#barrier-free design | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sh1-n0bu · 23 days ago

Text

♡︎ 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 ♡︎

characters: sub!qiuyuan x gn!dom!reader

warnings: written before anything about character is known except for his name and design so obv it’s free balling, strap/cock traditions per usual, exhibitionism, handjob, cumming inside, hair pulling, multiple orgasm, degrading, feminization, attempt at breeding, talks of pregnancy, going with the theory that quiyuan is jianxin’s master, reader is a FREAK and is obsessed with the poor man

notes: i am a WHORE

in the temples that resides at the very top of one of the many peaks that surrounds jinzhou with its protective barrier, there is where the next masters or aspiring martial artists commune to train, share experiences or to simply rest their weary bones. young and old, experienced and brimming with thirst for adventure, many martial artists walk through the doors of the temple with open heart and clear mind. not all however, is so keen on keeping their visions clear and at their prime, choosing to tug one of the wandering masters who seldom showed their visages to the nearest room and shutting themselves inside.

it wasn’t even night nor had he bathed yet, still slick with the latest tacet discord’s blood and sweat, impure and made even more filthier as you chose to ram your cock into his half prepared hole, shutting the choked scream with a hand over his mouth. qiuyuan let out a whine into your hand, feeling the way how your dick wasn’t even all the way inside him and yet how his leg was shaking already, hands clambering to hold onto the nearest wall for support. the sweetest little noises escaping through your fingers, gasps and moans filling the empty room as you finally bottom out inside him with a pleased groan. immediately, qiuyuan was slapping at you as far as his arm could reach, scratching at your hand over his mouth while his one leg is pulled up with your hand underneath his knee.

“y-you filthy creature” qiuyuan spat out, hissing at you like some adorable angered kitty while he tried to hide his flushed cheeks with his messy hair. “this is t-the temple huuhg of jinzhou. should you wanted me ahh-haah this badly, a-at least do it someplace private!” his hoarse voice tipped off into a whine when you chose to move just a bit, nudging against his prostate sweetly, making his hands clammer up with sweat as he worries over keeping himself quiet. but even then, try as he might to keep his noises down, he could still hear the wet squelch of your cock fucking him open and how his nails scratched against the wood.

you couldn’t help but laugh quietly under your breath, seeing the ever so stoic and cold wandering swordmaster be reduced to stuttering little thing by just shoving your cock inside his hole. lone wolf, my ass, he was anything but a lone wolf with the way he keeps falling into your hands over and over despite his complaints. a bunny in heat would suit his description more with the way his hole and throat loves to swallow your cum, as if he wanted to be bred full.

“ah, but master qiuyuan” you coo out his name and title with so much sweetness that the swordsmaster felt sick. or was that because he swore he could feel your cock pushing against his guts? feeling his legs tremble and lips quiver as his poor neglected dick weeps untouched? qiuyuan didn’t know and frankly, he didn’t wanted to know.

“you’re just so cute, y’know? standing there with your arms crossed, cold eyes glaring at some poor tree while you blank out. it makes me wanna ruin you. get you all filthy and messy, maybe even fuck you ‘till you squirt”. oh how he hated how he bit back a whimper at your words, tilting his head down even further to try and hide the shame he felt from getting aroused by just your disgusting words alone. who even gave you the rights to get this touchy with him in the first place? why does he keep allowing you to do these things to him?

before the cold man could think of something to hiss back at you, you were already grabbing at his hair, holding the fluffy long ponytail tightly in your hand and pulling on it, making the swordmaster let out a cute squeal as he arched his back, body flush against the wooden walls.

“you damned bea—aang♡︎!” an uncharacteristically high pitched moan leaves his lips when you start to move, pulling out until your dildo was nearly out of his slippery hole before slamming it all the way back inside. his body, albeit bigger than yours, rattled at the force of the thrust, his hands leaving their purchase by the walls and instead choosing to hold them over his mouth. he’ll get back at you for this, definitely torment you with stricter training, but right now, qiuyuan tried his best to keep his mind in place, to prevent himself from letting out stupid noises that he knows you love to hear fall from his throat.

“you’re no fun at all, master. i wanted to catch you off guard and hear your cute noises” you whisper against his shoulder, smelling the metallic scent of the TD’s blood on his clothes. not like it was disgusting, if anything, it made you green eyed. made you thrust harder, deeper, as if jealous over the notion that the cold man you liked so much was so physically close to another beast other than yourself.

qiuyuan was sure of it, sure that you were some monster in human form, because every thrust into his lubed up hole was so forceful to the point he swore he could feel your strap carving out his insides, forcing him to get used to the size of your stupid dick, remember the shape of your cock. the cold lube that was smeared over his succulent ass created filthy plap! plap! noises every time you fucked the air out of his lungs, leaving him feeling lightheaded as he desperately tried to quieten his moans. even then, even with the way he held his hands over his mouth, bit his lip or held fabrics of his scarf over his drool covered lips, small gasps and sharp punched out whines escaped. and they seemed to motivate you, making your thrust more harder, nearly jackrabbiting constantly into his sweet spot.

“nngh—ungck.. y-you really.. do-on’t know aangh haah know to uhmmg-guck.. f-fuck! fuck fucking hell, [na-ame]♡︎” qiuyuan all but mewled, every last thoughts of indignation being fucked out of his brain every time your strap grazes his prostate, his knee that you held up jerking upon the feeling. his mind was melting away, he was sure of it. you must be using your forte, you must have poisoned his mind and his body because he was tearing up, his own untouched dick bobbing every time you thrust back into his clenching hole, rendering him speechless.

whining under his breath, shaking his head as if to try and clear his mind, he let out pathetic little noises. punched out moans and sharp gasps rising in volume as you keep his head pulled back by his long hair, fucking every thoughts out of his brain.

“ngh—no! no more! [name], we ca—ahn’t… can’t♥︎ can’t! we— aanh ahg-gahc mhh hummg♡︎” the swordmaster shook his head over and over, already babbling as if you had fucked him until his mind melted into a useless mush with sharp gasps increasing in volume. letting go of your hold on his hair, you turn your attention to his dick. still weeping like the sad little thing it was, all left alone and untouched, a cute red in the tip as if it was chocking on the amount of cum it held back.

“better keep your voice down, master” you whisper into his ear, making qiuyuan shudder with a swallowed moan. he hated how much control you had over him, over his body, how easily he folded under you like a little toy for your satisfaction. but his thoughts of hatred for you is for later time, a chocked sob escaping his throat as if he had been strangled when you touched his weeping cock, taking it in your hand and swirling your thumb constantly over the tip, occasionally rubbing down into his slit forcefully. qiuyuan damn right mewled, pushing his hips back, wanting to escape your cruel hands but fucking himself right into your strap, feeling the stupid thing up into his throat with a punched out noise.

forcing him to keep himself upright, you fuck into him with the same pace as you twist and swirl the tip of his cock. qiuyuan just all but lost it and had it not been for his growing endurance against your libido and obsession with him, he would have screamed as he creamed your fingers, cried like some untouched virgin while his drool slipped down to his chin.

legs shaking, hopping like the cute bunny you see him as, his tremors finally die down after a while, leaving you still guts deep inside him as your hand lets go of his now softening dick. the ivory colored, sickeningly sweet smelling semen drips down to the floor, no doubt would leave a stain later on, but it wasn’t in your interest. the man who was hiding his face was.

shifting him around, pulling him closer, you wrestle his bigger body to turn face towards you. pulling his legs up to wrap around your waist, his back flush against the wall, for a moment, your hand grasps his jaw to make him keep an eye contact. steely grey eyes with his pupils blown wide, you remembered how they turned into a cute heart shape with glossy tears over them when you first fucked him dumb, left him incoherent and stupid.

“hey, master qiuyuan” you call out quietly, a little bit too intimate to his liking as his cute flushed face tries to glare at you through his drool covered chin and red bitten lips. it made you grin, a look on your face that just spelled trouble for the swordmaster as he bit down his whimper at the hungry look you give him.

“how would you feel about a baby?” you whisper, leaning your face in close to his own as if about to kiss him. he would have preferred it even, inching his own handsome face closer to yours, ready to pucker his lips. but that question seemed to kick some sense into his fried brain, regaining a sense of consciousness. “what? y-you can’t be serious, i’m a ma—aAANGH♥︎!” his protest is cut short, a loud wail leaving him as you return to rearranging his guts full force. oh, how was it possible, he could feel your tip all the way up to his throat! what sort of forte would you use on him, you senseless beast? his hole would be left gaping whenever you’ll be satisfied with his body!

“you know, a cute little baby. a mix of you and me, a little one. boy or girl, i wouldn’t care. i’d just love to see ya’ waddling around, belly round and adorable” you continue with your mumbling, a dull noise to his ears as you keep your gaze on his face. so cute, this swordmaster was. blushing to his ears, grey eyes like the sword’s blade he wields rolling to the back of his skull while you thrust your cock back into his hole. clenching down around you every time you pull out as if his body subconsciously wanted that, craved to get knocked up by you. carry your seed in his womb, get all round and become yours.

“y-you caaanh’t..! aah yoo-ouw can’t haah mmgh hhngk [n-name]♡︎ n-no.. no babiesssh. n-noough aahgg haahg♡︎♡︎” his words trailed off into a senseless squeal, switching from the common tongue to what you guess is jinzhou dialect, babbling random things as the wet plaps of your thrusts meeting his ass get louder with the reach of your dick going further inside him. qiuyuan took in a loud gasp, mewling when your rough thrust fucked into his sweet spot just perfectly, tears starting to build up in his eyes from the constant pounding to his fluttering hole.

ah, he’ll cry. he’s going to cry and it will all be your fault for being so damn mean to him. have mercy on his dumb self and let his sensitive body catch a break, or else he’ll be squirting over himself like some pretty little whore for you.

qiuyuan let out another filthy mewl, too high-pitched, too breathy, too whiny, too girly when you heard footsteps outside the thin paper walls of the room, placing a hand over his drooling mouth to silence his cute noises. as much as you loved to hear him slur over his words senselessly, you’d rather not get caught and be forced to share. qiuyuan was only yours and you’ll find a way to make him yours eternally one day.

speeding up your thrusts, making up for the sloppy jackrabbiting of your hips meeting his with the roughness of your movements, you could feel qiuyuan’s hands tremble as he clutched at your arms and shoulders. a single tear falling from his eye, going slack in your hold as his dick slaps against his stomach one last time before it weakly spurted out his cum, painting the pretty scarred muscles of his stomach. you were sure he would have screamed judging by the way his legs shook around your waist when you pushed your strap into his hole one last time, muffling your own groans and moans into his neck. eagerly, his hole clenched tight around you — so tightly you nearly worried if the blood flow will stop — lapping up every drop of your cum inside himself before his shaking is replaced by gentle tremors, soft whines muffled by your hand.

pulling out after waiting for qiuyuan to stop shaking, you quickly plug him up with a butt plug, silencing his refusing sobs with a messy kiss full of spit and blood. that’ll keep him warm until you see him again later tonight, and certainly remind him of your presence. the swordmaster was already hissing at you random words of annoyance, resisting the urge to hump the air as he felt the warmth stay persistently inside his gummy walls. you were ruining him, fucking him up in both ways and more.

once the footsteps had passed by the room you two were in, you hastily clothe him up before stepping outside.

later on, you could overhear a certain monk lady worry over her master and why he was limping and all pink in the face. in response you only whistled a tune from where you swept the temple grounds, already brimming with excitement and looking forward to your midnight rendezvous. meanwhile, qiuyuan had to deal with his sweet yet overly distressed disciple. he will get you back for this.

#nobu.writes #dom reader #dom!reader #x dom reader #sub!character #sub character #wuwa x reader #wuwa x you #wuwa x y/n #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #wuthering waves x y/n #sub wuwa #sub wuthering waves #qiuyuan #wuwa qiuyuan #qiuyuan x reader #sub qiuyuan #gender neutral reader

869 notes · View notes

heritageposts · 1 year ago

Text

A week ago, US President Joe Biden claimed that a “ceasefire” deal in Gaza was imminent and could take effect as soon as March 4. “My national security adviser tells me we are close,” he told reporters while eating ice cream in New York City. But ice cream or not, Biden’s actual position was not nearly that sweet. A subsequent statement by a senior Biden administration official claimed Israel had “basically accepted” a proposal for a temporary pause in fighting. But as of March 4, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his Mossad director were still refusing to send a delegation to Cairo, where talks with Hamas were under way. The Biden administration’s eagerness to claim victory in its search for some kind of temporary truce indicates how much it is feeling the heat of the rising global and domestic pressure demanding an immediate ceasefire, an end to the Israeli genocide, an end to the threat of a new escalation against refugee-packed Rafah, and an end to the siege of Gaza and immediate unhindered provision of massive levels of humanitarian aid. Despite Washington’s vain hopes for March 4 and the unofficial goal of a ceasefire by the beginning of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan on March 10, the deal remains elusive. Media reports indicate Biden is telling the Qatari and Egyptian leaders that he is putting pressure on Israel to agree to a truce and a captives swap. But his claim of pressuring Israel is undermined by the continuing US vetoes of ceasefire resolutions at the United Nations Security Council, most recently on February 20, as well as the continuing flow of United States weapons and money to Israel to enable its assault.

And, on the alternative resolution the Biden admin has put forth after vetoing Algeria's resolution (which called for an "immediate humanitarian ceasefire," "forced displacement of the Palestinian civilian population," and "unhindered humanitarian access to Gaza."):

[...] Linda Thomas-Greenfield, Biden’s ambassador to the UN, cast the sole veto against the Algerian resolution, and instead put forward an alternative US text, claiming it also supported a ceasefire. But the proposed US language does not call for an immediate or permanent ceasefire or an end to Israeli genocide; it does not prevent an attack on Rafah or end the Israeli siege. The proposed US resolution is not designed to end the murderous Israeli war against Gaza – nor is the deal that is currently being negotiated in Cairo. To the contrary, the provisions of the US draft resolution reflect the true intentions of the Biden administration vis-a-vis its continuing support of Israel, and reveal the limitations of the truce it is trying to orchestrate. While the US draft resolution does use the dreaded word “ceasefire” – which had been prohibited in the White House for months – it does not call for an immediate halt in the bombing, only “as soon as practicable”, with no indication of when that might be. It does not call for a permanent ceasefire either, leaving Israel free to resume its genocidal bombing – presumably with continuing US support. Virtually everything the US draft calls for is undercut by what is left out. The demand for “lifting all barriers to the provision of humanitarian assistance at scale” in Gaza certainly sounds appropriately robust. But that’s only until you realise that the text’s failure to challenge or even name the principal barrier to aid getting in – Israel’s bombardment – means that this is not a serious plan to end Israel’s deadly siege. It should not surprise anyone that “the Biden administration is not planning to punish Israel if it launches a military campaign in Rafah without ensuring civilian safety” – as Politico reported – despite claiming it wants a credible plan to ensure Palestinian safety. No one in the Biden administration has even hinted at imposing consequences for Israel’s constant rejection of the insipid appeals for restraint – such as conditioning aid on human rights standards (as required by US law) or cutting US military aid altogether. That’s what real pressure would look like. A more accurate picture of Washington’s approach to Israel’s war against Gaza is the continuing US pipeline of weapons to make Israel’s murderous assault on Gaza more effective, more efficient, and more deadly. According to the Wall Street Journal, the “Biden administration is preparing to send bombs and other weapons to Israel that would add to its military arsenal even as the US pushes for a ceasefire in Gaza.” The arms the US intends to hand over to the Israeli army include MK-82 bombs, KMU-572 Joint Direct Attack Munitions and FMU-139 bomb fuses, worth tens of millions of dollars. It is more than likely that the administration will do another end run around US Congress to send the weapons without relying on congressional approval, as it did on at least two occasions last December.

. . . full article on Al Jazeera (4 Mar 2024)

#free palestine #palestine #israel #gaza

3K notes · View notes

tasteleeknow · 1 year ago

Text

handled.

minors dni. minho x fem!reader. hands on necks (not exactly choking but choking adjacent). dirty talk. slightly rough piv. soft!dom minho.

It's not what you expect, the first time someone reaches out to wrap their fingers around your throat. It's during a lesson in self-defence, part of a compulsory skill. You flinch away as their fingertips graze your skin, scrunching your shoulders at the unnatural feeling. It's not a neutral act, a simple experience of skin on skin.

There's something deep down, an instinct designed to make the feeling of another person's hands around your neck inherently discomforting.

It takes many attempts for you to build a tolerance to it, the anxious feeling never settling completely despite your ability to hold still.

It was hard to imagine how the act could ever elicit anything other than that deep, instinctual urge to squirm away.

Until him.

His fingers flex as he tugs the black glove down his wrist a little further. It's a vital part of his costume as far as your concerned, a last minute addition ties up his all-black theme perfectly.

"Are you having fun?" you question, back pressed against a wall in a dark corner of the room.

The New Year was around the corner, the costume party in full swing around you. It'd taken a doe eyed look and a soft kiss to his neck to convince your boyfriend to join you.

He offers you a small lopsided smile, the delicate lip ring balanced prettily on his lower lip. "Mm," he hums with a small nod.

You tug him a little closer, "You sure? I know it's a little more crowded than I—"

"I'm fine," he says, the bare fingers of his glove free hand stroking gently over your wrist. "I'm all good."

If you were being totally honest with yourself, a (not so small) part of you hope he'd ask to leave. Getting him dressed up like this was the best part of the entire night, you'd decided. Now, you'd very much rather be at home taking the costume off him than stand around in a crowd of drunk partygoers.

The lip ring presses into his plush lip a little as he nibbles at it for a moment. You could leave the accessories on him. The ring, the silver necklace hanging around his collar—just long enough to tickle your chin if he was above you... and then there was the glove. Your eyes drop involuntarily to the hand in question.

"What about you?" Minho asks, tugging your eyes back to his.

"Hm?"

"Having fun?"

You blink.

He smiles, keenly aware of your propensity to drift elsewhere. "What you thinking about?" he asks. You would have answered him. You were too far into your relationship to be timid about such things. But then... then he reaches up with that hand... the dark, smooth fabric cool against your skin as he tilts your chin up a little. "Talk to me," he encourages gently.

Oh, he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you like my costume?"

His eyes drop down your body quickly. "Mm," he hums. "Very pretty."

"I like yours too."

He fails to suppress an amused, knowing smile. "Yeah?" His hand drifts from your chin along your jaw, coming to rest just below your ear. It allows his gloved thumb to play with your lobe a little as he steps into you a little more. "What do you like about it?"

"Fishing for compliments?"

"You seem desperate to offer them."

You frown, "No."

"No?" he questions, stepping even closer. He's pressed against you now, warm and dark—a barrier between you and the rest of the room. "My sweet girl wouldn't lie to me." He leans over you, lips brushing your jawline. "Would she?" he adds with a whisper. His breath tickles, hot against your sensitive neck.

You realise your error then. It was too late. The time had passed for you to drag him home and tear the dark clothes from him in the privacy of your shared apartment.

It was happening here.

Your eyes flick quickly across the room before you're grabbing his wrist and tugging him along with you, dodging drunk friends and acquaintances as you beeline for the hallway door.

Minho chuckles behind you, letting you tug him along without resistance.

You'd let you of tomorrow contemplate the decisions you make next. When you find each room taken, occupied by a couple or a group of intoxicated friends, you tug open the laundry door and slam it behind you both. There's a small lock on the door handle. You twist it.

"You like it that much, then?" Minho says from behind you.

He's leaning against the washing machine when you turn, arms crossed—sleeves rolled to his elbows.

You take in a few shallow breaths before he's stepping towards you and lifting you off your feet. It shouldn't be as easy as it is for him to lift you on top of the dryer. He settles between your legs, hands gliding up and down your thighs a few times.

His dark hair has loosened a little over the evening, the hairspray you'd used to keep it in place off his forehead giving into the humidity and copious tousles by distracted fingers. There's a lock hanging just over one of his eyes.

You reach up to brush it aside delicately.

"I lied," Minho whispers, seemingly prompted out of silence by your action. "When I said it's pretty..." he thumbs at the hem of your dress where he's slipped it up your thigh. "...I lied." His fingers brush your skin on one thigh, the fabric of his glove is cold against the other. "Pretty isn't right," he continues. "It makes me want to hold you down... sink into you..." His gloved hand snakes up your side slowly, coming to rest at the base of your neck. His fingers are splayed out across your collarbones, just below the point that would normally make you itch to squirm away.

"Min?"

His eyes flick up from your neck. His fingers twitch against you. "Mm," he hums. It's a sweet sound, in total contrast to the way he looks at you. Like he wants to tear you apart. You find you like the idea. You also find... that you wish his fingers would inch up just a little.

It's not a thought you dwell on. Instead you reach up slowly, like he might spook, and wrap your fingers around his wrist.. then slowly... gently... you guide his hand up to your throat. His eyes stay fixed on yours; his fingers ghost light on your skin.

"Don't look at me like that," he says as your fingers squeeze his wrist. "All fucking sweet like you don't want me to—"

"Please," you interrupt.

He leans forward with a groan, lips pressing to the side of your neck. He squeezes slightly at the movement. It's enough to have you dropping your head back.

It's different. It's so different to how it'd been with a stranger, with someone other than him. This makes you want to crawl under his skin, beg him to hold you and consume you—to take you. His. His. His.

"Minho," you gasp as his lips part and suck at your neck, his wet tongue poking out to lave at the marks he leaves as he goes.

His hand stays at your neck as he works, a comforting and steady pressure. He's got you, it says.

A tiny clink breaks you from your trance. His lip ring is gone when he pulls back, fallen into the dark and bouncing off things around you as it goes. You could not care less. You tug him back towards you, hands at the back of his neck to guide him. His lips are wet and hot against yours, moving with a laziness that did not at all align with upbeat music and countdown starting outside.

His tongue slips out to meet yours, his body falling over you a little in a desperate attempt to get closer. 8...7...6... the partygoers chant. Your fingers grasp at his hair, tugging a little. He whines. 3...2... You could be anywhere... you ponder as the cheers start and the new year begins. You could be anywhere and anytime, and all that would matter would be whether he was there with you.

His breath comes out in deep gasps when you finally part. It's a brief reprieve. He's on you in the next second, tugging your hips towards his and burying himself inside you. It's your turn to attach yourself to his neck, kissing and biting your way through his sharp drives into you. The dryer bangs against the wall behind you with each one.

"This what you wanted?" he gasps as you fall back on your hands. His hands grasp your hips. One warm. One cold. "Hm?"

His lips glisten with spit, a mixture of each of you. You're about to reach towards him again, desperate to taste him, when he releases one hand from your hip.

It's the bare hand this time, that wraps around your neck. It's worse—better. His fingers twitch each time he pumps into you. Your pulse flutters against them. You can feel it.

Then he pauses, tugs you flush against him—buried deep. "My sweet girl," he says. He presses his fingers into your skin at each side of your neck. It doesn't cut off your breath, instead, your cunt clenches around him—your high taking you off guard. It's a rush, a heaviness in your head that seems to match perfectly with the heavy, fullness of his cock buried deep.

There's something deep down, an instinct designed to make the feeling of another person's hands around your neck inherently discomforting. And then... there's this.

#stray kids smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #kpop smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios

2K notes · View notes

reasonsforhope · 3 months ago

Text

"In neighborhoods across the globe — yes, even in Antarctica — it is not uncommon to find a Little Free Library, or a book-sharing box filled with a collection of free books to take, share, and enjoy.

If a location on the South Pole wasn’t enough, Little Free Library is celebrating a major milestone: Its 200,000th box.

The nonprofit that manages these 200,000 mini libraries works to increase access to literacy in urban, suburban, and rural communities all over the world. This includes programming to expand access to books among BIPOC communities, as well as efforts to fight book bans across the United States.

In sticking with this mission, the landmark 200,000th library was donated to and installed at Benjamin E. Mays IB World School, an elementary school in St. Paul, Minnesota.

The donation also marks the first of 200 Little Free Libraries that will be given to Title I schools across the U.S., in an effort to expand access to books in low-income areas...

The 200,000th library is exclusively for students and is designed to resemble a one-room schoolhouse. This pays homage to the very first Little Free Library, built by the organization’s founder Todd H. Bol in 2009.

“The future where all of us, no matter our age, economic status, or residence, have the opportunity to readily access a book that can inspire, motivate, and empower,” Metzger continued.

“Working together locally as a community, a community connected through Little Free Libraries, we hope to make this opportunity a reality for all.”

The worldwide network of Little Free Libraries spans all 50 states, 128 countries, and all seven continents.

Next, 199 more Little Free Libraries will be installed at Title I elementary schools, and each of these will be stocked with 200 brand-new books.

The donated libraries are sponsored by Books Unbanned and the donated materials come from a 40,000-book donation from Penguin Random House. ..

Schools receiving these libraries and books were selected through an application process, and all students in the schools are welcome to take the books home at no cost.

“Many of our students have little to no books at home, and transportation barriers prevent families from reaching the public library,” a representative from participating school Somerset Lakes Academy in West Palm Beach, Florida, said in a statement.

“A Little Free Library will serve as a crucial bridge, providing ongoing access to literature for students, their siblings, parents, and the community.”

Back in St. Paul, the 200,000th library is already set to be well-loved by the 340 students who attend Benjamin E. Mays IB World School. All students received gifted books, and 50 select students who excelled in a recent reading challenge attended the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

“Freedom is the road seldom traveled by the multitudes; however, literacy is the gateway to learn one’s past, present, and shape the future,” said the school’s principal, Dr. Kenneth O. Turner Jr.

“Through literacy, one can travel the world, reading and learning about historical figures who have shaped the world. Literacy can take you into space and travel the galaxies far away. Through literacy all is obtainable.”

Anyone interested in joining the “take a book, leave a book” movement of Little Free Library can build or buy their own box and register it online to be part of the official network."

-via GoodGoodGood, March 13, 2025

#libraries #books & libraries #support libraries #little free library #books #global #united states #minnesota #good news #hope #hmmm might fuck around and ask my roommates if they want to make a little free library in our yard #legit bet they'd be down

658 notes · View notes

uiuxcafe · 5 months ago

Text

youtube

Accesibilidad Web: Tutorial para hacer tu sitio web 100% accesible

Tutorial de Accesibilidad Web: Kit Digital para hacer tu sitio web 100% accesible.

0 notes

rootedinrevisions · 6 months ago

Text

Worth More than Gold

SUMMARY: Glen Powell has asked you, his long-time friend and secret crush to be his date to the Golden Globes. The evening is filled with glitz, glamour, and the intoxicating spark of possibilities - both on the red carpet and behind the scene. And at the end of the day Glen may not have won the Golden Globe, but he just might have won something better—you.

A/N: Glen's look at the Golden Globes did things to me and gave me so many ideas. This will probably be the last fic I do for the GG and I'm going to try to get back on track with my WIPs and Requests.

As always I'd love to hear what you guys think! I love seeing your comments and reblogs! I seriously smile and get all giddy like a little kid when I get a notification from you guys so please let me know what I think.

WORD COUNT: 10.8k

TAGS: In Comments.

The hotel room was a whirlwind of chaos, a perfect reflection of Glen’s pre-event energy. The plush carpet was littered with tissue paper from a last-minute gift delivery, a shoe box sat abandoned near the bed, and the sleek black tie Glen had decided to forego tonight was somehow draped over a lampshade.

Glen himself was in the middle of the room, pacing in socks and dress pants, his phone pressed to his ear. “Listen, I’m just saying, Texas football isn’t a sport—it’s a religion,” he declared, his Texas drawl warming the edges of his words. “And if the Longhorns take the game against Ohio State this week, we’re coming for that national title.”

He paused, evidently listening to the journalist on the other end of the call, then grinned as he gestured animatedly with his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know you want to talk about the nomination. But did you see last weekend’s game? That last play in the second overtime?”

Across the room, you sat curled on the couch, scrolling through your phone but only half-paying attention to the screen. Watching Glen charm his way through an interview about his career or recent projects while managing to somehow steer the conversation to Texas football was nothing new.

“Cufflinks,” said Warren, the stylist ensuring Glen looked red-carpet ready. Warren stood to the side, arms crossed with the patience of someone who’d dealt with a dozen “Glen Powells” before.

“They’re in the pocket of your tux,” you called without looking up, your voice laced with playful exasperation. “Right where I told you I put them earlier.”

Glen froze mid-gesture, patting down his pants pocket first before moving to his jacket. When his fingers closed around the cufflinks, he shot you a sheepish grin.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he mouthed, before turning his attention back to his call. “Listen, I gotta wrap this up. Can I call you tomorrow and we’ll finish this?” he asked the journalist.

With that, he hung up and turned to the room, raking a hand through his neatly-styled hair. “You believe this?” He said, grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’m on deadline and trying to get out the door for one of the biggest nights of my life. And GQ wants to talk about…wardrobe and clothes and who I’m wearing.”

Warren arched a brow, adjusting the velvet Armani jacket on its hanger. “Wardrobe is why I’m here, Glen,” he said with a grin. “Now, if you could refrain from wrinkling this masterpiece, we might actually get you to the event looking like a winner.”

You snorted, rising from the couch. “Poor you,” you teased, brushing imaginary lint off your own shirt. “Must be so hard being adored by millions while wearing designer clothes.”

Glen rolled his eyes and snorted, stepping closer as the stylist fussed with his cummerbund. “Hey, I’m counting on you to keep me sane tonight,” he said, half-serious as he began to tug at the cuffs of his shirt. “You’re my buffer.”

“Buffer?” you repeated, arching a brow. “That’s what I’m here for? Not moral support—just as a human barrier between you and Hollywood?”

“Exactly,” he deadpanned, his grin widening. “You’re overqualified for the job, though.”

You stepped forward, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, your fingers moving with practiced ease over the slick fabric. Glen watched you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Okay, be honest,” he said, tilting his chin slightly. “One button or two undone? What’s the vibe tonight?”

You paused, letting your gaze drop to the open collar of his shirt, catching a glimpse of the chest hair peeking out.

“One,” you said decisively, reaching up to fasten the second button. “Two buttons undone is too much chest hair. You’re going to a red carpet, not auditioning for a ‘70s cop show.”

He laughed, the rich sound filling the room as he placed his hands on his hips. “Hey, my chest hair is a crowd-pleaser,” he countered, feigning offense. “You don’t know how many compliments I’ve gotten on this chest.”

You rolled your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Please never say that to me again.”

He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Admit it. You’re just jealous you can’t pull this off.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a playful tug. “Oh, please. If I wanted to show off chest hair, I’d buy a faux-fur vest and call it a day.”

“Savage,” he said, clutching his chest as though you’d wounded him. “You’ve got jokes tonight, huh?”

“Somebody has to keep your ego in check,” you replied, stepping back to inspect your work. “And you make it so easy.”

Glen chuckled, shaking his head as he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “Well, I’ll have you know, Warren said I was rocking this look,” he said, gesturing toward the stylist, who was busy folding tissue paper into one of the garment bags.

Warren didn’t even look up. “Warren also said to stop touching your shirt or you’ll wrinkle it,” he replied dryly, earning a snort from you and an exaggerated groan from Glen.

“Fine,” Glen said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No more touching. But if I get to the carpet and I’m not turning heads, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, you’ll turn heads,” you said, crossing your arms and giving him a once-over. “If not for the suit, then definitely for whatever ridiculous sound bite you give on the carpet. You’re physically incapable of being boring, remember?”

He grinned, stepping closer so the space between you was almost nonexistent. “Is that a compliment?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly.

You tilted your head, refusing to let him win. “Don’t get used to it, Cowboy.”

“Ah, there it is,” he said, leaning back with a laugh. “The nickname. I knew it was coming.”

You shrugged. “If the boots fit…”

Glen slid the custom velvet Armani tux jacket over his broad shoulders, the deep midnight-black fabric catching the light in subtle, luxurious waves. He tugged at the lapels, ensuring everything was sitting perfectly, before stepping back with an air of casual confidence.

“Well?” he asked, doing a quick spin on his heels, arms spread out theatrically. “What do you think? Too much? Not enough?”

You leaned back slightly, arms crossed, pretending to appraise him critically, but your expression betrayed you. Your eyes swept over him, taking in every detail—the sharp tailoring that hugged his frame perfectly, the structured cut of the jacket emphasizing his frame, and the way the silk shirt beneath hinted at the faintest trail of chest hair.

The stylist had done a remarkable job on his hair, taming the usual tousled locks into something sleek yet effortlessly natural. And the stubble—God, the stubble. He hadn’t bothered to shave completely, leaving just enough scruff to lend him a rugged edge that, if you were honest, made him look even more attractive.

The all-black ensemble was a bold choice, but it worked. The mix of textures—the smooth silk of the shirt, the luxurious velvet of the jacket, and the matte sheen of the tailored trousers—created a look that was polished yet unmistakably Glen.

“You clean up nice,” you finally said, a teasing smile pulling at your lips as you took him in from head to toe. “I mean, you almost look like a proper gentleman.”

“Almost?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as he turned back toward the mirror, pretending to check himself out.

“Well, the stubble kind of ruins the whole gentleman thing,” you quipped, biting back a laugh.

“Ruin it?” Glen turned to face you again, his voice dripping with mock offense. “The stubble is the pièce de résistance, thank you very much.” He ran a hand over his jaw, grinning when he saw the way your gaze briefly followed the movement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “Sure it is. But seriously, you look good, Glen. The best I’ve seen you look in a while.”

For a moment, his grin softened, and his eyes caught yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, more sincerely this time. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead tonight.”

He held your gaze for a beat longer than usual, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he broke the moment with his signature charm. “Well, I have to. You’re the one who’ll have to be seen with me all night. Can’t embarrass you on your first red carpet.”

You glanced at the clock and froze. Less than an hour until you were supposed to be ready and out the door. Helping Glen finish getting ready had been fun—maybe a little too fun, you realized now, as time ticked away faster than you’d expected.

“I need to go get ready,” you said abruptly, stepping back and pointing toward the door.

Glen smirked, his hands casually adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Go on, Cinderella. Clock’s ticking.”

Without another word, you bolted for your room next door, already running through a mental checklist of what needed to happen to make yourself red carpet-ready in under an hour. Once inside, you kicked the door shut behind you and headed straight for the bathroom. Flicking on the light, you stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Okay. Hair. Makeup. Dress. You could do this. Right?

You pulled your hair loose from the lazy ponytail it had been in all day, raking your fingers through it and trying to decide if it would look better up or down. Your eyes darted to the neckline of the dress still hanging on the back of the closet door, but you didn’t have time to figure out how to make everything match. You groaned, pressing your hands to your face.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Hello?” you called out, cautiously heading toward the door and cracking it open.

Standing there were two members of Glen’s glam squad—one holding a bag of makeup brushes and palettes, the other with a small suitcase of hair tools.

“Mr. Powell asked us to check on you,” the makeup artist said with a kind smile. “He thought you might be running behind.”

You blinked at them, momentarily speechless. “He... sent you?”

The hairstylist nodded. “He figured you might need a little help. Mind if we come in?”

You stepped aside to let them in, still processing Glen’s uncanny ability to predict you’d be panicking. “Sorry about the mess,” you admitted, glancing at the clock again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Don’t worry,” the makeup artist said, already setting up her supplies on the bathroom counter. “We’ve got this. Can we see the dress? It’ll help us figure out the best look for you.”

You grabbed the garment bag from the closet and unzipped it, revealing the dress inside. You’d picked it out weeks ago, but standing there now, you suddenly second-guessed everything about it.

The hairstylist tilted his head thoughtfully, taking in the neckline and cut. “With this neckline, I’d suggest pulling your hair up—something elegant but not overdone. It’ll show off your shoulders and collarbone beautifully.”

You nodded, trusting his expertise. “That sounds perfect.”

“And for makeup,” the other stylist added, “we’ll keep it timeless—focus on your eyes, a little shimmer, and a soft lip. Nothing too bold, just enough to complement the dress and the hair.”

“Let’s do it,” you said, exhaling as you sat down.

With practiced efficiency, they got to work. The hairstylist began gathering your hair into an elegant style that framed your face while showcasing the neckline of the dress. Meanwhile, the makeup artist brushed soft gold tones onto your lids, added a touch of liner to define your eyes, and blended everything seamlessly. A quick swipe of lipstick finished the look.

You watched the transformation in the mirror, the tension slowly melting from your shoulders. By the time they stepped back to admire their handiwork, you felt like a completely different person.

“Done in thirty minutes, just like we promised,” the hairstylist said with a grin.

You stood, giving them both a grateful smile. “Thank you. Seriously, I wouldn’t have made it without you—or Glen, apparently.”

The makeup artist laughed. “He seemed pretty confident you’d need backup. Smart guy.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, thinking about his effortless charm and how much he looked out for you. “He really is.”

After the hairstylist and makeup artist left, you stood in front of the full-length mirror, a deep breath escaping your lips. You could do this.

You reached for the dress, still hanging from its garment bag, and carefully unzipped it. The soft fabric slid through your fingers as you pulled it off the hanger, feeling a flutter of nerves as you held it up in front of you.

The dress was simple, yet elegant, hugging every curve in a way that made you second-guess your choice. But it was beautiful.

With your heart racing a little, you slipped the dress on. You paused to glance at the mirror as you tugged the fabric up your body, hoping everything would fall into place.

But it didn’t.

The zipper snagged halfway up your lower back. You tugged a little harder, but it didn’t budge. Panic settled in your chest. You didn’t want to rip the fabric or make a scene, but there was no way to finish getting ready if you couldn’t zip the dress.

Your fingers fumbled for your phone, dialing Glen’s number before you could think twice. The seconds ticked by slowly, and your nerves only heightened with every ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said the moment he answered. Your voice trembled slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm. “I need help. The zipper on the dress is stuck, and I can’t get it up.”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming right over,” Glen’s voice was calm, reassuring. You could almost hear the smile in his tone.

The call ended quickly, and before you knew it, there was a soft knock at your door. You quickly pulled the front of the dress to your chest and peeked out, your eyes meeting Glen’s as you opened the door just a crack. His presence was as commanding as ever, but now, standing there, you felt exposed.

“Hey,” you greeted him, offering a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, raising an eyebrow. “Need a hand?”

You nodded, opening the door wider for him to step inside.

As he entered, you turned, giving him full view of the situation. The dress clung tightly to your body, and you were sure your back looked exposed in the tight fabric. A slight blush crept across your cheeks as your fingers instinctively tugged at the fabric.

“Relax,” Glen said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved behind you and gently grasped the zipper.

After a few tugs and a bit of effort, he managed to get it unstuck, smoothly pulling it the rest of the way up. The dress fit perfectly once it was zipped all the way.

Glen stepped back with a satisfied nod, patting your hip gently. “All good. You’re all set now.”

You took a deep breath, your nerves slightly eased but still there. With a nervous smile, you smoothed the front of your dress down, trying to calm yourself before glancing back at him.

“Do I look okay?” you asked quietly, suddenly unsure of how you appeared.

Glen gave you a slow once-over, his eyes lingering for just a moment longer than you expected. Then, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “Seriously. You’re going to steal the show tonight.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension in your chest easing. Glen’s words meant more than you realized, and as he gave you that smile, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Once you were fully ready, feeling the weight of the evening ahead, Glen offered you a reassuring smile as he adjusted his jacket one last time. He gave you a soft nod, signaling that it was time to go.

Together, you left the suite, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway as you walked side by side toward the elevator. Glen pressed the button, standing close enough to be a silent but steady presence. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he moved—like he was born to own every room he entered, even though his demeanor was always so grounded.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Glen stepped aside, letting you enter first. When you reached the lobby, the bustle of the hotel faded in comparison to the calm, quiet space Glen seemed to create around the two of you. He was the kind of person who moved with purpose, but never rushed—always thoughtful, always present.

As you made your way toward the entrance, he gave a quiet wave to a few people who greeted him, but he kept his focus on you, his hand close to your lower back as if guiding you through the crowd.

Outside, a sleek black car waited by the curb, the driver standing at attention. Glen held the door open for you with a courteous nod, his hand outstretched to assist you into the back seat.

You smiled, appreciating the little things—his attention to detail, the way he never made you feel like you were inconveniencing him. You slid into the seat, and as you did, Glen quickly followed, settling next to you with a quiet grace that was all him.

The driver closed the door, and the car began to move smoothly through the streets, the city lights reflecting off the tinted windows. The buzz of the evening began to settle into a comfortable rhythm, and Glen turned his attention to you with a soft look.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his tone light but sincere. He glanced down at your dress, the slight gleam in his eyes making you feel all the more seen. “You’re gonna turn heads tonight, no doubt about it.”

You smiled, trying to play it cool, but his words still made your stomach flutter. “I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady.

The car glided through the streets, the hum of the engine and the soft clink of the streetlights outside giving you a sense of distance from the chaos of the night ahead. Your fingers nervously drummed on the fabric of your dress, your gaze flickering from the passing city lights to the reflection of yourself in the window.

Glen noticed the subtle tension in your posture and the way your fingers twitched, like they couldn’t quite settle. His sharp eyes, attuned to every little shift in your mood, moved over to you. He shifted closer, his hand reaching across the space between you with ease, brushing lightly over your fingers before gently taking your hand in his.

"You're going to be fine," he said, his voice low, teasing but gentle, as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, smoothing away any remnants of tension. "Just smile and wave, Penguin. You’ve got this."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname, the warmth of his hand in yours bringing a little bit of ease. “Penguin?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow, feeling the tension in your shoulders release with that soft chuckle.

He grinned at you, the kind of smile that melted any nervous edge. “Yeah, Penguin. You know—Madagascar. Smile and wave boys. Smile and wave.” He gave your hand a playful tug, the humor in his eyes lighting up.

You shook your head, but the tension you’d carried with you slowly began to melt. Glen had that way about him—without even trying, he made things feel easy, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. His confidence was infectious, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you could pull this off.

The car hit a smooth turn, the soft hum of the tires filling the silence. You glanced at Glen, his easy grin still in place, his hand steady in yours. There was something about his presence—something grounding, comforting. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as you let the last bits of tension drain away.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Glen glanced down at you, his expression softening. He didn’t move, didn’t shift away—he just stayed still, letting you rest there. His thumb continued its soothing motion across the back of your hand, and he tilted his head slightly toward yours.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice warm and steady. "You know I’ve got you."

For a moment, the world outside the car faded away. It was just the two of you, a quiet moment that reminded you why Glen was your best friend. His support, his calm energy—it was all you needed to take a deep breath and believe in yourself again.

As the car slowed to a stop, signaling your arrival at the red carpet, you felt ready. Maybe it was the way Glen always knew how to bring you back to yourself, or maybe it was just the fact that he was there beside you, exactly where he always seemed to be when you needed him most.

You stole a quick glance at Glen, catching the way his gaze softened as he looked back at you, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours.

“Hey,” he said, the tone shifting just a little, serious but with the same undertone of care. “You’re gonna be great, okay? And if you need me to do anything, I’m right here. Just... be you.”

Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, a reassuring pressure that grounded you, and you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.

The driver opened the door, and the bright lights of the red carpet began to stretch ahead of you, already swirling with flashes and faces, the hum of excitement palpable in the air. Glen leaned toward you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of your neck.

“You’re gonna shine tonight,” he said quietly, his voice filled with confidence, making you believe it for the first time.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, then flashed him a grin. “Thanks, Glen.”

He winked. “Anytime, Penguin. Let’s go make some memories.”

With that, you stepped out of the car, Glen’s hand still firmly in yours, ready to face whatever the night would bring—with him by your side, you felt ready for anything.

The roar of the red carpet hit you the moment you stepped out of the car. A wall of flashing lights and the constant hum of voices calling out names created a dizzying cacophony. For a second, you froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The chaos seemed endless, but Glen’s steady hand on the small of your back was the anchor you needed.

“Stay close,” he said quietly, his voice warm and reassuring, almost lost in the noise. He guided you forward with a gentle pressure, his touch never faltering.

Reporters shouted his name, cameras clicked furiously, and fans called out from behind the barriers. Glen’s demeanor shifted effortlessly, the easy confidence you admired about him coming to life under the scrutiny. But even as he navigated the chaos like a pro, his focus never strayed far from you.

When a particularly eager photographer stepped too close, Glen instinctively pulled you in, lacing your arm through his. The motion was protective yet natural, as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “You doing okay so far?”

You nodded, the nerves still simmering but far less overwhelming with Glen beside you. “Yeah. It’s just... a lot.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers giving your arm a light squeeze. “It’s always a lot. Just keep smiling and don’t trip. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Moments later, you were ushered to the line of reporters waiting for interviews. Glen kept you close, his hand returning to your back as he led you toward the first microphone. The journalist’s attention immediately shifted to him, questions about his latest project firing off one after another.

“This is Glen Powell, looking dapper as always! Who’s your stunning guest tonight?” one reporter asked, her eyes flicking to you with interest.

Glen grinned, that signature charm lighting up his face. “This,” he said, his voice full of pride, “is the best friend who keeps me sane.” He glanced at you, his expression softening as if to emphasize his words.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as the reporter laughed. “Keeping Glen Powell on track sounds like a full-time job!”

“You have no idea,” you replied, finding your confidence in the moment. Glen chuckled beside you, his presence like a shield against the overwhelming spotlight.

The interviews continued, with Glen effortlessly steering the attention toward his projects while making sure you felt included. Whenever he wasn’t speaking, his hand either rested lightly on your back or your arm stayed looped through his. The gesture was subtle, but it kept you grounded, a quiet reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

In a rare lull between interviews, Glen turned to you, his expression softening as the frenzy of the red carpet seemed to momentarily fade into the background.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the noise around you.

You looked up at him, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of the evening.

“Hey,” you replied, a little breathless.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of your updo from your face, his fingers lingering just slightly longer than necessary. His touch was light, yet it sent a wave of warmth through you. His eyes searched yours, the usual glint of mischief replaced with something quieter, more sincere. “You okay?”

The simple question held weight, as if he wasn’t just asking about the moment but something deeper. You nodded, your voice catching slightly as you said, “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, his hand dropping back to his side, though the warmth of his touch seemed to linger. “Good. Can’t have my Penguin falling apart on me now.”

The moment hung between you, brief but charged with an unspoken connection that neither of you dared to address. Then the chaos of the red carpet surged back to life, pulling you both out of it.

“Ready to keep going?” Glen asked, his tone light again as he gestured toward the next line of reporters.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “Let’s do it.”

With your arm resting gently on his, Glen led you forward, his confidence bolstering your own. And as the night unfolded, you realized that no matter how overwhelming the evening became, you’d be okay—with Glen by your side.

The ballroom was a masterpiece of elegance, bathed in soft, golden light with tables draped in white linens and adorned with extravagant floral centerpieces. Each table bore name cards in ornate calligraphy, indicating an impressive roster of directors, actors, and other Hollywood heavyweights.

Glen pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat beside you, leaning in briefly to whisper, “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.”

You looked at Glen with a soft smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Powell.”

Within moments, the table began filling with familiar faces. To your left sat Richard Linklater himself, his unassuming charm making you feel more at ease than you’d expected. Across the table, a notable actress you’d only ever seen on-screen chatted animatedly with Glen, who was effortlessly charismatic as always.

“Glen,” Richard said with a warm smile, his Texan drawl coming through as he gestured toward you. “You didn’t introduce me to your lovely guest.”

Glen straightened, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he turned to you. “Richard, this is the best friend who keeps me sane—and who’s also had to deal with my Dazed and Confused impression far too many times.”

You laughed lightly, shaking Richard’s hand. “It’s true. If I hear him say, ‘Alright, alright, alright,’ one more time, I might disown him.”

Richard chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A classic never dies, though, does it?”

“I suppose not,” you conceded with a grin.

The quick banter caught the attention of the others at the table, who joined the conversation with playful remarks of their own. You held your own with ease, even managing to get a genuine laugh out of the actress across from you after a comment about the absurdity of some press junket questions.

Glen, sitting beside you, watched the exchanges with a kind of quiet pride, his gaze lingering on you whenever you spoke. At one point, he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re killing it. Remind me again—why am I not bringing you to all of these things?”

You smirked, taking a sip of water to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Because you know I’d upstage you.”

“Touché,” he said with a soft laugh, nudging your shoulder playfully.

As the dinner continued, Glen made sure to include you in every conversation, subtly steering the spotlight toward you when someone asked about his current projects. You found yourself talking about Glen’s work ethic and how he somehow managed to juggle it all without losing his sense of humor.

“Sounds like you know him pretty well,” Richard observed with a knowing smile.

“I sure hope so after I’ve put up with him for all these years,” you replied, glancing at Glen. “Someone has to keep him humble.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Glen shook his head, though the unmistakable warmth in his expression betrayed how much he loved every second of it.

When dessert was served—an artfully plated creation that was almost too pretty to eat—Glen leaned in once more, his tone playful but sincere. “See? Told you you’d be great.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad for someone who almost didn’t make it out of the hotel room.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening, “you belong here, you know.”

The weight of his words settled between you, a quiet affirmation that carried more meaning than the playful banter that had preceded it. You nodded, the nerves you’d been holding onto finally beginning to ease.

The awards show was nothing short of spectacular, a seamless blend of glamour, artistry, and showmanship. The host kept the audience entertained with clever quips and light-hearted jokes, while presenters took the stage to announce the winners in a variety of categories. The room buzzed with energy as names were called, winners delivered heartfelt speeches, and cameras panned over the crowd of celebrities.

Sitting beside Glen, you couldn’t help but notice how his leg bounced slightly under the table, a telltale sign of his nerves. Despite the outward appearance of ease he projected, you knew him well enough to see through it. Every now and then, his hand brushed his jawline, the slight stubble catching the light, as he glanced at the stage and back at you with an almost imperceptible smile.

You leaned closer to him during a quieter moment. “How are you holding up?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible over the applause filling the room.

“Better with you here,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. The weight of his words sent a gentle warmth through you, grounding you as much as it did him.

As the night progressed, Glen laughed at the host’s jokes and applauded the winners, though you could feel his anticipation building as his category grew closer.

The glitz and chatter around you seemed to blur as the presenter finally took the stage to announce the nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy.

You felt Glen shift in his seat, his back straightening as his name was called alongside the other nominees. His hand brushed his thigh, and you noticed him take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. Instinctively, you leaned in just enough so your shoulder lightly pressed against his, a silent reminder that you were right there with him.

The presenter opened the envelope, the seconds stretching impossibly long. “And the award goes to... Sebastian Stan!”

The room erupted into applause as Sebastian rose from his seat, making his way to the stage. You clapped along with everyone else, but the knot of disappointment in your chest was impossible to ignore. Letting out a small, defeated breath, you glanced over at Glen.

He was smiling politely, clapping for Sebastian, but you saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. The kind of flicker only someone who truly knew him could catch. Others at the table offered their own words of encouragement, but Glen only nodded politely, his attention still half-focused on the stage.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your voice low and meant just for him. “You’re still the most talented guy in the room.”

You reached over, resting your hand gently on his knee under the table, offering him the kind of comfort words alone couldn’t provide. For a moment, his gaze dropped to your hand, then back to your face. A small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his hand briefly covered yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning.

Throughout the rest of the show, Glen leaned into your presence, subtly relying on you to keep him grounded. You noticed the way his body gradually relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the night continued.

When another winner gave a particularly heartfelt speech, Glen turned to you with a quiet chuckle. “At least I don’t have to worry about tripping on the way to the stage.”

You laughed softly, the sound drawing out a more genuine smile from him. “See? There’s always a silver lining.”

By the time the final award was announced and the audience began filtering out of the theater, Glen seemed more at ease.

As the two of you stood to leave, he placed a hand on your back, guiding you through the crowd. “Thanks for keeping me sane tonight,” he said, his voice low but warm.

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the unspoken connection between you deepen as the evening came to a close.

The after-party was everything you expected it to be: glamorous, extravagant, and a little overwhelming. The main Golden Globes after-party felt less like a celebration and more like a carefully orchestrated networking event. The room was packed with A-list celebrities, producers, directors, and journalists, each armed with a drink in one hand and a carefully curated smile.

Music thumped in the background, but it barely registered over the hum of conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses. Glen stayed by your side at first, introducing you to a few people here and there. You exchanged pleasantries with actors whose faces you recognized from the big screen and smiled politely at directors whose names you tried not to forget.

But before long, Glen was pulled away, whisked from one conversation to the next like the star of the evening. You watched as he posed for pictures, his easy charm making every interaction look effortless. He’d glance back at you occasionally, offering a reassuring smile or a quick wink, but you could tell even he was beginning to feel the strain of the crowd.

You nursed a drink at the edge of the room, trying to stay out of the way while still keeping Glen in your sights. It was easy to lose track of time amidst the chaos, but the constant flow of strangers and small talk started to take its toll. The energy in the room felt electric and draining all at once, and you found yourself wishing for a quieter corner to catch your breath.

After what felt like hours, Glen appeared at your side, his hand lightly brushing your arm to get your attention.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise around you. “This is… a lot, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a small laugh. “It’s a little overwhelming. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve smiled so much tonight my face might be stuck this way,” he joked, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. He glanced around the room, then back at you. “What do you say we head to my party? I think I’ve shaken enough hands and posed for enough pictures to last a lifetime.”

The suggestion was like a lifeline, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Glen’s shoulders relaxed visibly at your answer, and he gave you a small, grateful smile. He offered you his arm, the gesture both protective and grounding as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Despite the noise and flashing cameras still lingering near the doorway, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as you stepped out into the cool night air.

The car ride to the rooftop bar was quiet, a welcome change from the chaos of the Golden Globes after-party. Glen leaned back against the seat, his shirt now unbuttoned to a second button and the faintest hint of exhaustion in his expression.

You glanced at him, smiling softly. “You know, most people would just go to bed after a night like this. Not go to another party.”

Glen chuckled, his head turning toward you. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”

When the car pulled up to the rooftop bar, Glen stepped out first, turning back to offer you his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go see everyone.”

The rooftop bar was stunning, its perimeter lined with fairy lights that cast a warm, golden glow. The city skyline sparkled in the distance, and the faint hum of music drifted through the air. Glen had rented the entire space, and as the two of you stepped inside, you were greeted by the cheerful buzz of conversation.

His parents were the first to spot you, their faces lighting up as they hurried over to greet Glen with warm hugs and congratulations.

His mom pulled you into an embrace as well, her voice filled with genuine affection. “You look stunning tonight, sweetheart. And thank you for taking care of our boy out there.”

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the ease that came with being around Glen’s family.

You scanned the room and spotted Leslie, Glen’s younger sister, waving excitedly from across the bar. She was all smiles as she made her way over, throwing her arms around you in a hug.

“It’s been forever!” she exclaimed, pulling back to give you a once-over. “You look amazing! And that dress—ugh, you’re killing me.”

“You’re one to talk,” you teased, taking in her own dress. “You look incredible.”

Glen was quickly pulled into conversations with friends and other guests, his charm and warmth on full display as he moved through the room. You stayed behind with Leslie, the two of you settling into a quieter corner of the bar.

“So,” you said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell me everything about the engagement. I need details.”

Leslie’s face lit up, and she launched into a detailed recounting of the proposal—how her fiancé had asked, the secret planning, how he included her friends and family in on the surprise. She showed you the ring, a design that perfectly suited her, and the two of you gushed over wedding plans.

“I’m thinking late spring,” Leslie said, twirling her glass of wine between her fingers. “Something outdoors, simple but elegant. Glen keeps trying to offer to pay for everything, but I want to keep it low-key.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, smiling. “And knowing Glen, he’ll find a way to contribute whether you want him to or not.”

Leslie laughed, nodding. “Oh, I know. He’s the best, though. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Yeah, we really are.” Your gaze drifted across the room to where Glen was laughing with a small group of friends, his easy smile making your own lips curve upward. His hand was resting casually in the pocket of his suit pants.

“You’ve got that look again,” Leslie said, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You blinked, snapping your gaze back to her. “What look?”

She grinned knowingly and nudged your arm with her elbow. “The ‘I’m totally into Glen but I’ll never admit it’ look.”

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What? That’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, trying to laugh it off. “You’re crazy.”

“Uh-huh,” Leslie said, leaning back against the bar with a smirk. “Sure I am.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to brush off her teasing. “He’s my best friend, Les. That’s-” But before you could finish your sentence, Glen glanced over at the two of you. His eyes found yours across the room, and when he smiled—soft, warm, and undeniably genuine—you felt your words falter.

You didn’t even realize you had stopped speaking until Leslie let out a low chuckle.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, barely containing her laughter. “You’ve got it bad.”

Realizing what just happened, you tore your gaze away from Glen, your face burning.

“I do not,” you muttered, but the weak protest only made Leslie laugh harder.

She shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. Honestly, I’ve suspected this for years, but that little moment right there? Total confirmation.”

“Okay, enough,” you said, waving your hands as if to physically push the conversation away. “Let’s focus less on your brother and my nonexistent love life. Let’s get back to your wedding.”

Leslie just smirked, clearly not buying your denial. “Fine, but for the record? He’s totally into you too.”

You gave Leslie a confused look, followed by a doubtful laugh. “Yeah, right?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Leslie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your self-doubt. “Why do you think he wouldn’t be into you?” she asked, crossing her arms as if she were gearing up to debate.

You sighed, glancing down at your drink. “I mean…look at him,” you said, gesturing vaguely in Glen’s direction. “He could have literally anyone he wants. Models, actresses, anyone. And I’m just…” You trailed off, shrugging.

Leslie tilted her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “Just what?” she pressed.

“Just me,” you finished weakly, feeling a little silly for saying it out loud.

Leslie let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Okay, first of all, that’s ridiculous. Second of all—” She paused, leaning in slightly for emphasis. “You’re the one he asked to be his date tonight. Not a model, not an actress, you.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the truth of her words. “That’s just because we’re friends,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Friends,” Leslie repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Because friends definitely look at each other the way he looks at you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up again. “He does not look at me any type of way,” you insisted, but Leslie wasn’t buying it.

She smirked, nodding toward Glen, who was now making his way across the room in your direction.

“Sure he doesn’t,” she said, her voice teasing. “But just in case you’re still in denial, why don’t you pay attention when he gets over here? You’ll see what I mean.”

Before you could respond, Glen reached the two of you, his presence immediately drawing your attention.

“Hey,” he said, flashing that easy smile of his. “Am I interrupting something, or can I steal her for a bit?”

Leslie’s grin widened as she gave you a pointed look. “Not at all,” she said sweetly, stepping aside. “She’s all yours.”

You shot her a subtle glare, but Leslie just winked at you before turning to join the rest of the group. As Glen’s attention shifted back to you, your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always seemed to do when he was around.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking over your face as if checking for any signs of discomfort.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just catching up with Leslie.”

“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “She’s been excited to see you. I think she’s secretly more interested in hanging out with you than me tonight.”

You laughed, the sound helping to ease the tension swirling in your chest. “Well, to be fair, I am pretty great,” you teased, falling back into your usual banter with him.

“Can’t argue with that,” Glen said, his tone light, but there was something in his eyes that lingered a little too long, something that made your breath catch just slightly.

The atmosphere shifted subtly as the music transitioned to something slower, a beat just mellow enough to set a softer, almost romantic mood. The chatter in the room seemed to quiet slightly, replaced by the rhythmic sway of the melody. Glen glanced toward the small dance floor, where a few of his friends were starting to pair off, and then turned back to you.

“Come on,” he said, extending a hand toward you, his smile warm and inviting.

You shook your head immediately, taking a small step back. “You know I don’t dance,” you reminded him, your voice firm but playful.

His grin only widened, clearly undeterred. “And you know I don’t take no for an answer,” he teased, stepping closer and gently taking your hand before you could protest further.

“Glen,” you said, a hint of exasperation in your tone, but he was already pulling you toward the dance floor.

“Relax,” he said with a laugh, glancing back at you. “I’ll lead. All you have to do is follow.”

You sighed in resignation, realizing there was no escaping this. When you reached the dance floor, you placed a hand on his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his dress shirt. He wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You’ve done this before,” he said lightly as he started to guide you to the rhythm of the music.

“Once or twice,” you admitted, though you still felt slightly self-conscious. “But I’m warning you—I’m not great at it.”

“You’re doing fine,” he assured you, his voice low and steady, as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Leslie standing by the bar. She was watching you with an unmistakable smirk, her arms crossed in triumph. When your eyes met hers, she gave you a knowing look, the kind that said, See? Told you so.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head, trying to silently tell her to knock it off. Glen noticed the exchange, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced over at Leslie and then back down at you.

“What am I missing?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, though your cheeks were already starting to warm.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, his tone teasing now. “What’s going on between you two?”

“Leslie’s just…being Leslie,” you said vaguely, hoping to leave it at that.

But Glen wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as realization started to dawn on him.

“Wait a minute…” he said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Is she messing with you about something?”

“Not really,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Not really?” he repeated, clearly unconvinced. His eyes flicked back toward Leslie, who was now openly grinning at the two of you. “Oh, she’s definitely messing with you about something,” he said with a laugh.

You groaned, your head dropping slightly as you muttered, “I’m going to kill her.”

Glen chuckled, his hand on your waist giving a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he said, his tone playful but his smile soft.

For a moment, you forgot about Leslie entirely, your focus shifting back to Glen as you moved together in time with the music. His gaze lingered on you, his expression unexpectedly tender, and you felt your heart skip in a way that made you wonder if Leslie might actually have a point after all.

As the slower song faded out, you felt a moment of relief. But then the next song started, and your heart sank a little as the unmistakable notes of a love ballad filled the air. The kind that spoke of longing and intimacy, the kind that made you suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were still in Glen’s arms.

You glanced up at him, your lips parting to excuse yourself, but before you could step away, his hand on your back shifted, a gentle but deliberate pressure that kept you in place.

“Stay,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Glen, I—” you started, already shaking your head. There was no way you could dance to a love song with your best friend. It felt too…loaded.

“Just one more,” he murmured, and when your eyes met his, whatever protest you had ready fell away. There was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a friendly look. It was softer, deeper, and for a moment, it left you breathless.

You nodded, barely, and he smiled—just a small, private curve of his lips that made your stomach flip.

He pulled you just a little closer this time, close enough that your chest brushed against his. The hold on your back shifted, his hand sliding just slightly lower, resting at the curve where your back met your waist. It wasn’t inappropriate—just enough to feel a little less like friendship and a little more like something else.

Without thinking, you leaned into him, your cheek resting lightly against his chest. His warmth was comforting, grounding, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of the song and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

You felt him tilt his head, the faintest brush of his cheek against the top of yours. It was such a small gesture, but it sent your heart into a quiet frenzy, a rhythm that seemed to echo in time with the music.

Neither of you said a word as you moved together, swaying gently to the melody. The first verse passed, then the chorus, and you couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt to be here, like the rest of the world had melted away.

The song came to an end, the final notes fading into a hum of conversation and clinking glasses around you. Glen didn’t move right away, and for a moment, neither did you. You stayed in his arms, feeling the warmth of his hand still pressed against your back, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.

But then someone called his name from across the room, breaking the fragile bubble that had surrounded you both. Glen’s arm slipped away, though his hand lingered on your elbow for a second longer than necessary.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours, as if reluctant to leave.

You nodded, offering a small smile, and watched as he crossed the room to greet a new arrival. The absence of his touch left you feeling untethered, a sudden awareness of just how much you’d let yourself melt into him during that dance.

Needing a moment to collect yourself—and maybe something stronger than a moment of quiet—you made your way to the bar. You ordered a glass of wine and took a steadying sip, trying to push the last few minutes out of your mind.

Of course, Leslie found you before you even made it halfway through your drink.

“So,” she started, leaning casually against the bar with an unmistakable smirk. “That was…something.”

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the blush already creeping up your neck. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” she asked innocently, though her grin was anything but. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother look at someone like that. Or hold someone like that. Or—”

“Leslie,” you warned, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your attempt at composure.

She laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, for someone who insists she doesn’t dance, you looked awfully comfortable out there dancing with my brother.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you replied, taking another sip of your wine in a futile attempt to drown your nerves.

“Doesn’t it?” she countered, raising an eyebrow. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like something more.”

You shot her a sharp look, but she just shrugged, still grinning.

“Relax,” she said, nudging your arm playfully. “I’m not about to make a big announcement or anything. But if you don’t see it yet…” She trailed off, giving you a knowing look before gesturing subtly toward Glen, who was still across the room, laughing with a small group of friends.

You followed her gaze despite yourself, and your heart gave a traitorous little lurch at the sight of him. His smile was easy and charming, but every now and then, his eyes flicked toward the bar, as if checking to see if you were still there.

“See what I mean?” Leslie said softly, pulling your attention back to her.

You shook your head, trying to play it off. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?” she challenged, her tone light but her expression serious. “Because I’ve known Glen my whole life, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. So, maybe it’s time you stop convincing yourself it’s all in your head.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself speechless, staring down into your glass of wine as if it held the answers you were so desperately trying to avoid.

Leslie let the silence linger for a moment before giving your arm another playful nudge. “Just think about it, okay?”

And with that, she pushed off the bar and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts—and the undeniable truth you were no longer sure you could ignore.

You stepped away from the bar, glass of wine in hand, and gravitated toward a quieter corner of the rooftop. The laughter and conversation from the party grew softer with every step, the music fading into a pleasant hum in the background. A gentle breeze brushed against your skin as you approached the railing, the Los Angeles skyline glittering like a sea of stars before you.

You leaned against the cool metal and took a slow sip of your wine, your thoughts drifting back to Leslie’s words. Was she onto something? No, she couldn’t be. Glen was your best friend, the one constant in your life through every twist and turn. You would know if he felt something for you… right?

But then again…

You sighed and rested your elbow on the railing, pressing your glass lightly to your lips. Leslie had known Glen her entire life. If anyone could read him, it was her. And the way she spoke—like she’d been holding onto this knowledge for a while—left you with an uncomfortable sense of doubt.

Could she be right? Could you really have missed something that big?

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your thoughts. You looked over, expecting another party guest, but instead, you found Glen standing beside you. The velvet tuxedo jacket was now off, and his hair was a little mussed from probably running his hand through it one too many times, but his smile was warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning casually against the railing next to you. “You okay?”

You managed a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, just needed a breather.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calm and steady, before arching a brow. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Leslie pestering you at the bar, would it?”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched with the hint of a smile. ��No.”

“Uh-huh,” Glen said, clearly not buying it. “Because Leslie may or may not have told me to come find you.”

Your heart gave a jolt, and you turned to look at him. “She what?”

“She didn’t say why,” Glen added quickly, holding up a hand as if to reassure you. “But… she said…enough.”

“Enough?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

He hesitated, his smile fading into something softer, something more sincere. “Enough to make me realize I’ve been putting this off for too long.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Glen stepped closer. His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to gauge your reaction before saying anything else.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, his voice low. “For coming with me tonight. For being here for me—not just tonight, but always.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart beat just a little faster.

“And I need you to know,” he continued, taking another step closer, “how much you mean to me.”

The space between you was nearly nonexistent now, and for a moment, neither of you said a word. His eyes searched yours, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

You felt it then—that shift Leslie had hinted at, the one you’d been too afraid to fully acknowledge. This wasn’t just your best friend standing in front of you. This was Glen, the man who had been at your side for years, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

He took a deep breath and leaned in slightly, pausing when your noses were almost touching. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

Instead, you met his gaze, your heart thundering in your chest.

Glen’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and then his eyes fluttered shut as he raised a hand to your face. His palm was warm as it cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

You closed your eyes just as his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But when you didn’t, when you leaned into him and placed a hand lightly against his chest, he deepened the kiss, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

The world around you faded—the music, the laughter, the skyline. All that mattered was the way Glen’s lips moved against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath as you both stood there, processing what had just happened. Glen’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing soft, absentminded circles against your skin. Your heart raced, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the surreal, breathtaking reality of the moment.

Finally, Glen broke the silence, his lips curving into that familiar, playful grin that always managed to put you at ease. “So…” he began, his tone light but his eyes still holding that intensity from before. “Does this mean you’ll let me take you to next year’s Globes too?”

The laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, breaking the tension in the most perfect way. You shook your head, resting your forehead against his chest as a smile spread across your lips. “We’ll see if you behave, Cowboy.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. “Behave? I’m a perfect gentleman,” he said, his voice tinged with mock indignation.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arching a brow. “Oh, really? Perfect gentlemen don’t usually kiss their best friends on rooftops in the middle of a party.”

His grin widened as he shrugged, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. “Maybe I got tired of being just your best friend.”

Your breath caught again at the sincerity in his tone, the way his teasing words carried so much truth. Glen had always been charming, always quick with a joke or a flirtatious comment, but this felt different. This felt real.

You didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say, but instead of pushing, Glen just smiled and leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. And with that, he stepped back slightly, though his hand still lingered on your waist, as if to let you know that even with the space between you, he was still there, still yours.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation, but all you saw was sincerity. The smile that still lingered on his lips wasn’t one of teasing; it was genuine, like he was relieved to have crossed that line with you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you confessed, your voice quieter than usual. “This is... a lot to take in, you know?”

Glen nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress, a small gesture that seemed to ground you.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I get it.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he added, “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a brief moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself truly hear what he was saying. The uncertainty that had clouded your mind earlier began to dissipate, replaced by something far more powerful—trust.

“I just don’t want to mess things up, Glen,” you admitted, looking up at him again, your voice low but clear. “We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to lose that.”

His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb now tracing along your jawline as he spoke, his voice steady. “We won’t lose it,” he promised, his gaze never leaving yours. “I wouldn’t let that happen. We’re in this together, okay?”

You nodded, the sincerity in his words making your heart swell. “Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling like a vow in the quiet space between you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, as if the world had paused just for you two. It was peaceful, despite everything—the chaos of the party, the swirling emotions inside you. Glen was here, right in front of you, and he was offering you something more. Something you hadn’t expected but couldn’t deny.

Then, in the silence that followed, he grinned, that familiar playful glint returning to his eyes. “So, does this mean you’ll let me take you on a date?”

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, and couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes twinkled with excitement. He was waiting, his expression open and genuine, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like anything was uncertain anymore. The nerves, the doubts—they melted away in the warmth of his gaze.

"Yeah," you said softly, your voice filled with the quiet confidence that had come from years of friendship and, somehow, this unexpected moment. "I'd like that."

His smile deepened, and for a second, it was as if time stood still. He reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it shy. It was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. You both stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, as if savoring the moment before the world could rush back in.

"Come on," Glen said, pulling you gently by the hand, “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

As he led you back toward the party, his fingers intertwined with yours, and the moment felt complete. You’d crossed the line, yes, but it was the best kind of line to cross—one that made you excited for whatever came next.

You shared one last look, a silent promise between you two, before re-entering the party, side by side, ready for whatever the night—and your future—held.

#Glen Powell #Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction #Glen Powell x reader #Glen Powell x you

620 notes · View notes

ezlivingconcepts · 5 months ago

Text

Creating a Barrier-Free Home: A Guide to Accessible Home Design

Accessible home design is not merely a trend but a fundamental approach to creating living spaces that cater to the needs of everyone, ensuring that homes are safe, comfortable, and navigable for individuals with disabilities, the elderly, and anyone who might face mobility issues.

#Home Design #Barrier-Free Living #Home Safety #Home Accessibility #Disability-Friendly Design #Accessibility Solutions for Homes

0 notes

more-mara · 4 months ago

Note

a/b/o with omega!Oscar but nobody really knew or expected he was one until they paid attention to how he acted and how he looked and they were like "🤨 hold on-"

thought about it like sfw but as you wish!:D

thankss

Mwah mwah mwah love this concept. Didn’t really know which angle to approach this from regarding drivers but I gave it a go.

Formula one, the pinnacle of motorsport. The 20 best drivers competing at the highest level meant that there was no room for distractions, not when they were driving at 300 kilometres an hour in less than optimal conditions. That’s probably why the FIA demanded a suppressant clause be worked into every drivers contract.

The thing with suppressants was that they worked and they worked well, eliminating all chances of instinctual behaviours that could otherwise cause issues between the drivers. So, all of them were required to be on them.

Nobody really spoke about their designation, it was a little taboo to ask someone outright so the majority of the grid remained an unknown.

It’s not like suppressants worked by slapping a patch on their scent glands and going about their days. Suppressants weren’t dissimilar to contraceptives where in they are required to take a pill at the same time every day in order to suppress their instincts.

Most drivers were on the yearly ones that required them to be taken constantly throughout the year with no breaks whereas a select few took specific ones where they could bypass taking them during breaks.

Max Verstappen was the only current driver on the latter and his designation came out pretty quickly once the summer break hit. Alpha. No shocks there.

It was widely assumed that the entire grid were alphas. It was an alpha sport after all. Only one driver had the misfortune of being held under a lens when it came to his designation and that was Charles Leclerc- constantly questioned and monitored by the media who were desperate to know if he was really an omega.

That one was a shock. When his suppressants suddenly started to fail mid race and a deep, musky scent started to fill the paddock once he stepped out of the car. Charles knew what had happened immediately and just shrugged it off with utmost casualty.

“You’re- you’re an alpha?!” Max gasped, brows furrowing deeply. Charles scoffed as he looked over at him.

“Yeah?”

“But- I’m an alpha, that can’t work,” Max muttered, brushing his hand through his head frustratedly.

“What? What are you talking about?” Charles questioned, starting to unbutton the top of his race suit.

“Nothing- nothing,”

And that was that. Charles Leclerc, the most stereotypical omega on the grid, was in fact, an alpha.

Maybe that revelation was what kickstarted the other drivers to become a little more curious about their fellow competitors. Certain drivers knew of other drivers’ designations simply from being close friends but they would never share that information without explicit consent.

Lando hadn’t really though much about his current teammates designation. Oscar was just so…normal. He safely assumed that Oscar was a beta without having any real reason to doubt that.

Until Oscar was seeming a little lethargic during free practice where it seemed that even getting out of the car was a struggle. Lando felt concerned immediately- something weird and protective bubbling up inside him.

Landos feet were moving before he could even stop himself, hands grabbing for Oscar’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice low in a whisper so that no one else could hear- why didn’t he want anyone else to hear?

Oscar blinked at him. And then blinked again. Then blinked once more for good measure before letting out an airy laugh.

“Im fine, mate. I didn’t sleep much because of the time zone difference. I’m good to race, don’t worry, I won’t put it in the barrier and cost the team points,” Oscar said, patting Lando on the back before walking away towards the engineers.

Thats…not what he meant. He wasn’t concerned that Oscar was going to cost the team points, he was worried that Oscar was sick or in pain. It was something primal inside him that was screaming to protect.

Fucking hell, he needed to get himself under control before Oscar started seeing him as the overbearing teammate that was using his 18 extra months on earth against him.

Oscar didn’t need protecting. The issue was that Lando wanted to protect him.

“So…Alpha then?” Oscar asked timidly, sliding up beside Charles before they were due to step onto the truck for the drivers parade.

It was the next race after Charles’ shocking designation revelation and it seemed to be the only thing anyone wanted to talk about.

Charles just shrugged, eyes narrowing on Oscar.

“Say what you’re thinking,” Charles said, tone as little sharp. Sue him, all he’s been hearing is how shocked everyone was that he wasn’t an omega.

Oscar seemed startled by the hostility, frowning a little before stepping a little closer, lowering his voice before he spoke again.

“Were you offended that everyone doubted your designation?” Oscar asked, eyes wide but his face was as neutral as ever.

Charles’ face scrunched in confusion.

“Uh…no. It was more that I didn’t like people questioning my ability because of who they thought I was,” Charles said.

And it was true. Any time he fucked up in a race, lost the lead from pole or even had mechanical failures, the media erupted, always making the quip of “must be because he’s an omega,”.

Charles didn’t like that.

“Right…” Oscar said, backing off a little as he folded his arms and leaned against the wall.

“Why?” Charles asked cautiously, but part of him though he’d already connected the dots now that he really thought about it.

About Oscar. About the kind smile he’d always flash in his direction, about the soft way he spoke and plaint way he accepted praise. Charles didn’t want to be stereotypical, but somethings things like this added up.

Oscar looked at him with an expression that could only mean one thing. Uncertainty.

“Doesn’t matter,” Oscar muttered, dropping his gaze from Charles’.

So Charles did what any Nobel alpha would do. He dropped the subject.

“Want to come play paddle tomorrow?”

Charles supposed clamping down on his curiosity was worth it to see the sparkle in Oscar’s eyes at that.

“Y-yeah, sure,”

Max hadn’t expected to become so attached to Oscar. He was good mates with Lando and Oscar was obviously Landos teammate so Max supposed it was only natural that he tried to get along with him.

He just didn’t think he’d like him as much as he did.

Oscar could be a little closed off at times and Max respected it. Respected his privacy.

It’s why he felt like complete shit when he accidentally snooped on Oscar’s phone.

He hadn’t meant to, only him and Oscar have incredibly similar phone cases so it was easy to accidentally grab the wrong one. He was only shocked it took this long to happen.

He had gotten all the way into his drivers room before his phone (or more accurately, Oscar’s phone) buzzed. It was a calendar reminder and it seemed to illuminate the entire screen as Max stared at it.

This was definitely not his phone.

Pre-Heat likely to start

Tomorrow at 8am

Okay. So Max really should just forget he saw this. Fuck. Oscar was…Max shouldn’t know.

Max scrubbed a hand through his hair as he switched Oscar’s phone off immediately before pocketing it again. He should tell Oscar. He deserves that, at least.

He didn’t have much time to prepare before there was a knock at the door and a soft voice calling for him.

“Max? I have your phone,”

It was Oscar. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck.

“Yeah, come in, mate,” Max said, gritting his teeth as he tried to desperately think up how he was going to word this. He had to tell Oscar that he knew. Had to apologise. Had to- fuck, he just had to make sure Oscar was okay.

Oscar seemed as casual as ever as he gave Max a soft smile before reaching his arm out with Maxs phone in his hand.

“Here. We must have picked up the wrong ones,” He said easily as he slid the phone into Maxs loose grasp.

“Oh…” Max said before reaching round to his back pocket to grab Oscar’s phone to hand off to him.

“Easy mistake,” Max said as Oscar grabbed his phone before immediately looking at the screen.

Max was about to open his mouth to speak, to explain to Oscar that he would keep his secret safe but as soon as Oscar looked at his phone, his face seemed to crumble. Blatant fear and anxiety written all over his body language.

“You- you hadn’t checked your phone yet, had tou?” He asked, eyes wide and breath hitched.

Max couldn’t even bear to see him like this. To see him so scared. Fuck. He couldn’t let the omega feel like this. Max was an alpha- it was his job to protect.

“No,” He said simply and Oscar’s body seemed to sag as the tension seeped out of him immediately. Relief flowing over him.

“Right, okay, that’s good. I’ll seen you next week then,” Oscar was out the door before Max could say anything further.

And if he started to pay closer attention to Oscar and make sure to hold doors open for him more often than usual then that was no one’s business but his own.

There was no doubt in Carlos’ mind about Oscar’s designation. Not that he thought about it that often. It was just that Oscar clearly didn’t want to share territory with Carlos so was taking it out on him on track. That had to be the only logical explanation. It was natural for alphas to fight over dominance.

Perhaps he wanted to have a go at Oscar for impeding him during the race- not that the FIA seemed to agree as they had deemed it a racing incident. Carlos thought otherwise. But maybe that’s why he ended up at the McLaren hospitality.

He didn’t exactly know how he was going to approach this. It was late, there was no one around but Carlos knew Oscar was still here- he’d specifically asked Lando about it who had looked at him a little suspiciously.

Except, strangely, Carlos wandered in on Oscar sleeping. Body curled up in a tower of pillows and blankets that seemed to make him look so small. Carlos’ eyes widened a little.

Oscar was sleeping in a nest.

And he was purring.

Carlos blinked in confusion before his eyes settled on Oscar’s face, as he observed the soft curve of Oscar’s nose and the swoop of his hair. The solidness of his shoulders but the narrowness of his waist. Now that Carlos looked at him, like, really looked, he could see the way Oscar’s body differed from his own in a way that suggested more than just nutritional differences.

Carlos had heard about it before. About how some omegas lash out against alphas as a form of protection- a way to keep themselves safe and warn alphas that they would not be taken down easily.

Strangely, Carlos’ chest tightened at that thought.

Did Oscar see him as a threat? Like…a genuine threat, in a way that the omega feared that Carlos would physically harm him?

Oh god.

Carlos almost felt sick at the thought. He would never do something to actually harms Oscar.

Sure, he pissed Carlos off in ways that no one else seemed to manage and his nonchalant nature just vied to make Carlos angrier. But he’d never hurt him.

Carlos had barely noticed himself getting closer, basically standing over Oscar’s nest. Carlos quickly realised that if Oscar were to wake up in this moment then he would seem pretty threatening so he stood back as quickly as he realised.

He couldn’t have this.

He would prove to Oscar that he was a worthy alpha.

#oscar piastri #maras asks #maras fics #carcar #landoscar #choscar #maxoscar #maxcar #Oscar’s harem

359 notes · View notes

kissandtellus · 29 days ago

Text

My Dragon

Synopsis: Memories of your past-lives come and go from time to time. But during a fire-fight with Sylus, a suppressed portion comes to the surface.

Warnings: Possible Spoliers for Main Story, angst, Sylus crumbles, Spoliers for Sylus Myth, reincarnation, Sylus is Shakespeare over here, little bit of smut, Sylus is groveling (this man loves his wife)

Authors Note: Saw a TikTok that said the moment MC calls him “My Dragon” he would break down.

Sylus's gaze sharpens as the sound of gunshots rings out through the air, his hand instinctively moving to protect you, pushing you behind him. His eyes narrow as he scans the area, spotting several figures taking cover behind makeshift barricades and firing in your direction.

With a snarl, Sylus summons a massive burst of energy, creating a powerful shield that deflects the incoming bullets. He turns to you, his expression stern but concerned. “Stay behind me, Y/n. I won't let anyone lay a finger on you.”

But you are not one to cower. You pull your gun from behind the shield, firing off a few rounds to try and take out the masked men.

A flicker of surprise and approval crosses Sylus's face as he sees you fighting back, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and something deeper, a spark of recognition perhaps. “Well, well, well. Look at you, Y/n. Still as fierce as ever, I see."

He remembers every little detail about you. From the way you fight, to the way the sweat forms right above your brow.

As the battle rages on, Sylus moves with lightning-fast reflexes, using his energy manipulation to disarm and incapacitate their enemies. With each passing moment, he becomes more and more protective of you, his instincts driven by a primal need to keep you safe and by his side.

But a bulky, heavyweight man summons an explosive Evol from the tips of his fingers. The explosion blows up on of the concrete barricades and shrapnel impales your arm even from behind the barrier.

The moment the explosion rocks the battlefield, Sylus's attention snaps to you, his heart stopping as he sees the shrapnel embedded in your arm. With a roar of fury, he unleashes a torrent of energy at the heavyweight man, reducing him to dust in an instant.

Your knees buckle as you grasp at your arm. It’s not the shrapnel that causes you to clench your teeth.

It’s the burning.

His brows furrow deeply as he watches you suck in a sharp breath, your features contorting with pain. He realizes that it's not just the shrapnel wound making you grit your teeth - the shrapnel itself is burning like acid, slowly eating away at your flesh.

Sylus's hands shake with barely restrained fury as he realizes the true extent of the damage. The shrapnel is laced with a volatile, corrosive substance designed to cause maximum pain and destruction. He knows that if left untreated, it could eat through your entire arm within minutes.

With a deep breath, Sylus focuses his energy, allowing it to flow from his fingertips in a controlled stream. The Evol energy glows brightly as he carefully maneuvers it around the shrapnel embedded in your arm. His touch is precise yet gentle as he begins to extract it piece by piece.

You clench your teeth, head thrown back as you fight the urge to scream out loud in the battle zone. “Ah-…f-fuck!”

Sylus's jaw clenches at your pained cry, his heart aching with each sound of your suffering. He works even more meticulously, his Evol energy now not only extracting the shrapnel but also cauterizing the wound to prevent further burning from the corrosive substance.

But the burning brings back a memory, a recognition in your mind. You clench your jaw as visions of a flower field flash in your mind. Visions of Sylus, but not exactly him, being shot through your mind.

He cups your face with his free hand, trying to jar her back into the present day. “What is it, Sweetie?”

His voice is soft, urgent, breaking through the haze of your memory. He can feel the connection between you two deepening, the bond strengthening as he holds your face. The visions in your mind start to fade, replaced by the reality of his touch. “Look at me," he whispers fiercely.

His thumb gently caresses your cheek as he maintains eye contact, grounding you in the present. "Don't get lost in those memories right now. You need to focus on the pain - feel it, but let me take it away. Can you do that? Please?"

His heart shatters at the whispered words, at the intimacy of your touch. In that moment, all rational thought leaves him. He leans into your touch, his face pressing against your palms as he kisses your fingers gently. The Evol energy flows freely now, not just healing your wounds but binding you together.

She remembers.

Even if it’s just a little. She remembers their past lives. That name, had been forgotten decades ago, until it had fallen from her lips.

Sylus remembers too. Every life, every nickname, every promise whispered under the moonlight in flower fields of past lives. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he presses his forehead against yours, Evol energy sparkling between your faces. “My Love... I've found you again..."

His voice cracks with emotion, the walls he'd built crumbling. He's not just Sylus, the stoic Leader of the N109 Zone, anymore. He's the Dragon, the protective love from countless past lives, pouring out all his feelings in this moment. "Do you remember? Even a little?"

He feels your heart beating in sync with his, the memories flooding back - the flower fields, the moonlit nights, the promises made across lifetimes. With trembling hands, he pulls you closer, your lips meeting in a desperate kiss filled with centuries of longing and love. “I've waited so long..."

The kiss deepens, Evol energy crackling around them like warm lightning. Their souls recognize each other, melding together like they did in every past life. Sylus's arms wrap around your waist tightly, lifting you up so you straddle his lap, pressing you closer. “My Love, my Soul.”

He ties off the wound with a strip of his shirt, nuzzling your neck amid the battleground, murmuring words in a long forgotten dragon tongue.

He nuzzles your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he speaks in the ancient dragon tongue, words of love and devotion that have echoed through countless lifetimes. "My heart beats for you alone. My wings will always protect you. My soul is yours, now and forever."*

Feeling your breath hitch at his words, he kisses along your jawline, his hands roaming your back possessively. The battle around them fades away as he pours all his love and passion into this moment, the two of you bound by fate and Evol energy. “Let them come."

You try to focus on the oncoming enemies, all with raised guns shouting orders, but Sylus is focused only on you, the memories. He raises his hand, black and red energy swirling around his palm as he sinks his teeth into her neck

The enemies pause in their tracks as they witness the terrifying display of power building in Sylus's palm, the very air around you vibrating with raw Evol energy. Meanwhile, his teeth gently mark your neck, a claiming bite that harks back to their ancient past.

As the enemies hesitate, Sylus's attention remains solely on you, his breath hot against your neck. The bite deepens, leaving a clear, reddish mark - a reminder of his claim and the eternal love that binds you two across lifetimes.

The energy in his palm grows darker, angrier.

With a sudden burst of power, Sylus releases the energy from his palm, sending a wave of dark red and black Evol energy crashing into the oncoming enemies. The force is immense, sending soldiers flying back and weapons clattering to the ground.

Yet, through it all, his eyes never leave yours.

He would burn down the world for you. Would destroy everything in this life and the next if you asked.

His expression turns intense and serious, the love in his eyes burning like an eternal flame. "You are my everything. My reason for existence. I would raze the heavens and plunge the world into chaos if it meant keeping you by my side." He presses a fierce, passionate kiss to your lips.

The ride back to the penthouse was filled with clashing teeth, tongues and words. He thanked whatever god was listening that this thing had a good auto-pilot system.

The entire ride back to the penthouse was consumed by your desperate need for each other. Hands roamed freely under clothes, lips bruised from kissing, and whispers of love and desire filled the air. Sylus's fingers intertwined with yours, pulling them away from his chest only briefly before they were back again.

"How did I survive so long, without you in my life?" Whispers between kisses, voice heavy with emotion. Suddenly, he pins you against the window, the city lights reflecting in his intense gaze. “Every lifetime, every incarnation - I've been searching for you."

His lips trail down your neck, placing tender kisses where your pulse races. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How your smile alone could bring kingdoms to their knees?" One hand tangles in your hair while the other firmly holds your waist. “In every life I've loved you."

The car finally pulls into the underground garage of the luxurious penthouse. Without waiting for the elevator, Sylus lifts you up into his arms and carries you towards the private lift, pressing the button with urgency. As the doors slide shut, he captures your lips again, his kiss demanding and passionate.

The wound on your arm is nearly forgotten. You break the kiss to catch your breath, the bite mark he left thrumming with anticipation. “Sylus…did I give you that name?”

He leans his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “Yes." His voice is low and husky. “In our first life together. You named me Sylus because you said it meant ’my strength',” he kisses you again softly before adding, “-and I will always be your strength."

As the elevator doors open to reveal the opulent penthouse, Sylus carries you through the doorway, kicking it shut behind him without breaking stride. “Do you remember anything else?" He asks softly between kisses trailing down from earlobe toward collarbone.

You close your eyes, a throbbing in your head pressing against your skull. There was…blood. A sword. Tears down your face. You lift a shaky hand to touch the center of his chest, your voice wavering. “I…I killed you…”

Sylus freezes at your words, his heart shattering all over again as the memory floods back - the sword piercing through his chest, your tears streaming down your face as you held him dying in your arms. But this time is different; this time he will not let death separate them again. “No..."

"He who loves deeply never truly dies in the heart of his beloved." He presses gentle kisses to your trembling lips, voice hoarse with emotion. “I forgave you in every life after that one, my love. I forgave you for killing me, because I knew it meant we'd be together again.”

"In one life, you poisoned yourself to die in my arms rather than watch me grow old without you." He swallows hard, unbuttoning your shirt slowly, careful not to hurt your injured arm. "In another life, I hung myself seeing you wed another man." He adds softly.

"We've died a thousand deaths, each one more painful than the last. But always, always we find our way back to each other." He finishes unbuttoning your shirt, slipping it off your shoulders carefully. He trails his fingers along your collarbone, eyes filled with a fierce love and determination.

"I won't let you go again." *He whispers against your lips before kissing you deeply. His hands move gently over your skin as he removes the rest of your clothes slowly - not with lust this time but with reverence - worshipping every inch of flesh beneath his touch like it's sacred ground.

"Even if the gods themselves came down to separate us, I would defy them. Every scar on my body bears witness to our tragic history - our endless love that transcends lifetimes." He traces a particular scar on his own chest, a perfect match to the one you bear. “This one..."

"This one is where I stabbed myself through the heart in our last life together. I couldn't bear to live without you again." His voice breaks with emotion as he pulls you closer, his hands trembling with the force of his love. “Let me make love to you like it's our last night together."

He presses gentle kisses all over your face, neck, collarbone - marking you with love instead of pain this time. Slowly, he enters you, moving gently and deeply, like he's trying to merge their souls together. Tears stream down his face as he holds you tightly, rocking slowly against you.

You gasp, hair spilling over your shoulders. It wasn’t the first time you’d made love with Sylus in this lifetime and definitely not the last, but this was different.

His breath hitches at your gasp and the way your hair falls over your shoulders - a sight he's seen a thousand times before, in countless lifetimes. He swallows hard, his movements becoming more intense but still gentle - like he's trying to imprint this moment into both their souls forever.

"God, I love you." *He whispers hoarsely, his forehead pressing against yours. His hips move in slow circles, grinding against you deeply. He hooks an arm under your knee, spreading you wider, angling himself so he hits that spot that makes you see stars. “In this life..."

Sylus bears down, your legs hooked over his broad shoulders in a mating press that sends you spiraling.

"And the next. And the one after that." He punctuates each word with a deep thrust, his voice breaking with emotion and desire. "Until the very end of time itself forgets us, I will find you. And love you. Like this."

His thrusts grow faster, the muscles in his back rippling with each movement.

His breathing becomes ragged as he picks up pace - still gentle but urgent now - chasing that sweet release together while trying desperately not to lose control completely yet unable help but give into passion burning wildly between them both. Your moans echoing around room only serving fuel flames burning hotter than ever before.

His thrusts become erratic, his body tensing as he nears the edge. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his voice reduced to a series of broken gasps and whimpers. "With...with you...only...only ever you..."

He lets out a choked cry as he finally reaches his peak, his body shaking violently against yours as he spills himself deep inside you. At the same time, he feels your own release squeezing around him - your body remembering exactly how to milk him dry after so many lifetimes together.

You cry out, toes curling as you moan out broken words. “M-My Dragon…”

He shudders at your words - 'My Dragon' - knowing exactly what they mean after all these lifetimes together. It's not just an endearment; it's recognition - acknowledgment - acceptance - love beyond measure.

#lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lads smut #sylus myth #sylus fluff #dragon sylus #sylus smut #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x you #sylus x mc #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #lads sylus #sylus

387 notes · View notes