#back and forth with flirty undertones

[liillyliilly]

I Need A Challenge

ushijima wakatoshi x reader words; 3804 synopsis; she writes a scathing review of ushijima's volleyball skills. how else should he respond if not by inviting her out to dinner?

She was tired of people like him. People who had no reason to be so stereotypically perfect. Everyone knows the type, comically good looking, is a prodigy in their one specific thing, acting so nonchalant that it ends up becoming their token personality trait. It was all so boring to her.

Which is why, as she was taking notes in the most recent Volleyball Nations League game, she wrote down some very harsh words for her analysis of star spiker Ushijima Wakatoshi. It was just the brutally honest truth of the world, she reasoned. Her editor, after reading the article she wrote at the game, almost dropped their jaw in shock at what she had written.

“This is really,” Editor Xhou sucked in some air through his teeth, “This is almost borderline libel material.”

She inspected her nails, shrugging as Xhou kept talking to her.

“I mean, you said that he is, and I quote from your own words, ‘Ushijima is the default setting for a volleyball player, there’s nothing too particularly unique’. You want me to let the paper publish this?” Xhou leans back into his office chair, pushing his glasses up and sighing.

“I write the truth, and the truth is that when Ushijima is on the court, you always know the exact plays he’ll make, the exact moves he’ll execute. The result is consistently the same. The games are too predictable when he plays.” She stands up from the seat opposite to Xhou.

Xhou sets the paper on his desk, checking that she really is okay with the article having her name attached to it.

A thumbs up is the only response she gives to her supervisor.

Xhou stamps the paper with his name, and faxes the documents to the coordinator putting together the sports magazine review for this issue. He wonders if the legal team is going to get involved again, he remembers the last player she reviewed, he was crushed and had to move to Alaska to play in a much smaller league. Xhou fully believes he’s going to get the magazine sued for letting her article fly.

Tendou finishes his squat set, hanging up the weights with a heave. Ushijima finishes his hundredth bicep curl, finally finishing his repetitions of this exercise.

Tendou pokes some fun, “I'm so sad for people without legs, they have to skip leg day.” He muses, trying to see what reaction or comment his best friend will make. Tendou twists and flexes in the full length mirrors lining the gym.

Ushijima only responds with a nod. He checks his phone, only to see that he’s received a little over four hundred notifications and counting. The beeping and noises start to pile up. Tendou peeks over Ushijima’s shoulder and gasps, he steals Ushijima’s phone away and immediately investigates what all the hustle and bustle could be related to.

“You should probably read this article, I think the writer has it out for your throat Wakatoshi.” Tendou grimaces while handing the phone back.

He skims the article, viewing the main talking points and major issues the author brings to light about his play style. His boring, everyday genius playstyle. He’s read criticisms of his volleyball skills before, but this one doesn’t seem too targeted solely about him, just using him as the mechanism to get a broader point across about the lack of challenges in volleyball recently. He chuckles at one of her comments, reading it aloud.

“Monster generation? I need a real challenge from these players, but all they’re giving me is platinum dreams without true passion and anger for the sport. I want them foaming at the mouth with new tricks, but I’m getting the same exact game over and over again.” Tendou cringes as Ushijima reads the words out loud. Ushijima stifles another chuckle.

Ushijima tucks his phone into his pocket, picking up his duffel bag. “I like her. She knows volleyball.”

It wasn’t just her comments, it was also the name of the author that Ushijima liked.

Tendou drops his water bottle in response to Ushijima’s behavior, stunned at the openness of amusement he has for the article and for the investment he has for this particular reporter.

Ushijima’s manager says that she’ll have a cease and desist letter issued to the paper for publishing such a slanderous piece. Ushijima proposes an entirely different solution.

She didn’t expect to be sitting at a restaurant, pencil and paper in hand, waiting for someone she just dragged through the mud to arrive so they could share a meal and an interview.

It was winter, and her reading glasses had fogged up slightly in the difference between the outdoors temperature and the warmth of the restaurant. The main features of the restaurant was the Western Style dining choices and decor, it reminded her almost of a hibachi place, but instead of Japanese food it was just a bunch of American and European dishes.

“It’s nice to see you again.” Ushijima pulls out his chair and settles into it, grabbing his glass of water so he can drink from it.

“High school seemed so long ago, but yes it is nice to see you again Wakatoshi. Sorry for the piece, your name just carries the right amount of importance to get my bigger points across.” She crosses her legs, setting her pencil behind her ear. The waiter comes around and takes their orders. He asks for the salmon, and she gets the house soup.

“No, I totally get it. But the statement about how people just continually eat up the single dish I serve? I thought you would’ve found a better analogy for my consistency on the court.” He just smiles at her, watching her move the pencil from behind her ear to her mouth so she could chew on it a little. One of her tells of when she was deeply thinking about how to respond to something.

Ushijima remembers all the stories she would write back in high school, ranging from sports analysis of Shiratorizawa clubs for her journalism extracurricular to getting paid to write love letters from person to person. She garnered enough money to pay for a new laptop and her entire wishlist of stationery items.

He remembers her lending him a pen once during class, it was a weightier metal pen. The ink was so black he was sure it was made of pure darkness. While he admired the pen she went into a rant talking about the pen itself, the quality of it and how it took forever to be delivered to her. They both got chastised by the teacher for having a side conversation and had to sit outside the classroom. But they ended up talking outside the classroom despite being told not to.

“Like you’d know what a good analogy looks like.” She hides her smirk behind a spoonful of soup. Ushijima appreciates her ability to be unapologetic, her honesty and bluntness matching his own linguistic traits.

They talk for three hours, about volleyball, life after high school, the article she wrote, about friends and the situations they found themselves in. Ushijima talks about Tendou and his chocolatier aspirations, she brings up Semi Eita’s new album that actually sounded truly alternative and unique.

He remembers her having a crush on Semi throughout high school. He didn’t really see why she would sit at their practices sometimes, just sighing wistfully, before freezing and turning flustered when Semi tried to make conversation like a normal person. But when Semi was seen to be a slight habitual complainer, she grew a distaste for him. Ushijima was sure that Semi was her longest crush, clocking in at around two months or so.

Ushijima did enjoy that she came to their practices sometimes, because then he could ask her about her pen collection and she would openly, loudly, and enthusiastically layer on every detail she could fit into her remarks. And she was someone who asked him about his favorite things, primarily volleyball but also about reading the advertisements in the Weekly Shonen Jump Magazine. Or about how good a runner’s high could feel sometimes.

Around her, he could share without fear of being misunderstood. She just accepted what she heard, and then analyzed it, taking her time and asking clarifying questions. He did his best to emulate her mannerisms and tact within their conversations, usually failing, but she didn’t mind.

She did openly declare an aversion for him throughout high school, that genius powerhouses should never be entertained with acknowledgement. What others considered harsh from her was almost like beaming encouragement for him. It was like she was telling him, if he didn’t continually improve and advance then the stagnation would leave him in the dust. A push in the right direction was more accurate of why she would say what she did about him.

He takes the bill from her, puts his gold debit card on the clipboard, and returns it to the waiter before she can even open her purse. Rolling her eyes, she sets some bills on the table and slides it over to him. Glaring at him until he accepts the cash and puts the bills into his wallet.

“Are you dating anyone right now?” Ushijima inquires while they walk down the street to get to the train station. The night air leaves a chill around the two of them. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, and she had her arms folded over her body.

Snow falls from the sky, catching the lights and making streaks of color burst in small flickers like fireflies. The piled up snow in the roads hadn’t yet been plowed thoroughly, and wasn’t sullied with pollution that made it yellow and black. The snow was much more like a blanket.

“Listen, I’m what people consider easy to love but hard to please. Most people say they felt like they were never enough for me when we were dating.” She bites on her bottom lip a little. It’s a confusing feeling to be unnerved by him, and she feels even more uneasy when she realizes that she’s speaking too openly. “I don’t intentionally degrade those I date, I just, I have high expectations. I don’t give many second chances.”

His breath comes out in puffs of white, winter nipping at his nose which makes him feel uncomfortable. He wonders if she’s as cold as him. He knew that she had high expectations, none of the boys at their high school got remotely close to being romantically involved with her. She wanted more than what most people could offer. She wanted someone who was as open as her.

She feels a little guilty about her article now. Maybe she pushed the words a little too much on his bad qualities. Ushijima really wasn’t that bad, he was just dependable and rational, which crafted his playstyle of being an ultimate pillar of strength for a team. Why shouldn’t a team go with the most reliable way of scoring points? Then she shooed the thought. If volleyball wanted to keep being popular, it needed to evolve.

“I liked your article a lot.” He offers, segwaying the conversation, knowing her thoughts better than she knew them. “Power goes far, but even then, there’s ceilings that need to be broken. There’s talents that need to be unearthed, planted, and then allowed to bloom.”

They sit on the bench under the covering for the train station. The screen shows that the train she needs to take will come in around ten minutes.

“Thanks. My editor was worried you were going to sue me for what I wrote.” She laughs a little, rubbing her hands against her thighs to build up some lingering heat in her hands and her body.

He passes her his gloves from his jacket pocket. Making a small hum he waves them in front of her. She accepts and embraces the black fleece covering her fingers.

“Oh, no, there’s no way I’d want you to be sued. But I do want you to add another part to the article.” He blows some air onto his hands, rubbing them together. She raises an eyebrow inquisitively, turning towards him on the bench.

Once he had finished reading her piece on Ushijima’s game, he went through and read all her other articles. He found out her favorite current player was actually Hinata Shouyou, the energetic innovator. She had written about his unique approach, due to natural athleticism. Also about his experience in Brazilian beach volleyball making his defense skills unique in the field of both Japanese volleyball and on a global scale. It was all about Hinata this, Hinata that. But could the ultimate decoy ever compare to the pillar of strength?

“What do you want me to change? I can’t make any promises.”

“Say I’m your number one, because I don’t do last place.” Ushijima lifted her chin up, looking right into her eyes. He inspects her face, the small miniscule motions her features display show that she’s listening, actively listening. “Did I ever mention that you’re the only one that has my attention?”

She really was. The only reporter he cared to give quotes to after big games, the only girl who he ever wondered if there was any possibility to develop a relationship with. He was hooked on every word she wrote, every interview she hosted online. She was in his world, but never overlapped her social circle with his for longer than an hour at best.

She swallows thickly, “I’m sorry to say this, but I really am unimpressed by your playstyle.”

He raises an eyebrow, sliding his hand from her chin to the side of her neck. He can feel the way her pulse is racing under her skin.

“We both know that’s not true.”

Her train arrived. She ducked under his hand and made her way onto the train. Before the sliding door closes, she motions him closer so she doesn't have to yell.

“Then show me your talents. I need a challenger for my first place.”

Tendou lies on his stomach on the floor, Ushijima is reviewing some plays written by his coach. He scans for any play that could show off his left hand spikes, or any play that he could try and improvise a receive if he wasn’t on the front row rotation. The plays are different from what he’s used to. But his coach said that they were all optional, and that Ushijima’s playstyle was perfectly fine as it was. But ‘fine as is’ doesn’t earn him any accolades in her book.

Tendou perks up, “I always felt like fighting had romantic undertones.” He references what Ushijima had told him about how the dinner with his reporter went last week.

“But I don’t want to fight her? I’d hardly call a slight disagreement a fight.” Ushijima sets aside the packet he had been studying.

He opens his phone and refreshes the webpage for the newspaper she worked for. When nothing pops up under her name, he goes to the calendar page to see if she’d be attending an upcoming game he’d be playing in. He sets his phone aside when he realizes she will in fact be in attendance.

“But you do want to fight for her ‘first place’ hottie player ranking.” Tendou kicks his feet in the air, crossing his feet and tapping the top of his head.

Ushijima stands up and goes to check his closet, seeing if he needs to get a tighter jersey for the upcoming game. “She never used the word ‘hottie’ when talking about her favorite player.”

“So you admit that you do want to be her favorite player?”

Ushijima finishes trying on the jersey over his long sleeve compression shirt, the jersey fitted better than he remembered. He tugs on the front of the uniform. Then what Tendou said clicks for him.

Ushijima blinks, “I do want to be her favorite player.” He doesn’t see why he would deny that observation. Being her favorite player would be the ideal situation for him.

Tendou rolls over onto his back and wiggles his pointer fingers in the air, “You want to be more than just her favorite player.” He sings the words in a teasing manner.

“Maybe I do.”

One time, near the end of high school, she was talking during lunch. Her friends were uninterested, wanting to discuss boys or homework instead of her critical worldview analysis. Her table was right next to the table that Ushijima and Tendou were sitting at, their volleyball friends already outside tossing around a ball.

Ushijima listened in, drinking his milk while Tendou ate chicken nuggets. When her voice got quieter, almost to the point of fading out entirely due to her slowly realizing her friends were not as interested in the conversation as she was, Ushijima leaned in subconsciously, trying to catch her words.

Tendou pinched Ushijima, telling him that if he wanted to listen to her, he should ask her to come sit with them. Ushijima froze. So Tendou invited her to come sit with them. Placing her lunch tray down, she ate a carrot, sensing Ushijima’s hesitance and Tendou’s eagerness.

It was Ushijima that spoke first, “Keep going. You remind me of someone. He said almost the same thing, about his worthless pride and not forgetting about it.”

She brightens. Continuing her dissection of the value of pride, she refers to Ushijima as a reference point for pride. Using him in her examples and demonstrations of her illustrative examples. Around the third time she says his family name, he makes another request.

“You can just call me Wakatoshi.”

Tendou drops his chicken nugget, but quickly regains his pace in eating the arms off the dinosaurs.

She says his name, once and then twice. Letting it settle onto her tongue and leave a trace of what a first name basis could mean. Pondering on that instead of her newest philosophy interest is quickly dropped. She only ever calls him by his name from then on.

Needless to say, the next game he plays at, she’s there, with her notepad and pen. Each receive, hit, serve, and toss is carefully recorded on her paper.

He doesn’t do anything too off the typical, but he does try new things his coach had mentioned. Pressuring an opponent’s highest scorer more, trying a few block kills when he’s in the right rotation, scoring some points off the tip of the blockers hands instead of cutting right through their attempts to defend. He’s more tired after this game than his last one. Yet, he had more fun this time around. His teammates seemed thrilled with the results of never having a gap less than five points.

After the game, before he goes to the locker room to debrief with the team and change into regular clothes, he stalks his way over to her. She’s talking to another reporter that had been sitting in the media section, but the other reporter just elbows her lightly when he notices Ushijima making an attempt to approach. The other man slowly walks away, bidding her a farewell.

She’s still sitting on the bench, cheekily covering her notes with her hand, and writing something down. When he takes a place next to her, he spreads his legs a little, expanding his presence and bumping their thighs into each other. She initially retracts from the touch, but relaxes into it.

He’s aware that his body is thinly sheened with sweat. It drips from the hair at his nape down his back and soaks into his player kit. She brings her notepad up to her face, looking at him over the spiral binding of the paper. Trying to hide her comments and analysis of the game, which had been overwhelmingly positive for Ushijima.

“What’s your professional opinion of the game?” He uses a finger to push down her notepad that was covering her nose. A streak of ink and pencil lead was across her cheek and nose. He brought his thumb up and wiped away the markings. At first swipe, nothing moved, so he slid his thumb over again with just a little more pressure.

“It was entertaining in a different sense. Rather than being solely athletic entertainment.” She licks her own thumb and finishes wiping away all the marks that she could feel him trying to get rid of. She misses a sliver on the apple of her cheek but he doesn’t say anything, enjoying the way that it makes her seem less intimidating and more adorable.

“Care to share with the class?”

“Well, when a certain player keeps trying to make eye contact during the game, when he should instead be invested in the game, it does pose some interesting investigative questions.”

At this point, Ushijima slid his hand to her thigh, asking her to explain further, “Such as?”

“When will he get up the nerve to ask her on a date? Will he take her for a ride in that brand new car he got? Does he need glasses from how frequently it seemed he scrutinized the audience in search of her?” She pauses, then continues, “And will he be mad if she writes something about how attentive the setter was during the game?”

“Soon, for the date. Most definitely a long car ride to the mountains. His vision is actually perfectly 20/20, he just wanted to make sure she was having a good time by observing her reactions. No comments for the setter, he’s a rookie, and much less attentive than an older, more experienced player.”

She hums a little in regards to his answers to her inquiries. Soon, she tugs on the back of his hand, the hand that was resting on her thigh. She bites the cap off her pen, waving the pen in the air, close enough to his skin for him to understand the point of what she was communicating.

The pen tickled the skin of his hand, but he liked the way she put one hand under his to make his hand rest flat so she could write her piece on his body. Capping the pen back up, she tucked it behind her ear.

Written on his hand was a series of numbers, along with a small doodle of a volleyball.

Getting up from her spot on the media bench, she leaves him with a short statement.

“I liked your response to my challenge. Keep making the Monster Generation bloom with each game Wakatoshi.” She halts for a moment, then turns back to him, “You can be my number one on those conditions. Blooming the Monsters and responding to my challenges.”

He’d return every challenge she gave him if it meant he could be hers.

[ador3sturniolo]

Jealous

An - Oh my gosh this man is so fine!! I know he’s not a sturniolo triplet but i just can’t get over him so i wanted to write something for him. Enjoy my loves! Also this is my first time writing smut so sorry if it’s bad 🫣

MDI 18+

Paring - Massimo X FemReader

Summary - Massimo gets jealous

Warnings - Smut, Tension??

Requested - No

It was a quiet evening in the city, the kind where the world felt like it was moving in slow motion, wrapped in the comfort of soft lights and murmured voices. The venue was upscale, a modern restaurant tucked away on the outskirts of town, frequented by those who sought luxury and privacy.

You were seated at a table near the back, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses fading into the background as you sipped on your drink. The man across from you was charming, well-dressed, and made a point of keeping you engaged with interesting stories and laughter. You’d met him earlier in the evening at the bar, where the conversation had been light and easy, and you had enjoyed the company. But there was something about him that felt fleeting, like a momentary distraction, not something that could hold your attention for long.

Still, you couldn’t deny the conversation was pleasant, and as he leaned in a little closer, his voice lowered with a flirty undertone, you felt a tug of curiosity. His proximity was too intimate, the air between you too thick, but before you could take another sip of your drink, a sudden, sharp voice broke through.

“Is everything alright here?”

You turned in surprise. Standing at the edge of your table, his frame towering above, was Massimo. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of curiosity and something else flickering beneath the surface—something darker. A storm was brewing behind his calm expression.

You felt your pulse spike at the sight of him. Massimo. The man who always seemed to command a room without even trying. His presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

The man across from you stood up politely, offering Massimo a handshake, though there was a noticeable tension in the air as they exchanged looks. “Everything’s fine,” you said quickly, hoping to diffuse whatever tension had already begun to brew. But Massimo didn’t take his eyes off you—not even for a second.

“I see,” Massimo replied, his voice low, a hint of coldness in it that hadn’t been there before. “I didn’t realize you had company tonight.”

You couldn’t tell if it was the sharpness of his tone or the subtle flicker of something possessive in his eyes, but something shifted. The man across from you noticed it too, his smile faltering as he glanced back and forth between the two of you.

“Actually, I should be going,” the man said, his voice faltering slightly. “It was nice meeting you.” He gave you a polite nod, his eyes lingering just long enough to register the tension in the air before quickly walking away.

You watched him go, a feeling of unease creeping into your chest. You had been enjoying the evening, but now, under Massimo’s gaze, you felt like a deer caught in the headlights. He didn’t sit down immediately, instead hovering next to your table, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw clenched tightly. The air between you two was thick with unspoken words.

“I didn’t expect to see you with him,” Massimo said, his voice so controlled it barely masked the tension. “I thought you and I had an understanding.”

You blinked, not sure if you were hearing him correctly. “Massimo, it’s nothing,” you began, trying to explain, but his expression didn’t soften. If anything, it became even more intense.

“It’s not nothing,” he muttered, his gaze narrowing, focusing on the empty seat where your date had just been. “You were laughing with him. Leaning in close.” His jaw tightened as he stepped closer to you, the space between you shrinking. “You never laugh with me like that.”

You felt your heart race, a mix of excitement and something else—something raw and unspoken—beginning to take hold. He was jealous. Massimo Torricelli, the man who always seemed so in control, was visibly upset by the thought of you with someone else. It was both thrilling and intimidating.

“Massimo, I was just talking,” you said softly, hoping to ease his mind, but the look in his eyes told you that wasn’t enough.

“Talking?” he repeated, his voice lowering. “I don’t think you understand. You’re mine, cara,” he said, his words deliberate, like a warning wrapped in something more dangerous. “And I don’t share what’s mine.”

A small chill ran down your spine at the possessiveness in his tone. His eyes darkened as they focused on yours, and you felt an undeniable pull—like a magnetic force drawing you toward him.

“I don’t want you talking to him,” Massimo added, his voice quiet but full of command. “I don’t want anyone else thinking they can have you, not like that.”

You swallowed, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. “You’re being unreasonable,” you said, though there was a hint of challenge in your voice, knowing it would only make him more determined.

Massimo’s lips quirked into a small, dangerous smile. “Maybe,” he said softly, leaning in closer. His breath was warm against your ear as he added, “But I don’t like seeing what’s mine slipping away.”

Before you could respond, he was standing in front of you, his large hand cupping your chin gently, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your pulse spike. “You’ll have to make it up to me, cara,” he murmured, his voice suddenly quiet, almost possessive in a way that made your heart race.

His words felt like a promise, a quiet but undeniable claim over you. Your mind was spinning, torn between the electric tension in the air and your desire to test the boundaries of his jealousy. And as his thumb brushed over your lip again, you felt your resistance begin to crumble.

Massimo’s jealousy was no longer just a reaction—it was a desire. One that would burn between the two of you for as long as you allowed it to. And tonight, it seemed you weren’t going to stop it.

With one final look, Massimo leaned down, pressing his lips against your ear, his voice hushed but full of intent: “Come with me.”

Massimo drove you back to his apartment, rushing inside and locking the door

As the door to Massimo's apartment closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The hustle and bustle of the city outside faded away, leaving only the intoxicating energy between you two. Massimo's gaze locked onto yours, filled with a mix of desire and protectiveness that sent a thrill through your body.

He approached you slowly, each step deliberate, as if savoring the moment. When he reached you, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. The warmth of his palms ignited a fire within you, and you could see the raw hunger in his eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, his voice low and filled with urgency.

You nodded, your heart racing as you took a step closer, feeling the heat radiating from him. “I want you, Massimo. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

With a growl of desire, he crushed his lips against yours, the kiss deep and possessive. His hands found your waist, pulling you close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing your lips before exploring the depths of your mouth. You melted against him, feeling his strong body press against yours, every touch igniting a wave of sensation.

Massimo’s kiss consumed you—demanding and intense, leaving no room for thought. The moment his lips met yours, everything else faded. The world outside the study ceased to exist. It was just him and you. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his grip tightening as if he were afraid you might slip away. You had never felt anything like this before—his possessiveness, his need for control, all wrapped in a kiss that made your head spin.

You let out a soft gasp when his lips left yours, only to feel his breath on your skin as his mouth moved to your neck. He kissed you there—slow, deliberate, each press of his lips a claim, each touch sending heat rushing through you. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the solid strength of his body against yours. The tension between you both was palpable, thick and electric.

Massimo’s lips finally parted from your skin, but his gaze never left yours. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, an unreadable emotion swirling within them. “You’re mine,” he murmured, voice husky with a mix of desire and dominance. “I don’t share, cara. Not with anyone. Not ever.”

His words echoed in the room, the weight of them sinking into your chest. Part of you felt the heat of excitement at his possessiveness, the way he staked his claim on you so boldly. But another part of you felt a rush of adrenaline, like you were walking a fine line between pleasure and danger.

“Massimo…” you breathed, your voice trembling. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or anticipation. “You don’t need to be jealous.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t I?” His hand moved to your waist again, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your dress, pushing it up just slightly. The move was casual, yet the intent was clear—he wanted you, wanted to feel you beneath him. “I don’t like seeing you with another man,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous level. “It doesn’t sit right with me.”

The words sent a flutter of heat to your core, and despite yourself, you felt your body respond to him. He was so sure of himself, so completely in control. There was no question in his mind about what he wanted, and right now, what he wanted was you.

He took a step back, his eyes never leaving you as if he were studying your every move. “Take off your dress.”

The command hit you like a shock, and for a moment, your mind raced, questioning what you were about to do. But there was no time for hesitation—Massimo was not a man who waited for permission. He had a way of making things happen, and in that moment, you realized that you were going to let him.

Your fingers trembled as you reached behind you to unzip the dress, the fabric sliding off your shoulders and pooling at your feet. The air was cool against your exposed skin, but the heat between you and Massimo was enough to burn. You looked up at him, his eyes dark with desire, and the way he stared at you made your breath catch in your throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but still full of raw, possessive heat. He stepped forward again, his hands skimming your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, before moving up to cup your breasts, his touch almost reverent. “I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you right now.”

You gasped at the intensity of his touch, your body arching into his hands, instinctively seeking more. Massimo’s lips met yours again, but this time, it was different. It was slower, more deliberate. He kissed you like he was savoring you, taking his time, feeling you, exploring every inch of your mouth as though it was a treasure he had found.

As the kiss deepened, his hands wandered lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties. The touch was gentle at first, almost teasing, but when he felt you shiver beneath him, he became more insistent.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and inviting.

You met his gaze, desire swirling within you. “I want you, Massimo. I want all of you.”

With that, he captured your lips again, his hands working swiftly to remove the last barriers between you.

Massimo took his time, trailing kisses down your body, worshiping every inch of you as he moved lower. You could feel his lips teasing along your thighs, sending shivers of anticipation through you. The sensation was intoxicating, and you could hardly contain your moans as he explored you with a fervor that made your head spin.

When his mouth finally found you, it was overwhelming. He moved with an expert touch, eliciting gasps and moans as he worked you closer to the edge. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck ignited a fire deep within you, and you felt yourself spiraling into pleasure.

“Massimo,” you cried out, your hands tangling in his hair as you pushed your hips against him, craving more.

He looked up at you, the intensity in his eyes only fueling your desire. “That’s it, baby. Let go,” he urged, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

With each passing moment, you felt yourself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. And when you finally let go, it was like a wave crashing over you, pulling you under in a tide of ecstasy.

Massimo didn’t stop; he continued to tease and coax you through your release, prolonging the pleasure until you were breathless and trembling beneath him.

Once you came down from your high, he moved back up your body, his lips finding yours once more. The kiss was deep and filled with the promise of more. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and you knew he was just as affected by the intimacy you shared.

“Now it’s my turn,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he positioned himself above you.

With a mix of eagerness and urgency, he entered you, filling you completely. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as he moved slowly at first, savoring every moment.

“God, you feel incredible,” he groaned, his voice low and filled with need.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him to go deeper, to lose himself in the moment. The rhythm between you built, each thrust sending you higher, the world outside fading away until it was just the two of you, lost in the heat of passion.

As the intensity grew, so did the connection between you. With each movement, you felt your bodies melting together, the intimacy binding you in ways you never thought possible. The sounds of the city outside were drowned out by the symphony of your breaths, the whispers of your names, and the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

Finally, as the waves of pleasure washed over you both, you reached your peak together, a crescendo of ecstasy that left you breathless and entwined, hearts racing in unison.

In the aftermath, you lay wrapped in each other's arms, the intimacy of the moment lingering in the air. You could feel the warmth of Massimo's body against yours, the steady beat of his heart a comforting reminder of the bond you had forged.

“Always,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

And in that moment, everything felt right.

——————————————————————————

AN- Hey! I wanted to try a new style of writing for this one so that what i did! I hope you guys like it!!! ☺️

[zeevawyte]

Ok so, this is so far outside my usual stuff it’s insane, but this literally won't leave my brain and I don't know if I have time to write it so-

RadioApple fic idea under the cut:

TW: blood, mentions of cannibalism (it's Alastor, duh), semi-unsafe dom/sub (no actual sex), sub drops

Starts out your normal "stop interfering with my relationship with my daughter & you can have a snack whenever you want" kinda deal, with Alastor taking full advantage of the fact that he's got the most powerful being in hell at his mercy. Dude has a serious power trip the first time, & between that and the taste is hooked immediately.

And of course Luci isn't exactly complaining. Other than the occasional jumpscare via shadow, it hasn't been too bad. Kind of enjoyable actually, not that he'd ever admit that to the demon's face. And it's not like he hasn't been tied up or held down before either.

But then during one of their ‘meetings’ he ends up going into sub space on accident… and it keeps happening.

This wouldn't be a problem except Alastor (for obvious reasons) has literally zero information/knowledge about that sort of thing. And, being the dramatic asshole that he is, enjoys getting the last word and leaving without a backwards glance. Which means he's not there when Luci drops.

Hard.

But it's fine! He's fine! He's the King of Hell, he doesn't need some sinner to help him deal with the consequences of an arrangement he proposed in the first place. He's totally fine on his own.

Except he's not.

He is very much not fine, and it starts to show. It gets so bad that one day Charlie actually asks him if he’s ok mid-conversation.

Enter Angel Dust.

Now, by this point Angel’s like 98% sure the two powerhouses are going at it. Alastor has been in a good mood for months now (coinciding suspiciously with the two of them not being at each other’s throats all the time - at least in public) & he’s seen Luci coming out of a room straightening his coat and hat on one of the upper floors. Not to mention the down-right flirty undertones to any barbs they shoot back and forth.

Husk agrees that something is going on but heavily doubts it’s what Angel thinks.

Determined to prove that he’s right, Angel starts wandering the upper floors or heading up just as Alastor heads down (subtly, he’s not an idiot). Anyway, he’s up there one day being nosy when he hears a crash from one of the rooms. He goes in only to find Lucifer on the floor, having tripped over a side table and knocked over a lamp, disheveled and absolutely shaking.

He recognizes what’s happening almost immediately (fuck you very much Val) and gathers the little king up onto the couch, helping him calm down until he doesn’t look like he’s going to either spontaneously start sobbing or throw up on the rug.

Luci is understandably embarrassed and tries to offer him a favor for his help, but Angel waves him off saying he’s been there & that Luci doesn’t owe him anything.

The next day when Lucifer is off doing something else, Angel grabs Alastor and all but drags him into a side room.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and short king, and frankly it’s none’a my business-”

“No, it isn’t. And if that really is all you wanted to speak with me about-”

“Shut up! I’m not jokin’ alright? I’m bein’ 100% serious. You’re fucking up big time, and I’m pretty sure you don’t even know it. So if you don’t want this whole thing to end in a big fuckin’ mess you need to listen to me.”

Cue a hilariously awkward conversation where an unusually serious Angel explains dom/sub dynamics and the effects/consequences therein to an incredibly-uncomfortable-but-desperately-not-showing-it Alastor.

It ends with something along the lines of

"And look, I don't know if you actually care about the guy or if it’s just about gettin’ your kicks, but honestly? It doesn't matter. You've got your whole gentleman thing right? Openin' doors for the ladies and shit?" *pokes him in the chest* "Well as a gentleman, you've dropped the fuckin' ball. Only self-centered dicks leave their sub to drop alone."

Now if there’s one thing Alastor will not abide, it’s a loss of manners. Being told he’s been unknowingly committing a social faux pas gets under his skin immediately. It itches at him. To the point that his smile almost slips. More than once.

He needs to fix it. As soon as possible.

He’s visibly twitchy the rest of the day.

Husk corners Angel to ask what the hell he said to Al, but only gets a vague, noncommittal answer about letting him know about some information he was missing.

And the next time he and Lucifer have a ‘meeting,’ Alastor stays.

[yeeterthek33per]

I want to hear you say it (Zećira Mušović x Reader)

A/n requested

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, jealous Z, unwanted flirtations. Terrible swedish translations.

As if today couldn’t have gotten any worse, it felt like a major kick in the stomach when you were forcibly dragged away from your own car after training and shoved into the back of Sam’s for team social night. 

It had started off with you nearly not waking up to your third and final alarm of the day leaving you running into training late, much to the annoyance of Emma and the girls who had to join you in sprints this morning.

After that rough start to training, you were then volunteered to introduce the new girl to the rest of the team, a young twenty-something fresh out of the Chelsea grassroots academy.

She was nice but a bit overbearing, practically hanging off you for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, this left you with little time to spend with your favourite person.

-

Zećira, much like yourself, was ridiculously grumpy all training. Normally she’d have you to herself for most of it. 

Of course, being a striker and a goalkeeper, you had separate sessions to each other, but the warmups are generally intermingled.

So, when you had paired up for drills, you were the first person to grab her, just about growling at anyone who tried to pair up with her instead of you.

That said, the new kid, Sally?

She doesn’t really remember, nor care…

To be fair, she’d been latched onto you like a leech the whole time. It was obnoxious the number of times she was verbally and physically throwing herself at you.

Zećira could ignore it most of the time, given she had to focus on her own drills with the others, but she couldn’t miss the tone of Sadie’s voice every time she came within hearing distance of you both.

It was a sickly-sweet tone with heavy undertones, and it annoyed the Swedish woman to no end.

Regardless, even if it was annoying her, you looked like you’d been completely oblivious to the most obnoxiously obvious flirtations Sarah sent your way.

That’s what frustrated her the most, your ignorance of the situation at hand and the way you let the twenty-two-year-old cling to you like that.

Now that you’re in the bar, Zećira is watching as Summer leans uncomfortably close to you, hand grazing your arm as she animatedly asks you question after question about your life and what it’s like on the senior team.

You don't step away from it, not really, although, it seems, even you have your friendly limits.

The goalkeeper feels her chest start to heat up with the familiar low burn of jealousy.

A cough from across the table catches her attention.

“Zee, the staring isn’t subtle.”

There’s a raised brow on Niamh’s face as she glances back and forth between you and the goalkeeper with a small smirk.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Even if that’s the case, the poor newbie over there is definitely feeling your laser glare right about now.”

Zećira’s glare moves to the Canadian across from her.

“Good, I hope so.”

Both of them let out a small snort at the Swede, nudging her shin when she turns back to you, making her look away again.

“What?”

“For the love of god, just tell her, she’s definitely not into flirty pants over there, and you have the best chance out of literally anyone here.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about. You pair are crazy.”

The pair groaned and just shoved the goalkeeper away from the table and out of her seat.

“Go save the poor woman, at least. If you won’t acknowledge your blatantly obvious love for our Striker, the least you can do is pull McFlirt over there off her."

-

“Oh my god, you’re so right!”

Savannah’s voice was getting a little grating in your ears now.

Flinching away at the loudness of the laugh so close to your ear, you cover it up with a signal to the bartender to bring you another glass of Vodka Soda, given you weren’t driving now anyway and the trainers weren’t here to scold you for drinking midseason.

“So- “

A soft throat clearing from just behind your shoulder makes the newbie in front of you jump a little out of her focus on you.

The warmth radiating from Zećira with how close she’s standing to you makes you relax back into the goalkeeper but also lightly shiver with the proximity.

“Oh... hi. You’re Zekira, right?”

You look up slightly at the raven-haired woman just in time to see her eye twitch slightly at the pronunciation.

“It’s Zećira actually.”

“Of course, right.”

There’s a small, awkward silence before Zećira clears her throat again.

“So Selena-“

“It’s Savannah.”

“Right, I think Niamh and Jessie were looking to talk to you.”

The blonde lights up suddenly at the mention of the two, to which when she makes eye contact with them as they look towards the suddenly excited new girl, they glare back at her when she smirks at them.

Once the girl disappears to go find the Canadian and English friends, Zećira turns to you with a small smile that you gratefully reciprocate.

Leaning back into the taller woman, you offer her the seat now free in front of you next to the bar but she shakes her head, instead gently grabbing your hand, leading you towards the outdoor area of the bar, settling in by one of the heaters.

It’s not a particularly cold night, but it’s just chilly enough to have a reasonable excuse to tuck yourself under her arm and lean your head on her shoulder.

It was silent now, but not like before.

The quiet was a welcome one, and it was quite common between you.

Zećira was your favourite person for the same reason you were hers.

Not that either of you really knew that.

You were both quiet people. You enjoyed the company of the rarely brooding but often times peacefully listening goalkeeper.

If you’d needed to rant, she’s always been an open ear for you.

If you needed a hug, she’s right there to give the warmest, tightest, sweetest hug you’ve ever had. They’d send tingles down your spine, and her hands are always sure on your lower back as your arms wrap around her neck.

The smell of her shampoo leaves you feeling slightly dizzy when you’d bury your face there after long and tiring days.

Her hand would settle on your knee comfortingly when you curl up beside her while binging tv shows after every one of your breakups.

Her overall presence keeps you going day to day.

Despite that. You were only friends.

Good friends, but friends nonetheless.

Right?

“Hey, I have to pee, I’ll be right back.”

Zećira hums softly and lifts her arm to let you out of the booth again.

Making your way over to the bathroom, you do your business, and as you're washing your hands to touch up, the door creaks open behind you, and you lift your head to look at them.

It’s Savannah.

“Oh hey, I was looking for you, I was wondering if maybe we could, you know, hang out some time?”

“Like to practise and stuff?”

“Well, I mean more like, come to dinner with me.”

Oh.

Right as you’re about to answer with a soft no to let her down easy, the door opens behind her and Zećira walks in, looks slowly between the two of you before slipping into a stall herself.

There's a small awkward silence now as you shift uncomfortably under the stare of her.

“Look, as nice as you are, I’m not interested in dating right now. And you're far younger than me, I'm sorry but I'm just not interested.”

“At least give me a chance to- “

Zećira steps out of the stall at that exact moment, moving to the sinks.

“Look, kid, she said no, maybe take that as an answer instead of embarrassing yourself further, alright?”

She punctuates it with little flicks of water at the sink after washing her hands.

Savannah’s face turns bright red, and she mumbles a quiet apology and ducks out of the door swiftly.

You turn to the Swedish woman with a raised brow.

“What’s up with you, grumpy?”

She feigns confusion and looks at you funny, moving to dry her hands on some paper towel.

“What are you talking about?”

“You never get that snappy with anyone, even the persistent ones.”

Zećira steels her expression lightly but stays quiet.

“Zee…?”

It catches you off guard when she steps forward, hands grabbing your waist to walk you back into the wall.

The small “oof” you let out echoes in the small dimly lit bathroom, and your cheeks flush as her grip tightens on you.

“Zee… what are you- “

At that, she swiftly leans down to capture your lips with her own. A small gasp leaves your mouth but is quickly smothered, and one hand reaches up to grip the back of her neck while the other rests on her cheek.

The more your lips move together, the more antsy you get, and you nip at her lower lip slightly as she pulls back to take a breather.

Her lips are slightly swollen, and you can’t imagine yours aren’t the same.

With flushed cheeks, she dips back into you again, this time, though, her hands grip the underside of your thighs and lift you up onto the counter with a small squeak erupting from your lips.

“Zee, we’re gonna get caught -"

“So let them, even better if it’s that little-“

With a soft shake of your head, you pull her back in again to shut her up.

It’s a softer, slower kiss this time, one that she takes her time pulling away from.

With slow abated breaths, you move your other hand to cup the other side of her face.

“If you’re gonna kiss me like that in a bathroom, give a girl a warning first.”

Zećira blushes harder this time and almost pulls away out of fear of rejection, but you quickly tighten your legs around her waist, holding her to you.

“Something you wanna tell me, Zee?”

The small, curious, and teasing smile on your lips makes her stop.

Though, there must be something in your eyes at that point because she relaxes against you, hands moving back to grip your thighs again.

“Can I tell you later, because you and I both know what’s gonna come out of my mouth next and I really want to keep kissing you.”

A finger on her lips stops her from leaning down again and you raise a brow giggling softly.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Du betyder allt för mig.” (You mean everything to me)

Your heart races. You knew Swedish enough to understand what she just said, and it completely catches you off guard.

But you release a shaky breath and let your hand fall onto the back of her neck again.

“Inte vad jag förväntade mig....” (Not what I expected)

She stops for a second. You continue.

“But it’s what I needed to hear.”

Her breath hitches at that, and you tug her down again, her hands tightening their grasp, nails digging slightly into your skin, leaving you keening into her.

At the noise escaping from the back of your throat, she slips them up to ride under your shirt, tracing a small path into the skin beneath the fabric.

You make a half attempt to pull her closer yet, pressing yourself right to her, hips rocking into her softly.

She groans at the way your nails dig into her shoulders when she trails kisses down the side of your jawline, tracing a line straight down to the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Tilting your head to give her more access, your breathing becomes more ragged, and your eyes flutter shut as her teeth take the skin there and tug lightly, her lips soothing the ministrations behind them.

Shifting to give herself a little space, her fingers move to swiftly unbutton the fabric currently standing in her way and with a soft growl, she finally tugs it open, head dropping to press kisses to your collarbone, nipping occasionally.

“Fuck.”

You breathe out when Zećira’s fingers dip below the waistline of your slacks, half tugging at them.

“Off.”

The commanding tone is firm but a little breathless as she pulls back to look you dead in the eye.

Letting out a soft pleading whine, you obediently lift your hips to let her tug them down along with your underwear at the same time, leaving you bare to the cool air, to which you shiver slightly.

A slight brush of her fingertips on your clit is enough to have you whimpering into her mouth.

You’ve never been this sensitive to someone’s touch but there’s something about the taller woman in front of you now, teeth digging into your lower lip, fingers still teasing you, that has you losing your mind on a public bathroom counter.

“Please.”

It’s a soft, keening whine, but it makes her chuckle, and she hushes you, thumb coming up to tug at your lip before her other hand finally applies enough pressure to your clit to have you bucking up into her hand.

“So wet for me already, Princesse.”

There’s a small tone of surprise behind it, and you nod at her, guiding her hand down lower with small encouraging whispers of “Please baby. I need you.”

She traces small circles around your clit for a moment and slowly dips her index and middle finger down, working them into you from the awkward angle of the sink.

She uses her hand to muffle your moans before they become too loud and starts thrusting at a fast pace, fingers bending at the right spot, leaving you a moaning mess embarrassingly quickly, completely at her mercy as she fucks you.

Her wrist moves her thrusts into you a bit harder, and you have to fight not to moan any loader lest someone catch you like you’d been fearing this whole time.

When she ducks her head down to mouth at the skin of your collarbone again, you know you’re a goner. 

A whimpering, keening, moaning mess.

The fact she’s got you this close this fast has you a little concerned for your own stamina, but it’s wiped from your mind the moment her lips are on yours again.

Hearing you moaning like this for her only makes her double her efforts, fingers tapping your g-spot with renewed vigour, and it throws you close to the edge swiftly.

You can feel your legs start to tremble a little, and she can feel you tighten around her, her thrusts meeting a little more resistance now.

“That’s it, älskling.”

The soft praise only spurs you on and your hips lift to meet her thrusts and it takes but a few brushes of her thumb on your clit to send you over.

Thighs twitching, legs tightening around the goalkeepers hips as your back arches into her.

She’s muttering sweet nothings to you as you come down, soft muttered "you're so beautiful"'s and "Good girl"'s.

If you weren't already mid orgasm, that in itself would have sent you over.

“My sweet, beautiful girl.”

There’s a slight whine in your throat when her thumb moves against your clit a little, still sensitive from your orgasm just mere seconds ago.

“Zee.”

It’s a soft, breathy whine, and she smiles, removing her hand slowly and taking your lips with hers again.

“I love hearing my name on your lips, I need to hear it more, back to my place?”

You nod swiftly, letting her guide your underwear and pants back up, the haze of an orgasm still very much on your mind.

On shaky legs, you clean up a little, settling the sex-mussed hair on both of you and attempting, albeit failing, to cover up all of the marks left on your neck with her jacket which she settles around your shoulders after you shiver a little when you step out of the bathroom.

Thankfully, the bathroom is around a corner from where your teammates are tucked away in a set of booths so you both wave at them from a distance as you exit the bar, ignoring the looks you get from them.

Zećira guides you down the concrete sidewalk towards her car in the small parking lot beside the building.

-

Zećira can hardly focus on getting her keys in the lock with you nipping at her collarbone the way you are. That and your hands have slipped under the fabric of her button-up shirt to gently scratch at the skin of her abs.

“Älskling, please, need a second to get the door open.”

You feign innocence, a small pout on your lips, but they quirk up a little at her while she shakes her head lightly at the cheeky expression on your face.

Slipping your hands further up, she whines when you cup her through her bra, hands cold against her skin.

She curses the key in her hand when she finally gets the door unlocked, dragging you inside by the collar to slam you against it.

"Couldn't behave for one second to get us inside, could you?"

Chuckling, you tug her closer by the belt loops.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She rolls her eyes.

"I'm sure you don't."

Following swiftly with that, her knee presses between your legs, hands fully unbottoning and removing your shirt now, tossing it to the side.

"Eager?"

The smug grin on your face has her a little flustered, but she raises a brow down at you.

"I've finally got you here to myself, I'm not wasting anymore time getting you in my bed."

You chuckle softly, hands grabbing hers to steady them before pulling off and throwing her jacket to the side, hands tugging at her button-up to slowly remove it, softly grazing the skin of her shoulders as you push it off.

"We have all the time in the world, Baby. I'm not going anywhere."

She softens, and her hands grasp yours, gently tugging you down the hall to her bedroom, walking half turned towards you, eyes locked on yours.

"I'm right here, Zee. I'm all yours."

The soft reassurance has the last of her nerves settling once again, making way for the sweet, charming Zećira you know and love.

The shakiness in her limbs disappears altogether, making it easier for her to pull you back into her, hands settling on your hips, and she kisses you.

You lean up into it, pushing back as she applies a little more force into it, letting it fall naturally heavier with every move, nip, and caress.

A warmth starts to settle back into your stomach, and you nudge her towards the bed, to which she flips you back onto the mattress, hovering over you.

It's in slow movements, met with kissing you all the way back until your head hits the pillows.

You're craving her warmth a little more, so you tug the swede down onto you rather forcefully, leaving little room for argument as her hand slips under your shirt to grip at your chest, kneading the soft flesh there with a small sigh.

A whine slips out from the back of your throat when her fingers roll your nipple between them, pinching and tugging at the skin gently.

The taller woman pushes herself up slightly, kneeling, and pulls you up with her.

Soft, tender hands move to the buttons of your shirt, move, and undo each one slowly until reaches the bottom one, to which her two fingers under your chin bring your gaze back up to meet hers.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart."

You just about melt under the slowly darkening gaze of the woman.

The single flick of her fingers to unclip your bra and throw it to meet the discarded shirt has your mind nearly turned to mush right there.

With a soft muttered, "So beautiful."

She's swift to kiss you and push you back into the pillow, resuming her previous actions.

The cool air in the room does little to sate the heat taking over your skin, everywhere she touches, feels like a small fire under her fingertips, leaving you keening into her touch.

One hand remains on your breast, the other tracing a minuscule path over your ribcage and to the edge of your pants, tugging at the fabric.

She doesn't have to ask this time, though, as you immediately lift your hips to allow her to pull them off.

Her kisses trail away from your lips, shifting down across your jawline, to your collarbone, occasionally leaving small nips on the way down.

Down to your chest, lips wrapping around your nipple, suckling and leaving you a whimpering mess.

The more your whines turn to soft pleas, the more she smirks against your skin when she lets the nipple go and continues a featherlight trail of kisses across your stomach.

"Baby, please."

You can feel the wave of hot air come from her as she chuckles against you.

"What's the matter, darling?"

"I need you."

The keening whine behind the words just have her amused as you buck up into her.

"Yeah? Tell me where. Where do you need me?"

The fact she’s trying to make you think like this, is criminal alone, and it makes you whimper when she extricates herself from your vicinity, a soft but stern tone behind her words.

"Tell me, Y/n. What do you need from me?"

"I need your mouth, fingers, anything. Please just touch me, baby."

A smug, mocking tone makes you whine.

"But I am touching you baby."

Attempting to grab her and pull her back into you, she chuckles and tuts at you, pulling away from your grasp.

"I need you inside me, on me, anything please."

It seems she's satisfied with that because she leans down once again.

Peeling off your underwear, she groans softly at the dampened fabric, head immediately moving to press kisses to the insides of your thighs, hands slipping under them and urging your legs over her shoulders, manoeuvring herself to be directly over your centre.

Hot puffs of air directly hitting your clit leaves you gripping the sheets tightly, breathing more than a little ragged.

"Look at me."

Your head lifts from where it had fallen back, eyes flitting to meet hers in the faintly lit room.

"Good girl."

With that, her mouth is on you swiftly, tongue taking in your taste with a breathy groan.

The warm, firm muscle makes you buck your hips up with a small jerk.

"Jesus, Zee."

Your hand shoots to her hair, gripping the raven locks tightly.

The grunt you're rewarded with has your legs shaking a little with the vibrations and it only makes her grip on your thighs tighten.

Her tongue laps at you, lips taking in your clit with a sharp suck before releasing and returning to thrust into your entrance.

Inevitably, when you let your head drop back against the pillow, a sharp pinch to the leg jolts you back to watch her again

"Keep watching, älskling, don't make me ask again."

The slightly cooler warmth of her breath contrasts against the startling heat of her mouth as it once again latches itself around your clit.

With the way she's devouring you, it feels like her tongue has found a home between your legs, the skillful swift flicks and swipes have your legs trembling beneath the strong grip of her hands over the skin of your thighs.

The moans she's drawing from you feel unrestricted, being released with no thought to them like you’d always done with everyone else.

She makes you feel safe here, in the dimly room of her home, secure beneath her sure touch, without need to restrain yourself.

You feel freer and safer than ever.

One hand releasing your leg brings you back to her, to the warmth of her taking you in with small, breathy groans.

It trails over your hip, gliding over your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast before sliding off to slip your hand into it, tangling your fingers together like they had been in the sheets only moments ago.

The build-up in your gut suddenly alerts you to the oncoming orgasm, the wave having completely snuck up on you.

"F-fuck. Zee, I'm gonna.."

You barely have time to register the small hum against you that's paired with the harsh suck that sends you kareening over.

Her hand squeezes yours, your legs wrap tighter around her shoulders and head, and her eyes follow the way your back arches up and your hips buck into her mouth, her other hand forcing your hips back into mattress.

She can feel her own arousal building just at the sight of you writhing beneath her, chest heaving with the efforts of her mouth on you.

The way her already dark brown eyes dilate at watching you cum on her tongue, the flood of your taste meeting her tastebuds as she slips her tongue inside you to clean up.

Her hand never leaves yours until you're needily fisting at her to pull her up to eye level once again, wasting no time kissing her.

The sweet, slightly tangy taste of yourself on her lips has you whining softly, and it takes little effort to push her onto her back, straddling her waist.

"Okay?"

You raise a brow at the soft pout on her lips.

"Who said I was done with you?"

Chuckling, you lean down to capture her lips in a brief, soft peck.

"No one, baby, it's my turn, now relax. I've been dying to taste you."

Clearly, your words have an effect on her, because you can feel the shiver run through her beneath you, and the way her fingers grip your hips tighter along with the small sigh she let's out when your lips trail down her exposed collarbone.

You're met with little resistance once your teeth dig into the soft pale skin of her chest, above the line of her bra, as you pull her up to sit up so you can reach behind to tug open the clasp.

Tossing it away, her hands find the back of your head, pulling you back down to kiss her again.

A smile crosses your lips against hers, and you press her back down into the mattress once again, hands holding you up either side of her head.

It takes but a small whine from her when you kiss down to her chest to have you nearly grinding down into her again.

Instead, you focus on the growing want to absolutely ruin the woman below you.

Teeth nipping small marks into her chest, your lips wrap around her nipple, tugging at the nub and releasing it with a small pop, relishing in the ragged gasps coming from above you.

Her fingers have fully tangled in your hair, pleading tugs every now and then, urging you on.

You only chuckle softly at her insistence.

"What's the matter, baby?"

Taking on the same mocking coo she held with you earlier, which she whines and almost rolls her eyes at, your hands still, laying flat over her stomach with your hips settled on top of her own.

"Älskling, baby, please..."

You gently smack away the hand that reaches for you with a smirk.

"Tell me what you want, baby."

The huff she lets out only widens your smile.

"I did not tease you this much."

"Answer the question, Zećira."

Ignoring her indignant whine, you slide a hand up her chest again, fingers twisting and moulding the soft flesh of her breast.

Hearing in that moment, the moment she gives in, the exhale.

A soft curse in swedish, followed by a whimper when you playfully grind your hips down and she's pleading.

"Älskling, god, please baby, fuck me."

"What was that, baby?"

It earns you a small, frustrated whine.

"Your fingers, fuck me with your fingers, your tongue baby please, anything, I need you."

A triumphant grin crosses your face as you lean down to reward the woman, lips meeting hers, hand slipping down to tug at the button on her jeans.

The way she eagerly lifts her hips up, her own hands encouraging yours as you tug down the fabric obstructing you, has you grinning up at the goalkeeper.

Not wanting to tease the woman any more than you had already, you tug down her underwear almost immediately after.

Frankly, you didn't feel like waiting any longer either, only torturing yourself more the longer you waited.

Sitting back on your haunches, just below her knees, reaching out a slow, gentle hand to trace a path down from her stomach to her hip.

To her inner thigh before finally settling, hovering over where she needs you.

Your forefinger and middlefinger apply a small amount of pressure, testing the waters as she watches with shallow rises and falls in her chest.

"Älskling.."

It would sound like a warning if it wasn't paired with a sharp gasp, eliciting when you glide your fingers further down to slip them inside her.

She's soaked through, and you have to hold back the soft groan as you feel her clench around you.

The feeling makes you shift downwards almost immediately, making slow, long strokes as you do so, with gentle curves of your fingers.

Hearing her beg and curse for you like this, you never want this to stop.

With that, your mouth lowers to take her, her hand in your hair now an encouraging force on your head as your tongue drags over her clit.

Her head falls back onto the pillow with what you can only describe as a small pleasured sigh of relief, and you giggle softly, letting your drag down, and back up again, lapping at the wetness accumulating around your hand.

Your other hand keeps her leg steady against the mattress, allowing you easier access as your thrusts speed up.

"Fu-"

She's never been an overtly loud person, so having her moan and curse for you like this, underneath your mouthing ministrations, only drives you even more crazy.

"Så vacker." (So beautiful).

It's a soft mutter against the skin of her inner thigh, paired with small kisses that you trail up to her hip again, meanwhile keeping pace, fingers curling inside her.

With the way her hips buck up into your face, you get the inkling that you speaking swedish to her has her losing her mind above you.

Or it could be the fact you're buried between her legs eating her like she's your last meal.

You don't mind either way.

Getting to hear her like this fuels you alone.

It feels like no time at all passes before her moans shift, and she's crenching a little harder around your fingers while her own tightens in your hair.

"Fuck, Y/n, I-."

"I know, baby. Go ahead, cum for me."

Curling your fingers just right in time with her thrusts, her moans halt as she seizes up, legs trembling around your head.

She's absolutely beautiful when she cums, you've decided.

Her hands slowly release their grip on your tresses and the sheets below the both of you, breathing slower and deeper as she comes down.

Zećira's eyes meet yours once again, noting the shining smug but also awed glint in them.

In that moment, she's decided she's going to drag as many orgasms out of you as she can tonight, unable to be patient enough to wait to see the look on your face once again as your legs shake around her head.

"Get up here."

There's no hesitation. You're up straddling her waist once again as she's sitting up to grip your neck to pull you down to her level.

Her hands settle on your hips once again, sliding back around to cusp your ass, giving the cheeks a quick squeeze, and you giggle softly at the blissed out look in her eyes.

She's absolutely gorgeous with swollen lips, purple marks marring her collarbone, and hair mussed from your hands being buried in them earlier.

They quickly return to that position, fingers carding through the dark locks, thumbs coming to caress her face as you lean down again to kiss her, slower and softer this time.

Loving.

Caring.

Thankful.

Both of you are more than feeling all of that.

There's a shining, loving look in her eyes as she looks up at you, and you feel it flow through your chest in a wave of warmth that makes your skin tingle.

"Hey Zee?"

She hums softly.

"Du betyder allt för mig också." (You mean everything to me, too.)

She grins up at you and the sound of your giggle can be heard as she flips the both of you over onto your back with her on top, lips taking yours in a very much smile filled kiss.

"Feelin' okay?"

"Amazing, you?"

You've never felt safer than here, in her arms.

-

[lyranova]

————

Hiya guys! Here’s another flirty prompt fic, this one kind of got away from me a bit even though it’s about the same length as the others, also I apologize it’s a bit rough, it’s been a while since I’ve written for Yami; but I hope you all enjoy~!

Word Count: 651

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, use of the word ass

————

Yami let out a quiet sigh as he walked into his room, his brow furrowing in slight annoyance at the chaos that was going on downstairs in the common room of the Hideout.

Usually he was a bit more patient with the Bulls and their antics, but today he was just too tired and too stressed to deal with it. So, as usual, he left Finral in charge of the Bulls for the evening and told him to make sure they didn’t hurt or kill themselves while he took a dump and a quick nap.

But all of that was forgotten the moment he heard your soft voice float around the room.

“ You look tired,” You told him as you stood seductively in the doorway of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a small, white towel that clung tightly to every curve of your body.

“ Maybe it’s because you've been running through my mind all day?” You questioned, your tone feigning innocence but he could clearly hear the teasing, playful undertone.

Yami blinked at you for a moment before a small smirk appeared on his face as he decided he would play along with your little game.

“ Is it that obvious?” He asked as he walked up to you.

A soft hum escaped your lips as you slowly nodded.

“ Just a little bit,” You replied as you pinched your fingers together, making Yami chuckle but shake his head at your antics.

“ Oh, I know what will make you feel better,” You said as you placed your hand on his chest, making him shiver just a bit at the coolness of them.

“ Yeah? And what would that be?” He asked as he watched you lean up towards him, your lips hovering just over his.

“ Taking off your shirt and kissing me should do the trick.” You whispered seductively against his lips.

You watched as his smirk widened, and felt his grip on your hips tighten slightly, before he leaned down and captured your lips in a rough, sensual kiss.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as the kiss grew warmer, rougher, and more passionate; the stress and worry of the past few weeks slowly being poured into it as your lips moved against each other in a fiery waltz.

You smirked as you felt Yami’s tongue gently graze against your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and you hummed as you went back and forth on whether to tease him a little more or not.

Apparently, you took too long trying to decide, because an impatient growl escaped Yami’s throat and he took your bottom lip into his mouth before gently, yet firmly, nipping it; causing you to gasp in surprise, which gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips to deepen the kiss.

As the kiss deepened you felt his hands slip down from your hips, past your ass, until he reached the back of your thighs where he gripped them firmly before he hoisted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“ You know,” You began breathlessly as you broke the kiss and stared at Yami with a heated, lustful gaze. “ I think we should shower together, so we can save some water.”

Yami blinked at you for a moment before he let out a laugh and gave your ass a squeeze, making you gasp in surprise.

“ Y’know, that’s a really great idea,” He told you, his eyes swirling with mischief and lust. “ It’ll save a ton of water, and a ton of yul, if we shower together.”

You rolled your eyes and muttered ‘cheapskate’ before capturing his lips in another heated kiss as he carried you into the bathroom.

Your shared shower did not, in fact, save water or yul, but instead actually cost a lot more than a separate shower would have. But neither of you minded, since it was more then worth it.

————

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[good-beanswrites]

"Becomes more competitive" you say? - refering to your headcanons with downbad fuuta 👀

For someone I can imagine if his partner is someone that's a little flirty and knows this, they might initiate a few scenarios just to fluster and see what he tries next only for him to combust (although there might be a few rare occasions where he does get soft)

YES !!

Fuuta is constantly fueled by a mix of personal pride and the need to Be The Best at whatever’s going on, the societal expectation to be manly and good at wooing someone, and also the feeling of “WOW it turns out I’ve never had a real friend or connection in my life and now that I have someone with genuine mutual love between us I’m going to go a little crazy about it and do things way out of my comfort zone without thinking twice until it’s too late.” He’ll leap into a variety of situations – doing favors, participating in couples’ activities, flirting, and making advances of physical touch – solely focused on Winning, only to realize too late that he’s gotten himself into a romantic/intimate situation he wasn’t prepared for 😅

I especially love the thought of someone who knows this well, and plays a little game of “how long can I string this along until his competitiveness gives out into embarrassment?” 

They’d get used to dropping hints while doing different activities about how talented they are doing it, maybe even the best, and no one could do this any better – so that Fuuta inevitably joins in to prove them wrong. If they’re already in an established relationship, I think his partner could overcome any of his party pooping by suggesting they show up the other couples in whatever “cheesy” thing they’re doing. (The partner eventually learns to be a bit more careful with this power, though. As well as things usually end, there have been some mishaps when Fuuta decides “it can’t be that hard to do dancing lifts/dips, right?”) There are a few situations that he catches himself in and explodes that he was tricked into it, but there are others that surprise his crush by how readily he pours his effort into the activity.

Fuuta would be extremely hesitant to initiate physical touch out of fear of overstepping (some of it is healthy respect/consent, and some of it is overthinking paranoia) so it’s up to a more confident crush to push his boundaries. Starting as simple as taps to get attention, and building up even to something like holding hands, they figure out what kinds of things make this touchstarved idiot bluescreen, what turns him bright red, and what he’ll actually melt into and return. The minute they start the whole process, though, it unlocks something in his mind: he realizes that there's no need to fear physical advances, and in fact, he can be the one causing the bluescreening. There's a 50/50 whether his smug attempts at being touchy will backfire and leave him more frazzled in the end 😅

He's never once shied away from a verbal battle, and flirting is no different. He may not have a lot of quick wit, but he can certainly hold his ground in back-and-forth that involves some romantic undertones and teasing. He’d be accustomed to some pretty crass gaming lobbies, so I imagine he doesn’t mind dishing out dirty jokes and innuendos in an attempt to fluster his crush. However, it’s way easier to dish it out than to take it – it doesn’t take long for his crush’s forward comments to absolutely break him down and leave him sputtering. Though he loses all battles like that, there are moments when he's sure they have complete privacy that he ventures some vulnerable compliments that can actually leave the other speechless. That is, until he immediately backtracks in an attempt to save face...

[serenitybymoonlight]

Woven Fates - Heartstopper/Agatha All Along - 18+: 2. What Class Does Agnes Teach?

AO3

Wattpad

September 19th, 2020 12:27 PM

Truham Grammar School for Boys, Truham Hills, England

   "Oh, just leave him alone, Tao," Isaac rolled his eyes as Tao tried to speak to Charlie several times, but Charlie was in his little world.

   "I don't like it... he is going to get his heart broken," Tao muttered to himself as Charlie had a smile on his mouth... but at what cost? "Charlie!" Tao clapped his hands at Charlie's ears.

   Right now, he was thinking about how cute Nick was. They had hung out a couple of times—it was all at school, but still, they had hung out. He thought that Nick might be gay—or at the very least bisexual or questioning. There have been flirty undertones whenever they speak to each other.

   Charlie hated sports, and Nick even convinced him to join the rugby team because he could run fast. He would have never gone for this since all his bullies were on the team. He didn't care, but at least he could hang out more with Nick.

   "Charlie!" Tao grabbed Charlie's shoulder and shook him back and forth. Finally, Charlie was pulled out of this weird state of mind. "Your stupid boyfriend wants to take you somewhere," he said.

   Charlie raised an eyebrow and looked over to Nick, who was waiting for him just a few steps away. He glared at Tao for saying all this in front of Nick. "He isn't my boyfriend. he is just my friend..." Charlie muttered under his breath. What's up?"

   "Mrs. O'Connell asked me to meet her in the Art Room," Nick blushed, and Charlie nodded. 

   Charlie shot a glare at Tao before getting up to follow Nick. "Sorry about Tao. I know we are friends." Charlie was trying his best not to scare Nick off. He loved being around him so much that sometimes he felt Nick was too good to be his friend.

   "It's okay. I am not afraid of you, you know," Nick smiled at Charlie. The boy raised an eyebrow, and Nick explained. I am not afraid of what people think. I like hanging out with you. If they think I am gay or your boyfriend, then whatever, right?"

   Charlie widened his eyes before he blushed, giggling and looking down at his feet. "What? Why are you being so cute?" Nick said, and Charlie turned bright red.

   "I'm not being cute..."

   "Yes, you are," Nick noogied Charlie and pulled him to his side, placing a hand on his waist. Charlie felt a bit self-conscious as no one had touched him affectionately like this. he hated his body so much he didn't even want to look at himself. Though the fact that it was Nick who was touching him, "You are as cute as Nellie,"

   "Who is Nellie," He bashfully looked anywhere but into Nick's eyes.

   "She is my dog," Nick said. He pulled out his phone and showed Charlie the photo of him and Nellie. Charlie cooed and grabbed the phone to get a closer look.

   "I love dogs!" Charlie smiled before looking at more of Nick's photos. Nick's face was soft and happy. He felt like Charlie was the only person around whom he could be himself. He looked down at the boy, rubbing his hand in his curly hair and glancing down at his lips.

   "Do you want to come over and meet her? She loves meeting new people," Nick said, and they giggled all the way to Ms. O'Connell's room, wondering what she could possibly want them for.

   "Oh, you two love birds, come in here already," Agnes peaked her head out the door, making them cringe.

   "Oh, um... we are just friends," Charlie said out of habit, looking at Nick, who winked at him. 

   "Alright, Boys, I am sure you are wondering why I called you over here," Agnes clasped her hands together after rushing them in. "Glee club," she said flamboyantly.

   "Um... Glee Club?" Charlie raised an eyebrow at her.

   "That's right. I talked to the principle, and it's going to happen, and I want you two to be the first members. Once the two coolest boys join, it's only a matter of time before others join," Agnes said. This made sense to Nick, as Agnes was always singing and being theatrical.

   "Ma'am... aren't you a?" Charlie thought for a second. What subject do you teach?" Charlie asked as they had learned about female reproductive systems, the life of Stevie Nicks, and the Salem Witch Trials in the past couple of weeks.

   "Do I need to go to college to choreograph a couple of silly little numbers and teach kids how to sing?" Agnes scoffed before looking between the two of them. "Oh c'mon, don't tell me you think a glee club is too gay for you two,"

   "Well... Glee Club is gay," Charlie shrugged, "I don't sing... I play instruments... and I don't think the others will want to join in singing a few little show tunes.

   Agnes looked annoyed at this, almost like she was trying not to have an outburst... it was terrifying. "Alright, boys... how about this," She had a big fake smile on her face, "You two join my glee club, Charlie will bring in the nerds, and Nick will bring in the jocks... and I will make sure you don't get an F for every single assignment for the rest of the year."

   "Y-Yes, Mr. O'Connell!" the two stammered in unison before they tried to run out of the classroom.

   "Boys!" she snapped, and they stopped. They turned around to see her handing them forms. "Hang them up at the club and school activity boards. Make sure to sign up on them," she said before she gestured for them to leave.

   They quickly hung up the forms before going to the main hall. Charlie thought this would be the one that would get the most traction. He quickly signed his name before handing it to Nick. The big golden retriever pressed the button to retract the pen so it would dry out. That's when the pen crushed in his hand, spraying blue ink all over the two of them.

   "Sorry, Charlie!" Nick gasped, and Charlie began to giggle. This brought levity to their stress and fear from Agnes' intimidating nature.

   "Nick? How did you do that?" Charlie laughed, grabbing his arm to bring him into the bathroom to help him clean up.

   "I dunno..." Nick knitted his eyebrows together. I thought I was gentle, but maybe the pen was faulty." Nick said, confused, but Charlie calmed him down.

   "Let's um... let's try to use some hand sanitizer," Charlie said as he blotted the excess ink off their bodies. "Do you know how to get ink out of skin?" Charlie asked as Nick looked at him, confused.

   "Did you just call me Nick?" Nick raised an eyebrow, and Charlie looked at him confused, "My name is Teddy-"

---Rewind----

   "Hang them up at the club and school activity boards. Make sure to sign up on them," she said before she gestured for them to leave. Agnes said, and the boys nodded, skedaddling out of the classroom. They made it to the first bulletin board to pin the forms.

    "Didn't..." Charlie pointed at the pen, "Didn't you break that?"

   "Huh?" Nick giggled, thinking Charlie was making a joke. "What are you talking about? I am clean, aren't I?" Nick asked, and Charlie gulped.

   "You... said your name was Teddy," Charlie said, and Nick looked at him as if he was having some episodes. "A-And my name isn't Charlie, it's Billy Kap- No... Billy Maximoff... and I have a brother, Tommy-"

----Rewind-Fast-Forward---

   "Nick? How did you do that?" Charlie laughed, grabbing his arm to bring him into the bathroom to help him clean up. Confused, he looked at himself in the mirror: "I... are you having Deja Vu?" 

    "Deja Vu?" Nick raised an eyebrow. "Ooh, I love that song. We should ask Agnes if we could sing Olivia Rodrigo instead of show tunes. "Hey... are you okay?" Nick asked as he could see Charlie was in a bit of distress.

   "Yeah, um..." Charlie didn't quite know how to explain it; he felt like he had been rewound and fast-forward like a TV show. He began to speak, but the door to the bathroom kicked open. The two of them flinched and looked at the door. "H...Hi?" Charlie said, knowing he was supposed to know the guy, but his name just couldn't come to his mind.

   "Don't talk to me faggot," He snapped.

   "Ben, Chill," Nick snapped protectively. That's when it came to mind. It was Ben Hope, and everything that happened in the past played through his mind like a flashback.

   "Whatever... I'll let your boyfriend continue to wank off your forearm," Ben scoffed, storming out of the bathroom. Charlie furrowed his eyebrows, looking down to see he was rubbing Nick's forearm very lewdly with hand sanitizer.

   "Shit... sorry," Charlie blushed, "how long have I been doing that?"

   "For a bit... it's okay; it felt nice." Nick shrugged. "My arms hurt a bit from practice, don't yours?" Nick asked as Charlie had joined the Rugby team.

   "I um..." Charlie said, flustered, covering his face and dying of embarrassment.

   "It's okay. I promise you gave my forearm the time of its life," Nick said, making Charlie laugh. Come on, let's see if I can get any ink off of you," Nick offered.

   Charlie felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, so he used his free hand to fetch it. 'Library after school. You better not be late.' Ben had sent it to him on Instagram.

   "You okay?" Seeing his face drop, Nick asked, "I am not rubbing your skin too hard, am I?"

 "No, you're fine," Charlie forced a smile. His anxiety was peaking as he knew he couldn't ghost Ben, or he would be in even more trouble. Please Vote, Comment, Add to your reading list, and share with your friends:) Check out my subreddit for my writings r/QuinnLake.

[invisiblequeen]

Noe Bodi Gameplay: Day 36, Part 2

Here we are! Zavier St. Tompkins (@westonsims00) and Rhea Moya (@fl0pera) have arrived at the Romance Festival for a first date.

Other notable guests included:

Simeon Silversweater in an outfit that i did NOT curate for him...

Noemy Ortega (@beebeesiims) painting next to Rain Drop (@riverofjazzsims)....

And Donna Richmond (@elysiantrait) passed out on the ground, possibly from all the exciting activity she got up to back on HER first date.😑

Back to the lovebirds. They sipped Sakura Tea to get them in the mood--as if Zavier needed it; this man was on a flirty high the whole time!

The pair took to the dance floor and waltzed their way around the ground murals quite gracefully.

Look. At how. They stare at each other.

"This will be! And everlasting love!" I sang as I watched them end the dance with a perfect pose.

Only soulmates could have so much chemistry on the dance floor.

Zavier was so happy he threw her flower petals!! They were legit the only ones who were this lovey-dovey with each other, everyone else was either awkwardly dancing or standing by the tea without drinking it.

They were so lovey-dovey, in fact, that they caught the eye of the Love Guru.

When they sauntered over to him, Zavier jokingly asked about his romantic future, certain that the Guru would answer favorably.

But--

And Zavier did not like that at all.

Rhea's smile kind of froze in place as she watched Zavier engage in a back-and-forth with the Guru, as if any of this was supposed to be taken seriously. Zavier, meanwhile, gone off the sakura tea, was feeling personally attacked, and started wondering if the Love Guru was warning him that the union he had just found led to heartbreak.

And in perfect (or horrible) timing, look who also showed up to see the Love Guru! NOEMY ORTEGA (@beebeesiims)

She was given a much more hopeful prediction, which made her smile and made the couple next to her tense up.

Noemy, who had no inkling of their situation, greeted them both with a warm smile. Zavier, feeling petty, turned and congratulated her on "what a happy happy life you're gonna live! What's it like to have a non-bleak destiny? What's it like to have a destiny?"

(can you tell that this situation has brought up some things?)

Noemy, who was not blind to his undertone, kept it pushing with kindness.

Rhea, who could only focus on Zavier's "charmer" smile, did not like this interaction at all. She stomped away rather quickly.

Which left Zavier alone to be properly chastised by his new acquaintance.

"How do I get past 'Bleak' when you got to have 'Great'?"

"It's only bleak if you MAKE IT BLEAK, dummy."

"Holy shit, you're right, thanks, nice to meet you, gotta go BYE!"

Don't be too mad at him, guys, he's been burned by legit psychics before.

So he decided to make it up to Rhea by secretly lighting one of the festival fireworks she'd been waiting to see.

Considering the fireworks were supposed to be lit at the END of the festival, she picked up on the signal and awkwardly moved to where he was still standing over the fire thingy.

With nothing but sincerity, Zavier looked her straight in the eye, and apologized for freaking out at the Love Guru. He INSISTED that he wasn't flirting with Noemy.

Rhea, in turn, apologized for thinking he would actually flirt with someone in front of her like a DUMMY, even though he was being a dummy. He's just not THAT kind of dummy.

"We make our own destiny, right, Z?"

"Yeah..."

"...and I'm about to fulfill mine right now."

❤️🥹💕

They shared their first kiss at the Romance Festival, with fireworks sparkling all around them, and fireworks sparking between them.

AND THEN THE GAME CRASHED.

[previous] - [next]

[onegianthotmess]

Genderbent Arthur, and even regular Arthur, having body image issues is canon to me.

She’s so insecure about everything even though she projects a confident facade to everyone else.

She doesn’t like the small bit of chub her stomach has and can never get rid of, and she hates how it gets a bit bigger when she writes for days on end and only having coffee, Rouge, and fudge as sustenance while sitting at her desk with little to no sleep. She doesn’t like how her upper arms are just a tad bit thick and squishy, even though she’s been told she gives great hugs. She thinks that her waist isn’t small enough and that her hips are just a bit too wide. She thinks her bust is too small with how Comte has to order custom undergarments for her due to her chest size, despite the fact that she isn’t really that small at all.

She doesn’t like anything about her physical appearance, really.

All she sees are little imperfections that stick out like sour thumbs. Little bits of her worst self that need to be covered and fixed to be appealing and likable.

No one is going to want to even be near a woman with such wide hips and that much chub on her right? Right.

That’s what she thinks after writing for a few days and finally looking at herself in the mirror to see her body has changed in a horrible way. She has to restrict again for the next week or two, only Blanc with one tiny serving of Rouge every good few days to make sure the added chub goes away quickly. She doesn’t go to the bar during those weeks because there’s no way anyone would want to be near a skirt that can’t cover her hips and thighs without nearly ripping at the seams, would they?

Sure, Theo gets suspicious, but his questions are waved off with a laugh and a light slap to his arm, words of how he’s such a kind and considerate gentleman to worry about a girl the way he is sweetly falling from her lips with a tiny undertone of her usually flirty tone. This usually throws Theo off her trail, annoying him enough to make him huff and roll his eyes before he turns on his heel towards the mansion entrance to head to the bar for a bit of unwinding after a hard days’ work wearing him out.

And after the Dutchman is most definitely out of the mansion and she’s sure she’s alone, she slumps and nearly lets tears fall as they prick her eyes because she’s so stressed out and a visit to her favorite bar with a good friend is exactly what she needs right about now. But she can’t go out like…like this!

She doesn’t look right, her body is wrong, she hadn’t done herself up properly that morning for an impromptu outing as she usually would because she’d planned to spend the day in the mansion, pacing back and forth in her room and occasionally letting Vic out into the garden. Her hair hadn’t been done in a proper way to leave the house, she was almost certain she needed a bath, and she hadn’t picked out an outfit well in advance to be seen in public, especially when she was oh so social and prided herself on her perfect appearance.

She was almost upset, angry even, at Theo for asking her to go with him, as now she was thinking of all the reasons she couldn’t go and everything she hated about herself. But she soon reminded herself that there was no way Theo could have known.

On top of never telling anyone about her expectations for herself, the mansion was primarily full of men who didn’t understand the pressures of a woman in society. The pressure of the expectation and tolerance of nothing but perfection. Everything from her clothing to how she talked was judged and had to be carefully practiced and perfected as to get it right and to be accepted as a decent member of society at least. And the upper class women in town sure did love to gossip.

Why, she was already on thin ice for having a rumored reputation of being with both multiple men and multiple women in one night multiple times and some even rumored she was a prostitute. Yes, she’d heard every single rumor and always laughed them off and pulled an even wittier insult that was masked with feminine charm and a polite smile that made her come out of the situation victorious and the one who didn’t have any need to feel embarrassed. But when she slips into her insecure mindset, she can’t help but wonder if those women are right.

That their words of her being nothing but a frivolous whore that just sleeps around and drinks are all true and that she shouldn’t even leave her room. And, if these words are so true, why isn’t anyone ashamed of her?

Mozart should be shaming her left and right as soon as she walks in the room, Jean should be shaming her and telling her her life is one of sin and that she needs to repent, Isaac should be averting his gaze from her out of disgust, Dazai should be keeping contact at a minimum, Vincent should probably not know about the rumors but would be confused why everyone was ashamed of her, Comte probably wouldn’t even be able to look at her, Leonardo usually keeps to himself so there’s no issues there, Sebastian should be giving her stern yet polite advice as to how she could turn her disgusting life around, and Theo should be looking at her in disgust before he scoffs and exits the room a few moments after she enters. They should all be doing those things.

But no one did those things.

It puzzled the mystery writer to no end, but she could never figure it out as her brain was so focused on reminding her of everything that was inadequate about herself.

But how could she focus on anything when she looked so awful?

She just decided to spend the rest of her evening holed up in her room, trying to write to feel better, but only ending up messily scribbling out her insecurities on sheets of paper. And, realizing she’s done it again, she shoves the papers she scribbled on in the drawer of her nightstand. There, several other sheets of paper were messily scribbled on, talking of far too many insecurities for her to name, and hidden from view of anyone but her. She couldn’t risk Sebastian finding out her insecurities if she threw them away and the words accidentally caught his keen eye.

No, she had to hide the papers along with everything else. She even had a few of her previously favorite little bits to wear in there because a few comments from residents made her doubt that they were actually as nice as she thought they were. So she stuffed them away, out of sight and out of mind, as she moved to instigate other staples into her wardrobe, despite preferring her old pieces. She had to look at the very least presentable, didn’t she?

Well, as presentable as she thought herself to be.

And after another night of debating, obsessing, and insecurities that become so big it feels as though the world is about to explode, she can be found curled up in her bed with tears still streaming down her face from when she’d cried herself to sleep just a few moments prior from finally letting the dam break and letting herself cry after a full week of fighting back her tears of frustration, stress, anxiety, and insecurity.

[legacydowney94]

Modern Penthony AU Plot Bunny for Adoption.

Vibes: Happy, Funny, Flirty, Teasing, Slow Burn Friends with Benefits to Lovers with No Drama.

—————————————————————————————————————

“I have officially planned an adults-only camping trip!” Eloise declared as she burst into the Bridgerton family room like a human hurricane with a clipboard and zero chill. “We’re talking about bonfires, s’mores with extra alcohol, reckless drinking games, possibly some accidental emotional vulnerability, and maybe a minor injury or two—fun things! We’ll sleep in tents like proper woodland creatures, but there’s a small cabin for cooking, showering, and stashing our phones in case of emergencies or existential crises.”

She pointed dramatically at her eldest brother. “Anthony, you’re coming too. No excuses. Mum already cleared your schedule and agreed to cover for you at work. So pack your flannel and your emotional baggage. We leave Friday.”

Around the room, heads turned. Daphne looked intrigued, Colin was already downloading some kind of ‘Ultimate Campfire Playlist,’ and Simon gave Eloise a skeptical look over his mug.

Penelope, comfortably squished between Benedict and a very judgmental houseplant, blinked in surprise as the room collectively absorbed the announcement.

Then she glanced over—felt it before she saw it.

Anthony was watching her.

He didn’t say a word, but that look was familiar. Too familiar.

The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, the gleam in his eyes—he was already planning something.

It was the look he gave her when he was mapping out exactly how to make her come apart, silently, while people were in the next room.

The same look that made her press her thighs together and pretend she was not imagining a scenario involving sleeping bags and zipped-up tents.

Penelope gave him a warning glance, hoping Benedict wouldn’t notice the sudden tension sparking across the room.

Anthony just arched an infuriating brow and sipped his drink.

This camping trip was going to be… interesting.

—

Friday morning arrived with too much sun and not enough coffee. The group assembled in the Bridgerton driveway like a chaotic caravan of stylishly overprepared millennials.

Eloise tossed her clipboard into the passenger seat of a 12-seater SUV she’d somehow commandeered. “I have volunteered Anthony as our designated driver,” she announced with a flourish. “Because if either Benedict or I drive, we’ll be too busy cracking jokes and bullying Penelope in a loving, affirming way.”

“Why can’t I drive?” Colin asked, arms crossed and tone wounded.

Eloise didn’t even blink. “I saw the bag of snacks you packed for yourself. You’d be distracted by your secret peanut butter stash before we even hit the highway. Snack Gremlins ride in the back and lose all voting rights.”

Colin huffed. “It was one bag.”

“It was labeled ‘DO NOT TOUCH, COLIN’S EMERGENCY SNACKS.’”

Benedict snorted from the steps where he was seated next to Penelope, who was laughing so hard she nearly spilled her iced coffee. The two were leaning into each other, whispering back and forth in the easy intimacy of longtime friends with suspiciously flirty undertones.

Anthony watched from the driver’s side, sunglasses on, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Yeah.

This trip was going to be interesting.

—

Thirty Minutes In:

Colin made a desperate grab for the aux cord with the unhinged confidence of a man possessed by disco. “ABBA!” he declared. Eloise tackled him mid-lunge.

Penelope, calm as ever, snatched the cord and plugged in her phone. Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train screamed to life, a musical declaration of war.

“This is why Penelope is always DJ,” Benedict said, fist-bumping her. “She keeps us scared and entertained.”

Colin sulked, pretzels shoved into his mouth as he pouted theatrically. Daphne danced like a former drama kid reliving her glory days, and Simon just handed her a protein bar without even looking up from his book.

Anthony drove with that casual, confident, one-handed posture that should’ve been illegal. Fitted Henley. Rolled-up sleeves. Fingers flexing on the steering wheel like he knew.

Penelope clenched her thighs and stared out the window, muttering a prayer to the gods of self-control. They weren’t listening.

Arrival:

The campsite was stunning—trees, fresh air, and the kind of overpriced tents that screamed “glamping influencer” more than “rugged nature.” Everyone gathered by the cabin as Eloise consulted her sacred clipboard.

“Okay! Tent assignments,” she declared like a game show host. “Daphne and Simon, you’re in the tan tent—number two. Colin gets his own tent because his snack habits are a health hazard. He’s in the blue one. Benedict and I are sharing the green two-roomer.”

She paused dramatically.

“The other two-room tent is for Anthony and Penelope.” She gave Penelope a look of faux-sympathy. “Sorry, love. You’re stuck with Mr. Brooding Grump.”

Penelope opened her mouth to protest but Benedict coughed, conveniently covering his laugh. Because he knew.

He knew Anthony and Penelope weren’t just friends. He knew they weren’t just sharing secrets and glances. They were sharing beds. They thought they were being discreet.

Benedict was just waiting for them to catch up to the plotline the rest of the universe had already guessed:

This was never just casual.

And those tents?

They were about to become very emotionally compromised real estate.

—

Later, inside the tent:

Penelope was kneeling at her bag when she felt it—strong hands sliding around her waist, warm breath against her neck.

“I don’t know why you’re unpacking in your half,” Anthony murmured against her skin, each word a slow, teasing spark. “We both know where you’ll end up tonight.”

He placed a kiss just below her ear. Then another, lower. She tried to bite back a moan. Tried. He knew every spot. Every switch. Every button.

She turned, lips already parted.

He met her in the middle, kissing her like a man who knew time was short and temptation was winning. It was hot. Messy. Unapologetic.

And then—

“Anthony! Penelope!” Benedict’s voice, way too cheerful. “Simon’s got the fire going and Daphne’s already mixing drinks!”

They froze. Cursed. Separated like guilty teens. Anthony emerged first, hair a mess, lips glistening suspiciously. Penelope followed, flushed and flustered and refusing to look at anyone.

She made a beeline for Eloise and Daphne, who immediately handed her a drink.

Eloise, grinning: “I vote we start with Truth or Dare!”

Penelope took a sip and silently begged the universe for mercy.

The universe, being a drama queen, declined.

Nightfall:

The bonfire cracked and popped like it had gossip to share. The stars blanketed the sky like confetti after a concert. Someone (Colin) had absolutely drenched the marshmallows in Bailey’s.

Penelope sat on a massive picnic blanket between Benedict and Eloise, pretending to be relaxed. Across the fire, Anthony lounged in a folding chair, all rolled sleeves and cocky smirks, watching her like she was the only person in the world.

She looked away.

She looked back.

Mistake.

He winked.

Double mistake.

Eloise clapped her hands. “TRUTH OR DARE TIME! Rules: no chicken-outs, no combo choices, and if you back out—you skinny dip. Camp Unhinged doesn’t play.”

“Eloise, that’s not how—” Simon began.

“It is now,” she shot back.

Round One:

“Colin, Truth or Dare?” Eloise asked.

“Dare.” Confident. Regretful.

“I dare you to go three rounds without eating.” She cackled like a cartoon villain.

Colin’s face crumpled in horror as Benedict confiscated his pretzel bag. The group erupted into laughter.

“Benedict. Truth or Dare?” Colin asked, dramatically betrayed.

“Dare.”

Colin smirked. “Kiss Penelope. Properly. Tongue and everything.”

The silence that followed was nuclear.

Benedict froze. Flicked his gaze toward Anthony.

Anthony, jaw clenched, gripped his drink so hard the bottle nearly cracked.

Everyone else? Holding their collective breath.

Because this wasn’t just a game anymore.

It was the first crack in the illusion.

And the fuse had officially been lit.

—————————————————————————————————————

Benedict blinked.

Across the fire, Anthony didn’t say a word—but he didn’t have to. That clenched jaw? The white-knuckled grip on his beer? The way his gaze had shifted to Benedict like a sniper laser? Yeah. It said enough.

Penelope, meanwhile, choked on her drink.

“I’m sorry—what?” she asked, coughing delicately, her face already flushed. “Colin, are you twelve?”

Colin just grinned, deeply unrepentant. “Nope. I’m a man of mischief and taste. Now pucker up, Benny boy.”

The group went quiet. Expectant.

Benedict hesitated, eyes flicking once more to his older brother, clearly weighing how much his life was worth.

Then he turned to Penelope, ever the gentleman, a soft look on his face. “Do you want to? We can just take the lake dare if—”

Penelope, in true Penelope fashion, gave him a small, fond smile. “It’s just a game. Let’s give them something to talk about.”

A cheer went up from Eloise and Daphne. Simon lifted his mug in salute.

And then—

Benedict leaned in.

The kiss was gentle. Warm. Respectful. A slow lean of mouths meeting in a firelit flicker. He kissed her the way you kiss someone you care about, someone who’s precious—but not yours. Not really.

There was no tongue, not unless you counted the tiniest tease of it—barely there. Just enough for everyone to over-analyze later. Just enough to make Anthony explode internally.

Penelope pulled back first, a tiny smile playing on her lips. “See?” she said lightly, voice just a bit too high. “Totally harmless.”

Across the fire, Anthony looked like he was about to start whittling a weapon out of a marshmallow stick.

Colin, grinning ear to ear: “Ten out of ten. Very romantic. Maybe next time you’ll both mean it.”

Penelope cleared her throat and took a big swig of her drink. She wasn’t looking at Anthony, not even a glance.

Too dangerous.

Too honest.

Too much.

Eloise, sensing blood in the water like a tiny blonde shark, spun toward Penelope.

“Your turn, Pen! Truth or Dare?”

Penelope blinked. “Truth.”

“Who was your first kiss?”

The group collectively leaned in, jaws open like baby birds waiting to be fed gossip.

Penelope froze.

She looked down at her drink, her fingers tightening around the cup. She could feel Anthony watching her—could feel the tension rolling off him in waves, like he knew what she’d say. Like he knew he was the answer.

She could lie.

She could play it off.

But her heart was hammering in her chest, and her mouth went dry, and she just couldn’t—

“Nope,” she said abruptly, standing and brushing off her jeans. “I’m not answering.”

Eloise gasped, scandalized. “You know what that means!”

“Lake dare,” Penelope said calmly, far too calmly, setting her cup down like it had personally offended her. “Where’s the dock?”

The group erupted in delighted shrieks and laughter. Benedict doubled over. Colin screamed, “ICONIC,” at the sky. Even Simon cracked a smile.

“You’re really gonna—?” Eloise said, breathless.

“Yup.”

Penelope toed off her shoes with exaggerated dignity and unzipped her hoodie. She made it to the edge of the woods before turning back, eyes meeting Anthony’s over the fire.

For a moment, no one else existed.

And then—just as she disappeared into the shadows—she called back:

“Don’t wait up.”

A beat.

Then a splash echoed through the night air, followed by her triumphant shout: “THE WATER’S FREEZING AND I REGRET EVERYTHING!”

Laughter exploded from the campsite.

Anthony remained stone-still, jaw tight, gaze fixed on the trees.

“You okay, bro?” Colin asked, eyebrows wagging.

Anthony didn’t answer. Just downed the rest of his beer and stood.

“Where are you going?” Benedict asked, smirking.

Anthony’s voice was quiet. Dangerous.

“Just making sure she doesn’t drown.”

—————————————————————————————————————

The woods were quieter than they had any right to be.

The bonfire laughter faded behind Anthony like the receding tide, replaced by the low hum of crickets and the distant rustle of wind in the trees. He followed the faint path toward the dock, guided only by the glow of his phone and the familiar gravitational pull of the one woman who made him lose every last scrap of common sense.

Then he heard it—splash—followed by an impressive string of curse words in Penelope’s voice, echoing across the glassy lake surface.

“Bloody hell, it’s like skinny-dipping in the Arctic. If I die of hypothermia, someone needs to tell Eloise, I’m haunting her for eternity.”

Anthony stopped just short of the tree line, lips twitching. He leaned against a pine trunk, letting himself watch her for a moment.

The moon was high, casting a silver sheen over everything. Penelope was waist-deep in the water, arms wrapped around herself, hair soaked and clinging to her neck. Her laughter echoed, bright and sharp, cutting through the cold night air like sunlight through fog.

She looked like a myth. Some siren-woodland hybrid who’d wandered out of a dream and into his life just to ruin him.

“Enjoying yourself?” he called.

She shrieked. Loudly. Arms flailing as she spun in the water, squinting into the dark. “Jesus Christ, Anthony! You absolute menace, were you lurking in the woods?!”

He strolled onto the dock with the unbothered swagger of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and had zero shame about it. “Just making sure you didn’t get eaten by a lake monster. Or drown. Or spontaneously combust from stubbornness.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re naked in a freezing lake at midnight.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You said that to me once with a sprained ankle and tears in your eyes.”

“Don’t be smug. You’re not allowed to be smug when I’m vulnerable and potentially hypothermic.”

Anthony knelt down at the edge of the dock, elbows on his knees. The light from the moon hit him just right—sharp jawline, damp curls, stupidly sexy concern painted across his face. “Come back out, Pen. You proved your point.”

Penelope snorted. “What, and let Eloise win? Absolutely not.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

He leaned forward, voice softer. “You’re freezing, love.”

And damn it, the way he said it—like the word love wasn’t even conscious, like it just belonged there on his tongue when he spoke to her—it made something stutter in her chest.

She glanced down at the water. “I’m not ready to come out.”

“Why not?”

Penelope hesitated. Then said, “Because I don’t want to face all of them right now. The questions. The jokes. The looks.” A beat. “You.”

Anthony blinked. “Me?”

She swallowed. “You’re not exactly subtle, Bridgerton. The looks you’ve been giving me. The—things you do when no one’s looking. I can’t keep pretending it’s all casual. That we’re not…”

A pause. Too long.

Anthony’s voice was barely above a whisper. “That we’re not what?”

She looked at him. Really looked at him.

His shirt clung to him from the lake mist, sleeves pushed up, that ridiculous Henley stretched across his chest like it had sinister intentions. And his eyes—those warm, burning eyes—never left hers.

Penelope shook her head. “That we’re not in way over our heads.”

Anthony stood. Slowly. Tugged his shirt over his head and dropped it onto the dock with a thwump.

Penelope gawked. “What are you doing—”

“Making it fair.”

He kicked off his shoes. Unbuckled his belt.

“Anthony!”

“I’m not leaving you alone in that lake.”

“I don’t need a rescue!”

“I’m not rescuing you,” he said, stepping out of his jeans with the confidence of a Greek tragedy. “I’m joining you.”

And then he dove in.

The splash sent waves rippling across the lake.

Penelope let out a strangled sound that was half-laugh, half-why-is-he-like-this.

Anthony surfaced, slick hair pushed back, water glistening across muscle and muscle and—God, more muscle. “Okay, yeah,” he sputtered, “this is horrifying. I regret everything.”

Penelope laughed. Actually laughed. Loud and delighted and unguarded.

He swam toward her. Slow. Easy.

And when he reached her, he didn’t touch her.

Not yet.

But they were close—too close. Water lapping around their shoulders. Breath fogging in the cold. Everything in the world narrowing down to this moment, to them.

“You didn’t answer the question,” he said softly.

“What question?”

“Who your first kiss was.”

Penelope looked at him. Lips parted. A thousand words trapped behind her teeth.

And then she whispered—

“You.”

Anthony froze.

And then—slowly—he smiled.

It was devastating.

“You remember,” he said, voice low and rough.

“Of course I remember,” she said. “You were drunk. I wasn’t. And it still felt like the beginning of everything.”

Silence stretched between them.

Until Anthony whispered, “Come here.”

And this time, when she did, there was no game. No audience.

Just two hearts, tangled up in moonlight and water and feelings that were no longer pretending to be casual.

—————————————————————————————————————

They stayed there for a while. Still floating, bodies pressed close. Her legs looped around his waist, her head on his shoulder, his arms cradling her like she was something precious. He looked up at the stars while she quietly breathed him in.

The spell broke with a snap—a twig underfoot—and then Benedict appeared, holding two towels like some mildly exasperated lake-side concierge.

“You’re lucky it was me,” he said, tone dry. “If it had been Eloise, she’d be shrieking in victory and probably writing a musical number about it.”

Penelope untangled herself slowly. Carefully. A little reluctantly.

Anthony sighed—softly, so only she heard—before helping her back to the dock.

He climbed out first, took the towels, and passed one to her without a word. Benedict vanished with a knowing smirk.

They dried off. She changed, still shivering. He handed her his shirt and she slipped it over her head, breathing in the warmth of it.

They walked back to camp together, side by side, wrapped in silence and stolen glances and something very new that felt like it had always been there.

The others were still at the fire, distracted by their own games and drinks and stories.

No one noticed the shift between them.

But it was there.

And it wasn’t going anywhere.

—————————————————————————————————————

Later, the fire had long since burned to embers, the air cooler and laced with leftover laughter. Colin was the first to pass out in the grass outside his tent, half-covered in a blanket someone lovingly tossed over him.

Anthony excused himself first, claiming pajamas and a book. Benedict followed a few minutes later, strategically giving Penelope space to disappear without drawing attention.

The tent was quiet and dark, lit only by the moon filtering through mesh windows. Anthony lay sprawled across the massive bed, hands tucked behind his head, eyes closed—but he wasn’t asleep.

He didn’t flinch when the bed shifted, when she slipped in beside him, curled on her side facing him. She watched him in silence, her heart loud in her chest.

He opened his eyes slowly, turning his head to meet her gaze. Without a word, he rolled onto his side and reached for her, cradling the back of her head with one hand, fingers threading into her hair, thumb brushing soothingly at her temple.

“This isn’t just casual anymore, Pen,” he whispered, his voice soft and sure. “It hasn’t been for a while. I think I’m in love with you. Actually—scratch that—I know I am. You’re it for me.”

Penelope’s breath caught, heart tripping like it couldn’t keep up with the moment.

“I’m in love with you too,” she whispered back, tears swimming in her eyes. “It stopped being casual the minute we started sleeping next to each other just to sleep. No sex. Just comfort. Just you. I don’t want anyone else. I haven’t for a long time.”

He closed the space between them, resting his forehead against hers, and she let herself fall—completely, finally—into the safety of it all.

No drama. No games. Just them.

Wrapped in borrowed shirts, old jokes, stolen kisses, and a love that had been quietly blooming in the background all along.

—————————————————————————————————————-The Next Morning.

Penelope woke up to the smell of coffee, the rustle of tent fabric, and the solid weight of Anthony’s arm draped possessively over her waist.

His face was buried in her hair, breath warm against the back of her neck, his body curled around hers like they were puzzle pieces that had always been meant to fit together. She hadn’t moved. Didn’t want to. This was new, yes—but it also felt ancient. Like they’d done this a thousand times before, in dreams or in another life.

Outside, birds chirped, a kettle whistled, and someone—probably Eloise—was loudly accusing someone else—probably Colin—of stealing her sock.

Penelope turned slightly, just enough to look over her shoulder at him. “Are you awake?” she whispered.

“No,” Anthony mumbled into her hair, voice hoarse with sleep. “This is a very realistic dream. Do not ruin it.”

She giggled, and he cracked one eye open. “There it is,” he said, smiling lazily. “My favorite sound.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then another to the side of her neck, slow and soft. Her cheeks flushed. “You’re disgustingly charming in the morning.”

“I’m always charming. Mornings just give me extra bonus points.”

Outside, they heard Daphne yell, “Whoever’s hiding the bloody coffee creamer, I will hunt you down!”

Anthony groaned and flopped onto his back, dragging her with him until she was tucked into his side. “Ten more minutes,” he whispered. “Let the chaos eat itself.”

Penelope propped her chin on his chest, smirking. “So… we’re doing this, huh?”

“We are,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Fully and completely. No more hiding. Except, like, for maybe twenty-four hours. Let me have one day of smug secrets before Eloise starts composing interpretive haikus about us.”

She laughed again and kissed him, soft and certain.

They finally emerged from the tent twenty minutes later—casually, like they hadn’t just confessed their love and cuddled all night.

Eloise narrowed her eyes the moment she saw them.

“You two look… suspiciously well-rested,” she said.

Anthony sipped his coffee innocently. “Good skincare and a clear conscience.”

Penelope just smiled. “And maybe a really good pillow.”

Behind them, Benedict cackled into his mug.

The secret was already starting to unravel.

But for now, it was theirs.

And it was perfect.

By midday, the group was starting to suspect something. They just weren’t sure what.

Penelope was smiling. Like, smiling-smiling. That soft, floaty kind of smile that made even Daphne raise a brow over her mimosa.

And Anthony? He was being… weird. Not in the usual eldest-son-stressball way. No. This was weirdly chill. The man who normally acted like it was his moral duty to micromanage the toast level on the campfire was now lounging in a hammock, wearing sunglasses and letting Colin be in charge of the grill.

Something was up. And Eloise, naturally, was on the case.

“Pen,” she said casually, sidling up beside her while they refilled water bottles. “You’re glowing. Is it exfoliation or… fornication?”

Penelope nearly choked. “Excuse me?!”

“Don’t act surprised,” Eloise said, narrowing her eyes. “You vanished last night. Then so did he. And this morning, you both emerged looking like people who’ve seen things. Life-changing things. Maybe each other naked things.”

“I cannot confirm or deny anything while holding a gallon jug of spring water,” Penelope deadpanned.

“Ha! So you admit it!”

“I said nothing.”

Meanwhile, Colin was squinting across the campsite, watching Anthony watch Penelope from beneath his sunglasses like he was trying not to be obvious about it—and failing miserably.

“Daph?” Colin said, nudging her. “Is Anthony… being weirdly soft right now or am I hungover?”

“You’re always hungover, but yes. He just smiled at Penelope like she hung the moon. And he let me win at cards earlier. Voluntarily.”

“Do we think…?”

“Absolutely we think.”

Back in the circle of lawn chairs, Benedict watched the chaos unfold with quiet delight, swirling his coffee like a fine wine.

“You all are so slow,” he finally said, too loud on purpose. “I caught them last night at the lake. Floating. Clinging. Sharing forehead space. I didn’t say anything because I believe in the sacredness of romance and also because I knew this moment would be hilarious.”

Anthony groaned from his hammock. “You are so annoying.”

“Correct,” Benedict said cheerfully. “Also, congrats on finally pulling your head out of your arse and falling in love with our favorite redhead.”

Penelope flushed. “I’m strawberry blonde, technically.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Bridgerton-to-be.”

“Too soon!” Anthony barked, but he was smiling—actually smiling, dimples and all.

The camp erupted into teasing and chaos, but underneath it was warmth, laughter, and the kind of love that came with being known—really, truly known—and adored anyway.

Penelope leaned into Anthony’s side as they sat by the fire that evening, his arm draped over her shoulders like it had always belonged there.

The secret was out.

And honestly? It felt good.

Someone had left the radio softly playing, it was long after everyone had gone to bed, all except for Anthony and Penelope who were currently cuddling in the hammock. A soft romantic slow song came on and Anthony smiled as he pulled her from the hammock and into his arms in a gentle dance.

There was barely any space between them; they were connected from their foreheads down to Anthony’s arms around Penelope’s waist. They were whispering soft and tender endearments to each other and smiling softly.

Neither noticed Daphne, Eloise and Benedict taking pictures and recording them dancing and the tender kiss that followed. They were too busy with their moment and being in love to notice much of anything.

—————————————————————————————————————

The weekend passed by in a very happy, but chaotic blur and they all had fun. Anthony and Penelope were once again in the front seat but this time they were holding hands and not pretending they were not in love. Benedict leaned forward over the back of Daphne and Simon’s seat to take a picture of the happy couple to add to their collection from their trip.

“How do you plan on telling, mum?” Benedict asked once he sat back in his seat.

“I have a plan but you're just going to have to wait until we get home.” Anthony comments with a smirk. Penelope knew that smirk, he was planning something and it would probably end in chaos. The rest of the trip home was actually pretty calm with only minimal chaos in the form of Eloise teasing Colin about his snack habits.

Violet, Francesca, Gregory and Hyacinth were waiting for them when Anthony pulled into the driveway and parked the suv. Anthony hopped out of the driver seat and jogged around to open Penelope’s door and held his hand out to her. She took his hand in her own, he gave it a gentle squeeze and a soft smile.

The group who knew about their relationship were all waiting to see what Anthony had planned. Benedict whooped when Anthony pulled Penelope into a kiss right there in front of their mother and younger siblings.

Anthony kissed her without hesitation and a smile on his face as she kissed him back just as passionately. He didn’t care that he had caused chaos to erupt between his mother and younger siblings all he cared about was finally being able to kiss Penelope in public and not hide his feelings any longer.

[yohohonabottle]

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It's been years since they first met... When did time fly away? It's like it was just yesterday when them two began exchanging letters.... And Whiteridge's youngest son sent him the first mini painting. The first letter, a tasteful poem and a bold, cleverly woven declaration of love. Then that one letter grew into gifts picked with diligent care.

A miffed huff slips from the false magister, claws raking on the wooden floor of the Mystical house. A click of teeth, the wary pits of Berial's eyes following his stiff, agitated circling and slow lashing of tail.

And then Earl Ludovic presented a gorgeous arrangement of blooms with a gleam of... determination but also that same love. The flowers themselves symbolized devotion, deeply reverent respect, love, desire.. and playfulness. Willing to commit.

— "You should find someone better than me. Maybe a fair maiden your age range?" – It was a joke with serious undertone as he'd tentatively accepted the flowers. It didn't deter the Graveborn. Of course Vic knew the reason why he's holding back while gradually having been melting. So... He backed off. Only to return next day with a body that properly reflected his true age– Taller, still lean build but got bit more muscle rather than that awkward gangly form of a teen prior. And a voice still soft silk, yet somehow had much more mature cadence, older– As foreign as familiar.

A stunningly handsome, elegant young man whom wore a very similar attire to the boy 'Merlin' knew.. Save for the bows being gone, bowtie traded for a pristine white cravat and low ponytail more on the side.

And then that young man spoke in that charming, velvety voice of his, words of playful challenge:

— "Let us face off in a dance duel, my dear Muse. Should you triumph, I shall cease my attempts at courting you." With matching humor, the 'Wilder' smiled wryly as he warned the Graveborn:

— "Careful, Vic. You might loose."

— "We shall see."

Under the notes of quiet ghostly orchestra, two duelists fought, weaving through dances of a culture forgotten in time's sands. Peoples known as being of fiery blood and spirit, wild and rather persistent once having made up their mind. Not ones to know what 'Impossible' means. Not ones to bow their head, rather charge forth in defiance. The apprentice and mentor, dancing with vigor and unruly grace, light and nimble on their feet, matching each other step for step and beat for beat... Until one tired out, no longer able to keep up despite his stubborn refusal to yield. Not so easily. Not so swiftly, twenty dances having been woven through by that point, the opponent still showing no signs of relenting even as his legs burnt. The young man still held his head high, following the music's rhythm expertly. His footwork was magnificent– Nobody would've known he's not a native, should they not know his name nor surname.

Lungs burning and legs protesting, feet tingling– Pirin lost his battle against exhaustion. Tripping over his own feet and falling out of sync, the night nymph swayed, fell forth — Two hands catch his trim waist, turning to arms envelopping his slim form into an embrace to both hold and steady.

A heartbeat thundering, two, yet the grin of triumph was clear. Stranja had lost, been outplayed. There was no backing out. A promise is a promise.

That's how he'd given Ludovic of Whiteridge his hand.

—"Well, damn – Who would've thought you're such a devil?" Dry remark of larking is met with an amused chuckle, the man caught his breath. Replied back in turn, a flirty wink in his tone:

—"I was taught by the best."

How long has it been now? Two months? Three since they'd been separated? Bantus and duty called, begrudgingly Ludovic had to leave- so to avoid rousing the Fallen king's suspicions. And with a heavy, bleeding heart, the nobleman offered branches of lovely lilies – His tribute, promise of return and reunion permanent. A most sacred, solemn vow left unsaid. Before doning on a spell of illusion to assume his younger appearance, farewell with a kiss, and left.

How many days and nights has it been? Since the last letter and gift?

Correspondence turned into near radio-silence, all to remain undercover. All so that wretched old fart wouldn’t catch the tiniest hint of what is brewing underneath the surface, trace back the thread. For three months, all I could do, was re-read every single letter we’ve shared over and over, sigh and pray to the stars for his safety.

—"And I have another damn crisis to solve, like always. I'm Merlin, aren't I? Apparently people can't fix their messes." How much longer do I have to wait? How much more do I have to play nice? Merlin and his stupid, spoilt-rotten brats aren’t helpful in the slightest, always with the condescending attitude. Always having some grand task to carelessly drop on the shoulders, as if that contract isn’t enough, wasn’t enough to begin with. Laughing and grimacing in revulsion at the mere sight of him whenever they’d run into each other in the main lounge. Disdain.

—“Of all people, you just had to choose a literal Graveborn, m? Viperian has more restraint in experiments. And what? A half-Graveborn, half-Nymph?” The chief of the Arcane council had laughed, a grating sneer, looking down his nose with mocking grin. “Ha! You might as well be having a still-born amalgamation!”

That afternoon, the jester Hypogean had to wrap around his friend, limbs like rubber bands. Lest the insolent bastard gets mangled beyond recognition along with the Acorn-knight and mage. The screeches of breathless, shrill and rattling war-cries echoed far throughout the spire lounging area… Guests on the upper-floor could hear, blood running cold. Even Silvina, the Silver Reaper, didn’t have courage to step out of her ‘hiding spot’. Utterly shaken by those howls of raw, unbridled rage. Had to cover her ears tight while the Sinister clown dragged a viciously thrashing bat with considerable effort. Hell! Lucca, Soren, and Harak needed to step in and help him! ….Even they had trouble with the roaring, snarling, snapping Nymph.

In the end, Sinbad dashed to fetch Tasi, so that the fairy can put the false dragon to sleep.

Since, everyone collectively agreed it would be for the best to keep Merlin as far away from Pirin has possible. More so for the latter’s sake than for Merlin’s if truth be told. As much as majority of the guests would've loved watching that pitiful excuse of a magister get flung around and dragged like ragdoll, this wouldn’t reflect well on Vanya.

General Hogan and the Arcane council, for one, wouldn’t take kindly to it all. Even though the general had been devastated with the truth of what his old comrade has twisted into and his atrocities. He still couldn’t fully accept it, just as Mirael and Cassadee could not bear.

And the court of Celestials strongly favors the Arch-magus, wouldn’t hesitate to smite. If anything, they’re simply ever so patiently waiting for exactly that: ‘Proof’ of their prejudiced beliefs, proof of the Temple’s words to be true. One slip-up, a perfect excuse to act. Terminate and ruthlessly drag the Night Nymph through the mud in supposedly retribution for justice’s sake. Everyone across the six factions is well aware of how a Plague is brought into existence. Along with the sheer destruction such a wraith can inflict.

It’s for the best that this never comes to pass, for the day Vanya does— Esperia would witness true Apocalypse. For the Horsemen know no guilty nor innocent in their annihilation.

—"That's it– I'm going. I don't give two flying fucks, I'm getting to Cedartown, to Whiteridge, and find my princeling." It’s been a week since having entirely moved out of the Mystical House, and back into the lone, well-hidden hut on the far outskirts of Wheatshire. During that week, along with the following days afterward, it’s been a constant back and forth, packing up what was left in a hurry. Whirling on his heels, the bristled snowy ‘Wilder’ makes a move to charge out the dorm’s doorway— Just then vertigo strikes, vision swimming and ravenous appetite flares. It had grown to bloodlust. This incessant need for blood, as if starved.

When in truth, a new life was coming to fruition. A child half-Graveborn and half-Night nymph, of Eclipse descent... and Esperian nobility.

A portal opens in front of the vexed nymph, and Ioan Hestios finds himself lying face-first on the bed.

You know it's not a good idea to charge in blindly.

A low, guttural growl rumbles in the false Wilder's fur-obscured throat, sharply turning onto his side to glare at the inky Hypogean, tail tip giving a harsh flick. One of his tufted ears twitches and the fluffy tip of the long tail gives a harsh thump once more after a second’s pause.

—"You're one to yap."

—"You'll see your Graveborn, calm down, 'cat'. You don't want Bantus to get any ideas, do you? I'm sure your favored–" At a slight flashing of teeth in light snarl, the clown holds up his hands placatingly. "-Whoops, Bonded, is probably bullshitting your way out as we speak. Y'know? Pull the wool over their eyes?"

Lips falling back into a thin line, a miffed, tired huff is the only thing in answer. The 'magister' flops onto the mattress, restraining himself from curling into a tight ball. From leaping and barreling out the door in search of his life-partner as instincts screech. Have been endlessly shrieking ever since that day of separation. Anger melts away to melancholy, pained longing, blood-red eyes flickering over to the small square canvas with a life-like painting—A boy with bone-white skin, hooded pale green eyes and curly hair of chalk or moonlight, hugging a firebird. There’s bright grin of pure, warm, joyful laugh on the teen’s face. Friends, loyal to each other with the ferocity of a thousand suns…

A young, freckled child with eyes clear as pearls or moonlit mirrors, breaths short and quick gasps. The short, messy, snowy hair and fur of the ‘Mauler’ or ‘Wilder’ boy matted with blood and dirt, body marred by bruises and scrapes from countless tumbles.

Standing frozen in place amidst a lovely vast garden, so rich in variety of gorgeous flowers. A pair of compassionate, concerned eyes gazing back into his own teary and horrified. A boy, dressed in fancy attire, no older than fifteen, approaching in careful strides. Hazy… something falls out his mouth, words in tender tone, soothing somehow. What exactly is being said eludes entirely, too caught up watching his every step closer. Body language proves no intent to harm or intimidate.. Could be a trick..

Too close.

With a yelp intelligible, the albino Wilder child staggers back in haste to flee but trips over his own claws and tail, collapses harshly onto his rear. Lips pulled back into a defensive snarl and teeth bared as the thick disheveled fur on his neck stands on end, large and sharp tufted ears pinned back. A clear bluff of aggression, scrambling and failing to get up while staring at the approaching noble lad without blinking-- Warning. Terror. Raw, bordering on primitive and blind. Warm hands rest on his scraped knees, a warmth flowing over the injuries as that distant voice carries on. ..Questions? Not sure. A name:

“Whiteridge.”

A faint smell familiar – Blood. Sickness. The magic keeps on flowing, guided to the other most glaring of unsightly wounds with care and a wince subdued. Apologies… can’t tell why, for what. Barking of hounds, the Wilder child’s ears immediately perk in alarm, fear returning in full, and the freckled boy in scraps leaps onto his feet. A stray lightning tearing through, jumps over the manor grounds’ gates and far away without looking back… Yet those sympathetic, disheartened eyes still followed mournfully...

---

Sat down on the cold grass of the still forest, the flow of magic drifts between them. The briefest deja vu. The stars are most beautiful tonight. Most clearly visible. And next to the snowy-haired young man, sits a Graveborn, looking just as when he died. Disheveled hairs, ruffled clothes and out of breath. Both of their bodies are covered in scrapes, bruises, cuts and slashes, nicks of claws and blades. Both are bloodied….The boy much more so than his dearest companion. Graceful face clouded by a miffed frown of frustration as he wraps his arm in bandages. ..And winces slightly at the dull throb of pain in his left side from having been slamed onto his side. Clicks his tongue in discontent at it, stealing a glance over at the spirit.

Pearly white meet pale green. A small smirk from the former.

—“Still hissy about it, huh?” —“Yes.”

A quiet snort, looking down at his slightly huched form as he bandages his ankle next. There’s quiet, fond affection, and mirth twinkling in the night nymph’s gaze. And a clawed hand lightly pats the Graveborn’s back sympathetically. Turning into a wing pulling him into a tight side-hug.

—“D’aww.” Rubbing circles on his boney shoulder as pitying, playful consolation. Which earns the faux Wilder a faint raise of a light brow in questioning, unamused deadpan from the painter. —“What?” Still. Despite himself, the ‘boy’ found himself having a subtle smile of his own. Which very quickly fell at his friend’s larking quip. “Your punches are slow and weak, though. Same as your reactions, reflexes, Lud.” A sour scowl, mildly indignant.

—“Pardon me for lacking extensive combat experience.” Only to get his curls ruffled and lightly slap the clawed hand on the wrist with a displeased, hissed whine of ‘Vanya!’; swat the hand away. And smooth down the utterly messy strands back in place to something more presentable, muttering surly under his breath. “Look what you have done. An utter mess.” Ridiculous. Meanwhile Pirin simply shrugged his sharp, speckled shoulders.

—“Eh, don’t see anything wrong with it. Kinda suits you to be honest.” The glance his best friend shoots him in return begs to disagree. ..And then a cold hand quickly ruffles his hair. Payback, oh swift retribution. There. Now we’re both a bird’s nest.

--

Peering down at the prone form with a blink, signature grin missing, Berial folds his wings upon settling onto the bed's foot headboard. Balancing on it like a gargoyle, the clown sighs then ruffles the fluffy tail-tip with a hand in sympathy— Only to get swatted across the face.

—"Okay, if you're going to be huffy all day then at least rest better!" A roll of eyes and a click of jaws. Hands on hips and a chiding pout, Berial poofs. His head reappears right in front of his friend's face, a staredown of two displeased beings.

—"Vanyusha. Sleep-time, now. I'm not dragging a corpse to Whiteridge, you hear old bat?" Swatting with a wing, the head vanishes, dodging the hit and reappears again in its spot.

The jester's stern scowl hasn't wavered, challenging him to talk back.

—"....." How do you know I need to sleep more? That I'll whither if I keep up my streak?

—"...." Vanyo, I'm a clown –Not a blind idiot. You're not the first Burning star I've seen. So I know a thing or two about your lot.

—"How much do you know, uh?"

—"Enough to stress you need to rest, you hormonal work-addict." And you needed it in general, before getting yourself knocked up. Now you need double as regularly.

The large ears atop his head twitch and pin back, red-hued eyes narrowed. It's been so long since sleep had last graced him... First being too busy staying alive and constantly on-guard lest a hunter or hound jumps out of nowhere, net and harpoon to be fired. Then too preoccupied with running all over Esperia, solving one crisis after another and helping the people… There never was a single second to so much as blink, let alone sleep.

There never is.

....And on the rare off-chance his eyelids did fall, head dropping like chopped by guillotine— Nightmares lashed out with their putrid grasping hands. M̶̾͐͜e̷̼̦̒̄͜m̵̙̥͋̾ơ̵͎͍̑̾ͅr̶̬̦̼͑̐i̴̢̼̬̿ę̵͈̐s̸͇̳͛̉̌ ̴̧̈́̇͆o̷̹̗̠̍͘͝f̷͎̺̦͝ ̸͈̯͆͋̀å̷̳͉̭̌̓ ̸̡̭̖͆̅͠s̶͚̽̔̚o̵̩̿͋ṅ̸̛̼̯g̷̙͌̂ ̵̢̘̐c̸̡̹͐ō̷̗̭͚̌̌l̵͙̔̋l̵͖̿e̴̩̒c̵͚̓͌t̴̟̊̊í̴̤̭͂̕v̴̞̫͙̈́̎̊e̸͉̒̈́͠l̵̢͇̇̈́͜ỹ̵̜̈́̕ ̴̱̔̏h̸̢̫͈͑̓u̵̩͛͋͑m̴͔̤̒m̵̗͗e̵̦̎͜d̶̨̩̉͠ ̸͖̬͂̇́f̸̝̠̽͝ō̶̘̝͎̔̏r̶̭͗̌ ̸̖͖́͝ẗ̴̫͕͍́h̴͎̥̄͜e̶̩̠̪̿̔̃ ̴̦̻͐̈́l̸̻̈́̀a̴̞̔s̵̘̜̏̌̓t̴̳̿͘ ̸̳̄ṫ̴̼̤̮͝i̷̢̗̬̚m̷̯͉͗̈e̶̢̪̋̆͜,̴̲͓̌̕ ̴̢̺͗͒͜͠a̶̭͑̔̌s̷̲̝̩͋ ̸̻̯̮̐f̵̥̹̈l̶̳͔̈́ẹ̷̜͒̄̑s̴̢̛̲͉̍h̵̝̣̾͑̆ ̸̮̞̖͝-̶̹̞̐̚b̷̛̰̄ỏ̸̡̫͚d̴̢̼̄́i̷͉̓̔ẹ̸̈́̋s̷̻̍͜-̷̻͍̳͂̇ ̵̣̝̙́̕b̴͖̄u̷̮��̤͝r̷̦̤̂͝n̸̨̐̓̿t̸̢͕̆̿͜ ̴̤̭͓̊̐a̵̪͓̬͛̂́n̴͉̔d̸̛̞͐͂ ̵̛̯͚̅m̷͈̘͝͠e̸̒̾̚͜l̷̤̀̊̒t̴͎̞́͑e̵͖͈̞̎ḍ̴̛̒͜ ̸̙̥͒̿ǫ̸̩̫̀͒f̷͕̞̋͝f̷͔̀̔ ̵̩̟̥̓c̴͙̿̐͝h̵͖̉̅a̶̳̅̂r̴͓̬͔̒r̶̯̺̀e̶͎͒̕d̶͓̊̉̓͜ ̵̝͚̇͘b̴̼̰͈̃ơ̴̧̘̂͝ͅn̵̪͆ȩ̴̭̤̕ŝ̷̹̥.̶̞̳̈́̆ ̶̼̣̓̐̚A̸̧̫̹͆̾͂l̵͉̤̽͂̑ì̶͖̉͠v̴̢̥̙̏e̴̯̠̽.̶̲͍̭͆̑ ̵̛̗̲̔͝

̵̬̠̈́͒̎͜

̶̬̆͊͊T̶̢̈́ḩ̷̛̰̤̚e̴͎̐̕͠ ̴̘̕s̷̝͚̈́̂̃h̶͓̮̍̅u̵̘̲͌̃t̴̖̅͝ṱ̶̨̫͆̾͌ē̷̬̋͗r̵̗̹̣̋ ̸͉̈o̴̖͑̓f̴̻̙̎́̄͜ ̸̰̹̀'̸̢̠̳͆͌l̶̞̼̈́́͝ȩ̸̏͂͜n̶̘̪̻̈́s̸͎̏'̸̱̹̠̾̈̊ ̵̡̡̀s̴̤̜͆h̶̲̐̉i̶̜̮̭͋͝͝f̸̫̌̽t̷̛͈̙́͌ḯ̴̲̇́ń̸̺̯͗g̴͕̮̫̈̕ ̵̝̋t̴̬̋o̸̭͊͗̄ ̷̖̱͐͘͘å̴̰̥̦͌ ̷̬̣́͊̕m̷̹̍͘a̷͖̐͒̀n̷̬̑͝g̶͕̓̑̓͜l̵̗̠͂ẽ̷͈͆̕d̷̰̹̐ ̴̰̿͜t̸̝̭̹͊̓o̴̝̖̭̅ř̷̦̱̫̆͠s̸̘̩͛͝͝o̵̠̯̒͆ ̴̪͓͑̐͛o̸̲͓̬͆̔͘f̶̪̤͐̐̋ͅ ̴̩͚͓̒͊a̷̝͑ ̶̝͘ḿ̴̯̣͝o̷̭̗͒̇̑s̶͍̘̀̀t̷̳̝̰̿̈ ̴͓̈́̑͝ḇ̵͓̊e̵̯̫͋͑͝l̵̻͙͑ǫ̴̡̰̉v̵̻͉̓̂͛è̴͎͆d̷̜̜̐̈́͛.̸̥̱̔͑ ̸͖̜́͑́P̵͔̟͎̆a̶͎͈̮͋̕l̸͈̞̗̐e̶̟̦͗ ̵̘̃̇͐͜ģ̸̈̄̌r̴͈̄e̶͈̞̊͂̍͜e̷̝̠̓̏n̷̼̠̈́͌̿͜ ̵̢̲̥̋̑̆e̵͔̜̅̾̍y̴̜̻͑e̵̟͎͉͆̊s̵̬̻͖̍̓ ̷̮͒̄ṿ̶͖̅a̴̼͎̙͌̏c̸̪̃̓͊a̸͕̯̍n̷̖̐ẗ̷͙͈,̷͎͚͈̒ ̶͖̞͐͆b̶̛̰̜͒͝l̵̨̬̑̉ͅó̷͕̺̒̃ó̵̠̜͠d̷̫̼͊̓̓ ̷̺̟̜̑̉ṣ̴̨͈̒t̴̥͒́å̸̮i̷̦͈̩͊̇ň̴̻í̵̯̹̻̓̈́ń̵͇̾̀g̵̣̦͇̔͂ ̴̣͉̍̀ͅt̶̤͌͐ͅh̸̲̓̑͝e̸͓̘̲͆̉̆ ̶̯̻̲̉̉n̸͚̓̃͝e̶̜̜͇̔c̷̼͇̋͠k̶̯͘͠-̵̱̲͔̍͑̓ȧ̷͍̹ċ̴͚̺͗͒c̴̪̳̓͂e̶̥͎͇̒̍s̶͙̙̘͑͂s̶̕͜ö̸̱̳́̚r̶͈̐̾y̸̠͚̔͛̾-̴̢̍t̴̩͝h̷̘̱̆ḙ̵͔̏ ̴̡͍͌͌͜b̵͈̫̓̆o̸̳͇͂̅̏ͅw̴̥͕̿ṱ̷͔̲́i̴͈̹̖͑ę̸̄̊͋-̸̯́͠ ̸̢̨̈́̚ä̸̬͙ ̴̧̅t̶͉̣͝h̴̛̫̊̏o̸̦͂u̸̯͚͇͌̓͝ș̴̺͐a̷̩̍n̸̰̎͗d̸̦̂̕ ̷͓̱̃̆ͅå̸͔r̵͓͂̑r̷̄͂̈͜o̶̡͔̼͆͑̔w̷̹͇̒s̸̮͖̈́ ̴̥̜̪̈̈́̎á̷̢ṇ̶̖̩̆d̴͉̞̮̔ ̸̡̢̥̎̏͑s̵̝̰̊w̴̻͕̘̉̾ô̷̙ṛ̵̱̿͆͘͜d̷̏̉͜s̸̥̣̚ ̴̥͉̗̓͝e̴̬̲͘m̶͍̜̖̂͝b̸̖̜͙͌͠ȩ̵̻͛d̵̡̠͔̅d̷̢̟̹́̿è̷͙̤̈́͒ḍ̶͝͝͝ ̴̝͓̀̓ï̶̖̓́n̴̋͗͜t̴͍̱͉̅͠ó̶̗̝͝ ̸̝̞̉͜h̸̙͖͎̀̍ȉ̸̭͚̉̕s̵̳̈̆ ̷͙̱͙̃b̴̜̩͍̈́o̵̼͎̽͘ͅd̵̢͚̓͗̓y̷̛̜͍ ̴̨̣̭͋l̷̹̑͜ì̵͕ḳ̶͕͙̔̚ẽ̶̠̙̖ ̴͇̙̬̀̃͝s̷̨͆̇e̵̱͌̿͂w̸͕̓į̷̛̼̼n̸̰͔̈́͜͝g̷̰͝ ̸̜̉̽n̴̲̭̽͘e̸̺͈͑̿͠ȩ̵͕̺̀̀͘d̴̳̓͝l̷͚͐͂́͜è̸̛̩̯͛s̵͖̗̓.̵͈̠́.̶͍͉̅͝.̶̳͌̈́.̴̼͇̈̒͋.̵̳̇̃ ̵̯̕A̶̟̔̆s̷͕̤͐̚ ̴̥̀͋͝t̷̟̗͍̀̀ḣ̵̘̫̍e̴̫̎̏͜͝ ̷͔̀G̷̘͑̊ř̵̖͈̊͌ả̵̝͔͘v̴̲̞͉̑̆e̶̩͈͊̈́͋b̷̯̺̙̔͝͠o̴͖͐̉͒r̵̡͖̳̓n̵̝̉̕͠ ̸̧́d̸͎͇̫͝i̶̦̤̔̊́s̵͕̳͗͛͜į̶̛͇̈́ṋ̴̆t̶̝̀͐͝è̶̮̠̳̓̉g̸̛̙͙̯͒ṟ̵͆͒͗a̶͈̠͕̓t̴̖͐ē̵̢̈́s̵̮̤̔̀ ̷̺̗̰̀̈͝l̷̰͈͖̅̚͝ḯ̷̛̩̎ͅk̶̬̫̔e̸̦͉͒̃ ̵̝͛̾̀b̵̛͎̆͗ṷ̵̼̀͊͠ͅr̸̨̟͑̇̎ṉ̴̬̰̔̇ṭ̴̱̽̓͜ ̶͇̩̗͒p̵̘͖̘̂̓͛â̶̭͇͖̓r̸̲̳͔͐̒͠c̵̟̩̈́̓̇h̵͔̩̾͝m̷̮̅͒́ͅë̵̟̩̻n̶͉͠t̵͇̻̆͒͝,̸͙͛̽ ̸̦͝t̵̳͎͛̿ḧ̸̢́̓͝ä̶͔t̷̨͔̲̐͐͊ ̷̲̓̋l̷̟̜͐ì̷̬f̶͍̥̾͘̕ę̵̾l̸̫͌̉͘ḛ̷̗̈͒̒s̶̺̊s̸̱̎̉̏ ̵̝͋s̵̢͂̐t̵͉̻̹̾ä̵̲̦͇́͂͝r̷̜͈̰̎͑̆e̶̪̰̓̃͠ ̶̗͎̓̕͜͝f̴̥͈̹͂̂͠í̴͔͚͌x̶̣̻̯̂̊à̵̯̀t̴̛̯͆̉e̶͎͒d̷͍͐ ̵̪̜͋͆ọ̶́ṉ̶̖̂͂̅ ̷̬͆h̷̳͔̪̔i̶̲͗̈́́m̴̼̹̒̒.̷̰͛.̸̠̫̔͝.̶̝̫̚ ̶̼̞̔s̴̮̩̀̅͛ͅo̵̡̮̪̐̐ŕ̴͈̓̎r̷̯͎͑̈̀o̴̲͎͂w̵̨͋̒̓,̸̭̀̽̉ ̸̨̞͐͂̅d̴̖̎i̸̛̦͚̙̍s̴̞̻̞͗͆g̵̭̲͊͂͝ǘ̶ͅs̵͇̞͘͠ț̷̓͜,̶͓̯̜͆ ̸̢̹́̽l̵̨̘͐ó̵͖͊̊ͅv̸̠̄͊e̵̤̒̔,̵̛͕͗̎ ̴̩͈̕a̶̟̯̒ĉ̵̰̤͆͐c̴̲͇͂u̴̞͙̤̒s̷̝̥̖̋̈ă̸̡͘͘ţ̵́ͅḭ̵̀͑̏͜ȍ̸͉̙͒ṅ̸̨̗̟̈͝,̸͈͗͗ ̸̢̤̈́̂́j̵̣̫̍̀ư̶̰͒̎d̴̬̒̔g̴̥̦͙͠e̴͙̮͍͒m̷͙͚͛ē̵̙̗ņ̷͙̄̔t̵͖̑͐,̵̰̆̆ ̸̫̣͆̆͠p̵͔͗̓i̴̡̡̽t̶̽̊͋͜y̷̆́͜͝,̸͓̮̮͛̈́ ̶̻̂͂l̵̖̝̊͠o̷͎̯͛͐̉n̶̰̕g̸̭̋͊̂ì̸͔n̵̼̫̅̚͜ģ̵̊̎̃.̵̟̺́

̷̡̄B̷̘͋͌ẽ̷͕͚c̶̫̿͘ǎ̴̤͎͖̎̚ụ̸̺͋̇͜ś̷͍̆e̸̺̤͆̽ ̷̜̞͍̈̚̚ȧ̵̮͇͐͠t̵̞̻͂͗ ̷͚̮̌̏ͅt̵̖̎͗͝i̶̪͇̲̅m̵̤͓͔̒ȅ̸͓͓̳ś̴̻,̴̤̯̐̋̈ ̸̠͎͖̓͐͝t̴̯̮̩̾́ḩ̶̲̋̈́ọ̵͉̈́ş̶̰͍̐̍̄ė̵̝̫͐ ̶̟̲̈́a̷̲̪̩͊͊r̴͎̝̞͛̈́̚ṟ̷̡̬̿̉o̸͓̣̿́w̵̼̟̉̉s̶̢̭͍͑̇ ̷̄͂̿͜ȃ̵͈̥̈́n̸̦͔͗d̸̜̓͘ ̵͕̈́̚͜b̸̛̈́̏͜l̶̲̔͝ä̷̦͐̕d̵̳̉̋e̶̟͐s̴̪̦͈̽͒̄.̸̡̰̼̆̀.̵̗͕͚̿.̶̢̔ ̶̧̤͂͑a̶̺̗̾ȓ̷̥ͅḙ̴͆̍̄ ̶̢̲̤̕͝͝ḫ̸̠̘̓i̵̩͈̇͛͝š̵͚͖̫ ̴̱͙̅͝ṽ̴̩̩̹͝e̶̬̘̕r̵̻̄ẏ̵̳̊̈ ̸̤̈o̷̧͐̓ẁ̶̤̾ǹ̶̡͉̇̚ ̵̧͉͠t̴̼͑ẹ̵̮̆́e̴̼̝̐t̵͓̠͊̕h̴̘̀̃̚ ̷̧͍̓a̶̳̼̿̚ͅǹ̶͔̝̂d̴̢͉̗̈́̃ ̶̠͎̌c̸̱͊l̶͚͑̔̚a̵̭̟͗̃͠w̸̧̖̅̿s̷̡̪͔̉̽.̶̨̪̥̀́

̴̧̧̢͓͎̜͚̯̫͖͓̱̫̥͚̥̰̘̗̻͖͕̦̖̥̫͔̬̥͇̫̗͍͔̦̪͕͉̱̈͊̃̃̓́͒̓̐͜͝͝'̵̡̨̨̧̧̡̳̮̞͉̗̰̮̹̰̟͕̟̣͚͎̹̤̠̣͈̰̟̖̠̗̗̹͓͈͎͙̔̆̆͛́̀̽̃̀̔̄̆̒͋̏͊͘̕͝͝͝M̴̙̋̈̓̏̅̆̒̒̅̄̓̿̋̐̑̿̽̽̂̓̆̓̇͒͆̕͝͝͝͠ǔ̷̠̘͕͕͕̟͇͖̝͓̙͔̖͓̪̮̹͉̖̱̉͐̿̀͑́̎̌͊͝ř̵̨̢͖̜͈͓̹̭̞̝̺͔̘͇͕̺͖͙͈͉͕̺̦̫̗͚̻̟̙͗͜d̷̡̨̨̛̞͙̳͓̲̗̥̖̠̮̅̀͆͂͆͂̎̀̄̊́̈̀̿̌͒̿́̇̋̈́͒̈́͗͑̏̚͠͝͠ȩ̸̼͇̻̳̤̣̜̃̋̿̾͛̀͆̔̎̂̔̐͐̄̉̑͗́̚͜͠ŗ̶̡̙̖̝̹̝̜͉̘͍͔̲̞̣̥̞̝̝̦̇͐̇̓̽͐̀̈́̆͗͒͊̌̾̑̓͛̋͑̒̍͂̓͘̕͘̚͠͠ͅͅͅe̵̛͉̦͙̖̙̗̔͆̈̽̀̽̊̏͗̀̽̓̐͛͋̌̅͗͂́̓̃͘͝͝͝r̵̟̟͖̳̬͛̔͗̒͆̒͋͗͋͌̿̌͑̃̆̀̋͆̎̿̆́̀͆̓̊͘̚.̷̡͕̮̝̗͍̞̗̹̻̪̱̩͕͉̼̻̣̘͌̑͋̍͝.̴̧̡̡̨̨̢̨̪̞̞̫̥̬̥̦͖̭̱̰̗̞̟̝͉͍̤̫̙̱̞̭͕͓̬͙̻̥̮̭͙̤̆̓͋͆͂̂̿̋̉͐̀͌̏̐̀͑̍̓̆̃͒̐̿́̓̓͆̉̉̋.̸̧̢̡̧̛̛̬̲̼̜̳̘̯̮͓̠̤̹̩͕̱̠̱͔͉̦͔̲͚͍̯͖̠̱͖̬̩̬͕̄́̆̈̎͗̓̈́̾̈͆̓̓̓̍̀̔͌̽̈̒̌̚͘͘͠͝ͅ ̸̛̛̛̖̦͇̓́̈͋̓͊̃͒̃̂̋̍̂̀͆̀̇̈́͊̈́͊͋͘͝͝R̵̢̧̢̡̟̮̹̭̰̼̬͚̳̠͓̣̮̹̣͍͔̠̟̘̳̩̤̯̯̳͎͓̙̳̹̅̍͛͛̔̆̕͝͠ą̵̢̛̱̳̲̭͇̯̫̣͎͕͈̼̒̐̆͂̓͗̆́͜͜͝͠t̸̢̛̟̟̠͔̹̪̩̺͖̞̐̀̓͂̀͂̒̀̽̂̽̌̓̿̆̈͘͝͝͠.̸̧̣̬̲̲̈̾͒́͊̏͗͝.̴̡̢̨̨͔͚̜̩̘͈̦̟̤̙͚̜̺̜͈̪̬̝̾̾̊͋͊̈̐̏͊͑̍̓̀̓̃͜ͅͅ'̷̨̨̛͈͖͇͈̟͇͇̯͙̯̗̾̓̃̿́̄̆͗͐͑̈́̓̔̓̄̈͋͆́̃͊̎̚ͅ ̴̡̨̢̨̢̨��̦̩̺̬̟̠̞̭͓̭̲͚̻̖͕̻̯̜̣͈̯̭̹̀͐̀̎̐̆̓̄͌̀̉̇̒̃͑͝

-̴̟̕ ̶͍̂Ț̵̉h̸͖̿e̸̜̓ ̶̎͜c̶̗͛ó̴͓r̶͇̈́p̸̧̂s̷̭̐ě̸̝ ̵̘̎w̴̧̽ơ̷̹u̶̪͘l̶͉̎d̷͔́ ̸̯̓ș̵͆ą̷̌y̵̗͐ ̶̡͝i̷͚͝n̴̫͆ ̸͗͜ǵ̷̳â̸̢r̷̼̒b̶͉̕ļ̶̊ẻ̶͓ḑ̸̈́,̵͎̊ ̸̠͋ǵ̴̖ǘ̶̘r̸̤͝g̴͖͋l̵͚̍i̵̱̒n̷͔̿g̸̱͠ ̵̗̌r̵̠̽a̸̜͘s̷̘̐p̴̜̏.̷͔́ ̷̡͠R̸̩̅e̸͈̅g̴̼̀r̴͖̈́e̵̳͊t̴͈̕.̴̹͠

̷̱͆T̷̹͝h̵̹͊ȃ̷̼ẗ̵̟ ̴̯́c̶͙̽o̸͚̓r̴͉̀p̷͎͋s̸̺̆ẹ̷̚ ̷̤̓t̶̠̐u̵̺͋ř̵̥n̸͈̍ ̸̱̔t̵͉̆ȍ̸̞ ̴̳̄c̴̺̉ǫ̴̃u̷͔͆n̴̠̂t̴̺́l̸̦͘e̵̗͒s̸̗̉s̸͉͌,̵̛̘ ̴͍̚o̷̠͒f̶͔̋ ̵̠̈́p̶̹̀e̴͍̿o̴̞̐p̴̀͜l̵̪̈́e̸͚͛ ̶̫͝ẁ̷͎h̶͔͂ỏ̴̰s̴͖̓e̸̤̋ ̶̗̍b̷̢̅l̵̩̊o̴̡̔o̶̘̍ď̷̼ ̷͇̕ṡ̸̨ț̸̓a̸̘͗ȉ̴̝n̴̗̾s̸͎̃ ̵̺̀h̴̿͜i̸̲̽m̷̗̀–̷̧̛ ̶͙̇H̶̨̑a̵͉͛n̶̹̎d̸̺̈́ś̶̭,̶̩̅ ̶͎̎j̶̪̎à̶̙w̴͍͘s̷̖̓,̶̫͝ ̴̱̚č̴̙l̴̙͊a̴̗͌ẃ̵̟s̵̳̈́,̴̥̃ ̵̭̎ḅ̶́l̶̖̒a̶̝̎d̸͂ͅe̷̟̓s̷̻̆.̷͍͝.̸̝́ ̴̥͠T̷͎̆h̴͎̅ḛ̸́ ̴̢͠ì̸̫n̴͈̄ș̸͌t̸̯̋i̷̯͊g̸̬̔a̷̠̎ẗ̸͈o̶͎̐r̶̪̅s̶̗͝ ̵̙͘o̴͈͋f̸͚̐ ̶̨̿t̶̳̅ḧ̴̹e̴̤͂ ̶̗̀C̶̮̔ṙ̶̲u̵͈̐s̶̺̽a̵̺̓d̶͉̀e̴̤͊s̴͇͝,̸̛̰ ̵̒ͅt̸̮̑ḫ̶̉e̸̲͛ ̸͖̈́a̴̰͂c̵̛͈c̷̲̋o̵̲̓m̷̳̊p̸̣͝ľ̵̟i̶̛͙c̴̗͝ē̷̯ş̷́.̸̥̃.̵̧̓.̶͖̀ ̸̙̕A̵̟̒n̵̜̾d̶̥̈́ ̷͓͆t̴̩̀h̷̋ͅẹ̵̓ ̵͈͝ȉ̴̮ṅ̷̨n̶̠̓ơ̵̻c̵̺͠e̶̼̐n̵͚̓t̸̮̾s̷̰̑ ̵̹̄ẇ̷̠h̸̰͆o̴̪̓ ̵̞̽w̶̥͐ë̵̬r̴̈͜è̵͈ ̴͖̋ç̵̐a̵̮͋ü̵͍g̴͍̓h̴̼̄t̷͕̎ ̷̫̋i̷͖̔n̶̘͋ ̷͚͂t̸̝͝h̵̪̓ẽ̸̜ ̸̺̆l̸̻͂ï̸͍ñ̷͚ḛ̸͋ ̸͕̕o̷̡͌f̷̜́ ̵̝̌f̴͈̊ḯ̸͈r̴͉̊ĕ̷̜,̶̼͝ ̴͚̄b̵͔̚l̵̻͗ỉ̶͈n̷̛̳d̴̥̋i̶̭̿n̵̹͆ǧ̴̟ ̴͈͒g̵͚̀r̸̠̕í̶͚ẽ̷̖f̸̗̂-̷̙̾b̵̼͊ọ̵̿r̷͕̓ṇ̸̌ę̵͆ ̴̦̅w̶̨͒r̴̳͝a̵̛͇t̵̞̎h̵͔͘f̸̗̎ǔ̴̻l̸͕̊ ̸͕́t̸̞̔h̵̼͛i̴̼͘ŗ̷̅s̶̞̓ṯ̸͊ ̷̯͛f̴̗̓ő̴̡r̸̝̍ ̷͔̀r̸̮̓e̶͇̐v̷̫͐e̷̛̱n̶̺̄g̵̝̏e̸̖͑.̸̙̉ ̶͚̈́Ḫ̵̈́ä̶͎́n̵̝̾d̴̮̈́s̵̺̋ ̶͚̿r̸̻̚e̸͉͌a̴͖͌c̷̳̓h̶̟͋i̸̬͌n̸̜͗ģ̶̀,̷̤̾ ̴̪̇ĝ̸̘ȓ̴̠a̶̤͆p̸̯͐p̷̰̎l̵̳̓i̸͉͆ņ̶̈g̸͉̈́–̸̬̏ ̶͉͌C̵̺̈́l̴͍̾a̶̜̅w̸͙͝í̸͉ǹ̵͈g̶͓̕ ̶̰̔à̷̱n̷͍̒d̴̺̽ ̵̟̑p̵̢̊u̸̦͛l̸̊͜l̴̥̆ị̵̀n̶̩̋g̸̖͝ ̴̦̈́à̷̬t̴̪͘ ̴̞͝h̶̳̿i̵̼̇s̵̡̈́ ̵̞͠b̵͎͛ó̷͉d̵̠̐y̵̲̎ ̷̱͝a̴̯̋n̸̘͠ď̵̡ ̵̫͗l̷̰̏i̴̧̐m̷͔̒b̶̰̊ş̴͊,̵̳͒ ̸̮̌t̵̪̓e̷̝̔à̶̮r̶̠͘i̷̯̾n̵͎̽g̸̜̈́ ̸̻̕a̶͙̅p̵̼̽a̸̬̍r̵̰͘t̴̼͒,̴̞͊ ̸͌͜r̸̢̊i̷̖̕ṗ̵͈p̷̓͜i̴̳̔ň̶͈g̴͖̏ ̴͖̐ȍ̴͓f̷̱͒f̴̦̓.̵͍̈́.̵͇͝.̸̖̈́ ̵̛͓s̵̖̈́ẗ̴͍́r̸̻̊à̴͜n̶͓̒ġ̸̼l̸̠̄i̸̺͠n̸͇̂ḡ̷̫.̶̙͗ ̸̛͔W̴̚͜i̸̲͆t̸͍̒h̴̗̀ ̶̜͌t̵̗̂h̴̟͘è̷̖m̸͍̂,̴̹̕ ̵̝͒t̵͕̀h̴͎̑e̷̽ͅ ̴͖̿f̵͍͗á̵͖c̷̲̍e̴̝̋ ̵̤͝ő̸̘f̴̣̾ ̵̼͂a̷͈̿ ̷̣͆M̴̫͐ḁ̵̾u̵͎͆l̴̫̾e̵̯̕r̶͙̚–̶͈͊ ̷͉̇S̷̳̊ô̸͎r̶̞͌e̷̿ͅn̴̬͝'̷̖̂s̵̱̽.̸͉̽ ̵̩̓Ȏ̷̢n̷̻͘e̵̡͂ ̸͔̽m̴̳͘o̸̼̅r̷̯̀ë̴̗ ̴̳̒a̵̹̓ď̶̺d̷͍̔ẽ̴̦d̵̠̆ ̴̳̕t̸͚̊o̷̧̚ ̷̮̂t̷̺̽h̴̦̀ë̴̝́ ̷̜̅c̷̡̈́ǫ̵̎ủ̸͍n̸̞̓t̶̲͐.̷͓̒.̷̙͌ ̵̜̐Ạ̶̋ń̵̹d̷̼̋ ̸̭̿ḧ̶̭i̶̦̿s̶̪̓ ̵̛̜č̶̢l̷̒ͅa̶̱͠n̵̦̅.̸̢͆

—"Would you be better if I emulate him?" A hand on his shoulder, the winged Hypogean now sitting cross-legged and slightly hunched over. Worried, sympathetic, understanding.... As much a being of negativity can feel such emotions anyways. Or mimic.

“...yes.”

“Alright.”

A branch of familiar lilies is placed on the mattress, before him. And the inky form shifts, becoming familiar, as the pungent stench of kerosine, wood, banana and ink dulls to change into softer floral scent. Familiar.

Calming.

Cold, yet warm arms drape around his tense figure. A hand gliding through his strands and fur, stroking soothingly. As a soft, velvety tranquil and serene voice hums a lullaby. A melody, softly whistled in tender low tone. Song most adored– The tune taking form more vividly as his eyelids at last drift shut. Of sweet cheerful memories, an albino night nymph and a noble 'boy', swaying to romantic songs at the Mythic tavern, singing in duet, standing out in the Winter's snowy chill and gazing at the stars dotting the skies... Constellations the painter traces, maps out on his back with fond feathery touches.

Leaving kisses on each and every freckle, every scar, every wound -old, new, partially healed, or fully. Foreheads resting together... Mornings spent cuddling, days and nights spent in travels across the map to nooks and crannies less known. Sparring together..

—“Would it be so terribe for me to say that I love you, with my very being..? A sin to confess you are the light in my eternity, have brought me alive, a reason to continue drawing breath still..?” Cold hands cupping his face, a cold forehead pressed against his own and a serene smile playing on the lips so mournful normally. A feather-light kiss is pressed, lingering for a moment—Benediction. Prayer and expression of unfaltering devotion in one. In the twilight between friendship...And something far more deeper, more profound than fickle romance or passion.

"Sleep well, my Muse."

The hasty pattering of little booted feet, and obnoxiously loud clanking of shield and sword soon enough shatters the peace. Curled onto his side and huddled with his friend, head propped on the knuckles of one hand, the soft look of calm neutrality jag into a scoff. Oh great. Right as I finally got him to sleep. Slowly the regal appearance dissipates away to reveal the Sinister jester, pale purple pits glaring up at the doorway in a mildly discontent deadpan while keeping his scent from reverting. —“Ma-!” A zipper materializes on the knightly-dressed ginger and white-furred loudmouth, effectively shutting him up before his nails-on-chalkboard squeaky-toy voice wakes up the slumbering figure. And the furball has the gal to gape at him in shocked surprise. Pressing a finger to his downturned jagged mouth, the Hypogean’s voice flits into the rodent’s head just as he hisses ‘Shh!’. Tone down your trap, fat-rat. You blind or need your eyeballs checked? What? The brat’s thoughts are a complete mess, but one thing stands out: Hogan. Need Pirin. Urgent. ..Riight. Sure. Rolling his eyes, in a blink of an eye Berial is gone, poofing away. Only to emerge from the ground in front of the Arcane chief’s familiar, hands on his hips and slowly bend to be on eye-level with a tilt of the head. Just as the zipper peels back to let Chippy talk.

—“Magister Merlin wants to talk to Pirin. Chippy was going to say that General Hogan has sent a letter for him...uhm.. It’s an invitation to Whiteridge for the festival, but Merlin redirected it to Pirin….” Not impressive news. Or anything new, it’s a staple at this point.

—“Uh-Huh.” Straightening up with a snap, the clown’s dismissive sneer of disdain remains- “Yeah, just tell your owner we’re going to set off later when Pirin wakes up.” And then promptly turns his back to the pip-squeak, eyes closed and chin help up- looking down his pointed nose as he flicks his wrist. “Ooff you go, shoo-todaloo.” With that—Berial snaps his fingers, opening a portal right underneath the hamster’s feet through which Chippy falls.

…

‘hhmmh…’ -Two eyes blink open blearily, mind still muddled by vestiges of sleep clinging. Out the tall mosaic window the skies are painted in hues of black and speckled with stars, an owl hoot in the distance, or another nightly critter. At the foot of the bed, like a gargoyle of a cathedral, perches Berial. Did you watch me sleep? Nope~! Just was keeping an eye. ….And the difference is..?

—“That you’d have nightmares if the former~! And have gone with the latter!”

—“...Mhm, yep. Checks about right.” Come on now, Little finch~! I chase your bad dreams away, and this is what I get?? Rude, hmph.

—“Well you did sleep well!” You want an applause? I wouldn’t mind it!

Sitting up on the bed with huffed effort, Pirin’s face scrunches in a wincing scowl, ears pinning back low against his skull; Vertigo, nausea and voracity warring just as a burn rises up from the chest, spills to the throat like volcano that he swallows back. Two bottomless pits closely follow, grin gone. “At least nothing is visible...Nobody would know..” Pushing off from the soft but stiff mattress, the Mauler-appearing spirit harshly clicks his teeth, long tail flickering to keep balance.

It’s like my legs had been frozen or cast in fuc- goddamn cement. Fur bristled and puffed out, a hissing snarl slips out the cleft lips, leaf-like nose flaring sharply. This will be just lovely. Better than being cooped up and doing nothing at any rate. Ever so slowly a hum brews up, low thrilling and drawn-out chirp… to spite the throbbing that relentlessly pounds on his skull, has been for two months, three now, same as that pesky exhaustion draped onto his back like a mountain. As if the ache in the chest and acid aren’t enough. ...How did mamma stay calm the whole time..? And to deal with this five times no less! How?? I’m over here loosing half my mind!

—“If it will make you feel better, I have good.. and bad news. Which one?” —“Whichever. Shoot.” Claws rake against wood in clipped, measured stalk, the curly hair of ink spinning ‘round to continue staring after his back. In a flash, the tufted ears, fur, wings and tail retract to give rise to much more humanoid appearance. Just as the sharp claws revert to feet, disheveled bangs falling back into place like a curtain. In moments the soft rustling of fabric fills the silence, the figure mechanically pulling the white shirt over his head and torso then slipping on the deep scarlet-red tailcoat lined with embroidery in black. At nothing being said, the short man pauses after tensely straightening out the wrinkles of the garments. Berial.

—“We’re going to Whiteridge—Hogan wants to talk to you before we set off to raze the duchy. Merlin’s lil tin rat barged in to deliver the message about it.” Snowy owl-esque eyebrows furrow, haggard and coldly miffed eyes of the reflection in the mirror meeting his own.

—“Hogan? You sure it’s not at Merlin? Since they’re buddies and what-have-you.”

—“Best guess is the twat redirected the invite to you, no doubt to dodge whatever bullet the crisis going on there.” It’s always snafu, ever since day one of this shitshow. So nothing surprising.

—“Tch, can’t tell if poor man’s genuinely terrible at recommending tourism destinations, or if he’s in cahoots with Mr. Legend to off me and call it an accident.” The shuffling of fabric resumes, followed up by the tump of boots striking wood. “First time didn’t work, guess second’s the charm.”

—“M, to be fair—Hogan didn’t know you’ll get yanked into another adventure in Rustport. Loony-mage is a different story.”

—“..You really have grown soft, ha Berial? Playing mortal’s advocate?”

—“Har-Har. I’m simply stating facts on the table, not playing defense.” The fake magister merely snorts with a smugly mirthful glance over his shoulder, silky hair pulled up in his gloved hands. Tying it into a low ponytail, the ghostly-white man rolls it up into a tight bun at his nape and pins it with a hairpin from unravelling. A small lantern which emits a soft, warm glow dangling from it like a tassel, a delicate golden tassel chain attached to the hair stick, framing the bun from below.

“Why are you putting on another coat.?”

—“Let’s call it a precautionary measure. I’m having a bad feeling about this whole story. Ever since the first trip when the general passed the letter… I could’ve been paranoid, still be. Not a first.” But an Eclipse’s intuition tells no lies, does it? Never did. It exposes them, and where there’s rot- The source isn’t far behind.

One last glance at back the clear surface of the glass, wooden mask held in hand and blue bandana in the other, the man dons them on. The translucent black piece of cloth he had affixed to the woodmask falling over his lower face. A pelt is wound around his neck in coils, the fur-coat buttoned up snug and hood drawn up, Pirin makes his way out the dorm. The walk down the endlessly winding corridor and descent on the spiraling staircase passes in a faceless blur, raising a gloved hand in affable brief hello to Dolly per body’s reflex.

What grips the magister’s perpetually preoccupied mind, is the invitation.

It was from Whiteridge, anonymous beyond that. Back then it had caused excitement to spike, even if with a prod of puzzlement—had assumed it was from his utmost beloved. The silence at long last broken… until a more thorough examining later in private. The penmanship and very style of it wasn’t anything like Ludovic’s. The letter had teetered on informal, tone far too cheerful and elated to the point of bordering on… manic or desperate. And what more was swift to grab his attention, was the scent the very parchment held. A perfume, rather than cologne or the scent of lilies so familiar. But the last clue, the biggest dead giveaway, was the lack of signature in the very bottom right of the letter where a tiny ‘accidental’ ink-splotch would be. Or ‘Owl’ would be written.

If in immense rush, the letters are signed with a circled dot.

Frowing at the script, Pirin’s hands shake while gripping the letter, nearly ripping the parchment. A cold chill darts down his spine, heart thundering under his ribcage, built-up anxiety hissing loud. What if he’d been found out? Needs help? Bolting out of the chair, it thuds behind the Wilder's back as he seizes the device the dwarven craftsman had given him all those months ago. Letters take too long. Hastily dialing up a contact and almost dropping the gadget, pearl eyes stare at it, circling around the dorm room restless. A pause much too long.

—“Vanya…?” -The Graveborn’s familiar dulcet voice comes from the other end, the image of the disguised man peering up in puzzlement. Merlindabest wasn’t always good at long distances, even now, the image still flickers as static buzzes at times. Better than nothing. The confusion turns to mild worry at the lack of response. “Vanya, what is happening?”

—“...’Vic.. Where are you?” Shaky. —“At my manor. You worry me-” —“Please tell me you’re not injured,‘Vic.” Quiet. —“No, Love. I am alright. The Fallen king nor his followers suspect a thing.” A weak, quivering sigh of relief. The frail-appearing figure on the other side sliding down onto the floor kneeling.

—“I got a letter from Whiteridge as an anonymous invitation, and assumed it was from you initially.” Concern dissipates a notch, the light scowl going back to mystified as he listens intently. Shuffling of paper, a letter being held up in front of the jittery hologram. Pale green eyes squint a little in concentration at the script scrawled onto the page, scanning the content. “Then the thought that it’s a disress signal crossed, until reading it over again.. I..I needed to check in with you.”

—“I’m afraid I cannot recognize the sender… However from the penmanship, I suspect it is possible to be a distant relative of mine. I am not fully certain.”

—“Understandable, you’ve lost contact long ago since withdrawing to the Everstill manor.” Wiping away the welled-up tears at the corner of his eyes with a strained smile, the letter is folded up neatly and slid back into its envelope and pocketed.

“Still, better than nothing. Thanks, my Cloud.” A small, graceful smile of fond affection plays on the boy’s pale face.

—“Of course. It is of no trouble.”

—“-And ‘Vic.?” —“Yes?”

—“Do you- Have time?” Moment of thought, green eyes flickering to the side, smile faltering.

—“Not a lot, I fear. But I can spare an hour..?” The faux Mauler’s smile stretches to a grin, settling to sit more comfortably on the floor with tail draped in his lap.

—“Should do. At least ‘til we meet again in person. You know how it is with your truly~.”

—“I know. I confess, I am not better in this regard.”

—“Heh.”

Guess I’m about to find out who tis mysterious relative is.

Already scheming, ‘Magister’ Pirin steps through the doorway of the Mystical House, head held high. And not far behind, the jester hops into portals randomly, pausing midair after jumping out of the ground, wide gleeful smirk back.

—“And Berial? Can you go fetch our dear squad-mates? I’ve sent them their invites week in advance to ensure they have time to mull it over and prepare.” Ohohoho! This is going to be so fun! With a dramatic bow which results in a somersault. Sonja and Sinbad couldn’t accept due to being swamped with work, Soren sent back that he’ll be with his clan and take a rain check on this adventure and very stern warning of ‘Don’t do something stupid and get yourself killed.’ and Carolina responded back to the letter with great delay.

‘My apologies for responding this late, my friend! I will be sure to accompany you later, however! ...If your adventures have not reached their conclusion by that point. And..if so, I will be with you on the next for certain! Be careful in the snow, Stranja, please. Looking forward to meeting once more!

Warm hugs,

C.’

Watching Berial sink into the ground, a gleam of fire dances in the figure’s eyes, daring smirk of pure determined defiance under the black veil. Craziness is my game, so bring it. Stepping out onto beach of Ryeham, the mage closes the door behind his back and begins striding ahead.

Not once looking back.

[landograndprix]

Bcs you asked about cheating:

tbh i hate cheating in a relationship (like i have dnf'ed books from my favourite romance authors because they involved cheating)

i'd immediately break up with my partner because if you appreciated your partner enough then you simply wouldn't do that and our girlie here seems like she wants one thing (that she and charles may have in common) and lando just doesn't want that now (but he still loves her) but she doesn't seem dumb enough to cheat (maybe dumb isn't the right word but i'm over caffeinated and can't think of the right word)

Yesss, I don't want girlie to actually cheat as in sleep with Charles etc but y'know a lot of people consider a lot of other things as cheating as well..now I'm going to be a spoil for the next chapter but obviously girlie and Charles are gonna be texting back and forth but it's in flirty undertones and actually getting into private/emotional territory and I know some people considered that as cheating too

[boyakishantriage]

The goddess was frozen, as the girl's tongue made her brain fry. She was kissing a girl, she was kissing a girl~.

Finally, she pulled back, hand caressing her ass, her thigh as she slowly back off.

"That's all I wanted. Bye~" She said it playfully, like a dunce who'd done something highly flirty but with a clear loud musky undertone. A hungry one.

His heart nearly thumped out his chest, a painful beating Boom Boom Boom as the man walked out. He had to have

That ass.

A whirlwind later.

"Thought I'd suggest you... Take these couple days as break." She state, before her tongue feasting upon the wealth before her. Sweet fish, good thing she didn't mind seafood.

Gripping her mouth, the black haired looked up at her. Freezing as her tongue shifted back and forth along it.

"... Oh? What, do you want someone to find us?" Her head turning, the tongue almost painfully moving over the point as she gripped her thigh, squeezing it as she traced a finger along her belly, placing it into her mouth.

"Salty~"

The girl didn't even appear shocked by the goddess as she appeared in her room, since she couldn't just appear, she instead had a message pop up for hours. The 'heroes' all reacted similarly, surprised, shocked... Lewdly. But this one, she instead looked down, spat into a bin for the umpteenth cracked her bones and snapped her fingers, her eye shimmering orange as everything vanished. What little dust fell onto the scattered across the room.

The goddess appeared into her room, before she'd even appeared, staring into the bright lights she summoned off her she cut in like she did now with this sent-

"You're actually kind of cute."

Almost immediately blushing, as the girl's dumb tilted head stared blankly at her.

"We- Er. Uhm. Excuse me?"

"25. Came here, maybe 14? Expected to grow, likely..."

She trailed off, as her eyes traced her body. A smile before a devious lick as she trailed down.

"hmm. Wouldn't mind tapping-"

She appeared in a bright flash of light, the woman rolling off the bed as she gripped the many. Many. Many. Many plushies she'd brought in the two of five bags she'd brought.

"... As I was saying..."

The American accent went away with a slightly british one, as she warmly and visually grew impressive as the girl wolf whistled from the floor, watching her form as she moved. Face growing more flushed as the girl's grin grew wider.

It took a while before the goddess finally went to the next room, grasping her face as she forced herself to focus. She'd been flirted before, Isanagi, you've seduced, been seduced by those you both love and didn't love...

The goddess reappeared, the girl dropping an eye lid, smirking as she watched the older woman walked past. Her face no doubt seeming to have a natural flush in her cheeks. Her back shivered, moving slightly through the cloth in the confined room.

The goddess spoke, the girl keeping the blush up as she blew kisses, winked, but never going further. Always enough to excite her heart, make her blush but never more.

"As mentioned, I'm still unable to do any of my duties, as I am quite limited in my mana, well fighting a war, keeping key players in sight, countering several opposes and keeping you all empowered as you fought...THat. that~. That takes a lot outta a gal... Regardless, the demon king's... unfortunate case has left me with questions, so I shall have you run tests. Need no paper, just a show of skill and character. But, I need a few days." With that, the goddess stepped off the podium, her size changing mana not activated, her hair naturally kept and beautiful. All little details to support that she couldn't magically do the tests now, while doing her role as a goddess. She walked out, regally as she closed the door shut.

Her heart pounded, as she closed the door behind her. Truth be told, the morning rounds did the ringer for her, starting on the first floor, heroes unhappy with the need to wait, then moving to improve themselves. That was planned, a murder making her blush this hard...

Her heart pounded, body shaking as she fell onto her bed.

She didn't notice as the girl walked into the room, her door now locked as she calmly walked in. Leaning over her neck, breathing heavily into it. She asked. "Wotcher thinking about?"

The goddess nearly fell over-herself, almost crying out in shock as the girl shoved herself into her.

[pink-strawberry-kissess]

Yeah, I also think Leon’s just a nice guy with ridiculously good looks. So whenever he asks someone out for lunch/dinner, his face makes it come off as flirty? Idk. Maybe he really just wants someone to have a friendly chat with minus the sexual undertones (which he probably gets most of the time at work--he may or may not have an active fans club consisting of government employees/agents who desire him)! 

Which reminds me...in ID, it looked like ShenMei was interested in him too (and just had to play hard to get and of course there was this thing with Jason that they had to do), but yeah ADA all the way. LOL. His thing with ShenMei was honestly weird.

yes exactly.. honestly i go back and forth between, he's awkward- to he's being "flirty" to compensate for the fact that he's awkward. and his asking for dinner with people is being interpreted as flirty. like the running joke is also that he's fucking hungry and doesn't want to eat alone lmao.

casting aside his enormous amount of flirting in og re4.. like he's not exactly being portrayed as overtly flirty in the newer iterations imo.

but especially in re4r since he's borderline mean to ashley in the remake. he was much sweeter in og re4 to ashley imo. (this is more so a commentary on his interactions with ashley since they're being interpreted as potentially flirty for some reason by pro shippers)

he has more of a smirk with ada which is interesting ig. but i'm getting side tracked

shen may was def just a teaser into thinking that she was ada imo. when she was first introduced i think people kept thinking she was ada. i always assumed that shen may was into jason because he saved her brother and felt indebted to him as well.

i always interpreted that scene as her being like, "yeah, but no not really. maybe later."

"it's classified- for now."

also i think it was weird/kinda funny how the fandom also interpreted this as Leon only liking Asian girls though.

[hawnks]

Party Attire 

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

r18 (mdni)

wordcount: 1,600

my drabble for the valentines day exchange uwu. for @some-kindofgnome hope i did your wants justice. smooch. 

warnings: dom/sub undertones, oral s** (giving & receiving), edging, spit, size kink

.....................................................................

He’d warned you about that skirt. 

In the hall outside the bathroom of the four star restaurant his parents invited you to. Crowding you against the posh wallpaper. Fingers digging into the skin just below your hemline. Admittedly, it was pushing the boundary between business chic and let me get railed on my five break and then meet you back here to talk about the budget requests. A cute, pink pleated number you’d thrifted a few months back. The weather had just turned right to wear it with some knee socks. It was fun and flirty, you thought. A little daring, sure, but not enough to draw any attention that was too salacious.

Katsuki had other opinions. 

“We get home, I’m fucking you so hard you won’t be able to form a coherent thought for days.” 

He made good on his word. And after pampering you a little bit (no thinking required with your boyfriend literally carrying you wherever you needed to go), Katsuki passed his final judgement on your dinner attire. 

“No.”

You put on your best pout, waggling the (now very stained) skirt at him. He slapped your hands out of his face, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the swish of the fabric, or how they fell to the marks he left on your thighs. 

“Throw that shit out,” he groused. 

You know he would never actually dare to tell you what you can and can’t wear. You also know he had a soft (and inexplicable) spot for that particular outfit. So you don’t feel bad about tucking it away for a rainy day -- after a very thorough washing, at least. 

Now seems like the perfect occasion to break it out again. 

Your boyfriend hasn’t been home in three days. The two of you keep up a constant back and forth over text, but you could tell the stress is beginning to wear on him, his responses getting pricklier and shorter the longer he’s away.

Finally, you get the message you’ve been waiting for. Home in ten.

Just enough time to get ready. 

You hear Katsuki pull into the garage. He likes his cars fast and loud, which has never bothered you -- but the sound of the motor cutting out has your heart thundering in your chest. You’re seated on the plush couch in the den. You’re not sure if you should arrange yourself pleasingly or just plant yourself. You try several poses before you hear the front door open and shut, and Katsuki appears in the doorway, peering at you through the dimmed lighting as you struggle with one leg on the floor and one off. 

It’s an uncomfortable position, and you can’t extract yourself without doing a bit of an awkward shimmy, which you suspect is endearing but not exactly seductive. Finally you end up with your legs hugged against your chest, your eyes trailing over to your boyfriend as he watches you, not moved from his spot by the entrance.

He’s in civilian clothing, sweats and a dark t-shirt, both perfectly fitted. It’s the first time he’d changed from his hero uniform in days, and the loungewear feels strange on his skin. Unnatural. 

He leaves his coat on the floor in a heap, forgotten as he finally starts stalking toward you. His expression is bland, impassive -- but you catch a glimpse of interest in his eyes before your gaze darts, landing on his thighs. They’re massive, just like the rest of him. Sometimes you catch yourself watching him on slow days, as he leans over the stove, or grabs something from the top shelf from you, just marveling at the sheer size, the strength of him. It’s like he was designed with you in mind. Like he was made to make you feel small. 

You can feel the divine heat of him as he stops before you, knuckles brushing your chin up until you meet his gaze. “Cute.”

You lean into his touch, and he cups your cheek, thumb petting the soft skin. “Missed you,” you say.

“Oh, yeah?” He stares at you for a second, the arches and slopes of your face. His thumb continues stoking, moving ever so slightly until he’s rubbing your bottom lip, dragging it down until he can see the dark color of the delicate inner skin. His forefinger creeps in, prodding against the soft point of your canine before finding your tongue. He presses down, a gentle pressure, but one that won’t let you ignore it. “Prove it.”

Your tongue presses back against his finger, licking around it, sucking. You do all of this without modesty, groaning when he presses back, gagging when his finger sinks deeper, edging toward your throat. 

Katuski has big hands. You know that -- how could you ever forget that every part of him is a mountain -- but it’s moments like these that remind you just how big. How much bigger than you. How well he can fill you, in any way he chooses.

Your teeth are held open against his knuckle, and strings of drool begin to trail down your cheeks, land on your chest. Katsuki takes all of this, you, in with red eyes hooded, his other hand clenched at his side until he can’t hold himself back any longer.

With one arm he picks you up by the waist and repositions you, laying on your back beneath him as he straddles your midriff. He wipes the spit from his index finger off on your cheek, peering down at you as you let out another low whine.

“Impatient, huh?” he murmurs. At your eager nod, he grins, all teeth. “Guess I gotta show you who’s in charge here.” 

One hand on the arm of the couch, the other cradling your chin, he crawls up your body until his hips are hovering over your face. 

He lets go of you for just long enough to rip down his sweats, cock hard enough to tap his stomach, just from playing with your tongue, then his fingers are back on you, teasing open your mouth. He grits his teeth as you so willingly let him tap himself against your tongue, a dab of precum already budding at the tip. 

You’re caged in by him from all directions, his thick thighs framing your temples, his hand stroking his cock in slow jerks just above your face. You should feel smothered—instead you feel intoxicated, drowned in his and his domination, and your lips continue to part further and further as he teases you, until you’re gaping and he’s grinning down at you. 

“That’s it baby,” he hisses, nudging his cock in (finally in) to the warm cavern of your mouth. 

He’s too big for you to take all of him like this, laying down, his legs splayed over you, but he continues to prod at the back of your tongue, his hips rolling in a firm, shallow rhythm. He edges himself in your mouth, pulling out and letting his cock smack gently against your cheek, smearing precum and your own spit across your skin. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice worn thin, self control fraying. “So goddamn cute.”

Twice more pulls out just before cumming, smearing your face with your combined slick, groaning as his hips jerk against your jaw. 

With a hiss he crawls off you, goes to his knees on the floor. In less than a second he’s manhandled you into the position he wants, hips hung off the couch, your whole body supported by his strong arms. With a wicked growl he flicks your skirt up, then he lowers his face. 

Nothing Katsuki does could ever be considered sloppy. He’s perfect, sometimes maddeningly so. When he’s between your thighs he does things with a brutal finesse, one that you appreciate to the fullest extent. But what’s happening right now can only be described as messy. 

He still knows how to treat you right, the exact pressure to make you buck, the spot inside to stroke with his index and middle finger while his other hand squeezes the meat of your thigh just this side of painful. But all of that is interspersed with split seconds of ravenous mindlessness. There are moments you don’t know what’s happening because it’s all so much, before he pulls you back in with a perfectly timed tweak of your clit, a particularly firm thrust. 

And when he pulls back, just before you reach your peak, once, twice, three times, his praise is gravely and soft, his eyes have that mean glint that you hate love. 

“Too soon, princess?” he says. 

Or, “I told you to be fucking patient.” 

Or, “Look at you, so fucking fucked. Just let me take care of things baby, I got you. Fuck that look on your face. So good for me—“

And when he finally (finally) let’s you cum on his tongue, he’s quick to follow after. You didn’t even know he’d been jerking off while he was eating you out, but you watch him rise up onto his feet, keeled over as he spends right on your pretty pink skirt. 

He takes a moment to just look at it, you, all fucked out, a loopy smile on your face. He doesn’t think about what does it for him, how he likes how delicate you are compared to him, or how sometimes he just wants to fuck you up a little, how the urge lives closer to the surface when he’s stressed. Like today. 

He runs an index finger through the cooling puddle caught in a pleat of your skirt, brings his wet finger up to paint your swollen bottom lip. 

He says, “Was thinking about Italian for dinner tonight.” 

[blueeyedgeorgie]

Friends-Sap Nap

“Sis I don’t have a specific request but anything for Sapnap, maybe like ur the third roommate and some fluff 🥺” @behzynga

Pronouns: they/them

Word Count: 400+

Blurb!

___________

"For the love of God, just date already!"

Clay sat at the kitchen island, a plate of food sat in front of while his attention was elsewhere. Y/n and Nick were in the kitchen as well, flirting away as Y/n was making themself a snack. Clay just couldn't catch a break from hearing Nick compliment Y/n, or Y/n remind Nick he looked pretty today.

It had been like this for the past few weeks since Y/n moved in. Throughout Nick and Y/n's friendship, there had always been flirty undertones. It was clear they both liked one another, so what was keeping them from getting together?

Initially, it was the distance between them that had kept them apart. But now, they were living under the same roof (with Clay). What had been playful, flirty texts and calls back and forth were now casually cuddling on the couch, holding hands at random moments, and constantly flirting. But still, they were 'just friends.'

Honestly, it was a bit of a shock for Clay. After all these years, he had to be the third wheel to their flirting. It was shocking to him that they called themselves 'friends.' He had just assumed they got together when they met up in person. Clay could remember the first day he found out they weren't official, he came downstairs to see Nick and Y/n wrapped in each other's arms on the couch.

"Hey there, lovebirds." He had thrown the playful comment over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen.

"Friends, loser. Only friends."

He paused at the sound of Y/n's voice. "Friends? Friends don't cuddle on the couch watching romcoms."

"Oh, boo hoo, go be alone. Go get sad over the fact I stole Nick from you," Y/n stuck a tongue out at their roommate, pulling Nick closer to them. Nick and Clay were living together a few weeks before Y/n had finally shown up.

"Steal Nick? You had him since we were kids, Y/n."

"And I plan to keep it that way."

Clay bit his lip, there were plenty of responses filling his head. But right now, it seemed the best to bite his tongue on this one. He wanted food anyways.

But here they were now a few days later, hanging out in the kitchen. Both Nick and Y/n stared at Clay after his small outburst. "The 'friends' shit is bullshit and it's obvious. Please, just date. Go out for dinner or something."

A small blush appeared on Y/n's face. The thought of a dinner date didn't sound too bad. "You know... I'm up for it. A dinner date sounds fun."

"I'll pay." Nick grinned down at them, "Tonight?"

"Tonight sounds good."

Clay sat there, his mouth fell a bit agape. Only a few words came to mind; ‘How did that work out so quickly?’

Taglist: @ivory-raptor @snowcones404 @notphilosopherstudentblog​