke hung suspended in the air, the wind not rippling her clothes or hair.

She wasn’t truly there at all–an apparition, a ghost. 

“You’re dead?” Nesta questioned before she could stop herself. All this, and she had still failed?

But Elke grinned, her mouth a little too broad to be human. “It was only my soul that needed to be freed, Nesta Archeron. All magic requires a price.”

A price. And the price had been her corporeal form. 

“It was a price I was ready and willing to pay,” she said, confidence and assuredness seeping through the words. 

“Thank you.” The words came from Cassian this time. He offered nothing else, but his arms around Nesta were enough to convey the weight of his thankfulness. 

“There are things bigger than any of us coming. Things from across open seas, a darkness that never died.” 

“Do you ever speak plainly?” Nesta couldn’t stop the wry words from coming from her lips, despite a strangled sound emerging from Cassian behind her ear. Elke barked that strange laugh again, an echoing quality to it as she floated atop Ramiel.

“You will watch the temples. Sangravah, Itica, Cesere. They will come in the night, and they will not give consideration when it comes to the things they need.” Nesta had no inkling of the temples of which she spoke, but she was certain Cassian would. As if on cue, he responded. 

“How can we prepare?”

Elke’s eyes flashed again, that white taking over her irises, glowing from some source within. Her voice changed, a mixture of voices both old and young, hoarse and vibrant, whispering and roaring. 

Stone walls encompassing, hidden then revealedWarded by enchantments, through magic concealed.

Possession by Death, mask discarded then found, The crown and the harp, still deep underground. 

A single bearer can wield three through fate,The remaining lost troves, both lying in wait. 

Her eyes flashed again, and in her normal voice, she spoke. “The journey will not be alone– no flame can burn brightly that way.” She had the audacity to send a pointed look at Nesta. “But only she may wield them.”

“Because she’s fae now?” Cassian asked, his mouth so close his breath skirted the shell of Nesta’s ear as he spoke. 

“Yes, but something more.” 

Nesta’s spine straightened at the words, an awareness moving through her entire body. There was something within her, something both old and new. It had always been there, she recognized, a familiarity to it despite the foreign feel. It felt like meeting a childhood friend after years of absence. Like finding a stranger in the woods, or at a ball, who had waited centuries for you. A knowing that things had panned out how they were meant to, that prickling awareness in her scalp and across her skin announcing that she was moving exactly how she was supposed to.

“What did you give to me?” Nesta finally asked, wondering if it had been a gift at all, or just a welcoming of something. A homecoming.

Elke all but confirmed it as she smiled mischievously. “Nothing that wasn’t there before.”

Nesta understood. It was a part of her–this ancient magic. The flames, the power, the bond. 

“How was I able to take the mask, to wield it?”

“It, too, recognizes a power far older than this land. And like calls to like, my dear.”

It had come to her when she’d needed it, her powers responding and rising in kind when she’d taken it in her hands. One ancient magic meeting another.

“You have the power to change a great many things, Nesta Archeron. The very fabric of this world. But perhaps I would start with looking into the anatomy required to bear the child of an Illyrian.” Cassian sounded like he’d choked on his own breath behind her, and Nesta blushed, wide eyed, as the witch shot a smug look their way. “Now, now. There’s plenty of time for that.”

Thank the gods for that. 

“You are powerful beyond measure, little witch. You will bear many faces in your long, long lifetime. Each will be an honor, and each will be with him by your side.” She nodded at Cassian, and Nesta looked back at him. His hair blew in the wind, whipping across his face. Without thinking, she raised a hand and traced a fingertip over the scar through his brow. It felt soft, smooth like the rest of his skin but raised in a small ridge. She wondered how he’d gotten it. She couldn’t wait to ask.  

They had time.

She was still staring at Cassian as Elke spoke again. “The monolith will take you back to Velaris now. Thank you for your service to me, Lady Death. I hope we will meet again.” 

Lady Death and the Lord of Bloodshed.

She looked back to say goodbye, but Elke had already gone, the monolith glinting alone in the setting sun. 

+++

Nesta and Cassian were still holding onto each other when they hit the ground, knees buckling on impact and bringing the two tumbling down together with arms interlocked.

The first thing Nesta noticed around them was the crisp air, the loamy scent of damp soil and pine needles permeating the space around her. Looking up, she found them surrounded by dense forest, a vast expanse of towering pines and ancient oaks with sunlight filtering valiantly through the thick canopy above. 

Birds had called from unseen perches, their cries mingling with the rustle of wind through the trees. Fallen logs draped in emerald moss had lay scattered among jagged rocks, remnants of storms long past. 

Cassian looked up as Nesta did, his body loosening and a breath leaving him gently. Their eyes met, and only a beat passed before they were back in each other’s space, their lips meeting in a clash. It was inelegant, their teeth clacking and lips moving as though they were each tasting their last meal. All too aware how close they’d both come to never being able to do this again. 

Nesta could feel her breath escaping as soft pants against his lips, the rushing of his own echoing in the space between them. It was desperate, urgent, every ounce of passion mixed with the lingering rush of survival and success washing over them both in waves. She could feel her own emotions mirrored in his, and the intensity of it overwhelmed her in the best possible way. His fingers tangled in her hair, hers pulling on the nape of his neck, clutching, anchoring–proof that they were here, still alive, together. 

Everything else could wait. Right now, all that mattered was this. 

The kiss was different, more.

She could feel him now, really feel him. Every nerve ending in her body could touch him, know him, pull him closer. She was strong, more easily able to twist her fingers into his shirt and pull him tight to her. His responding groan into her mouth told her he liked the changes, too. Everything in this form was different; everything was amplified. She could smell him, that sharp scent of winter and hearth, but there was more beneath it. A gentle note of cloves, a whiff of polished leather, the slightest hint of metal. 

It was all him, and she wanted to paint it on the walls of her mind and never forget.

“Mine,” she whispered into his mouth, her tongue following the words. 

“My mate,” he growled back, tilting her head to kiss her more deeply.

She was ready to take him here in the woods, among the fallen trees with the birds to witness. But just as she reached for the ties of his pants, they heard voices. They held still on the ground, her having shifted entirely into his lap at some point. Twigs snapped as the voices came closer. 

“Are you absolutely certain the wards were breached?” 

That voice.

“I think I would know what it feels like when someone enters my wards, darling,” a male voice responded.

The first voice seemed to scoff, but the tone was loving, filled with affection. “I was very comfortable in bed, you know.”

“I can easily have you back in bed in seconds, Feyre.” 

Feyre.

Nesta was off Cassian’s lap and moving, her body ahead of her thoughts as she ran towards the voice. 

“Incorrigible High Lord,” Nesta heard as she bounded through the brush.

“Feyre!” 

The voices stopped. 

Then, as though surfacing from shock, she heard the response to her left. “Nesta?”

And with one more branch cast aside, Nesta found Feyre standing in the clearing ahead, her hand held tightly by the man from the masquerade ball. Cassian’s brother, the High Lord of Night, and her sister’s mate. 

Feyre was already running, plowing towards her with a speed so quick she’d barely tracked it before Feyre’s body was colliding with hers. Her arms came around her as they stumbled, that familiar scent of her littlest sister amplified into a soft cloud of familiarity around her. 

Lilacs and pears, paired with something new like bergamot and tangerines. 

Feyre pulled back, tears in her eyes, and then stopped. Nesta felt more than saw Cassian emerge behind her in the woods, his warm presence lighting up every response in her body like a beacon. Feyre’s eyes flicked between the two of them, her mouth closing then opening then closing again until she lifted a brow in quiet understanding. 

She turned just slightly enough to face Rhys. “Cassian is the right male for the job, hm?” 

The High Lord of Night didn’t offer more than a shrug and a smirk as he walked across the clearing and embraced Cassian with a joining of hands and a long clap on the back. 

“Brother, you smell.” 

Cassian’s laugh roared through the clearing at Rhys’s words.

“ Brother , you have some explaining to do.” Cassian responded with another hard but affectionate clap on the back.

“I told you before–I’ve never known you to be afraid of a challenge, Cass.” They paused, then embraced again, and Nesta watched, enchanted as he smiled. She took him in surrounded by family, his brother and new sister. It was the joy of a male who felt safe, loved–she could feel it in her own chest, building and spinning and filled with life. It was the same joy he felt with her. 

“My, my, sister. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you swoon,” Feyre teased. Nesta scowled immediately. 

“Now, remind me again why I missed you?”

Feyre feigned hurt and shoved at Nesta’s ribs. “I should have known you wouldn’t let a glamour stop you.” The words bounced in Nesta’s head, sobering her. She needed to find out what Feyre and Rhys knew about the prophecy–she needed to ask them about the new one. She needed to warn them of the things Elke had told them. The soldiers in the woods.

But as Cassian and Rhys gathered close, Cassian’s hands finding Nesta’s shoulders, she knew it was a conversation for once they’d returned to the city. 

Rhys held out a hand. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Nesta. I’m Rhysand. Welcome to Velaris.” She still wasn’t sure she trusted him fully–she needed the entire story before she passed her judgement. But still, she took his hand in hers, a measure of good faith for the time being. They were bound now in more ways than one, and she could extend leniency to him. 

Feyre seemed shocked at her acquiescence–Nesta almost rolled her eyes. 

“There’s much to discuss, brother,” Rhys quipped to Cassian, beginning to trek towards the outcropping ahead. Cassian took Nesta’s hand in his, the warm palm tracing against hers. 

“That there is.”

“Let’s save it for tonight.”

Rhys nodded as Cassian led Nesta through the trees. Her breath caught in her throat as she beheld the sweeping view in front of her. A city glinted beneath the bright sun, blue skies overhead framing it like a painting. Beneath them, a river wound its way through the heart of the city like a languid snake, the water shimmering and shining as it caught the fractals of light from above. There were mountains all around, surrounding the many-colored buildings like a treasure. 

It was the most beautiful city Nesta had ever seen. 

Cassian’s hand squeezed hers, and Feyre's slipped into her other. 

“Welcome to my home, Nes. Our home.”

And for the first time, Nesta thought home could mean to her what it was supposed to.

[glitteringcrab]

Rick C-137 and Evil Morty

So, I'm wondering to what degree Rick C-137 can see through Evil Morty...

Initially, he says stuff like this:

Which, uh, makes sense. He is already familiar with the concept of a "cocky Morty" who is bad for everyone, and a Morty president sounds... pretty sus.

And, yeah, Rick's not surprised. He is quick to draw guns, quick to shoot, quick to call him "evil" again...

When he and Morty Prime are trying to escape, and Morty Prime is challenging Evil Morty...

...Rick glares at Evil Morty, going along with Morty Prime's challenge.

But, uh... after hearing Evil Morty's answer to that challenge (he's just leaving!!), seeing Evil Morty offer Morty Prime to escape along with him (!!) and being incapable of offering a better option, he actually advises Morty Prime to leave (which, let's be honest, is pretty selfless on Rick's part).

LOOK AT RICK'S FACE AFTER HEARING EVIL MORTY'S "THE SECOND SEAT'S A TOILET" LINE:

Morty Prime gets mad, and rightfully so... But Rick C-137 only stares at Evil Morty blankly, without saying a word.

And here's the thing that got me thinking:

If we can tell that the second seat was most likely not a toilet because it was fancier (and this is obviously a custom-made spaceship, Evil Morty made it specifically for this moment, and included a second seat in his long-term plans) and because Evil Morty having to wear a space suit while driving that thing means he literally cannot use a toilet...

...can't Rick C-137 also tell that Evil Morty was most likely lying, and that he actually wanted Morty Prime to come along, enough to (a) include him in his long term plans, (b) expose the citadel's horror to him and (c) wait around long enough for Morty Prime to meet him at the bottom before firing the weapon that would bring down the Curve?

I mean, Rick C-137 is more experienced at spaceships and breathing in space etc. Couldn't he decipher the function of the craftmanship from, like, a glance?

When we next see Rick C-137 and Evil Morty is mentioned, we get this:

Which, yeah, is extremely demeaning (you equate leaving a horrible, multi-dimensional prison to quitting twitter??? And committing a ton of atrocities to do so to "throwing a tantrum"???) but... it also can be read as Rick C-137 realizing that Evil Morty was not actually "evil". That he was just upset (uh, extremely so). The "tantrum" part also signals that Rick recognizes Evil Morty was young. Rick doesn't seem to hate Evil Morty for his actions.

(also, look at how sad his expression becomes after saying the "twitter" part, and he turns his head away from Morty... It's almost like he's mourning... something)

When the two next meet, sure, Rick C-137 has prepared for the possibility of Evil Morty's return...

Which, on one hand, is an obvious attempt to bypass Evil Morty's forcefield...

...but it also sounds non-lethal, doesn't it?

He then tests Evil Morty's forcefield...

...but let's be honest here, Rick's not trying very hard to kill him, is he? Even when escaping the crumbling Citadel, Rick shot to kill twice, but never bothered to use any other methods to kill him (like the countless imaginative ways we've seen him kill various Ricks and aliens). Now, I'm sure Evil Morty was capable of countering plenty of them, but you don't know unless you check. Rick C-137 is not really trying to kill him.

And since in Unmortricken Evil Morty had the element of surprise (they had no idea he would show up!!) it would have been very easy for him to kill them both.

...But he just wanted to talk instead.

And wouldn't leave.

...I think Rick could tell almost immediately from the moment of Evil Morty's appearance that he didn't intend to be hostile and therefore was himself accommodating.

HE ACTUALLY GAVE A COMPLIMENT TO THIS KID.

He listened to Evil Morty's suggestion to filter for probability stasis...

Berated Morty Prime for wanting to kill Evil Morty...

Actually putting his gun away before suggesting to Evil Morty that they work together:

(which is, yeah, kinda meaningless considering he has a million other weapons implanted on his person, but I still read that as a peace offering, and I'm wondering if one of the reasons Evil Morty flinched when Morty Prime tumbled away from him was because he was too busy watching Rick C-137, wondering if Rick would turn against him in this new setting)

One of my favorite moments in this episode was this scene:

Sure, Rick doesn't forcefully pull Evil Morty through the portal to safety like he did with Morty Prime (let's be honest, Evil Morty would not like that), but he gave him his portal gun back immediately. Like they literally wasted time during which they could get fried just so he could give Evil Morty his portal gun back.

I remember wondering during this scene if Rick C-137 would try to hold Evil Morty hostage by keeping hold of his portal gun or something, or maybe taunt him over it... But he returned it immediately, knowing that what this particular kid wanted was not someone to manhandle him to safety, but independence and freedom and agency... And he fully respected these boundaries.

Evil Morty, in turn, respects Rick C-137's wish that his involvement in Diane's infinite death is not discussed nor revealed to Morty Prime:

Evil Morty only chastises Rick C-137 in a cryptic manner that is sure to fly under Morty Prime's radar:

At this point Rick C-137 trusts Evil Morty enough to leave him ALONE WITH MORTY PRIME, IN HIS HOUSE, UNSUPERVISED:

That trust is misplaced though. Evil Morty brings Morty Prime along with him for the Prime fight, and Rick C-137 gets mad, because he honestly did not expect Evil Morty would put Morty Prime in danger.

And I'm wondering if Rick's laser-y retort to Evil Morty's "I'm not worried about him, I'm evil" is another form of silent communication that these two seem to have:

It's the gesture he does afterwards.

Is it a "what-did-you-expect-I-now-hate-you" gesture, or is it a "what-did-you-expect-I-can-tell-you're-lying" gesture?

Rick is still mad at Evil Morty, which is pretty understandable:

...Then Rick does this:

...and screws everything up in my eyes, although it seems Evil Morty never became aware what had transpired.

And this:

I, uh... I originally thought if those two were to meet again the same positive vibes from the beginning of this episode would go on, but, seeing it all together now...

...I, uh, I'm not so sure. I doubt Rick C-137 would be able to forgive Evil Morty bringing Morty Prime along for the fight so easily....

[empressofthewind]

Hey there, Meronia fan! Do you mind if I ask for Meronia fics recs? And, do you have any fav ships (from any fandom) that the dynamics remind you of Mello/Near?

You can't imagine, how excited I am to find your blog. Let's just say in my older anime/manga group who love Death Note mostly ship Lawlight & Matt/Mello, anti Meronia and are Near haters. So when I said I love Meronia, some blocked me and said I was the weird one. So, I never said it again. But now, after I got out from that group I feel better. Then finding your blog with amazing Mello and Near's metas, I'm so happy! Thanks for your blog...

Thank you very much!!! I'm so happy to hear this :-) in my experience most people on Tumblr are pretty normal about Meronia, and it's SO easy to block/filter users who aren't.

Unfortunately re: ships with similar dynamics, I can't think of any off the top of my head, but I'll put this post in the ship tag; I'm sure someone else will have an answer!! In terms of fic recs, I've actually set up my bookmarks page on AO3 to function like a rec list. I have 36 fics there each with a little blurb and I'm constantly updating it, so hopefully a decent amount that you haven't read! I'll pick 10 of them to link here for easy access (ordered by rating in case you can't/don't want to read the mature ones):

the roof by @lightningblade | 3692 words | Rated T

This is a college AU focused on the development of Mello and Near's relationship through a series of encounters on a rooftop. The writing is GORGEOUS, the progression is masterfully done, and it removes the element of the rivalry without removing the core of what makes Meronia such a great ship! There's also a companion piece up as of yesterday which I'm still recovering from (very very positive).

Dear Mello by @tzviaariella | 4158 words | Rated T

This fic is written during the canon timeline through a series of emails. It's an AU where Mello survives, originally written for the 2023 Meronia Zine but also posted on AO3 (which is what I've linked here). The format is really creative and I'm OBSESSED with the way Mello and Near's dynamic is written. The petty back-and-forth is very entertaining and in-character, and there's a certain familiarity and fondness underlying it that I adore. There are also a few artworks throughout which is a nice treat!!

How to Get Any Guy to Fall in Love with You by Sick_head_Sweet_heart | 7025 words | Rated T

This one has such a late-2000s fandom classic feel to it that I'm surprised it's only a few years old??? It's set at Wammy's House, in which Matt gives Near advice on how to make Mello fall in love with him. The dynamic is insanely cute and I'm obsessed with the way Matt and Near's friendship is characterised here. Them scheming together is something I need more of in fics!!

The Mihael Factor by spiritcrimson | 16 chapters | Rated T

One of the longest completed works I've ever read for Meronia and I have been DYING to find something like this ever since. It's a talent agent x singer AU, and it's literally everything I could have asked for in a longfic. A unique idea, compelling progression and a fun antagonistic dynamic that blossoms into a really sweet romance. It's a slowburn but it doesn't drag on at all, and the ending is SO well worth the wait.

3 + 1 by @squidish | 2423 words | Rated T

x + 1 fics are a favourite trope of mine, as is the general concept of Mello and Near behaving inappropriately in the workplace, and this one combines both of those perfectly. The premise is 3 times Mello and Near got walked in on by one of the SPK members, and 1 time they were caught by the whole group. The writing is SO delightful and there are several lines in this that are permanently lodged in my brain. I find humour in writing immensely difficult to pull off so I'm always in awe of authors who can integrate it naturally, and squidish's writing is a great example of that! (Worth noting that this one is slightly more mature than the other T-rated fics here, so I've put it closer to the M & E section; however the smut scenes are not explicit)

it's friday, i'm in love by @neallo | 2676 words | Rated M

You could read literally anything by neallo and it's guaranteed to be good, but to keep this list short, I've included one angsty fic and one lighthearted fic so you can pick the vibe. This one is more lighthearted, and it depicts a very tender moment in which Mello shows up at Near's door drunk and dances with him in the kitchen. This is a prequel to a bigger AU focusing on a casual relationship between them, but it also holds up as a standalone fic! It's unbearably sweet and there are many lines in there that made me audibly laugh.

Speculation on Demisexual Sex Drive by SayHiDestery | 4069 words | Rated M

The smut scene in this fic is so intimate and perfect, I'm melting just thinking about it. It's an established relationship fic in which Near has PTSD and has certain struggles with intimacy, and Mello guides him through it. It's quite slow-paced and takes its time to linger on the small details, which I absolutely adore, and the writing itself is vivid and beautiful. It also features demisexual Near!!

Winning the Game by clearmain | 4134 words | Rated E

This one is a PWP set mid-canon, immediately after the raid on the SPK. I'm a huge sucker for bold & bratty Near and that's EXACTLY what this fic serves. The way this introduces elements of rivalry and competition into their relationship is excellent and makes this fic feel faithful to their canon dynamic. It's a compelling push-pull with an open but hopeful ending that very succinctly captures the complexities of their relationship.

A Certain Hush by BlueberryAsh | 5434 words | Rated E

One of the first fanfics I read for Meronia and I'm not exaggerating when I say it changed my life. This fic has had SUCH a massive influence on the way I view and write the ship. It's a little glimpse into Mello and Near's relationship immediately after getting together. It's really cute and sweet in a way that feels authentic to the characters, and I'm incredibly impressed by the way it manages to give just enough backstory for their relationship to make sense without getting caught up in the details. Genuinely a masterpiece!

i want to hold you (hostage) by @neallo | 4 chapters | Rated E

The aforementioned angsty neallo fic! This one is an exes AU set during the canon timeline, and it is, as you can imagine, a very fraught dynamic done SO incredibly well. The tension is absolutely delicious and there are earnest moments littered throughout that are guaranteed to have you tearing up. Brilliant setup, brilliant writing, brilliant dynamic; just an absolutely stellar fic on all counts!!

[belovedmusings]

Your Cult Leader

18+ Explicit Smut 🚫minors DNI🚫

Cult leader! music producer! Geto x AFAB! popstar! reader loosely inspired by The Idol (just the dynamic between the two, but in this AU Suguru’s not a psycho POS like the guy is in the show, so no gross themes) where they have sex in the studio.

Relevant tags: light dirty talk, oral sex (AFAB! reader receiving) penetrative sex, missionary/mating press, established relationship of sorts (not together but not not together either…you have a situationship with a hot, rich, talented producer/cult leader Suguru so), he uses the term of endearment “love” once, addresses you without the use of “y/n”

Recommended music while reading: One Of The Girls (The Weeknd, Jennie, Lily Rose Depp), A Lesser Man (The Weeknd), and Double Fantasy (The Weeknd, Future)

Read below cut:

“Ugh,” you groan in frustration, hitting the spacebar on the keyboard in front of you to pause the track. Beside you, Suguru shifts to lean on his knuckles, looking at you curiously.

“Hmm? What’s the matter?”

“It’s not sounding right,” you answer, “Something’s off but I can’t quite place it.”

“Mmm,” he hums, sucking in a breath. “Well, you have been at it like this since after lunch. It’s almost midnight now. You haven’t even eaten yet. Maybe you should take a break.”

“No,” you shake your head, “It’s right there, I just…”

Suguru’s hand slides over yours, thumb gently running over your knuckles. “We talked about you overworking yourself. It isn’t good for you or your creativity.”

You look at him and frown. “Suguru, I know you want me to take better care of myself, but—”

“Your body is your temple,” he interrupts you, pushing his chair closer to yours so that they touch. “Didn’t I teach you that? You need to treat it as if it was sacred. It is sacred. Starving yourself and working off of fumes is only going to drive you to burnout.”

His dark eyes hold yours, and that familiar flutter inside your stomach starts up again—Suguru is a beautiful man, and you thought so the minute you met him at that party for your friend’s album release a few months ago. Right now, under the dim, warm lighting of the studio’s LED lights, he looks just as mesmerizing.

His long, dark hair falls in layered tendrils down his shoulders, beside his gauges, framing his face perfectly, making for the perfect precursor for his gentle eyes, perfectly centered nose, and soft lips. His black shirt lays over his muscular chest unbuttoned at the top to show off his collarbones, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into his black slacks, held up by an expensive belt. As always, he just exudes power. It drives a thrill through you that only he is capable of producing.

“Did I lose you in there?” He asks with an amused smile, bringing you back to yourself. You avert your eyes, shaking your head.

“Sorry. Got distracted.”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think I have a way to solve all of your problems.”

You return your gaze to his face just as he moves his touch down to your thigh, bare due to the shorts you elected to wear this morning. His hand is hot, spreading tingles up your spine like he’s firing off every single one of your nerves on purpose.

“What is it?”

“I’ve talked about it before,” he begins, “But creativity comes from the Sacral chakra. You know where it is, right?”

You draw in a breath, starting to realize where he’s going with this. You two have talked about Suguru’s unique beliefs before. He draws from many different religions and philosophies to create what he calls ‘the one true religion’, one he insists would solve all world conflict if everyone just subscribed to it. So far, everything he’s said makes sense to you.

The human body is, as he said, a temple for the soul, a special sort of energy taken from a piece of the Universe so that it can experience itself. There’s a lot of things he’s said, but right now, the important thing is that he believes bodies have energy points where different types of energy can interact with a human and either take away or give to their soul if activated. These energy points are chakra points, taken from Hinduism and Buddhism, the latter being one of Suguru’s favorite philosophies due to how ‘true’ it is.

You remember he said there are seven chakra points. The one for creativity is…

He moves his hand up your thigh slowly, causing you to breathe deeply, palm slinking up your hip to your abdomen just below your navel.

“Right here,” he tells you. “The sacral chakra is the energy point for both creativity and sexual pleasure. Do you know why that is?”

You blink. He had just explained what they are, but not why or how they’re connected. “No. Not exactly.”

“This is where your womb is,” he explains. “You create there, don’t you? If you were to accept someone’s seed, you’d create life. That’s why it’s both.”

You breathe out, starting to feel a little warm. “That…that makes sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” He agrees with a smile. “Now. You’re having trouble figuring out how to create this song, right? What we need to do is stimulate it.”

Ah, you think. That’s his point. You look at him, taking in the relaxed glint of lust in his eyes, and decide to play along. “How do we stimulate the womb?”

“Well, sacral chakra is all things pertaining to sexual pleasure. So if I make you feel good, I’m activating it.”

You nod, biting on the nail of your thumb. “Well…I have no creativity right now. So do your worst.”

A grin spreads across his lips. “My worst? Are you sure?”

Sex with Suguru is always a wild card. You never know what you’re going to get with him. Sometimes he’s sweet and slow, praising you like you’re his personal divine deity, and sometimes he’s railing you within an inch of your life, bent over the nearest surface, filth spilling from his lips.

“Or your best. Whichever you prefer,” you reply, subtly challenging him to take his pick, to chose how to make you fall apart. The control is his to have.

“Mmm,” he smirks. “I like the sound of that.”

Faster than you can comprehend, he’s out of his seat and grabbing you by the hips, hoisting you up and onto the coffee table where your manager and other producers sit during the day, right behind the mixing table.

He has your shorts off in record time, tossed to the floor unimportantly, and his right hand goes right for the apex of your thighs, rubbing his thumb over your underwear-clad sensitive center in teasingly gentle strokes.

You feel every time his nail grazes that spot, the pearl he seems to know how to work as if only he was given the manual to it.

“Suguru,” you breathe, leaning up on your elbows to see him. He smiles softly at you, lazy gaze fixed on your face.

“Relax,” He tells you, “Just focus on my touches.”

You listen, letting yourself lay back all the way. You even close your eyes, hearing him shuffle, keeping his hand on you. It only moves when it hooks at the fabric and pushes it out of the way.

Exposed to the air abruptly, you gasp quietly, but that gets replaced by an even louder gasp as a hot, wet tongue slides right over the neediest part of you.

“Suguru,” you exhale, biting your lip as he does it again, hands bracing your hips to keep you still.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, hot breath fanning over your pelvis. “And you taste good, too.”

Your face gets hot. “Don’t stare. It’s embarrassing.”

“Like I said,” he replies, wetly kissing your mound. “Your body is a temple. And I intend to worship it.”

His face is buried in you in the next instance, licking a fat stripe over you before flicking his tongue rapidly, stimulating all of your nerves at once.

“Suguru,” you gasp. “Oh fuck…”

He slurps lewdly, groaning, swirling his tongue in the way he knows drives you insane.

“Suguru,” you mewl again, arching up. He sucks intently, right hand moving down the inside of your thigh to where wetness has been pooling since he started touching you.

When his finger prods at your folds, you flinch, sensitive to the touch, and he becomes more bold, slipping two inside at once.

“Ah,” you moan loudly, pushing your hips down on his hand. His fingers are long and thick inside of you, curling up and fucking at a focused, teasing pace.

“We should record your sounds,” he states, “I’d use them in a track. Hmm…but then I’d get jealous when other people hear them.”

He adds a third finger, wrapping his lips around your pearl and running his tongue up and down, pulling another ragged moan from your throat.

“You’re mine,” He continues in a pant, coming up for air. “All mine. Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you reply without hesitation. This man is all you could ever need. No one else could satisfy you like he can.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, rewarding your loyalty by flicking his tongue again, causing you to tighten around him. He fucks his fingers harder, getting excess slick on the table. You grind down, feeling that coil wind tighter and tighter in your core.

When he flattens his tongue and flutters it over your mound at the same time he curls his fingers up, you’re done for, orgasm hitting you in a dizzying wave of pleasure.

“Suguru, Suguru,” you drawl out, hands threading in his hair as he kisses your puffy apex through the bliss. When he lifts his head, his mouth is covered in your essence, and he looks impossibly fucking hot.

“How do you feel?” He asks, “Feeling inspired yet?”

You blink. Inspired? Who the hell knows. You’re horny as hell and you want this gorgeous man to fuck you so hard you see stars, being one be damned.

“I still feel stuck.”

He feigns a pout of sympathy, raising himself up on his knees.

“We can't have that, now can we?” He asks you, and now that he’s kneeling on his knees, you can see his body clearly. Your eyes draw onto the obvious, big bulge under his belt buckle, and heat surges through you. You want that. Now.

“I need more inspiration.”

He grins, standing up and scooping you up into his arms, stepping around the coffee table to lay you out on the leather sofa behind it. He pulls the waistband of your underwear down your legs, letting them fall to the floor.

You then watch as he undoes his belt, hands working at the buckle expertly to unlatch it. He then pulls it open, not bothering to take it off before he undoes his buttons and zipper, pushing his boxers down far enough to let himself spring free.

The sight of his red, hard cock never ceases to fan the flames of your fire for him, no reservations in your heart as he kneels on the cushion, getting between your willingly spread legs.

He smiles down at you and grabs his member, guiding it to rub against your dripping folds.

“Mmh,” you breathe, grinding against him needily.

“This way, I can transfer some of my creativity to you,” He says, “How does that sound?”

Anything to make him enter you.

You nod, reaching up and grabbing his firm biceps through his shirt.

“Please, Suguru,” you say, “Need it.”

And you don’t mean the creativity.

The man above you grins, letting his tip catch on your entrance and pushing in without hesitation.

He sinks in slowly, letting you feel the stretch of his thick girth, the heat of his bare cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” you curse, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“So tight,” he murmurs, pulling back and thrusting back in languidly, doing it again a few times to get you used to him, a dull ache seating inside you at the sensation. The fact that it hurts a little bit makes your heart beat faster, and you angle your hips up, desperate to give him better access.

He huffs an amused laugh, putting more energy into his movements and speeding up.

“Ah,” you gasp, nails digging into his arms. “Yes, Suguru…”

“Does that feel good?” He asks, slightly winded, and you nod, swallowing thickly.

“So good,” is your response, one of your hands running up the expanse of his shoulder to his neck, up to cup his jaw. He leans into the touch, even turning his head to kiss your palm. It causes you to flutter around him, and he groans at the feeling, picking up his pace even more.

You pull your knees back more towards your chest as best as you can without your hands to help, making room for him to go deeper. It causes his tip to push against your cervix, and it pulls a high-pitched gasp from you.

“That’s it,” he pants, leaning down over you, sliding his hands underneath your arms to grip your shoulders, balancing on his elbows to drive harder into you, hitting that spot every single time he pushes in. “Oh, fuck yes…”

It’s breathy, and the knowledge that you are the one making him lose his composure heightens your euphoria. You look up into his eyes, which are only a few inches from yours now.

He gives you a loose smile. “Getting inspiration?”

You laugh despite yourself. “Yeah…fuck yeah I am…”

“Good,” he grins, “Never hurts to give more, does it?”

You wonder what he means for a mere moment before he stops thrusting for a moment to hike your legs up, hooking your knees on his shoulders and then leaning back down to grab your waist, effectively bending you in half.

“Shit,” you hiss, eyes widening when he starts a grueling pace up. “Suguru!”

“Fuck,” he curses, the slap of your wet skin meeting over and over again bouncing off the sound-treated walls along with your mixed pants to make a song only the two of you can create together.

His dark hair hangs down over your face, hot breaths hitting your skin rhythmically, and he lowers himself fully to kiss you, tongue sliding into your mouth to claim you in yet another way. Your eyes shut to enjoy the sensation of two parts of him inside you, kissing back greedily, fisting your hands in his hair.

He groans lowly when you pull, knowing he likes it, putting more vigor into the way he kisses you, almost like he’s trying to devour your soul.

His hips keep slamming against yours, walls sore with the exertion of having been pushed to the limits. He’s relentless and you think about how you’ll feel him there even tomorrow, and what a welcome thought that is.

You pull harder on his hair and he responds by biting your bottom lip, feeding you a winded groan. The primal scent of your kiss buzzes around in your senses, melding with his heady jasmine cologne, concocting your own personal brand of heroin. You feel him everywhere, and the weight of his firm body covering yours is something you could never recreate without him.

You’re so lost in your own pleasure that you don’t notice his thrusts starting to turn erratic until he breaks the kiss to gasp for air.

“You feel so good,” he pants, “Now I’m inspired.”

That does something to you. This man, who is always at the top of the charts, collaborating with A-list artist after A-list artist is inspired by you, by the sex that you’re giving him. It inflates your ego to a staggering point and you brush his bangs from his eyes, looking deeply into them. A warm feeling spreads through your chest, that familiar danger zone when you’re around Suguru for too long coming into sight once again.

You know he’s off-limits. Between balancing the group he’s leading and his full-time job as a producer, he’s busier than any other man you know, and you aren’t naive enough to delude yourself into thinking he reserves himself solely for you.

He’s a gorgeous man. He’s talented, charismatic, and as a result he has people worshiping the ground he walks on. He can have anyone and everyone he wants, and as a man as powerful as he is, who would he be not to indulge himself? He’s a god among men, and you’ve resigned yourself to being one of his earthly concubines with the self-assurance that you’re among his favorites.

He spends a majority of his free time with you, and when he’s busy he calls when he can. He texts you to ask how you are, makes sure that you stay out of trouble, and he protects you from slimy industry heads ready to take advantage of you. You go to his penthouse so much you’ve started leaving clothes and belongings there, but you know he could switch up at any moment, so you refuse to acknowledge what is trying to burrow its way into your heart when you look at him.

Except, when he smiles so charmingly at you like he is, pupils blown and lips kissed swollen, it’s so hard not to fall for him.

His eyes slide shut and his brows furrow, sucking his lip between his teeth as he concentrates his thrusts to hit that one spot inside of you that has you seeing the cosmos.

“Ah!” You cry, “Suguru, Suguru…”

The pleasure undulates up your body like electric currents, making you over-sensitive. You can feel his big hands holding your waist so tightly you know it’ll bruise, yet another future reminder he was on top of you.

“That’s it,” he praises, “Come on, I know you’re close, love.”

Love.

Your eyes snap open again and he’s back to watching your face with a gentle expression. You want to say something but find your words robbed, an intensifying heat building and building deep at your center.

“Suguru,” you gasp, hands grappling at his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh there for purchase. It won’t stop, your climax approaching faster and faster, and he doubles down on his thrusts, aiming his cock so precisely you think for a moment you might die of pleasure. “Suguru…”

“You’re right there,” he urges, warm baritones lighting you up from the inside, “Come on, come on, show me how good it is…”

It hits you more abruptly than you’re prepared for. Your entire body tenses up and you throw your head back, arching up as you shout his name desperately, “Suguru! Oh my god, Suguru, Suguru…”

You tighten on him and gush around his length, the sensations faltering his pace, and he moans loudly above you, hips stuttering. Then you feel it. A ticklish, warm sensation inside of you, his release spilling right against your cervix as he presses as far as he can go.

“Fuck,” he groans brokenly, rolling his hips languid against yours, burying his nose in your neck and leaving sloppy kisses there. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close, relishing in the sensation of him in and all around you. He’s never finished inside you before—you’ve always had protection. Blearily, you wonder what it means that he has, but you don’t want to bring it up right now. It would just break through the veil of bliss you’re in, and you don’t want to leave it yet.

The two of you stay locked like that until the stiffness of your muscles starts making itself known, and he pushes himself off of you, pulling out carefully. You wince in sensitivity, and he rubs your thigh soothingly. His eyes fix on your entrance, thoroughly used and dripping with your mixed releases.

“Shit,” he breathes, “You look good like this…”

You feel your face heat up, legs closing now that he’s not between them anymore. “We need to clean up.”

He laughs softly, leaning over and grabbing some tissues from the coffee table.

“You’re right. I’ll get to it.”

He painstakingly takes care of you first, wiping up all of the fluids you two exchanged from your body and then the leather couch before taking care of himself, tossing the tissues into the trash can by the door. He bends down and grabs the underwear you had on from the floor, fixing them in his hold to slide you back into them.

“How do you feel?” He asks, sitting beside you as you slowly get to a seated position.

“Thoroughly fucked,” you reply bluntly, and he laughs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap. You curl into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. “But also…very inspired.”

“Yeah?” He asks, rubbing the outside of your leg gently. “Good.”

You want to stay in his arms for the rest of the night, but you are in the studio to work. So, you summon the willpower to get off of the couch, moving to go back to the desk when he pulls you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, a playful lilt to his voice.

“To work,” you answer, heart racing as he smiles at you.

“So soon? Let me hold you for a little while.”

You want to ask what it means that he wants to do that with you, but a larger, more prominent part of you wins out, and you don’t say a thing. Like this, you can imagine it means what you want it to, even if it doesn’t.

You settle back in his arms, burying your face into his neck and closing your eyes, content to let him cradle you in his big arms. His scent wraps around you like a blanket, and your heart settles down as you relax.

He presses a kiss to your hair, and you decide that as long as you get to keep having this with him, whatever it is, you are content.

_ _ _

a/n: what's funny is that Suguru isn't even my main jjk guy, I just had a demon come over me and wrote this out.

edit: after I re-read i think i’m gonna make this a series bc i can see drama going down and i want to write it 😈

please do not repost or copy my work, but feel free to reblog and share. hope you enjoyed!