#no wonder that he has such beautiful hair

[wynnyfryd]

@messessentialist told me her friend called to rant about spotting an “upsettingly beautiful boy in a tj maxx” and i vomited 1200 words about it, enjoy

—

fic idea: chrissy and eddie work together at tj maxx. one afternoon a guy comes in who’s so hot that it kinda just pisses eddie off? bc like, who does this gorgeous asshole think he is??? coming in here and popping his hip at eddie’s counter, like, does he even know how uncomfortable it is to start chubbin’ up in skinny jeans?? that shit chafes!

so eddie gets all flustered and responds by getting an attitude with the guy because he has zero chill (and also because the dude’s iced coffee is sweating a ring all over eddie’s counter, and so help him if his manager gets on his ass one more time about keeping his station tidy—)

“did you need help finding anything else today?” eddie sneers. “coasters, perhaps?”

upsettingly hot guy looks confused for a second before he follows eddie’s pointed glance at the plastic starbucks cup leaving a cold puddle on the laminate, and then he sneers right back; adjusts the ray bans nestled in his perfect honey brown hair and looks eddie up and down — long, slow, one eyebrow lifting in subtle elitist disapproval.

“what?” he snorts, “hot topic wasn’t hiring?”

oh, fuck you very much!

so eddie’s all ‘nemesis acquired’ and holds the biggest grudge of all time. makes a sworn enemy and a boogeyman out of the guy, turns him into urban legend, starts blaming the Upsettingly Beautiful Man for every little thing that goes wrong in his life — at work, at home, at band practice; no place is safe from the dreaded UBM.

“he’s not a fucking cryptid!” gareth snaps one day at rehearsal, chucking a drumstick at eddie’s head. “just track him down and bone already so you can shut the hell up!”

“wouldn’t he just talk about him more after they have sex?” jeff wonders, to which gareth narrows his eyes and raises his second drumstick as a threat.

meanwhile, eddie’s cute coworker chrissy (who he’s become surprisingly good friends with, to the point of referring to her as his work wife) gets a girlfriend. robin’s sooooo pretty, and soooo nice, and sooooo tall, eddie, did you know how tall she is?

yes, chrissy, he’s supremely aware of a stranger’s five-foot-eight-and-a-half stature now, thank you.

“you have to meet her!” chrissy gushes, bouncing up onto her toes.

eddie hangs another shirt. “you have to chill.”

“hey!” she pouts, pixar princess cute. “you wouldn’t tell the sun to dull its shine, would you?”

“i mean, i would, but i doubt the giant ball of plasma cares what i want.”

“okay, whatever, eeyore.” she rolls her eyes but she physically can’t stop beaming even as she does it, and eddie finds himself melting under it — some sort of radiant area attack coming from the apples of this girl’s cheeks, he swears, because the next thing he knows he’s agreeing to go to rando new girlfriend’s housewarming party this weekend so he can meet her properly.

only he doesn’t get to meet her properly, because when he shows up to the party the two bedroom apartment is packed with people he’s never seen, and it’s loud as fuck in here and he’s sweating through his leather from the six flights of stairs he had to climb to reach the place, so he steps through a sliding door out to the balcony and lo and behold, if it isn’t Upsettingly Beautiful Man looking upsettingly beautiful — positively fucking divine, actually, the last wisps of fuchsia sunset catching the gold streaks in his hair and dotting the tip of his flawless nose. Seriously, does this dude have any flaws? A scar, a birthmark, an unsightly ingrown hair? Eddie can’t even see a single blackhead for fuck’s sake.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” the dude mutters, turning to look at him, and, “oh, my god, you again?”

“uh.”

“i’ve got a fucking coaster this time,” the guy says, lifting his solo cup and giving it a little shake to point out the cork round sitting underneath it, “so if that’s what you came out here to berate me for, then you’ll have to think of something else.”

“uh,” eddie says again, because he has no idea what brought this on but he’s pretty sure it has shit all to do with him, and pretty boy’s really working himself up now, arms moving in sharp gestures as he paces back and forth on the short balcony.

“not that it even matters if i didn’t have a coaster, because this is my house! i can do what i want with my own fucking stuff in my own fucking apartment, nance, i don’t— uh…”

pretty boy’s face blossoms rose petal red, a heavy blush creeping up his jawline as he catches himself mid rant and folds in on himself, crossing his arms over his chest with a sheepish expression.

eddie’s always had a thing for shepherding.

“i’m listening,” he says, popping a cigarette in his mouth and holding the pack out in offering. “if you care to vent.”

the guy — steve, eddie finds out — tells him all about his controlling ex-girlfriend as they work their way through two cigarettes each, the sun slipping away to reveal a full topaz moon, big and low and close, ripe citrus bending the branch of a tree. nance was a real piece of work by the sounds of it, and eddie feels like an absolute shit for the way he treated steve, who had apparently just gotten dumped the night before they met and had been out shopping for a “please take me back” present.

“like that was ever gonna work,” steve mumbles, ashing over the railing. “pathetic. anyway, sorry i was rude to you that day or whatever.”

“you weren’t.”

“nah, i was.” steve shifts his weight, knocks their shoulders together. “not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“yeahhhh,” eddie agrees, cringing at himself. “sorry.”

“all good. so what’s your story then, huh? who pissed in your cheerios that day?”

eddie blames the alcohol fumes wafting from steve’s cup — a justification that makes perfect sense and would totally hold up in a court of law — for what he says next.

“honestly? you.”

steve’s face is so cartoonishly offended that eddie busts out laughing, eyes crinkling, head thrown back.

“oh, so you’re just an asshole,” steve nods sagely. “first cute guy to flirt with me in six weeks is a lunatic. love that for me.”

“no, i—” eddie laughs, “okay, we’re coming back to how you think i’m cute, but i just meant, uh-”

oh, fuck it. eddie’s never been good at holding his cards close to the chest. more of a 52 pick up kinda guy, historically, and why change now?

“you were so gorgeous it, like, genuinely upset me for a second,” eddie admits, running his tongue over his lip. he stubs out his cigarette; turns to look right at steve. “like, uh, like cuteness aggression or some shit.”

steve mirrors his posture, leaning an elbow on the railing, nearly chest to chest. “so you are crazy,” he smiles.

“that’s correct.” eddie swallows.

steve moves in to close the gap. “good crazy?”

“fun crazy, so i’m told.”

“i’m gonna kiss you if that’s cool.”

“very”

the kiss tastes like ripe citrus

[jasmineoolongtea]

― i like the way you kiss me . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

― the ways in which they kiss you when you aren't actually together yet ₊˚⊹♡

contents: gojo x gn!reader, geto x gn!reader, nanami x gn! reader, choso x gn!reader, megumi x gn!reader, yuji x gn!reader, yuta x gn!reader, headcanons/brief drabbles, slightly suggestive for some of them if you squint a/n: just some headcanons i wanted to write after listening to i like the way you kiss me by artemas plus i needed a short writing break from my risk - megumi fic that i've been working on. hope you guys enjoy this !!!

gojo satoru kisses you like he misses you already despite barely being apart for more than a few hours. it didn't matter to him that he just saw you moments ago. that was nothing more than a trivial fact to him, just like the fact that you two still weren't actually together yet, in the grand scheme of things. why should he be waiting any second longer to feel your touch on him? he was never good at being patient anyways.

"missing me already huh?" you murmur against his lips, his hands securing you against him as he pinned you against the brick wall of the restaurant behind you two.

he scoffs at your comment. "oh shut up." his lips are on yours again in a matter of second. you weren't going to lie, you were enjoying this. to see someone so powerful like gojo satoru yet so susceptible to your presence to the point where he couldn't wait anymore to have your lips against his. with his flushed cheeks and slightly puffy lips, you want to forever immortalise this image of him in your mind. silently, you thanked whatever was out there that he decided to forgo his sunglasses tonight as their absence allowed you to truly appreciate the beauty of his eyes, even being able to notice the tiniest specks of what appeared to be gold in his pupils.

as he tilts his head to the side to better fit his features against yours, you swear you can feel his every breath with how flushed his chest is against yours. you even earn a soft groan from him when your fingers dance across his undercut, taking your time to run your hands through his snowy locks.

you're glad that his eyes are closed right now, getting a ticklish sensation as his long eyelashes kiss the expanses of your cheeks with the slight flutter of his eyes so that he isn't able to notice how the red blush that was once contained on your face has now expanded outwards to the tip of your eyes. he bites at your bottom lip gently, as if asking for permission to go further and you grant his request with a faint gasp of your own.

"noisy, aren't we?"

"oh shut up."

geto suguru kisses you like you're his already. the way he snakes his arms around your waist and presses his lips against yours only makes you sink further into his touch. if he wasn't holding you up right now, you would probably melt into the floor just from his proximity alone. you've been dancing around the issue for a few months now, fleeting touches in a dark room, longing glances across the room. it was all fun and games for both of you, seeing how long you could drag out this game of teasing and temptation until the other had enough. you thought you were doing pretty well. that is, until he decided to show up here again and well, just imagine the feeling of his lips against yours wasn't enough anymore.

you've always wondered what it would feel like to card your hands through his raven tresses and now, with your fingers tangled in up there, you can safely say it was better than you could have ever imagined. if it wasn't you who was the one messing up his hair, he would have some choice words to say about it, but as of right now, that was the least of his concerns. right now, his priority was seeing how long it would take for him to become consumed by his desire for you and it seemed like he wasn't going to last long. not with how you would let out a low whine every time his teeth grazed your lips or with your wandering hands taking this opportunity to explore the expanses of his well-sculpted back.

you feel like you've just had your breath stolen from you with how heavily you were panting against him, your faces flushed with want and kiss-swollen lips as evidence of what had recently transpired between the two of you. neither of you make the move to break apart as he leans down to ask.

"so what does this make us?"

nanami kento kisses you with so much restraint it only incites you to try and break down his defences further. his kisses barely feel like pecks, leaving you to subconsciously chase him for more every time he pulls away. he doesn't dare to try and do more, to push the boundary further. not only are you not technically together yet but also he's afraid. not of you, but rather of what would happen if he let his resolve fall and indulged in his selfish desires for what would be the first time in a long while.

he stops for a moment, his face barely hovering centimetres above from yours as his eyes flicker between your slightly agape mouth and your half-lidded eyes, watching him closely as you try to anticipate his next. he couldn't tell which one was drawing him in more at that moment. his breath hitches momentarily when he feels a soft tug at his tie, your right hand absent-mindedly toying with the edges of it as you place your other hand against his chest as if attempting to brace yourself against him. he couldn't tell but your legs felt like they were about to give out at any second with how every single cell in your body felt electrified with the amount of desire and anxiety coursing through your veins.

silence dragged on for what felt like ages, both of you unmoving in your positions until you muttered under your breath. "kento..." your voice was barely above a whisper but at that moment, it turns out that he was not as strong in his resolve as he thought he was with that being all he needed to dive right into you, fully untethered this time as his lips crashed against yours.

kamo choso kisses you like he's scared that this will be the first and last time he'll ever get to do so. there's so much fear and hesitation in his movements yet at the same time, you can feel the fervour and passion that is pouring out of him with every movement of his lips against you. his hands are hovering around your figure, scared to fully let himself hold you as if he's worried that the moment he makes contact, you're going to snap out of whatever daze you're in and run away from him. you aren't going to do that of course, if only he knew how long you were waiting for this to happen. as you feel the cold of the concrete wall against your back, the two of you part, albeit reluctantly, from each other to catch your breaths.

"..are you sure?" he asks breathlessly. his pupils are blown wide open as his eyes seemingly turn into infinite purple voids, watching your every movement unblinking.

you run your fingers across the back of his neck, toying slightly with some of the loose black strands that were clinging to his skin. he looks pretty like this, you think to yourself. he looks at you so eagerly, so soft and pliable in your hands, as he nervously awaits for your response.

"never been more sure."

fushiguro megumi kisses you like you're the air he breathes. who would have thought someone so famously reserved like megumi had it in him like this? you aren't given long to ponder on that thought as his lips are against yours once again, moving in sync with an imaginary rhythm as you frenziedly grasp at the material of his shirt in a weak attempt to try and ground you against his closeness to you. with every slide of his lips past yours, you're pretty sure that he's simultaneously taking and giving you back your breath which you previously thought would be impossible to do but are now sorely proven wrong.

you're not even a lightweight or anything when it comes to alcohol but you're pretty sure you're drunk on the feeling of him the moment his mouth was on yours. much to your surprise, the spikes that he calls his hair are actually pretty soft as you run your hands through them, a soft tug at the hair beneath your fingers drawing out a barely disguised groan from him. you giggle softly against his lips at his reaction and he silences you with another kiss, not that you were complaining as you ardently respond by tilting your head off to the side slightly to grant him better access to your face. your eyes are closed but you can imagine the half-hearted scowl on his face with how his brows furrow in the way that they always do against your forehead.

even though it was barely minutes ago, your mind is hazy as you try to remember the circumstances that led to this situation right now. it was probably a stupid argument that you guys got into, like the two of you usually do, and somehow that resulted in him wanting to prove his point more unconventionally. you give up on trying to recall the details as you can feel your face start to burn up as one of his hands start to wander down to rest against your hips.

"so," he pants, the heat of his breath is warm against your lips. "does that prove my point?"

itadori yuji kisses you eagerly, trying to savour every single moment of his lips against yours. you could feel the excitement basically pouring out from him with each movement of his lips against you, even eliciting a giggle from him that reverberates against your mouth as your noses bump against each other. it's a messy, disorganised sort of kiss with you being sure this is the third time you've accidentally grazed your teeth against his. fortunately for both of you, you're all way too engrossed and intoxicated on the sensation of the other's lips to care.

every time one of you tries to catch your breath, the other tries to chase your lips as they attempt to recapture that feeling again. as your arms encircle his neck, pulling you close to him, you're pretty sure you can feel him groan quietly against your lips with his hands reaching up to cup your face. with a deep sigh, you sink into his warm embrace, taking the moment to fully breathe him in like your life depended on it.

one of his hands falls from your face and gives a tentative squeeze at your waist to which you gasp quietly. taking this opportunity, he breaks apart from your lips and presses a flurry of kisses across your face which earns him a wide grin from you as you half-heartedly attempt to defend yourself from his sudden kiss attacks.

if you knew that a simple, experimental peck on the cheek could earn you this, maybe you should try to do this more.

okkotsu yuuta kisses you like you're a dream come true. hear him out. he never thought that he would get to experience touch like this ever again in his life, nevermind it coming from you in this manner. to him, you were what sweet dreams were made of, so ethereal, so delicate and so much better than whatever could exist in such a cruel world like this. but once again, defying all his expectations, you were here right in front of him and your lips were on his, faster than in the blink of an eye.

cradling the back of your head with his hands, he leans into the feeling of your lips against his as the two of you move in sync with each other. as if the moment couldn't get better, it was as if your lips were perfectly moulded for his or vice versa. he didn't care which way it was, all this fact did was solidify the thought in his mind that you were sent down onto earth from whatever heavenly plane people like you come from just for him to bask in the presence of.

his eyes are closed for two reasons. one, because he's scared that if he opens his eyes, this will be nothing more than a dream that he has to wake up from and two because he's pretty sure that if he was able to see you in your flushed, kiss dazed glory, he would explode on the spot.

despite being able to tell how badly he's been wanting to kiss you, he doesn't let it overpower him, instead taking the upmost care to make sure that you were still unharmed, treating you as if you were some piece of delicate china that could break at the slightest of wrong moves. while it was nice, you were feeling particularly greedy in that moment. you wanted more.

right as he breaks apart for air, you're already back to pulling him closer than humanly possible at this point by the collar of his shirt and you find that you're rewarded with a soft gasp escaping from him as your lips find each other again, this time with a renewed sense of desire and want.

[fcthots]

You’re sitting on the couch of your shared apartment when Jason climbs in through the window, finally done with patrol. His entrance makes you look up from your phone. He reaches up and tugs his helmet off. His hair looks a little funny, but it also made him look good. He didn’t need the ego boost though. You can tell he had an eventful patrol by the smile on his face.

He walks towards you and drops his hand onto your arm. He lets it slide down until his hand rests on yours. He pulls your hand to his lips in greeting. “Hey, princess.” He squeezes your hand before giving it back to you.

“How was patrol?” You watch as he strips off his outer layers of gear. The display never gets old.

“Good.” He laughs. “But I have got to tell you what happened. Red Robin, Tim, smacked into Red Robin, the restaurant. It was completely by accident too. I begged Babs to get me the camera footage. She’s searching as we speak.”

You laugh at his enthusiasm and the way he laughed before he even finished the story. You ask him questions, he answers them. It continues until he goes to take his shower.

You turn back to your phone. This is where it all goes wrong, because you see a post that ruins your day. It reads, “the first time most men receive flowers is at their funeral.”

Evil. Illegal. Unacceptable. Had you really never given Jason flowers before? You swore you did but your memory came up empty. By the time you finished your existential flower crisis, Jason finished showering and called you to bed. He’s exhausted and falls asleep quickly. You, however, stay awake and plan. You will get the love of your life flowers. You will not let the first time he receives flowers to be at his funeral. You fall asleep trying to decide what flowers he would like best.

You wake up before him, getting up as gently as possible. If he wakes up with you, he’ll trap you for cuddles in his huge beefy inescapable arms, so you must be careful. You wouldn’t have been able to do it if you didn’t know Jason as well as you do.

You get ready as silently and as quickly as possible before sliding out the door. The nearest flower shop isn’t too far. You make it there and back in 30 minutes, and most of that time was spent deciding what flowers you wanted to get Jason.

You walk home with a bouquet of simple red roses with some baby’s breath sprinkled in. It’s wrapped in black paper with a read bow, a color combination you’re sure he’ll love.

You walk home a little slower, careful not to disturb the flowers cradled in your arms. The long walk leaves you to your thoughts. You wonder how Jason will react.

And then you get worried. What if he thinks it’s weird? Jason has never called you weird unaffectionately before, but what if this is what does it? Or, even worse, what if he pretends to like them but actually thinks it’s weird? You spiral a little and panic. You eventually walk head first into your door on muscle memory.

You make sure the flowers are okay before opening the door. You hide the bouquet behind your back. To your surprise, Jason is awake and in the kitchen. His morning voice greets you with a smile. “Did you just walk into the door?”

Your worry begins to fade and a smile crawls its way onto your face. “Shut up.”

He laughs and the sound makes you blush. You love him. “You did!”

“And to think I was out getting you a present.” You shake your head.

“You got me a present?” He looks a like an excited puppy.

“I got my loving boyfriend a present. Let me know if you see him.” You pretend as if you’re about to walk out.

Jason rushes over to you smiling. “Wait, no! He’s right here! Please! I want my present!”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you thrust the flowers at him. He takes them from you, his smile softening. “Do you like them?”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “What are these for? They’re beautiful. I love them.” You watch him feel the petals with a gentle smile that he can’t seem to help.

You tell him about the post you saw, and how you couldn’t let the first time he got flowers be at his funeral. He pauses. “Babe. I really love the flowers. Seriously. Best gift ever. But um. The first time I got flowers was at my funeral.” He watches your face.

You lift a hand and cover your mouth. “Oh my god.” He laughs and uses one had to hug to you to his chest.

“I really love the sentiment! It means a lot! I love them so much!” He smiles into your hair as you wrap your arms around him.

“That’s why I remember buying you flowers before but couldn’t remember giving them to you. I feel terrible.”

“Don’t. This was so sweet, seriously. If it wasn’t the ass crack of dawn, I would cry.”

You laugh. “It’s past noon.”

He huffs. “Same thing. We were up until like 4.”

“This is true,” you say. “I still feel so bad though. I can’t believe I forgot you had a funeral already.”

He laughs and you can feel it in his chest. “The idea was really sweet, princess. I love the flowers. You just made my day. Nay, my week.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you running into the door really sealed the deal.”

You push on his chest. “I hate you.”

[buddie-buddie]

Bucktommy + “Go back to sleep.”

“Go back to sleep,” Tommy mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Buck finishes tugging Tommy’s duvet up, tucking it beneath his chin and curling in on himself in an attempt to warm up. He doesn’t care if it makes him a blanket thief; he’s cold. Plus, Tommy is practically a human space heater. He’s laying beside Buck in nothing but his boxer briefs and looks perfectly content. Meanwhile, Buck’s in sweatpants and a hoodie and can’t seem to shake the chill that’s climbing up his spine and taking up residence deep in his bones.

He mumbles a sleepy apology, but if the way Tommy’s breathing has already evened out again is any indication, he doesn’t hear it.

Waking up next to Tommy is all of Buck’s wildest dreams come true. He loves waking up with the familiar, grounding weight of Tommy’s arm draped over him, loves the way Tommy tightens his grip as he feels Buck stir beneath him, how he mumbles a sleepy “Morning, baby,” into his hair as Buck slowly blinks his eyes awake.

Every day he wakes up next to Tommy is a dream, but days off are the best.

Days off are when Buck wakes up warm and cozy in a sun-drenched room, tucked against Tommy, their bodies curled around each other like a pair of parentheses. The warm, familiar rumble of Tommy’s early morning voice low in his ear, the brush of his lips against the shell of his ear, chased away by the slight burn from Tommy’s day-old stubble against his skin as he trails kisses down his cheek, across his jaw. For a few quiet moments, it’s just them. There are no alarms ringing, no fires to put out, no helicopters to fly, no nothing. There’s nothing but them. Nothing to do except just be.

The thought of this particular day off– this particular morning– was the thing Buck was most looking forward to all week. And it had been an epically awful week. It had been six days since the last time their days off had last lined up, and he’d been all but crawling out of his skin with his need to see his boyfriend outside of a quick FaceTime call between claxons ringing.

On top of that, the station’s A/C had been on the fritz and Chimney had been out sick with a flu he still insisted he didn’t have, both of which made shifts considerably less enjoyable. They’d had a few really tough calls, including an especially hard loss in the middle of the week that was still living behind Buck’s ribs and needling at his heart each time the air fell silent and his mind began to wander.

Their shared 48 off had been the light at the end of the tunnel. A very dark tunnel that was starting to feel less like a tunnel and more like an inescapable hole towards the end, but a tunnel nonetheless.

“Hot date?” Hen had teased him as he all but ran for the locker room the moment B shift started filtering in through the bay doors.

Buck thought about what was waiting for him. His sweet, beautiful boyfriend. His favorite pad thai takeout from the mom and pop place around the corner from Harbor. Sheets that smell like Tommy and a pair of reading glasses on the nightstand and two toothbrushes next to each other in the cup beside the sink.

“Yeah,” Buck grinned, dipping his chin as his cheeks flushed. “You could say that.”

The feeling of waking up beside Tommy is everything Buck always wanted and never let himself believe he could actually have. It’s better than anything he ever could’ve dreamed up. Even now, when he wakes up and it’s still pitch black outside, the only light in the room coming from the glow of Buck’s phone on the nightstand as he taps it awake to check the time. It’s not even four o’clock.

No wonder Tommy told him to go back to sleep.

They’ve barely been asleep for five hours, and after the week he’s had, Buck would like at least twice that before even considering getting out of bed. But he’s up now and he’s freezing. He flips over beneath Tommy’s arm, turning to face him and curling himself into Tommy’s side with a small, content sigh. He tucks his head beneath Tommy’s chin in a shameless attempt to leech his body heat.

Tommy murmurs something indecipherable in his sleep, one of his big, warm hands coming up to rest between Buck’s shoulder blades. His welcome touch is warm and familiar, instantly soothing. And yet, it does nothing to stop another shiver from running through Buck.

He closes his eyes, starting to drift back to sleep just as Tommy shifts beneath him.

“Evan,” Tommy says quietly, concern clinging to the word. “Baby, wake up.”

Buck blinks slowly, confused. “Y’just told me to go back to sleep.”

“You’re burning up,” Tommy says, his other hand coming up to feel Buck’s forehead. He makes a tsk sound under his breath. He tries to sit up, but Buck protests by way of a sleepy whine, holding onto Tommy even tighter.

“M’cold,” Buck mumbles against Tommy’s chest.

“C’mon,” Tommy says gently. “Let me up. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Buck is too tired to argue. Tommy extricates himself, and Buck can tell he tries his best not to disturb him too much as he does. True to his word, Tommy returns a moment later. He runs the thermometer over Buck’s forehead, and its rapid warning beeps are followed by a small displeased sigh.

“Fever?” Buck asks. Another shiver wracks through him, and he knows the answer.

Tommy’s hand is warm and solid as it rests on his cheek, his thumb stroking over Buck’s cheekbone in a soothing back and forth. “Yeah,” Tommy says. Buck can hear his frown. “Gonna give you some Tylenol.”

Buck lets Tommy help him sit up enough to bring the pills and a glass of water to his lips. He’s a little more awake now, enough to register the way that his head feels heavy and his eyes feel hot behind their lids. His arms and legs ache as he settles against the pillows, and he has a fleeting memory of Maddie saying that Chim’s flu started out with a high fever and body aches.

“Be right back,” Tommy promises.

And he is. He returns a moment later with another blanket, a heavy one. He covers Buck with it, tucking it beneath his chin and running a hand through his hair fondly before climbing back into bed beside him.

“No,” Buck protests. “I’ll get you sick.”

Tommy’s arms encircle him, pulling him in until they’re pressed up against each other. “Don’t care,” he says simply. “We’ve already been pretty close.”

Buck sighs against Tommy’s neck, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he remembers the very enthusiastic reacquainting that happened against the back of Tommy’s front door no more than a minute after Buck had come through it. Not to mention the hours they spent on the couch watching a movie after dinner, with Tommy’s arm around him and Buck’s head on Tommy’s shoulder. All of which was before they fell asleep practically plastered to one another.

Tommy does have a point.

But Buck felt fine going to bed, which means the fever must have spiked pretty recently, which means it could be early enough that Tommy could still save himself and—

“I can hear you overthinking.”

Buck frowns. “Am not.” And then a moment later, “I’ll go to the guest room.”

“No you won’t,” Tommy says simply. “There’s no blanket on the bed.”

“But you—”

Tommy silences him with a kiss to his forehead. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

Buck’s heart squeezes. A tiny, happy sigh falls from his lips. And for the first time since waking up, he feels warm all over.

prompt game

[chaldeanu]

olive gardens ノ dr. ratio

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 3.6k ノ fem reader — lowkey antiquity au ノ reader is a priestess at the temple . unspecified romantic relationship ノ mentions of playful ancient gods lol ノ oral — character receiving ノ shamelessly doing it outside . lots of touching (grass) . riding him . lotus position (?) ノ cumming inside . protection used in ancient times — silphium (quite valid) and pomegranates (barely valid)

the warm breeze tickles your nose as you lie on the soft grass, pleasantly cold compared to the early noon weather. the shade of a large olive tree helps ease you into relaxation after hours spent in the blazing morning sun tending to your everyday tasks around the temple.

you feel him approach the hill long before you actually see him, like a ghost creeping up on you through the golden light shining upon your eyes through the leaves.

it’s expected of him to be here at this hour, next to you. there’s no one else to disturb you two, just lazy birds and the zephyrs dancing in the wind; little spirits weave and swing their arms around your form, ruffling his hair with fresh air, cool against the dew gathered on your forehead.

veritas ratio has nothing in his hands to offer, but his presence alone is enough to make the gods jealous; he’s beautiful, matching the divine statues holding the nearby temple tall and mighty on its columns. as if one of said sculptures escaped and turned human, with violet hair like the sweetest grapes and amber eyes like the finest quality copper coins.

with all that adorns him — from jewellery to elegant sandals — his skin glistens more than your own in the sun, the liquid gold of his being that he can offer instead. the sweat shines on the tips of his ears, nose, and cheeks, highlighting each crease with a perfect precision you’d swear is unnatural. godsent.

“i welcome you again on these sacred grounds.” you whisper with a smile, glancing at him as you finally decide to take your arm from your forehead. the look you exchange makes something stir deep inside you, right between the navel and pubic bone. “have you come back for some more wine?”

the question doesn’t catch him off guard; you can see in those pretty eyes that he anticipated it. when he doesn’t answer immediately, however, your sight trails down to the lush curve of his lips.

“indubitably, the wine would be pleasant,” he hums thoughtfully, already pulling closer. the jangling of metal pieces connecting to his ankles rings along with the crunchy sound of dry grass under his feet. “but i’m sure the gods already have more than enough wine to indulge themselves throughout the entire afternoon.”

“perhaps. what are you here for, then?”

it’s fun to tease him; it always ends with you having a great time playing around with the words. this also isn’t an exception when he answers with another question.

“and you? shouldn’t you be waiting in the temple instead of dozing off in the gardens, waiting for some stranger to stir a conversation?”

a weak exhale of laughter leaves your chest at that, prompting him to tilt his head inquisitively. “that depends if the stranger is you or someone else.”

you raise a hand, allowing him to close the last gap between you and bring it to his face to kiss your knuckles softly.

“if it’s you, maybe i wanted to see you sooner,” you add, stretching your neck upwards slightly in search of more touch.

it comes quickly as a brief peck on the lips, chaste and careful — just a greeting as well as a promise of what’s coming. the peachy colour of his cheeks only emphasises his sharp features further when he leans back, though you doubt anyone could ever forget how gorgeous this man is — one of the wonders of the world, with or without the blush.

his clothes slide from his shoulders effortlessly, the flowing linen clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin as he exposes himself to the world. that beautiful hair spreads messily on the ground once he lies down next to you and pats his chest with one arm.

it takes neither hesitation nor further words for you to lay your head in his open embrace, pillowed by his heart beating steadily right under your ear. a pair of strong arms embraces your shoulder soon after, but most importantly, a new shade joins your rest beneath the tree.

even without having to look at the sky, you know the clouds gathered to dim the sun. the rustling of olive branches in the wind almost completely replaces the sounds of cicadas, gales soaring high in the sky to travel above the hill.

in such peace, the silence feels warm and welcome — as much as his skin brushing against yours does. you sigh deeply when his lips press down onto the top of your head, his breath tickling the roots of your hair, gentle fingers threading through it.

he hums; the tone is content. his hands exploring your back, petting and stroking each little bump of your spine, are the reasons for which you squirm lightly from time to time.

would be nice to continue and deepen the pleasure, but just resting like that was lovely on its own. sometimes you simply cannot decide — the kindness of the day enveloping you both is quite compelling too and you wish to never get up from the lush grass.

that is until you feel his erection stirring, pulsing under your thigh that accidentally landed on top of his robes around the hips. must be enjoying himself, if you can assume this much, from the hardness growing between your bodies.

without delay, your lips turn to graze over his neck, where his scent is stronger and fills your nostrils with its sweetness. it’s as if he just dipped in wine and ate some honey, that’s how rich it is — an intoxicating combination to inhale when you let your teeth nibble on the collarbone.

“are you sure you’re not coming here with different intentions than just offering your praise to the gods?” you purr against his skin, sliding down his torso, taking the folds of his robes with you to uncover more of his muscular body.

his chest is pale compared the legs he shows during his public appearances, tinted with a golden tan that gradually disappears under loose layers of fabric.

“depends. if i can praise the gods through my actions, i will gladly show it all to you,” he replies, his voice sultry.

oh, those gods have definitely been playing with your heart this year, giggling every time they send him here, probably watching from the clouds as the two lovers meet again under the tree.

“as always, i would be pleased to receive the worship in their stead.”

lazily, you rut your lower body against his leg while your fingers wander under his robes, smoothing up his inner thigh with a light brush, barely ghosting above the skin. he doesn’t let out even the slightest sound of acknowledgement, yet he doesn’t need to — you see his cock twitching.

the moment the pad of your finger touches it, his arms around your shoulder tighten. he shifts, grinding against the sole of your palm.

with a soft laugh, you lean forward to kiss him on the mouth. the groan of excitement you swallow sounds wonderful in your ears, full of longing for fulfilment, yet he couldn’t force you to move any faster, still too deep in his complicated thoughts.

as you feel the slippery tear of precum slide between your fingers, you want to pull the foreskin down, slowly teasing the ridge under the tip. so many possibilities, so many desires.

one more peck lands on your cheekbone as he puts one of his hands down between your legs, parting them carefully; fingertips stroke at your sensitive thighs, barely reaching for your private parts, too shallow to satisfy either of you.

“it’s okay, i can wait. no need to do it at the same time…” you smile at him when he pauses in his motion to study your face, frowning lightly, almost apologetically. “we have lots of time ahead, don’t worry. i’ve been waiting this whole morning, i can spare you another moment or two.”

he hums in agreement, though not without a bitter note of disappointment, probably having more than one idea of how to actually make it work. he could even fuck you right away, with those vast arms keeping your waist in place and those powerful thighs putting all that strength to work. or turn you around, with your face near his pelvis and your pretty ass above his face, grinding your wetness against his chin. he has said once that he wants to taste you like that, after all.

his hold around your waist is gentle, firm, and tempting — if you were standing, your knees would have given in long ago just from imagining such treatment.

nonetheless, as you finally unwrap his shaft to see it standing proudly, flushed and hot, glistening at the very tip, you take your chance to play with the foreskin, moving it back and forth with one hand and circling the glans with another.

losing your head, you place a gentle kiss on the exposed ridge, feeling the slit tremble when more precum slides out and tickles your lip. it tastes slightly salty, sweet on your tongue, and it makes your hunger only worse, eager to open your mouth and lick up the underside.

a hitched breath follows right after when your tongue swipes across the entire length from the balls to the crown; then another, with more power, to let the head rub against the palate and savour the taste that was left there.

obvious to notice that he enjoys it so much when he reaches for your midsection and grips at it so eagerly, thumbs stroking your tummy.

but before you could lose your mind and ride his thigh again, you feel something pushing your loincloth aside, cold air hitting your intimate parts; the fresh breeze combined with the sweat cooling your skin sends chills down your back. the difference in temperature is enough to make your skin prickle.

he may not reach your pussy, bit too far away, but his large hand caresses the curve of your ass languidly, drawing patterns of worship all over the skin, massaging it every time your movements falter.

he knows all the right ways to make you melt, even a mere touch like that leaves you purring happily against his shaft. your thighs tremble when you imagine yourself in some other position — any of those you two have already experienced together.

he must have thought about them too when his other hand presses on the back of your neck, leading your head down again to lick over his cock.

if that’s the direction he wishes to go, then who are you to decline? especially when your cunt clenches with emptiness, dripping onto the grass already just from this little gesture.

when you take him in your mouth, you hear his low moans, short and satisfied, followed by the thuds of his head hitting the soft ground. your hands work to cup his balls, tugging lightly to bring the first surge of pleasure to his body, rewarded with a warm shiver rocking his thighs.

he’s so generous today with the sounds of enjoyment, little gasps escaping his pretty lips, mixing with the wet slurping of your tongue; that makes it nearly impossible to contain the blissful laugh building in your chest.

finally, you can feel his hands travelling back to your legs, spreading your folds, and rubbing in just the right way — longing for more.

“it’s enough. come here.”

without a word, you oblige, although it doesn’t keep you from whining loudly, desperately trying to give him the final push. your kisses trail up his abs to his pecs, then his shoulders and neck, his body rolling beneath you like waves in the ocean.

all the way, his palms stay on your sides, guiding you with a careful but confident grip onto his lap; holding you steady at a good angle when your lips lock again with passion and impatience.

your cheeks burn at the accidental sight of his cock nestled perfectly between your folds, ready to take in when you roll your hips; so warm against your clit that the heat pooling in your stomach spreads through your limbs, warming them from the inside.

“look at you, beautiful. be so generous and sit on me already. i will repay you the other time,” he whispers, leaning for another kiss; the way he bites into your bottom lip tells you he is impatient.

with your hands on his chest for balance, you straddle him comfortably, locking your ankles behind his thighs. he watches, panting and groaning in sync with the movements, eyes hazed and cheeks flustered as you rise on your knees, hissing from the drag of skin against skin.

slowly, with a measured pace, you sink onto him with a delightful sting stretching you out; feeling every little detail of his shape as you hold your breath in anticipation.

he doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t look anywhere else but at you. the intense gaze on your face makes your insides clench involuntarily, and it takes a moment for you to regain control and continue your progress.

when you’re finally sitting flat on top of him, your head is spinning. just being connected makes your walls pulsate, and it takes an enormous amount of effort to not succumb to your needs. your aching core just wants to rut down until the climax.

there’s still so much you want to do before that happens, so much you wish to share, but the syrupy whines just keep spilling from your throat and the pleasure takes away the control over your muscles.

you have to cling to his wide shoulders when he wraps his fingers around your waist, trailing the sides with the back of his knuckles. the tender caresses send waves of delight up your nape.

“be still a little longer,” he coos, but his own breath is so laboured that it trembles in his ribcage as well. “you’re enjoying yourself too much just by sitting on me. how will you manage to continue?”

“please, don’t say anything… mmh—!” you respond, mouth falling slack to allow the long moan to slip off your tongue.

the high-pitched keens resonate with your hammering heart. you’re the cause for the shameful noises in the gardens, but you couldn’t care less — just as the man beneath you, you know the gods will have no issue with those. they aren’t easily offended, quite the opposite.

just thinking how they might be watching makes you hiccup, shattering the rhythm of your breaths.

and then the sound changes when he moves. hips rising off the ground, slamming your ass down hard enough for your spine to arch, yet you find the perfect position and squeeze around his shaft, receiving a hiss for a reward. his cock pulsates as you grind against it, fucking yourself at last — with a tad more pressure and patience, it wouldn’t matter if he moves or not; it could be just as satisfying.

“oh, if you only knew how it feels when you clench like this,” he groans as you watch his adam’s apple move with the heavy swallow. “to feel how my seed gathers in my loins, ready to release into your womb.”

“i didn’t take you for a man like that…”

“only with you.”

it takes an immense effort to tear your eyes from his handsome face, flushed, shiny with sweat, and with a with a pleasured grimace twisting the corners of his mouth. but the throbbing is too urgent, your orgasm right at the edge.

“ah! hmm… i still prefer to eat too many pomegranates, you know.”

“don’t you store silphium at the temple?”

“if we haven’t used it all by now before getting a new batch.” you laugh briefly at that.

your legs open further to lean backwards, hand clasping on his thighs behind your back, giving you better access, and from that view alone, it would be so easy for him to cum on the spot. the pearly sheen of slick running down your thighs makes you quiver and pull away again, no more than an inch, though it leaves your whole body twitching in search of stimulation.

as he realises what you want, one hand lets go of your hips to put itself on the swell of your pussy, right above where your petals spread to embrace him. the delicate touches there, massaging in circles and applying a soft pressure over the protruding pearl hidden among your folds, send the sharp bolts of bliss through your gut.

“ahh, gods…” you mewl, knees shaking when you try your best not to fall over. his other hand holds your side with strength, securing your trembling figure as you roll yourself against both his fingers and his cock.

even with all the care to move your hips to get the right angle, your bodies collide forcefully, making your inner walls wail in joy as the nerves in the soft skin catch the last sparks before it all fades. you buckle under the wave of euphoria crashing against you, everything coming at once — the rhythmic contraction, the heat igniting your whole body, and the tears of overstimulation burning your eyes.

without even trying to open them, you let out a whine, feeling you tighten over him, and legs struggle to not give in, still rocking against his shaft, dragging every second of this godly ecstasy.

noises of him speaking die down, though, and the pleasure turns sour at the thought you accidentally upset him; maybe your hips jerked too hard against his erection, or you hit his chest a little too harsh.

then you open your eyes.

he sits up to hold you by your arms, with his length still lodged deep in you, hefty as ever. yet his features are not scrunched up nor furrowed, not even in the slightest.

he just looks dazed.

“apologies if i interrupted your preferred rhythm. i lost myself in the pleasure…” his voice is honeyed and so lovely to hear that it seems unreal to experience it just once, even if you’ve already heard it so many times when you embrace together like that, skin to skin. “come closer, i want you like that… here.”

your lips find each other in another kiss, slow and sloppy, interspersed with tired licks. it’s such a blessing to see him like that, glowing with peachy blush and with the mix of both yours and his sweat — it’s the thrill of excitement bubbling in your heart that you’re the reason behind his satisfaction.

slightly embarrassed by your previous reaction, you let him move your own body as he wants to, making it feel as if you were one, swaying in a dance of love under the canopy of branches and olives in the warm light of day, basking in the glory of their gifts.

he seems to be thoroughly enjoying the situation, playing with your senses so mercilessly that you have to bite onto your lower lip to suppress another bout of moans — not when you can hear the quiet ones of his own, breaking out with every other breath.

his movements are a tad clumsy and awkward in their attempt to fulfil two roles at the same time. yet you couldn’t mind the pace, his girth rubbing just the right places and forcing another squelch out of your cunt, drooling shamelessly all over his pelvis.

still sensitive from the previous peak, it doesn’t take much time before you feel another one building in your lower abdomen. your legs hug his waist tighter, and you lean your whole body weight against his.

but it’s not your job to move. it’s his, and he does it wonderfully.

heavens, it feels so good that your throat closes, all your attempts at breathing completely unsuccessful, and he probably sees how your eyes glaze over. even when your back arches away from him, the intensity of his stare never falters, bringing you the utmost joy, but now his expression changes too.

the words get caught somewhere along the way when your walls spasm and milk him without warning — even the brief gasp he makes can’t tell whether it was intentional or not. his mouth hangs slightly open, letting out silent huffs while his body continues its thrusts, shivering in tandem for the last seconds.

not once does he tear his gaze away from you as the ecstasy in his stomach snaps — a rush of warmth coating your insides — and slows his pace into shallow rolls. there is something magical in those moments of conclusion — seeing him still holding your frame as if he didn’t just spill all that thick cum into your core.

gathering strength in your muscles, you straighten up enough to playfully take the tip of his nose between your teeth with a giggle; it doesn’t take long for him to push it up slightly, catching your mouth for a long kiss. with a sigh of satisfaction, he falls back on the grass, taking you with him, still embracing, still connected.

you follow the path his thumb traced down the curve of your cheek, nestling against his chest, and your heart beats alongside his. it’s tempting to let your eyelids close and let the pleasant post-orgasmic sleep claim you.

“tell me,” he hums, fingers reaching for your head to skim through your hair, untangling sweaty strands. “is the priestess elated with our leisure? have i done what i had to do?”

“perhaps,” you grin at him. “the gods are thankful for your devotion.”

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . author’s note ノ i said ‘lowkey’ antiquity au because the setting is only vaguely described and could work if we get dr. ratio’s planet at some point in hsr :3 until then, just imagine it as loosely inspired by ancient greece or rome. as usual, i’m sorry if i overlooked any mistakes, but i can only endure this much of proofreading before giving up. also, please don’t believe in ancient protection methods even if they could work lmao ♡

[moonstruckme]

hi! What about a fic if one of the Mauraders or TASM peter with a reader who's insecure about her big boobs? Like ik everyone thinks it's ideal but honestly sometimes it really sucks when shirts don't fit right or everything looks slutty or u can't go braless or alternatively a fic about their gf overhearing someone say they r an ass man but she has a small butt?

Thank you for requesting!

cw: insecurity around breast size

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re looking in the mirror, and you want to feel good about yourself. Really, everything looks the way it should. Your hair looks better than it would on an average day, that new eyeshadow thing you tried actually turned out nicely, and your dress fits the way it’s supposed to. 

Just, the way it’s supposed to fit doesn’t really seem right to you at the moment. 

“Peter,” you call in the direction of the bathroom, “if I ask you about something, can you promise to be honest with me?” 

You hear water splash in the shower, signaling your boyfriend is finally rinsing out his hair. In classic Peter fashion, he seems like he’s going to be late to his own banquet. Oscorp is having a formal event to recognize the achievements of their scientists this year. Peter’s done even more than most, and he’s expected to give a speech before the food comes out which you’ll be lucky to make at this rate. You were supposed to get ready together, but he’d spent the majority of the time flirting with you while you did your makeup in your pajamas. 

“Duh, I’m always honest,” he calls back. The shower shuts off. “That’s why they call me your friendly, honest, neighborhood spider-man.” A pause. You wonder if he can sense the dry look you’re sending his way. “Fine, but I’m always honest with you. Shoot, sweetheart.” 

“Okay.” You give yourself one final, disappointed look-over in the mirror before heading towards the bathroom door. “I’m serious, don’t sugarcoat anything, but do you think—” 

The door swings open, and Peter’s right in front of you, beads of water still visible on his torso and a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“—this is too slutty?” you finish, quieter, right as he blurts, “Oh my god.” 

Peter blinks. His head does a tiny shake, as if trying to rid himself of a dizzy spell. “What?” he asks. 

Probably not your best phrasing. “I just mean, is it too booby,” you try again. You have the urge to tuck your arms around your middle self-consciously, but you worry that would only make the boob predicament worse. 

“Baby.” Peter’s still looking at you like you’re speaking another language. “What?” 

You look down at your highly visible cleavage, then back up at him. “You know what I mean,” you say softly. 

“Okay, speaking from a strictly male standpoint,” Peter says, unabashed as his eyes dip to where yours just where, “I can’t condone the idea that there is such a thing as too booby. But even if I was, like, a ninety-five year old conservative woman, I couldn’t—I would still think you look beautiful.” 

Your heart balloons. It’s not a compliment you got much before you met Peter. Hot, sexy, sure, but not beautiful. 

“God.” The word slips from your boyfriend’s mouth so softly it almost sounds like a prayer. His hands find your waist, skimming down the satiny material of your dress to rest on your hips. “You’re amazing, sweetheart. Is that the eyeshadow trick you were talking about?” 

You nod, cheeks burning. “You watched me do it.” 

“It looks different with the dress on,” he agrees. “Fuck. Not to be corny, but you’re seriously taking my breath away. I can’t breathe right now.” 

A little laugh stutters out of you, and Peter smiles. He’s looking rather breathtaking himself, fresh-faced from the shower with a piece of damp hair still clinging to his forehead. You unstick it and comb it back in with the others already fluffed up after being toweled off. He smells like his shampoo. 

“Can I kiss you,” he asks, “or will I mess up your makeup?” 

“Be careful,” you warn, smiling as you lean in. 

He is, but his hands give away his hunger, bunching in the fabric at the base of your spine to get you closer. He makes a low, needy sound in the back of his throat, and for half a second you wonder if it’s for your benefit but then you remember that he was right earlier. Peter is always honest with you. 

You laugh when you pull away, going to get a bit of tissue paper to blot away the lipstick you’ve left on him. A glance in the bathroom mirror shows that yours is, thankfully, intact. 

“Are you sure this dress will be appropriate?” you ask, less insecure now but still nervous as you wipe at Peter’s upper lip. “Regardless of how much you like it, it’s still a formal thing and I don’t want to be…indecent.” You cringe. There’s no word that sounds nice. 

Your boyfriend’s brows furrow. His hands skim up your arms, and he looks like he’s about to reply when you fold the toilet paper and stick it between his lips. “Blot,” you murmur. 

He does. “Baby.” He squeezes your upper arms, a silent request for you to look up at his eyes. You find them soft and earnest. “There’s nothing inappropriate about what you’re wearing. It is a formal thing, and you’re wearing a formal dress. You look beautiful.” That word again. Your cheeks burn. Peter kisses one of them. “No one is going to have anything to say about how you look other than how beautiful you are,” he promises. 

You let the sincerity of his words seep into you, pooling like a warm drink in your belly. The inside of your lip finds its way between your teeth. Now you’re feeling bashful for other reasons. 

It’s obvious by Peter’s grin that he can tell. He gives your arms another squeeze before moving you out of the way and going to where his clothes are laid out on the bed. 

“Actually, that’s pretty convenient for me.” He discards the towel on the floor, slipping on a pair of boxers and then starting to button up his dress shirt. “You’ve just taken a whole bunch of pressure off my speech, sweetheart. No way anyone’s gonna be looking at me while I’m up there.”

[peachdues]

A birthday gift from the lovely, incomparable, wonderful, talented, glowingly beautiful @selkiipon !!

Sanemi x my OC Setsuna Ichikuro

they do this after every pillar meeting good lord get a room

An OC fact: Sanemi is the only one who has seen Setsuna’s hair completely down (and he loves it very much)

Thank you so, so much, Fal!!

[readychilledwine]

✨️ACOTAR Hands Handcanons✨️

Warnings - sexual references

A/N - "But liz! Where is Az?" I didn't include Azriel because I don't think some people understand how brutally scarred his hands are. A lot of people headcanon him wear rings and watches to distract from his scarring, but his scarring would be so brutal from his hands being set on fire with oil that wearing jewelry for him would be nearly impossible and more than likely very uncomfortable both physically and in the sense that jewelry will draw attention to his hands, something we know canon Azriel hates. If it is wanted, I will do a reblog with Azzy's hands, but they will be accurate, not pretty.

Also, if you're a hand whore like I am, you have to go look at this post from the lovely @thehighladywrites about asking for hand pics 🥵🥵 it's one of my favorites.

✨️ Acotar Body Headcanons Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

Rhys

Rhys is a firm believer in hands speaking of how well you care for yourself, so the man have perfect hands.

Rhys keeps his nails neat and trimmed, his cuticles cut, and his nail bed moisturized.

Rhys has fine hand creams imported from across the seas. It's made with water from some river you don't remember the name of. It matches his skincare line. Very spoiled Illyrian baby.

Rhys does have calloused hands, but they are not rough and dry. The calloused mainly rest towards the top of his palm near where his fingers begin. It's one small sigh of his skill with blades.

Rhys like to accessorize, but not too much, a few unique rings and a bracelet

Cassian

We're just here to make sure @sarawritestories can't sleep without dreaming of Cassian.

These are some of my favorite hands in all of Hollywood. Say hello to the hands of Alexander Skarsgård. His hands are massive.

Cassian does have rougher hands, but he can not help it. He's tried Rhysie little princess routine, but it doesn't work. That is more than likely due to the fact that he's constantly training and teaching someone.

You truly do not mind, though. Cassian's callouses and small scars in his hands remind you that you are safe. That no one will ever harm you as long as he is around.

One of Cassian's favorite acts of service you provide for him is little at home hand care sessions. You will soak his hands in warm water and then wash and care for them. You trim his nails, apply cuticle oils, and then use a very expensive lotion that helps keep his hands softer.

Cassian's hands are constantly on you. His favorite placement is when he gets to cup under your breasts. Preferably below your shirt. And he doesn't care who sees him doing it. His second favorite placement is your hips or ass.

Cassian does not accessorize since he rarely does not have his hand siphons on. The only jewelry on his hands is his wedding band

Lucien

Soft, warm, and gentle. Lucien's hands are a personification of the male himself.

They are not too large, but they're definitely big, and Lucien has strong hands.

Lucien tries his very best to keep his hands very soft he is constantly greeting and meeting new fae as an emissary, so he ensures his hands are covered while training.

Lucien also knows you appreciate how soft his hands are. He loves watching as you lean into his touch. He loves watching you shiver when he runs them along your body.

Lucien will wear jewelry for special occasions. Otherwise, he tends to avoid it. You never know when he will need to fish with his hair and bare hands to impress you. He had a reputation to maintain there.

Eris

Eris is constantly wearing rings and fine jewelry. His hands are part of his mask of cruelty only you and a few others get to see beyond.

Eris hates his hands. He hates how they've been used to cause pain. He hates how they remind him of his father's, he hates the small scars on them.

It almost confuses him when his hands bring you pleasure. When he watches as you fall apart under his touch.

He has started to care for them more now that he has you. His beautiful wonderful you.

You have noticed the rough skin getting softer. How his nail beds seem healthier. You catch him one night with his expensive hand creme and cuticle oils and your heart melts.

Soon, the jewelry becomes a little less and less, but you told him it would be a lie of you ever said you didn't love the way rings sat on his slender hands.

Nesta

Nail, simple, and with a touch of sparkle.

Nesta keeps her hands very pretty and very soft.

Her nails are also always professionally done on Rhysand's dime.

Nesta goes to the salon once a month. She gets the works. The expensive manicures. Rhys owes her, and she wants pretty hands.

Her grandmother and mama told her hands can make or break a marriage, and this is something she can not shake.

She loves clean, simple polish. Neutral colors or a French tip, that's all. For special occasions, she will do an iridescent polish.

As Lady Death, she tries not to wear too much jewelry, but she does have two favorite rings she wears. One from you, one from Cassian.

Elain

I am a garden hobby girl, so this one was fun.

Elain keeps her nails very short. She is constantly struggling with dirt under and around her nails, so she figures keeping them short is best.

Elain has surprisingly rough hands. A garden is a lot of manual labor, and she refuses to wear gloves, so she constantly dealing with little cuts and callouses.

You bought Elain a nail brush and special soaps meant to help her keep her nails clean so it doesn't interfere with her love of baking or... other activities involving you.

Elain's hands are very small, but they fit perfectly into yours.

Feyre

This is the hands I identified most with.

Feyre's hands are constantly covered in paint now that the lands are in a time of peace.

She's been known to wipe her palette knife off on the back of her hand or dab a paint brush on them if she picks up too much color. Or use them to swatch shades as she's mixing.

It is messy, but you adore it. You love helping her peel off the bigger chunks and helping her scrub them clean.

Underneath that paint, her hands can be a little dry, so you two have been caught many times sneaking into Rhysand's room to steal his hand creme.

Feyre keeps her nails a medium length. She will paint them for fun every so often, but she sees no point since they are typically covered in her medium of choice.

Mor

The baddie of the group.

Mor keeps her hands ready to greet royalty. They are so soft, so well kept, and constantly being pampered.

Mor used hand creme at least once and hour.

She keeps her nails longer, minus two on each hand. Iykyk.

Her nails have to be red. She will not paint them any color but her power color.

She is constantly wearing a ton of rings and jewelry as well.

I personally see Mor as a gold tone girlie.

The only ring she consistently wears is her wedding ring. Otherwise, all her other jewelry is subject to change.

Amren

Nails sharp enough to rip your eye out. Sorry, Lucien.

Amren sees her hands as weapons and her nails as weapons as well. But like all powerful weapons, they need to hidden.

She hides them using fae beauty standards. Manicures, jewelry, nail polish. Amren fully believes she's fooling other fae with those daggers attached to five small fingers but she isn't.

Amren does not do two curtesy nails. Amren is a starfish. You should be spoiling her. Not the other way around.

Finding out she could do jewels on her manicure was a life changing moment for her.

She practically purrs when she gets a fresh set now.

You swear she is secretly a fire drake with the amount of jewelry she has for her hands and on her nails.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hi hi!! I was just wondering if you could write general hcs (or longer blurbs) of the Harbingers (Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Capitano, Arlecchino and La Signora) with a dumb and naive fem! Reader? (Gn is fine) Perversions such as stalking, manipulation, and non con elements + etc. are a-ok! 👌(^◡^ ) I want the entirety of the Yandere-ness!!!

Much love 😈

hi this request was so cool!! i don't usually do more than 3-4 characters per post so i did a few this time, if you wanna swing back around and request the rest of the characters i'd be more than happy to write it for you :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including implied being held against ones will, subject to unwilling experiments, delusional behaviors, obsessive tendencies, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Childe:

Oh Celestia you couldn’t be any more perfect could you? That wide-eyed, dumb little look you gave him whenever he was talking about his missions, eager to listen but to stupid to understand. He just adores you, his big hands cupping your face, squishing your cheeks to make you look even sillier. Childe just can’t get enough of you. 

You’re like a little puppy dog to him, so cute and silly yet so unknowing. He can’t help but want to smother you in hugs and kisses when you’re around, doting on you and making sure no one ever lays a finger on you aside from him.

It’s when you’re not around that things are different with Childe, it’s like he’s gone haywire, feral without your company. He wears a little locket on a chain attached to his belt, it has a picture of you and a lock of your hair inside. He makes sure to keep it well protected, occasionally spraying it with your perfume or beauty products so it smells like you. As soon as he’s back home with you though he’s the same sweet, overbearing Childe he was previously. 

Dottore:

He takes full advantage of the situation, subjecting you to minor experiments, most of which are harmless. Dottore always has his eyes on you, whether his actual ones or the ones of his segments. Even in your sleep there’s some variation of him watching you, settled at your bedside with a notepad in hand, camera just beside him. It’s like every second of your life is being recorded for Dottore, because it is.

He’s also obsessed with your body, giving you regular weekly check ups. He tells you that it’s normal, that all proper adults get checkups this often, even when the check ups push beyond the normal means. It’s not just the normal things like checking your heart rate and ensuring you’ve got no lumps, bumps, or growths. It extends into things like how fast your hair and nails grow, any changes caused by the experiments he does, changes in your natural body scent, and other random things.

Dottore also takes care of any and all medical needs you have, he’s become your personal doctor. Anything and everything you do is under his control, he picks when and how often you sleep, what you eat, how much daylight you get, and what you do on a day to day basis. The best part is you’re too stupid and naive to muster up the courage to say anything.

Pantalone:

This man, in all his wisdom and cash, adores how you let him do anything he wishes with you. You’ve become his little doll to dress up, style, and control. He makes you the perfect little partner, picking out all your outfits, regularly rotating the clothing in your wardrobe with new outfits, he’d be criminal if he let you wear the same thing twice. 

Pantalone takes you everywhere with him, flaunting his perfect little darling to others. He makes sure to use big, extravagant words when talking about you to others so that you don’t understand, it’s usually all good though so no worries. If there is any reason he can’t take you with him, you can expect him to leave a comprehensive list and schedule for you, keeping his control over what you wear even whilst he’s gone.

He uses your stupidity against you, betting things on which of you will be right or if you can answer correctly. You’re wrong every time and he loves it, and yet despite being wrong every time, because you stood no chance at knowing the right answer, you fall right into the same trap over and over again. He just adores you so much, and he’d do anything to keep you by his side, forever.

[wingedblooms]

How do you interpret "A thing of secret, lovely beauty" in the bonus chapter? The first time azriel used it to describe the necklace. But the second time it was used to describe gwyn's happy smile.

Hello there! I feel like this is a trap. But as I’ve discussed before, readers interpret this differently and that’s wonderful. Interpretations can also evolve over time after rereads and new information. Mine has mostly remained the same (except for some specifics surrounding the second usage 😆). Part of my interpretation drifts into theory. As a reminder, theories are predictions of what might happen based on patterns of evidence in the text. No theory is guaranteed and it’s important to read any new books in the series with that in mind.

That said, Sarah is a fairly predictable and repetitive writer, so I try to pay close attention to her patterns. Many of my theories are based upon those patterns. For example, one of the most apparent patterns is that fate comes in threes. There are three faces of the Mother. Three sacred sister peaks that are barren and thrumming with power. Three stars that shine above Ramiel, the heart of the Night Court, each spring. Three blessed sisters who have been marked by fate and Made fae. Three winged males who found each other and are drawn to the three blessed sisters. There’s more evidence, but I think you get the idea. It can be helpful to use patterns to interpret and predict what Sarah has planned (e.g., the first and second sister have had their stories told, so it would follow that the third is next; there is also strong evidence that what she contributes to the narrative is needed next).

You’re probably wondering how this relates to my interpretation of the phrase secret, lovely beauty. Before I connect it to another clear pattern, I want to put it in proper context. When we first see the phrase, it is used to describe the necklace Azriel gifts to Elain. The setting in which this occurs is romantic: faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. Put plainly, this is Sarah setting the mood. 😂 Azriel, who feels lonely despite the company of his shadows, finds himself suddenly moving into the foyer and there she is:

The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn.

On the longest night of the year, Elain glows golden like the sun at dawn. Like a pool of gold amid the deep shadow. This description follows a pattern in their imagery together, and it is lovely.

Their interaction is also raw and vulnerable, and therefore distinct in this bonus. When they come together, Azriel allows himself to feel and those feelings run deep enough to question his people’s traditions later on. Unlike every other interaction in this bonus, he doesn’t feel the need to put on a show for Elain (i.e., a cold mask, fake smile, or lying repeatedly to avoid emotional topics). In other words, he is himself with Elain. They share a quiet understanding and powerful attraction.

Now that we have this context in mind, we can move onto the the necklace and its chaos-inducing phrase:

The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of colors would become visible.

A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?”

Notice something interesting here? Both Elain and the necklace glow with their true depth of color—golden and rosy, like the dawn—when faelight shines upon them. Dawn is when first light appears (pun definitely intended) and the world reawakens. Elain is linked to the rose amulet, and that follows a pattern of imagery she has already established in the text. This is the pattern I mean:

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises.” (acomaf)

She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. (acowar)

Even in the middle of winter, she was a bloom of color and sunshine. (acofas)

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.” (acosf)

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. (acosf)

This gift not only reinforces the pattern, but it also holds a secret message that has become central to Elain’s arc: the rose (like Elain) has hidden depths. The Feysand bonus echoes this theme. Elain’s outburst stunned her family and Rhys suggests there is more to her than they’ve seen thus far.

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” (Feysand)

Feysand then agree to help Elain after Nesta, which is Sarah’s way of reinforcing the other pattern she put in place (fate comes in threes—first Feyre, then Nesta, and now Elain).

With Elain’s character arc in mind (and the fact that she herself has suggested she doesn’t feel seen), Azriel’s gift is actually incredibly insightful. He gave her something that says, I do see you, and he knew she’d be able to appreciate its meaning. Even the words that describe her gift—secret, lovely beauty—refer to specific things we learn about Elain in the text.

Secret: Feyre compares Elain’s ability to learn and keep secrets to Azriel’s own secrecy (one of many parallels). She is a seer, after all. What other secrets might she know and keep hidden from others?

Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, “What about Mor?”

Feyre smiled. “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.” (acosf)

Lovely beauty: We learn from Nesta that their mother predicted Elain would marry for love and beauty, which I think @juusworld5728 observed sounds a lot like lovely beauty:

My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen…You shall wed for conquest. (acosf)

This last phrase, love and beauty, is connected to the rose Papa Archeron carved for Elain. It is a symbol of love and beauty and goodness in the world, and for such a simple carving, it has unexpected weight just like the rose amulet has unexpected depth (Sarah hit this theme hard).

Her father had died for her, with love in his heart, and Nesta held love in her own heart as she pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he’d tried to bring into the world. (acosf)

Why does this little rose matter? It is also linked to Wyrd. In acosf, Nesta felt the need to place Elain’s rose next to a figurine of what we now know is farseeing and benevolent Wyrd. Wyrd, the higher force of the universe, found Elain so lovely that she gifted her such powers and purrs like a kitten in her presence. They even share the same blooming imagery. Over time, Wyrd became known as a goddess (probably because she uses female forms as vessels, if I had to guess based on the evidence), but she is in fact a force, a mother to all, a cauldron brimming with creation. Now, where have we heard those terms before?

Gwyn huffed a soft laugh. “In part. We honor the Mother, and the Cauldron, and the Forces That Be. We have a service at dawn and at dusk, and on every holy day.” (acosf)

Gwyn’s words nearly echo the Under-King’s in hosab and hofas. The priestesses worship Wyrd. Let’s look at the description of their worship:

The music was pure, ancient, by turns whispering and bold, one moment like a tendril of mist, the next like a gilded ray of light. It finished, and Merrill spoke about the Mother and the Cauldron and the land and sun and water. She spoke of blessings and dreams and hope. Of mercy and love and growth. (acosf)

Elain’s strength lies in finding beauty even in dark chapters. She is a rose bloom in a mud field—the embodiment of blessings and dreams and hope and mercy and love and growth. The priestesses, including Gwyn, honor that benevolent force and seek to bring it into the world with their services. They are the voice of the Cauldron. And in this world, we know like calls to like. Now that we’ve read hofas, it’s highly likely that the ancient, spell-like music the priestesses perform is ancient summoning magic, which is magnified by the properties of the cavern (ahem, witch glass) in which they sing. So, is it a surprise that Azriel had every intention to return Elain’s rose amulet, a symbol of love and beauty, and found himself at the library during their worship of such things instead? No, it actually makes a lot of sense.

Azriel expressed no forethought in giving the necklace to Clotho for Gwyn. He did not select it for her and did not intend it to be a romantic gesture, which is why he tells Clotho to give it to Gwyn or any other priestess who might appreciate it. The setting and interactions in this part of the bonus are not described romantically because they are not intended to be romantic.

Clotho, who is observant like Elain, can see the shadowsinger’s sadness despite his deflection and offers him comfort in a dark moment:

Clotho’s pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her.

Her words spark hope in him and for whatever reason, he is able to picture Gwyn’s eyes lighting upon the rose amulet in his mind. The vision is a thing of secret, lovely beauty.

Some interpret this moment, a vision of Gwyn described as a thing of secret, lovely beauty, as an indication of Sarah shifting romantic pairings. I think this interpretation falls short of the full context, especially since days (in acosf) and months later (in hofas), Azriel is still upset and refuses to even discuss the topic of mates.

Rather, I think that—like the sister caverns, which are linked in song and dreaming—Elain and the priestesses (especially Gwyn) are also connected. They are part of the solution to the problem that was introduced in the first half of this bonus as well as the overarching plot. Like @silverdreamscapes, @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, @willowmeres, and others I’m sure, I believe Elain—a seer chosen by Wyrd—will work with the priestesses that worship her (the most logical partnership in the series, when you think about their respective powers). It wouldn’t surprise me if a dawn service, especially if it involves groundings, helps Elain push the limitations of her powers like the dusk service did for Nesta.

I also agree with many (notably @silverlinedeyes and @merymoonbeam) who think Gwyn’s voice holds magic and, depending on what we learn, relates to being a lightsinger. That is likely the hidden depth (a thing of secret, lovely beauty) that was hinted at in the image since her eyes light upon Elain’s rose amulet. I believe @silverdreamscapes and @silverlinedeyes have suggested her voice, which summons and pierces during the dusk service, could clear mist and shadow in a vision if needed. I also think it is interesting that Gwyn is the first to sever the Valkyrie ribbon, a string tied not to a rib, but a post. Perhaps she and the priestesses could help Elain sever an unwanted bond and weave a different fate for herself, one that binds her to someone she loves? That would be the most epic end to the near-constant arguments over ships.

[artydonsgf]

Could you do something for a Lifeguard!Au?

hi!! i am SO sorry for the lack of response, i've been incredibly busy. as an apology, please enjoy a lifeguard au!

The quiet stillness of the pool was interrupted by your personal nightmare. A group of twenty or so five year olds descended on the pool, splashing and screaming as they jumped in. You sigh, dragging yourself towards the deep end. Your spot in the kiddy pool gave you a perfect view of the gorgeous blonde lifeguard. The deep end was technically closer but it also meant you couldn’t stare without feeling embarrassed. His eyes were trained on the kids, a weary look on his beautiful face. He made a signal towards another lifeguard, a dark-haired boy, clearly telling him to keep an eye on the children. The other boy was further away but it was easy to make out the annoyed look on his face. The blonde laughed, sending a wave of desire through you. His smile was gorgeous. 

“Hey!” A panicked voice shouted, the only indication of what was to come. A wet rubber ball slammed into your face. Your head went under from the force of the hit and for a moment, you wondered where the surface was. That single moment was all it took for a pair of strong arms to wrap around you and drag you upward. The sweet comfort of oxygen filled your lungs and your butt sat on the edge of the pool. A comforting hand sat on your knee. 

“Hey, look at me, are you okay? Do we need to get first aid?” To your horror, the beautiful blonde lifeguard was bobbing in front of you. His wet curls stuck to his forehead and his eyes held the same red twinge as every swimmer you’d ever met. Embarrassment clogged your throat and no words formed. The panicked look on your face reflected back on his. 

“Patrick! Get first aid here, now,” He turned and barked. The dark haired lifeguard from earlier made a signal at another boy and he switched places with him. “Hey, I’m Art, you with me?” You nod, but the action makes your head hurt. He frowns at the face you make. 

“Where does it hurt? Here?” He reaches up until his fingers lightly graze your cheek. You flinch in response, the skin still tender. He gives you a small smile. “That ball hit you pretty hard, huh?” He throws a glance at the ball bobbing a few feet away. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a dirty look. The thought makes you laugh. His head snaps back toward you. 

“Something funny? Is your head hurting?” He places a hand over your forehead in concern. You flinch again and he snaps his hand away. “Right, I’m sorry, I keep forgetting.” He grins, his voice apologetic. Right then, the other lifeguard comes running with another lifeguard. 

“Art, quit flirting with the injured girl," the boy he called Patrick says, voice teasing. Art rips his eyes away from yours long enough to glare at him. His eyes narrow and that's all it takes for Patrick to shut his mouth. A girl with a first aid kit and a smile crouches next to you.

"Hi, I'm Tashi. Can you point out what hurts?" Her smile is so blindingly beautiful, you find yourself unable to speak. Her smile is replaced with a frown. She puts a hand on your jaw and angles your face up, looking right up your nose. This was the most humiliating moment of your life. A beautiful lifeguard looking up your nose while two equally gorgeous lifeguards watch.

"Is she alright?" Art asks, his hand still on your knee. Tashi doesn't respond, her eyes still trained on your face. Her cold hands contrast the warmth of your face.

"Yes, but I see blood in her nose and her face is really warm. Probably from the impact of the ball," she reports back. Patrick catches your eye and has the audacity to smirk.

"I'm sure," he licks his lips, staring at you like he's hungry. Somehow, the gaze doesn't feel predatory, it only heats you up further. The words jump back into your mouth all at once.

"I'm fine. Totally fine. I don't need all three of you here," the words sound harsh as they spill out. "Wait, that sounded wrong. I mean you're all kinda making me dizzy. You're all very attractive and I'm not really sure how to cope with that." This word vomit is somehow worse. All three of them look at you with shocked looks and pink cheeks. You sigh in defeat. "Please, please, ignore me."

"It's kinda hard to ignore that, don't you think?" Patrick's smirk is replaced with a small smile. Art nods, too shocked to speak. Tashi clears her throat, drawing your attention back on her and her brown eyes.

"Let's attribute that to your head injury. Though as a person without a head injury, I'd like to say you're also very attractive." She swipes her hand gently over your forehead, clearing a piece of hair. The boys instantly speak, yelling over each other.

"Hey, I saw her first." Art argues.

"Don't care. I saw her second." Patrick argues right back, petulant. Tashi rolls her eyes as she packs up her first aid kit.

"Ignore them. You should stay out of the pool for a bit, let the dizziness pass. Maybe you can sit by my stand?" She points at a lifeguard chair by the hot tub. You grin, the boys and their argument effectively tuned out. The rest of the day is spent with the three lifeguards switching stations every fifteen minutes in order to sit near you.

this was originally meant to be an art fic (as seen with the first part of the story LOL) but the bisexual in me had to make this messy. thank you for your request!

[aphroditeinthesea]

Hi! Could I request a Percy Jackson x Daughter of aphrodite reader angst? (this request is inspired by another fic hehe) Where the percy jackson asks the reader to help woo Annabeth (you can decide how if you decide to do this) since she's A daughter and aphrodite and immediately Assumes that she's a master in the love department but the thing is the reader has a huggers crush on percy but she decides to help him out because everyone in camp knows that percy and annabeth are made for each other (just thinking about helping your crush get on with their crush makes my heart acheee😫 Againn if you decide to pick this up you can decide on the ending!!) That's all I wantttt~~ take care of yourself!!!

“ falling feels like flying (til the bone crush) ”

percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite 🌊

a/n i <3 writing percy fics just so i can use a pic of logan lerman (he’s so pretty)

⚠️ extreme and painful longing

˚ ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ ⋆

He was so pretty. And that’s coming from a daughter of Aphrodite. Y/N was always admiring him from afar. His black hair that would occasionally be swept away from his face as the wind blew, causing the perfect view of his perfect features. It was confusing how a guy could look that beautiful.

She knew she wasn't the only one who felt that way, of course. Lots of girls had crushes on him. Most prominently, the prettiest daughter of Athena. Who, as if on queue, approached Percy as he was training. She had her curls in a ponytail, no makeup, just sweat that somehow made her glow. She didn't try. And he looked at her like she was all that he worshiped.

“I cant believe youre jealous of her,” one of y/n’s sisters commented.

She scoffed, “I’m not jealous of her,” she faced the other girl, “she’s just a bookworm, who happens to look like if Kate Hudson and Taylor Swift had a baby who was Victoria’s Secret Angel.”

“Mermaid man, twelve o’clock.”

“What?” She turned around to see the son of Poseidon approaching her. She awkwardly flipped her hair to be in front of her shoulders, then a little behind her shoulders, then-

“Y/N! I wanted to talk to you,” he greeted, sitting next to her.

Her sister smirked before walking off with a wink. Her heartbeat quickened, her mind going stupid, “Percsty!” She smiled.

“I have to confess something to you, no one knows, so please don't tell anyone, okay?”

She quickly nodded, “anything, yeah of course. What is it?”

He bit his lips. Oh gods. “I was wondering if you could help me impress Annabeth.”

Heart? Shattered. Brain? Broken. Lungs? Zero air, absolutely nothing.

“You like her?”

He blushed, looking down and fidgeting with his hands, “I do.”

“I can help,” dumbass, “one of the perks of being Aphrodite’s daughter.”

With that, she found herself in cabin three, under terrible, terrible circumstances.

“What’s her favorite flower?”

He thought for a second, “irises.”

Y/N wrote that down in her notebook, which she would promptly be burning at the campfire tonight. The stress was taking her over, she was ready to tear off the pink fluff ball that sat atop the pen.

“Food?”

“Extra olive pizza.”

“Gag me with a spoon,” she blurted as she wrote. “What?”

“What?”

He leaned back on his bed, “you think she’ll like this? I’m not even sure if she likes me back.”

“Trust me,” she sighed, “she does.”

“I dont know.”

“Percy, she does,” she snapped, “especially I planned this whole thing.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he grinned, “I really wanna make sure she likes everything.”

“She will,” she reassured. “You know, I never really pegged you as a romantic.”

“Me neither,” he sighed, “but when it comes to her, gods.”

Y/N frowned, “you really love her?”

He stuttered, “I mean, love, that’s a big word. I- uhm- love her- I don’t,” he took a breath, “I do.”

The only way I can explain what y/n thought in that moment was something along the lines of, “alfkhgnlkhsjk.”

She looked next to him from where she was sitting. That’s when she noticed the framed picture on his bedside table. Him and Annabeth, two years ago it looked to be. His arm around her shoulder, both of them seemed to have been laughing when the candid was taken. That's when it hit her. The bright smiles on their faces were the ones she only ever saw when they  were together. Like they both had smiles reserved for the other.

She looked back at the green eyes that were looking at her, “I can tell.”

She stood in the middle of the woods, a few feet away from the camp entrance. She saw the figure approaching her. She reached for her pocket, getting ready.

“Cheese pizza with extra olives?”

She nodded, “yeah.”

“$11.90,” the delivery boy added.

She handed him the money, plus tip, considering he had to come into the middle of the woods for this.

She walked back into camp. Wondering why she was doing this. If she had been one of her siblings, she probably would've tried to sabotage the whole thing. Make sure that Percy and Annabeth never happen. But the way he talked about her? Like she was the center of the universe? She knew she could never compete with the daughter of Athena. His wisegirl.

“You got the pizza?”

She handed it to Percy as he set up the pink irises in a vase, “here,” she muttered, “there’s no change.”

“One pizza costs twenty dollars?” He questioned.

She shrugged, “inflation.” It was kinda depressing. The best revenge she could get was giving an eight dollars and 10 cents tip. She awkwardly played with the skirt of her dress, “I’ll go get Annabeth.”

She hurried to cabin six. She knocked on the door, lucky enough, the blonde opening it, “hey?”

“Annabeth!” she forced a smile, “Percy was looking for you, he wanted you to meet him by the strawberry fields.”

“Oh?”

“Seaweed Brain!” y/n heard the laugh from archery training. She turned around, catching a glimpse of the new couple. Her hand was in his as they walked. Her nose buried in his shoulder as she giggled. For a second, just a second, he looked back at the daughter of Aphrodite. He flashed her smile, wording, “I owe you.”

Yes, you do.

[veritas-scribblings]

safe - @jegulus-microfic - words: 736

James finds himself shoved up against a wall so suddenly his head hits the stone bricks. Startled for a moment, he is breathless from running, from trying not to laugh, from trying not to fall as he was pulled along by one intrepid Regulus Black who is much bolder, much braver and much more rebellious than James had initially thought.

At present, Regulus has a hand over James’s mouth and is hushing him with promises of much pain and suffering if James does not stop making so much noise. For all James tries, it’s hard to take Regulus seriously, though, because Regulus's cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink, his hair is deliciously mussed like someone (namely James) has been running their fingers through it, and his lips are kiss-swollen.

‘Shut. Up,’ Regulus hisses when James struggles and tries to say something.

It’s fine, James wants to say. It’s fine. We’re safe. Sirius didn’t see us, didn’t follow us, doesn’t know. We’re okay, we can keep doing this, kiss me again, please. But Regulus is practically smothering him with the hand he has over James’s mouth. James thinks he might die like this; a blissful death floating on a cloud of euphoria because he’s kissed Regulus Black. He’s kissed him thoroughly, filthily. He’s tasted him. Felt him. He’s had his hands all over him. They were chest-to-chest. And James is a lucky, lucky bastard who has been to heaven and back.

But he can’t say this, no matter how much he wants to. So instead he sucks on, licks, Regulus’s palm and earns himself a hard whack. ‘That’s disgusting. Will you shut up?’

James nods and Regulus removes his hand, wipes it on James’s robe. ‘Sirius didn’t see us,’ he whispers. ‘He’s gone back to the dorms…where he’ll probably expect me to be, actually…’

Regulus rolls his eyes. ‘Not Sirius, dumbass, Filch was there. Didn’t you see Mrs. Norris?’

No, James didn’t see Mrs. Norris. James had been too distracted by Regulus’s tongue in his mouth and Regulus’s hands in his hair and Regulus’s hip pressing against a place that made James feel way, way, way too good. And all those delicious noises that Regulus was making that James wants to hear again.

And, on second thought, maybe it isn’t wise to give Regulus Black the power to absolutely cripple James because Regulus Black is far too clever and cunning for his own good. Too perceptive. Because he knows and notices things that James doesn’t, and it’s a little bit scary, if James is honest.

Regulus is close to him again, presses his lips just below James’s ear, sucks gently at his skin and it feels too good. The feeling washes straight through James’s body in tingles, shivers, and James gasps. At first it’s a gasp of pleasure. His hand goes straight to the back of Regulus’s head, tangles in Regulus’s curls.

And then it’s a gasp of realisation. That Sirius is going back to the dorms.

The dormitory that they share.

Together.

With Peter. And Remus.

And the Marauder’s Map.

‘Shit!’ James gasps. ‘Shit.’

Regulus looks up from where he’d been carefully attending to James’s neck, arches an eyebrow. In response, by way of explanation, James just grimaces. He wants to stay here in the little nook they found in the corridor by the library, but he can’t because if Sirius wonders where he is, he’ll go to the Map. And if he goes to the Map, then he’ll see James with Regulus and he’ll have a million questions and James will have to explain that he was there in the middle of the night because he was busy snogging Sirius’s little brother. And James will get himself punched or hexed, because he knows how Sirius feels about Regulus, how protective Sirius is, how simply nobody is good enough for Regulus. How Sirius believes that Regulus is his responsibility to care for and keep safe from hurt, no matter how disdainful Regulus is of that idea. 

‘Well,’ James starts, falters. He doesn’t know how to continue, doesn’t know how to explain that he needs to rush off unexpectedly without explanation. Because Regulus is so beautiful, so thoroughly messy where he’s normally so clean-cut and elegant and turned out. And James is responsible, and proudly so, for that messiness.

Clearing his throat, James tries again, ‘Well…’ and then when he cannot find the words, he just smiles, tips his head to the side, tries to look sexy and seductive and smooth.

[missmoonfrost]

A bad date - a wolfstar microfic

@wolfstarmicrofic

June 5 - Gold Words: 730 Warnings: Alcohol, Threats of violence, Threats of sexual abuse

The pub is unusually crowded, as were the two they passed because of lack of room. Remus notices a woman trying to squeeze past and takes a step back to let her through, only to bump into someone behind him.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry, sorry!

How the other man manages to both steady him and avoid spilling the three beers he’s holding is a mystery. He flashes Remus a stunning smile.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you celebrating the gold?”

“The gold? Off course. Eh… Which sport?”

The man throws his head back laughing. It’s a beautiful carefree sound.

“Actually, I’m on a date.” Remus admits.

“Oh. Whit whom?”

Remus grimaces awkwardly and points to the man drunkenly arguing with the bartender.

“Oh… Wanna come sit with us?” The man points to a table where a sporty guy in glasses smiles at him and a friendly-looking redhead waves.

“Really?” Remus takes one quick look at his poor excuse of a date, that’s now lying half across the counter, and does not feel too bad about ditching him.

“This is Lily and James. I’m Sirius.”

“I’m Remus.“ He makes a half-hearted wave, places his gin and tonic on their table, and slides into the outer corner of the sofa. He doesn’t want to intrude but is thankful for somewhere to sit.

“So, where did you meet this… eh… charming guy?”

Remus chuckles at the disdainful tone. “Grindr,” he admits. His default is to lie to people he doesn’t know. But they have already seen the guy, so what’s the point?

“You can do better.” Sirius takes a big swig of his beer.

“I sure hope so.” The man in question is now singing loudly and Remus hides his face with a hand to further underline how embarrassed he is.

Sirius smiles at him. A small secretive smile that gives Remus butterflies.

The three soon dives into a discussion about the newly won match. Remus is still not sure which sport, but he prefers quietly watching his unexpected savior over getting involved in the conversation anyway.

His shiny black hair is held in a loose bun, that a few strands artfully has escaped. He wears a plain white button-down with the arms loosened just enough to give a glimpse of tattooed forearms. A pentagram around his neck and earrings all the way around the cartilage makes him stand out. As if the sharp features and flawless skin of his face aren’t enough.

The peace is broken when the buffoon unfortunately being Remus' date spots him and promptly staggers over.

“C’mhere. Let’s go!” He demands and pulls briskly at Remus' arm.

To avoid disturbing his tablemates too much Remus stands up and takes a step while apologising. “Look, it’s not working out. I’m sorry.”

“Wadd’you mean?”

“Just… I’m not interested anymore. Have a good night.”

“Well, I’m not done with ya.”

The tone makes Remus shudder despite the hot air in the crowded room. He stumbles backward and grips the table top behind him with both hands.

“Is there a problem?” Sirius’ voice rings crystal clear over the murmur. In the corner of his eye, he sees Sirius exchange a look with James and start rolling up his sleeves in a very deliberate fashion.

“M’not talkin to you, am I? Just want my boy’ere. He's mine.”

He smiles a greedy smile, making Remus' mouth go dry. Remus closes his eyes and shakes his head.

Sirius gets on his feet with James not far behind. “Leave him alone.”

“Just ‘cause you wanna fuck’m!”

“Maybe I do.” Sirius replays calmly as he gathers the front of his shirt in his fist and drags him close to his now intimidatingly cold face. “That’s none of your business. Now leave.”

The arse finally seems to grasp the threat and totters off.

“Thank you,” Remus whispers. He sits back down and tries not to shake too much. Everyone is quiet and Remus anxiously wonders if they are mad at him for ruining their night.

“Bloody hell” Sirius whispers.

One by one, they all start laughing from dispersed tension. James buys them all a round of beers, deaf to Remus' protests. Sirius starts making one joke after the other, intent on making Remus laugh.

And when he two beers later walks home with his new bodyguard Sirius’ arm around his shoulders, he feels like it’s he who won the gold.

[vintageshanny]

Waiting for Love - Part Nine

There’s No Escaping

Content: March-April 1971, some smut and a lot of fluff. There will probably be a bit of angst in the next chapter if you bear with me. 18+

I have embedded a link here and within the story to my one shot For the First Time, since Elvis is recollecting his first experience.

Catch up on the series here: Waiting for Love

Late March 1971

“So, he’s really insisting on paying for your apartment?” Roxanne’s voice held a note of disbelief. “When you first told me that, I thought for sure he was just feeding you a line.”

“No, he actually was really upset when I told him I was looking for a new job or that I could move in with you. He wants to take care of me.” A little smile spread across Vivien’s lips as she remembered their conversation in the hospital bed. Their conversation and everything that came after… She tried not to blush as she thought about the sound of his moaning as he pulsed in her hand.

“Wow. He wants you to be a kept woman and you’re not even doing the deed yet?”

Vivien could feel the blush engulfing her now as she bit down on her bottom lip and looked away.

“Wait a second! Are you kidding me, Vivien? When?” Roxanne demanded, her voice equal parts anger and curiosity.

“Um, when I went to see his shows in Las Vegas,” Vivien whispered, adjusting her glasses and twirling a strand of hair nervously with her fingers.

“Vivien! That was a month ago! I asked you how the trip was, and you looked me in the face and told me it was fine.”

“Well you had just had a big fight with Michael. I didn’t want to gloat about what a magical time I had. Plus I didn’t lie! It was fine. Veeeery fine,” Vivien sighed with a big goofy smile.

“Okay,” Roxanne said, still sounding a little miffed. “Well, Michael and I are fine now, so give me all the juicy details.”

“So, when I first got there, he had picked out this beautiful dress for me to wear to the show…” Vivien started off, her mind drifting back to that evening as she replayed the events leading up to the big moment. “...and when I told him I was ready, he was just so patient and sweet and reassuring. He said he wanted to make sure it was special for me.” Vivien beamed and looked at Roxanne.

“Vivien!” Roxanne scolded. “That was very sweet, but there was not a juicy detail to be heard. How did it feel? How long did it last? Give me something!”

“Rox, you know I don’t like to share all that personal stuff. It feels like, like I’m betraying his confidence. And he already has a hard time knowing who to trust, I can tell.”

“You’re no fun,” Roxanne pouted.

“Okay, I will tell you that it felt amazing,” Vivien compromised. “I didn’t know I’d feel so…overwhelmed with emotion. When he was inside of me, it was like I felt complete. Like a missing piece of me was-”

“Inserted?” Roxanne filled in helpfully.

“Very funny!” Vivien chucked a pillow in Roxanne’s direction. “No, it was just so magical, I don’t know how else to describe it. I started to cry afterward. And he was just so understanding about it. He told me it was really special for him too, and he looked like he was about to cry also.”

“Wow,” Roxanne responded softly, trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

“What? You think he was putting on an act?”

“No, Viv, no, I just wonder how many women he’s been with and said that to. I’m happy for you, but you know I always worry.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry. I have someone to take care of me now. And I want to take care of him, too. He’s everything I was waiting for.” No amount of negativity could stop Vivien from floating on cloud nine.

*************************************************

Two weeks later

“Elvis?” Vivien asked as she nuzzled her head against his soft fuzzy chest.

“Yes, baby?” Elvis sounded tired but still alert. They were finally curled up in his bed at Graceland after watching movies for half the night at Crosstown Theater. The TV was playing softly, but Vivien had already set her glasses on the nightstand, so everything just looked fuzzy.

She fiddled with the button on his pajama top as Roxanne’s concerns refused to leave her mind. “How many women have you made love to?”

Elvis leaned up a little bit and glanced down at her, but she was very focused on a tiny stray thread coming off his button. He cleared his throat and tried a casual response. “What makes ya ask that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I was just curious. And maybe a little worried,” she admitted.

“Honey, ya ain’t got nothin’ ta be worried ‘bout. The past is the past. You’re here now cuz I want ya here.”

“I know. But for me, all these feelings are brand new. You’ve probably had this feeling lots of times, that someone is so special you can’t stop thinking about them. Maybe I’m just one in a long line of special girls.” Vivien swallowed the lump in her throat. “You’ve probably been making love for decades.”

Elvis tried to stifle his laughter at her nervous declarations. “Decades, huh? You’re makin’ me feel old, baby.”

“You know what I mean, though, right? How do you know your feelings for me won’t pass? Did you feel that your first time was this special?”

Elvis quietly reflected back on his first time all those years ago as he rubbed his thumb soothingly over Vivien’s shoulder. “Naw, honey, it was nothin’ like this. I had waited a long time, or at least it felt like a long time. I was ‘bout 19 or so, and I s’pose I jus’ really wanted ta experience what it was like. All these girls throwin’ themselves at me, and I didn’t even know what it was like ta really be with one in that way, y’know. The gal, well she had been around a little bit I think, but she was sweet too. Sweeter than I thought she’d be. She musta guessed how inexperienced I was, but she didn’t make me feel bad ‘bout it.”

VIvien just listened silently as Elvis opened up to her in this way. She could tell from the start that he could be shy and sensitive, but he usually covered it up quickly with little jokes. Now, though, it was like his heart was totally exposed. She didn’t want to speak and spook him back into his defense mechanisms.

“I did feel like it was somethin’ special at the time, but nothin’ like how I feel ‘bout you, Vivien. And the other women, I mean, I can’t give ya an exact count, honey, but it’s probably not so many as people might think. There was a time in the army when I got a little wild I s’pose, tryin’ ta hide my loneliness after…” he trailed off for a second before continuing. “But it didn’t mean anything. And love-makin’ that don’t mean anything, what’s the point in that? It took me a few years really to realize how unfulfilled I was jus’ foolin’ around with whoever happened along. I need a mental, emotional connection to a woman to really be satisfied. And I ain’t never felt so connected ta someone as I do ta you, baby. Ya understand me?”

Vivien nodded, her eyes welling with tears

“Baby, feelings like this, they don’t just pass. Ya got me in your clutches, woman.”

Vivien leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his face, right where the little silver roots of his sideburns were growing in. “You’ve got me in yours, too. There’s no escaping.”

Elvis smiled but remained a little bit pensive. “I got a question for you now, baby. Would ya still love me if I weren’t Elvis Presley?”

Confusion flashed across Vivien’s face. “If you weren’t you? Who would you be instead?”

“Naw, I’d still be me, but I wouldn’t be, y’know, superstar Elvis Presley. Maybe I’d be electrician Elvis Presley. Or truck driver Elvis Presley. Or washed-up entertainer Elvis Presley. Or…”

“Okay, I get it,” Vivien smiled as she put a finger to his lips.

“I’m serious honey, what if I jus' decided ta stop tourin’? Would ya still love me?”

“Of course I would. There’s no question in my mind.” Vivien answered without hesitation.

“But when ya came ta meet me, it was because I’m famous, right?” Elvis challenged. “I mean, I know ya said ya were jus’ passin’ by on your way home, but I had some trouble believin’ that,” he added with a little wink.

Vivien blushed and considered how she could explain herself. “Okay, maybe I purposely took that way home hoping I’d get to catch a glimpse of you one day,” she admitted. “But not because you’re famous. Did you ever stop and think how you got so famous?”

“Right place at the right time?” Elvis guessed humbly.

“No, it’s just not possible for that to be the only explanation. Elvis, there’s something in you that touches people’s souls. That’s why they love you. Your voice is a beautiful gift, but it’s that light in you that people are drawn to. Even truck driver Elvis would be able to capture my heart with that light. And your intelligence, your kindness, your goofiness…these are the reasons I love you. Not because they’re gonna vote to name the street after you. Although it will make it a lot easier to remember your address,” Vivien teased.

Elvis chuckled and wiped the tears that had formed in his eyes. “Honey, ya have no idea how much that all means ta me ta hear that. It’s hard always havin’ ta question if people really like ya for yourself or cuz they want somethin’ from ya.”

“Well, I will reassure you as many times as you need to hear it.” Vivien whispered, toying again with the button at his chest.

“Baby, you’re gonna pop that button right off. If ya want me ta take my shirt off, jus’ say so.”

“Okay. I want you to take your shirt off. And everything else.”

Elvis let out the big uninhibited laugh that Vivien loved so much. “Oh yeah? Ya gonna have your way with me?”

Vivien nodded as she eagerly unbuttoned his shirt. “Absolutely. There’s no escaping for you either.” She leaned down and kissed him deeply while her fingertips traced over his exposed chest, drawing a soft moan from his lips.

Elvis pulled her nightie up over her head and let his eyes linger on her bare chest. “Baby, would ya do me a favor? Would ya get on top of me and bounce up and down on me? I wanna see your beautiful body while we make love.”

Vivien nodded shyly. “I would do anything for you.”

She pulled his pajama pants down his legs, exposing his semi-hard penis. As she made her way back up, she stopped to lavish her attention on this magnificent appendage, running her tongue over every inch, savoring the taste of his salty skin in her mouth.

“Oh, dammit baby, c’mere and take me all the way in,” Elvis moaned, reaching for her hands. He helped her balance as she straddled his midsection and slowly, carefully lowered herself onto his dick, consuming him with her warm welcoming pussy.

Vivien somewhat tentatively rocked her hips, unsure of exactly what motions he wanted her to do. She felt a little bit self-conscious as he watched her, his eyes clouding over with lust as he watched her breasts bounce with each movement.

“That’s right baby, jus’ like that.” He grabbed her hips with his large hands and helped her find the right rhythm.

“Oh, God, Elvis,” Vivien cried out as he pushed his hips upwards into her, his dick so deep inside of her she could barely handle the pleasure. Elvis grabbed her hands and helped hold her upright as her body rocked forward in ecstasy.

“Yes, baby, tell me how good it feels,” Elvis moaned as Vivien cried out his name again and again. He could feel his warm seed spurting inside of her as she came down from her high, laying her bare chest against his. “Honey, that was so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear, running his long fingers through her hair.

“Mm-hmm,” she responded lazily, her lips pressed against his soft shoulder.

As she finally rolled off and back into the crook of his arm, she smiled a little bit. “Y’know, I was a little surprised that you weren’t even younger your first time. What with you being so handsome and all, every girl probably wanted you.”

Elvis chuckled and closed his eyes, thinking back on his high school days. “Naw baby, I had some dates, but I wasn’t too much of a ladies’ man. People thought I was kind of a weirdo back then.”

“Oh just back then, huh? If only they could see you now,” Vivien teased.

“Hey now woman, I don’t think ya wanna start debatin’ ‘bout who the weirdo is,” Elvis laughed, reaching over to tickle her sides. “Aren’t ya the one who likes ta give Little Elvis a goodnight kiss?”

Vivien giggled. “Oh, speaking of that, I should make sure he’s doing okay. And thank him for the ride.” She inched down to give out some sweet kisses as Elvis let out some strange hybrid noise, half laughing, half moaning.

Tag List: @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @pebbles403 @deniseinmn @everythingelvispresley @little-laamb @annapresley8 @leapresley @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @atleastpleasetelephone @gatheraheart @richardslady121 @helen06dreamer @arg-xoxo

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is a star! Mind it's for kicking a round ball up and down a long field, and yes Hob is aware that his life is absurd, but he does love it.

And really the day his life changed, he was just being loud and silly with his mates at some dumb exclusive vip bar, he didn't expect to fall head over heels (at first sight) for some stuffy 😍 museum curator who walked up to him, calling Hob on his bullsh*t.

What was this (glorious) man even doing within the sound of Hob stupid voice?! Nothing about Hob seems to impress -- the footie stardom, the hot bod, the money.....pretty man was sooooo unimpressed! Hob wants to have his babies!!

Dream Endless was only in this club because he was trying to be nice to his sibling. Desire was celebrating getting a major modeling contract and wanted to bask in everyone's regard. Dream was prepared to stay for a socially acceptable time and then leave,,, when this beautiful silly man (who was famous?!) started being loud and wrong, and Dream just couldn't let it go.

He might have spent the rest of the night sitting close to Hob arguing and staring into his eyes.

AKAKSJDHA football star Hob is absolutely a wonderful au. He has no braincells but boy is he sexy!!!

He's (loudly) asserting that the world is a wonderful place and that it would be a magnificent thing to live forever (while all his mates laugh, trying to goad him into doing more shots), and this gorgeous man walks over and flat-out tells him that he's stupid. It's basically Hob’s dream come true, he's pretty much got a kink for being insulted by hot people. He's only too glad to drag Dream into one of the boothes (with a bottle of top shelf vodka to share) to continue the argument. Stuffy museum curator Dream spends every day taking care of literal skeletons and the belongings of long dead people, and he has opinions about death. Hob is happy to listen to Dream talk about how life is a stain on the canvas of the universe. And to reply "but if I was dead I wouldn't get to see your eyes shining in this light, would I?"

Dream, in turn, is secretly fascinated by Hob's bare arms dusted over with soft hair. And the thick thighs hidden by his perfectly fitted jeans. Dream has had no desire to see a game of football literally ever in his life until now, but he's having thoughts about this man running around in a little pair of shorts and it is..... tantalising.

Its even more tantalising when Hob tugs Dream into the bathroom (which is surprising clean and empty) with a mischievous grin on his pretty face. Hob isn't allowed to kneel on the floor (his PT would murder him) so Dream bends over the sink pedestal with his legs spread as wide as they can go, and Hob quite happily squats behind him and eats him out like giving rimjobs is his full time job.

Dream isn't totally convinced on the idea of living forever, but fuck... he's willing to be persuaded again!