#settle in and get cosy

[storiesforsomeone]

Chapter 26: Breaking the Seal

“Do you think you can bring magic back into the world by pulling strangers from the mud?”

Read on AO3 here:

[janumun]

A Practical Demonstration (LaDS Sylus - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 9.8k Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Tags: size difference, oral and vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, rough sex, mild mentions of stalking (not Sylus or Mephisto for once LOL), inexperienced (NOT virgin) reader, edging, drinking, [im]proper use of evol, explicit sexual content

Summary: When you end up disclosing a mortifying truth to Sylus about your dating life, deep in a drinking session; drowning yourself within a bottle — or three — of alcohol until you black out is the only option left to you to avoid that sharp, intuitive gaze for the rest of the night.  

That is, until Sylus throws a counter offer your way, one that sounds far too tempting to your scrabbled brain. Being the brilliant voice of reason you are tonight, you accept.  

[A fic where Sylus shows you exactly how good sex with a perceptive partner feels like when you confess your less than optimal dating experience.] 

Author’s Notes: Truly clown moment when I believed this fic would not exceed more than 4k words and yet again, here I am sitting on an almost 10k monster. I love what being horny for these men has done for my inspiration. Thank you so much to @chibamari for providing the prompt that birthed this fic. Already working on a religious desecration imagery angsty sex fic with Xavier and Queen MC, based on his first myth, as we speak.

The lingering remnants of your foiled meeting are muted with the press of rouged lips against the cusp of your cool glass, the liquor within, sliding easy down your throat with your fervent swallow.  

Placing it back down with a defeated sigh, you lean your arm against the counter, cradling your warming cheek against the crook of your palm.  

You never should’ve let Tara talk you into an impromptu date with a mutual acquaintance she’d considered ‘the perfect match’ for you; her giddy excitement and enthusiasm to get you a date had been too difficult to turn down. You cursed yourself underneath your breath at your inability to say no to those big, wide eyes and cheery smile; exactly the components that had saddled you deep into the disaster you’d considered that date to be — if it could be called as such.  

You’d excused yourself half-way through the man’s self-absorbed prattling — ruining the taste of the expensive steak in front, one you’d been wanting to try for ages — on excuse of an urgent mission coming up.  

A hand tucking your phone close to your ear, to reinforce your hasty lie while the other had slipped your card to your assigned waiter, making hasty work of settling your end of the bill. You’d swept up your coat and purse, striding out the lavish restaurant on swift-heeled steps before your sputtering date could so much as lift a hand in protest.  

Which is what had now landed you firmly in your current predicament, within the confines of a cosy, well-known bar, not too far from where you’d started.  

Nursing a budding headache within the bitter notes of alcohol, to help ease at long fraught nerves. In between the ever-looming threat of Wanderers and the obstructive wrench thrown into your investigation into the Ever group, along with how busy work usually kept you, you were exhausted, suffice to say. The insignificant man tonight had just been the icing on this long-ruined cake.  

Tara’s suggestion; to put yourself out more and ‘let loose’ for a bit, had ended in mild regret in going along with it, in the first place.  

It had been far too long since you’d been in a relationship — let alone enjoyed a date with a man; your professional obligations kept you busy, coupled along with an extremely low desire to invest yourself into the dating pool, to wade and weed through to one that matched your wavelength.  

A flash of an alluring garnet gaze sparks through your mind’s eye in passing, at the thought, one you physically shake yourself out of.  

Now there was a man entirely on the spectrum opposite to your frequency. Your inability to resonate with him had only been just one of many failures toward mutual understanding.  

“Another one for you, Miss?” The bartender inquires; you’re nodding before you can think it through. 

“Yes, thank—” 

“She’ll have a mojito instead. The usual for me.” A deep, rich voice drifts at your back — before it scotches down, involuntarily and low into your belly — just as the large hand you feel slip across your shoulder in greeting. You close your eyes against the intrusion, hoping the hazy apparitions of your mind would gift you a damn break just once tonight; as if having had him conjured out of mere musings. You shudder.  

The alluring man at your side does not dissipate as you’d direly wished, seating himself down onto the stool next to yours, completely at leisure at having snuck into your space, unannounced once more. You hated how infuriatingly easy the Onychinus head found himself able to pervade your every space, along with each of your thoughts — the latter of which you did not wish to dissect apart tonight. Or, ever, if you had the choice.  

“What are you thinking of, with such a severe frown on your face?” He speaks, as if he does not know the exact reason for your irritation. “You’ll put a permanent knot in there if you don’t stop.”  

You choose to ignore him in lieu of offering a resigned nod to the bartender for the order Sylus had placed on your behalf. You could use a less inebriating drink now, especially so if you were to deal with the man beside you. 

“What’re you doing here, Sylus?” You sigh against the dredges of your last drink, letting the bitter liquid warm your throat.  

“Has the alcohol numbed your memory as well, sweetheart? We had an appointment, did we not?” Your respective orders are deposited in front, just as he moves to take the drink in between long, tapered digits, bringing it up to his mouth for a taste.  

The slow drag of his Adam’s apple against his throat as he drinks, tugs your gaze towards it — an involuntarily reflex you aren’t able to control. Sylus’ scarlet gaze canting sideways to capture yours is what finally has you wrenching away from the delectable sight, cursing your fast settling inebriation for the mis-step.  

He was an attractive man, your mind had long made begrudging peace with the fact, even if you’d both started off on an extremely wrong — horrid, actually — foot. And he’d proven himself to be a reliable companion, when the two of you had caused waves within N109’s criminal hub, in a quest for the Aether Core. His side of the bargain he’d kept, in exchange for your deal to forge a steady resonation with him. One you had no thoughts of reneging on, you’d keep your promise to him for the massive aid he’d provided. And yet, you could not help bemoan the fact that this very man confounded you, to your very core, to the point you weren’t sure what to make of his intentions. And yours.  

But surely, you weren’t this physically deprived that Sylus of all people was beginning to sprout this visceral a reaction from you?  

“And I texted you I couldn’t make it tonight, sweetheart.” You quip, pinching your forehead in between thumb and index. “This really isn’t the time, Sylus.”  

He raises a careful brow at you, and God help you, even that gesture is incredibly beguiling to your slushed brain.  

“And you couldn’t make it because” he prompts, tapered digits drumming against the marbled countertop. “you wished to spend your time out here, dressed to the nines, in a party of one?”  

“So what if I wanted to?” All your prickly response earns you is a discerning gaze, zoned in on you. You exhale hard through your nose, shoulders steeling to utter your next words. “Oh alright, I had a blind date tonight.” You’re not sure why exactly you’re divulging something this private to the man. 

The way his brows shoots in simmering surprise before they bunch in at his forehead in a frown is almost comical, you would’ve snorted at the expression he’s pulling if not for his next words. “So that’s what had that imbecile out there on your trail, lingering at the door for.” He scoffs. “You may not have enjoyed your date but you certainly got yourself a love-struck fool nipping at your heels, kitten.” 

“Wait, what?” Bewilderment wars cold within your mind at the disgusting revelation of the man tonight having possibly followed you and Sylus having caught him dead in the act. “What did you do to him?”  

“It’s fascinating how your first assumption is that I did anything to him.” His pleasant chuckle curls within your ears; a low, throaty burr. And when you give him one of your own looks, “Alright, don’t look at me so. Mephisto presumed you had a far dangerous stalker on hand than that sorry bastard, when he saw him lurking about you.” He swirls his glass of whiskey in between casual fingers. “I gave him some cordial talking to and sent him on his merry way.”  

A million queries hurtle within your mind — what did his “cordial talking to” ensue exactly? Why had Mephisto been trailing you? Why did Sylus feel the need to step in and personally take care of your potential stalker?  

You reach to take a swig of your own glass, feeling that headache pinching once more at your brow. “I don’t appreciate you having your silly crow keep tabs on me, Sylus. But,” Reluctant gratitude stirs at the tip of your tongue as your mind slowly processes the situation at hand. If it hadn’t been for Sylus’ interfering ways, you might’ve been saddled with a problem far worse than the infuriatingly suave Onychinus leader on your hands tonight. “Thank you for taking care of that creep for me, I guess. I appreciate it?”  

You think you catch the strains of barely there surprise within his gaze, along with an amalgamation of emotions you aren’t able to parse before they’re shuttered out of sight. Replaced with a cool smile, he angles at you. “The alcohol has you honest for a change, kitten. I can’t say I dislike it.”  

That infuriating remark has you almost wanting to take back your thanks, almost.  

“Your engagement for the night has scurried off home with his tail in between his legs, leaving you to your celebration of one.” His touch is a flitting, warm caress against the shell of your ear as he folds a stray lock of hair back in place. “Are you going to say why you’re out here by your lonesome yet, furiously downing liquor, instead of back in the safety of your house?”  

A gibe sits sharp across your tongue at his probing, wanting to tell him to back off and out of your business, he had no reason to be asking whether you chose to go out on a date or throw yourself a self-wallowing party, to let loose for one damn night. You weren’t even sure why Sylus pricked at your nerves the way he did — riling you up in the manner he did. Each single touch, every look fraught with meaning. He did and went as he pleased, without a care for what people made of him; self-assured as if the world itself, he held, in between those devious fingers. And he probably did too, his reputation one of absolute power within N109 Zone and without.  

That very same man — the one who’d told you he’d make full use of you, as you did him — perched atop a bar stool by your side, asking you a question that seemed devoid of his usual ribbing. And perhaps, it’s because of that one sole thought that you find your mouth moving — or simply, because the alcohol has sniped your inhibitions. “Tara’s been on my case lately, insisting I need to get laid to blow off some stress.”  

“Oh? That hunter girl with the bob, the very eager one.” Sylus looks immensely amused; your mind sifts through memories to recall how exactly Sylus knew her before it clicks: ah, the company retreat you’d stumbled into Sylus a few weeks back at. How could you ever forget? The day had been a nightmare.  

“The very one,” you blink. “Hence the failed date tonight and my immeasurable disappointment.”  

“Why? Were you planning on sleeping with that loser?”  

You shake your head at him, horrified at the mere thought. “No, it actually went as well as I was expecting it to. Bad, that is.” You take another enthusiastic swig of your drink, a modicum of clarity returning to your stuffed head. “The sorry state of the dating pool at large, for a hunter with limited time on her hands isn’t exactly stellar. Even less so for men who know what they’re doing. And my luck in that regard seems particularly disastrous.”  

In hindsight, you knew you were word vomiting your thoughts out at this point, with way too much candour than was appropriate for the situation, you’d regret it tomorrow perhaps — no, most definitely. But at the moment, underneath the glazed pleasant bubble of alcohol loosening your tongue and the enticement of an extremely alluring man, who had his entire attention focused upon you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.  

He huffs an amused half-laugh. “What sort of men have you been with exactly, kitten?” 

“Not that many.” You retort. “...Two and both during my schooling years, very briefly. I was a giddy teen, excited at the prospect of a loving boyfriend. Both their expectations from the relationship were obvious from a mile away, though.” You scrub a hand through the carefully primmed fall of your hair, not caring for the accessories you knocked askew. “God, I don’t think they even knew what to do with a woman, outside of getting their dicks wet.” You laugh at your own odd joke, tumbling within your brain.  

“It’s actually crazy how I’ve never had a man make me properly come in all my years—” Your words die within your throat at the realization of your horrifying admission.  

Surely, you’d thought them within your own mind and not just blurted your entire sob fest onto the man in front? A wretched sound of dismay leaves your throat at the inscrutable look upon Sylus’ face, shredding apart any sliver of hope you’d had that you had only been musing in thoughts.  

Gods, Tara was right, your idiotic self did need to get laid, you’d gone mad at long last. And made of yourself, a fool in front of the man you were begrudgingly attracted to. There was no coming out of this and you woed the fact that you’d even let yourself drink in the first place. 

“It does seem like your dating life has been rather disastrous up to this point.” Sylus responds, at last, insouciantly plucking his glass of whiskey off the counter for a swig, so at counterpoint to your rioting emotions.  

“Sylus.” 

“What is it?”  

You reach over, a hand securing about his broad shoulder, as you tip precariously close into the man’s space, plucking the glass straight out of his hands.  

“Hey—” Before darting back as far as you’re able, a feat Sylus did not think a woman even half-drunk was capable of.  

Taking a large gulp of the acridly strong liquor down your gullet, in a prayer to knock yourself out like you’d originally intended to before Sylus had walked in all over your small parade. Anything to blot your memory of the knowledge of your mortifying words to Sylus. But curling vines of red and obsidian are cleaving through your plans just as swift, one sliding about your waist to prevent your precipitous tilt upon the narrow stool while the other plucks the liquor clean out of your hands after a single pitiful swig.  

The swirls of misted red disappear just as furtively swift as they’d appeared once they have you righted upon the stool and out of harm’s way.  

A low sigh rings heavy above your head at your absurdity. “That’s enough. We’re leaving.”  

Affording you no room for feeble protests as he slips a cool palm around yours; long, thick fingers reassuring in between your own before he tows you away from the glittering inebriation of night life.  

Clarity from the merciful remnants of your intoxication is unwelcome tonight — like cool gunmetal pressed fast against your temple, siphoning the entirety of the alcoholic flush from your system. Having utterly failed at your attempts at getting hammered so you would’ve had at least an excuse to fake post drunken amnesia in the face of your shame tomorrow.  

Instead, here you were, deep within Zone N109 once more, incarcerated to the room Sylus had appointed temporarily as yours during your first visit to the place. One that had over time, turned into your housing and personal space, indefinitely, for whenever you happened to drop by on business with the Onychinus head. On business, you firmly reminded yourself. Even as the significance of the fact that Sylus had thought it fit to make space for you within his very own — his home — was not lost on you.  

You remembered trying to sweep a kick to the back of his shins, back at the bar, for having you bodily dragged out into the sobering night air and towards where his car awaited, parked by the curb.  

“Let go of me, you big brute.” Those vexing vines of red had curled about your leg mid-motion, tugging you up sharply before your world upended and you’d been tossed unceremoniously like a sodden sack of rice onto the broad expanse of one of his shoulders. You’d dug your nails into his back in punishing protest at his audacity.  

Earning yourself a derisive snort for your efforts. “Continue pawing at me like that and I’ll have you trussed next, kitten.”  

Your mouth had curled into a silent snarl, thumping futile fists against his solid back. “Try me.” 

“Don’t think I won’t.” He’d warned mildly before he’d continued on his merry way, wide stride that had barely faltered with your struggles.  

You sigh in defeat, scrubbing your palms down your face in recollection of the memory — your reflexive annoyance at his actions stemming more from your own mortifying situation than any real anger at him.  

He’d brought you back to his place, closer from where the bar was located, instead of back home, where the two of you risked running into any of your acquaintances, Xavier for one.  

And you couldn’t afford to let the people around you know of the Onychinus head — Sylus understood that instinctually, even if you did not speak of it. Content though he seemed to perpetually keep you in a state of life-threatening heart palpitations with his goading ways; absently recalling how Sylus had been Tara’s first man of choice for her date plan, owing to how he’d found it fit to barge in on their last team retreat.  

Shaking your head, you press a hand against your forehead as you move to wipe your body clean, having opted for one of the more comfortable outfits to change into for the night, you’d brought over from your place to his during one of your earlier visits — amusement sparking at you to witness how Sylus had thought it fit to buy you a couple new dresses, to add to your sparse collection, hanging within your wardrobe. As if you two were something more than acquaintances and professional partners.  

Your mind really seemed to have free reign over mad thoughts tonight.  

A knock resounds through the quiet of the room, effectively piercing your thoughts. “Are you done yet?” His familiar, welcome burr sounds from the other side of the door.  

“I am. Come on in.” The handle glides open, revealing Sylus standing in the doorway, having swiped his outerwear for a casual dark red button down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the firm strength of his forearms; a sight you aren’t able to tear your ogling from, as he steps into the room. He closes the distance in between you in three easy strides. Crowding you within a room that feels too small and sweltering all of a sudden.  

“Feeling any better now?” His voice wrenches your gaze away from the sliver of skin revealed beneath the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened.  

You sigh, cursing at licentious thoughts. This man, in his incinerating, sensual entirety, frustrated you to no end. “I am, Sylus. Thank you.”  

“Good.” He hums. “Because you should stay awhile, a day or two at least.” 

“What? Why?” 

“I have to make sure that weasel you had tagged to you tonight doesn’t try getting too smart. Mephisto caught him lingering close to your streets after the whelp bolted following his wretched stalking attempt.”  

The revelation has nausea stirring at your gut; what had you gotten yourself into with that despicable creep? You were going to throttle Tara the next time you saw her.  

You sigh. “While that is disturbing behaviour and I’m grateful for the concern but I think I could’ve handled that idiot fine on my own.”  

A frown belts at his brow. “He’s a colleague from work, isn’t he? Despite his absolute spinelessness, that weasel is a trained Hunter with an authorized weapon on hand.”  

You raise a questioning brow at him, half inquisitive how exactly he knew your date happened to be a work acquaintance. Barely a few hours spent on his radar and the sorry fool already had all his information scraped and into the Onychinus head’s clutches. You did not envy his position, at the moment, massive creep though he was, having stood witness to how Sylus wiped his enemies clean out of existence. 

“Sure you’re capable, sweetheart, and your weasel is an idiot but do you want to be vigilant, glancing over your shoulder for a stalker, round the clock?” He pitches his head, waiting for your answer.  

His words give you pause, his reasoning not entirely without weightage. You mutter a quick curse underneath your breath, frustrated at how terribly disastrous tonight had turned out to be.  

Sylus’ smile quirks, taking your expletives for the affirmation they are. “And besides,” his hand shifts against your cheek, skimming a thumb down the curve of it, “you did enthusiastically mention your hazardous luck with dates. Might as well take care of this one before the vermin starts to fester.”  

A skitter of irked embarrassment bruises at your ego. “Are you making fun of me right now?” 

“Not in the slightest.” His thumb has switched towards your bottom lip, trekking a ghosting path across the swell of it. A different kind of emotion spurts within your chest along with the simmering annoyance, at his testing touch. “On the contrary, I was going to make an offer, one of mutual benefit.” His voice skims an octave lower and scotches deeper into your belly. “What do you say? Would you like to hear it?” 

His searing touch drifts down your chin, sweeping against your jaw. You’re unsure of the mesh of emotions that are surging through you at his evocative touch; indignation, surprise, reluctance... desire. You can barely focus on the words issuing from his mouth.  

“Well?” He prompts. “I don’t recall taping your mouth shut, sweetie.” His thumb returns to caress a path across your parted lips as if to make a point; a hushed throaty laugh leaving him at the hitch of breath that action elicits. He knows what he’s doing to you and he’s rousing you on purpose; the absolute scoundrel.  

“What’re you trying to say? Speak clearly, Sylus.” Your tongue darts forth to lap a quick path across the bottom of your lip; Sylus’ gaze rolling down your face to settle at your mouth when you do, a sudden simmer of heat flaring within blood-red.  “I despise riddles.” Another deep chuckle issues from his mouth, one that stirs into your belly without permission, much like the man himself.   

“What was it that you said earlier?” The tip of his thumb edges just past your lips. “Ah yes... you’ve never had a man make you come.”  

You flush at the recollection, cursing yourself for the umpteenth time tonight. You’d made a terrible mistake and you swore you’d never drink again, if it meant Sylus would just fucking drop it. Or you would, and the ground would swallow you whole. You’d confided a mortifying secret within a man who confounded you to no end.  

“So what?” A challenging grimace drags at your face, just as you sink a bite into his invading digit, hard. He does not so much as even flinch, his smile tugging wider instead. 

“What a spirited kitten I’ve lured into my hands.” He muses. “I like the face you’re making right now.”  

His eyes crinkle in at the corners, a mild thread of tenderness you think you catch streak through the simmering heat of his garnet gaze. It makes you want to turn away from the look, not wanting him to scrabble your heart any more than he has.  

“No,” A tapered index and thumb curve about your chin, firmly tempting your gaze back to him. “Don’t look away, keep your eyes on me.” 

And for that one instant, you listen. “My proposition is earnest, sweetie. Despite what your consensus may be, I’m quite fond of you, more so than you think.” Your breath snags in your throat at the admission; you’d be blind to not catch the clear insinuation in his words.  

His mouth skews into a smile. “Would you be averse to the idea of me showing you how it’s done?” He swipes at the swell of your bottom lip, his voice several octaves lower. Yes?” A sensual caress in the opposing direction. “No?” Your eyes flitter in hooded desire at the allure of his rich voice, scotching low into your belly to pool in between your clenched legs. 

You take a moment to inhale, slow, processing his words. Reaching a hand out to trace careful fingers against the strength of his jaw. “Do you realize the weight of what you’re implying, Sylus?” An inane question by all means. You’ve never known a man more self-assured in what he desires; you admit it’s rather arousing. 

“Oh, I do.” The distracting curve of his smirk pulls wider. “But do you, sweetheart?”  

Your fingers leave his face to drift across the open collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “You’ve been lodged in my mind for a long time.” You allow him a moment of that infuriating self-pleased smile. “Even without that pesky Evol of yours invading my skull.” Before you’re fisting his collar to rise on the tips of your toes to press your lips hard against that irksome, delicious mouth. 

Sylus’ hands curve about the give of your waist, fitting you firmer against the hard planes of him, without hesitance. He allows you free reign for a while before he chases your retreating mouth with his own, not sparing a moment of reprieve for the hungering breath you try and draw back into your lungs. His tongue slipping past your lips instead, granting you a taste and breath of what he alone affords you in that moment.  

Your hand flies to grip about the base of his neck, appreciating the firm musculature of his upper back that flexes beneath your touch when he moves to snare an arm about your waist. Fingers sinking harsh into your hip as he grinds you impossibly close to his body, siphoning the rest of your breath from your lungs.  

You’re near dizzy with the way his tongue licks into your mouth, tip teasing its way across the roof before it withdraws to slick a path against your wet bottom lip. You insist your grip harder against the back of his neck, dragging him back to you in the swelling smile he presses against your damp sighs — the drench of them flaming across your chest to pool low into your belly and settle deep in between your legs.  

Sylus lets out a low grunt against your skin — a sound that has your insides clenching in on desire — before his clutch upon the flare of your hip tightens, hand curving downwards about the swell of your ass before he lifts you up entirely on the strength of one firm muscled arm. The whimper you’re unable to tamp even against the aggression of his mouth, at his show of unrestrained desire.  

“Hold on tight now, sweetie.” He murmurs, sultry, against your lips. 

Sylus strides you both further into the room without breaking your kiss, the corded strength of his arm sturdy beneath your ass and you take that moment to appreciate what the position allows you access to, fully. Covetous fingers you run through the hair at the base of his neck to tug him into the kiss as you wish — his rewarding grunt in answer, warming your belly — against your mouth.  

Rushing down the buttoned line of his shirt, making quick work of undoing more of his buttons. A hand you slip past the edges of his shirt once the cloth against his chest is no longer impeding you, caressing your fingers against the hard planes of his pectorals. Sylus’ chuckle reverberates deep within your mouth, your fingers flexing into his shoulder at the sound. “Someone’s eager.”  

He stops at your bedside before he tosses you back onto the soft of your sheets. Not giving you the chance to even hoist yourself up on your arms before he’s towering over your body — crowded against his large frame.  

Chest heaving from the earlier stretch of your kisses and how he’d hurled you back onto the bed, you press a halting hand against his torso, playing at the lower buttons you weren’t able to undo earlier. Making hasty work of your remaining task before your fingers slide in welcome against the defined warmth of his abdomen.  

Your mouth parts in breathless wonder, eyes drinking him in voracious need, before they slip lower towards the straining length of his arousal through the placket of his pants — a sizeable bulge visible even through the pitch-black material. “Like you’re one to talk about being eager.” you quip, inquisitive digits dipping lower to ghost across the clothed length of him.  

His breath deepens at the touch, a thick chuckle slipping past his lips. “Point taken.” 

Your hand slips to curve against the swell of his cock above cloth, once more, feeling for the shape of him; larger than any you’ve had before, it sets a flitter of nervous anticipation into your chest. You want to see it, him.  

Sylus cocks his head at your inquisitive touches but doesn’t move to stop when your fingers work at the confines of his pants, until his arousal is far prominent beneath the remaining layer of his briefs. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight — he truly is big. Rather intimidating, entirely exciting.  

“Having fun?” He inquires, capturing your fingers in between long, tapered digits to bring them up to his mouth in a brushing kiss, a keen garnet gaze that refuses to relent from yours.  

“Yes,” you answer honestly.  

“That’s a good start.” He hums. “My turn.”  

Red and obsidian spiral about the length of your body, toying at the straps of your camisole, the edges of it at your belly before they’re dragging the material up across your body, and with the reveal of skin, Sylus’ eyes follow; the serrated intensity of his heated gaze, enough to have you try to squeeze your legs together on instinct to relieve some of the overbearing burn in between them.  

You can feel how mortifyingly wet you are, and yet in that moment, your mind cannot seem to muster shame.  

His thick fingers trail next across the waistband of your shorts — vined red making quick work of the ribboned bindings of the silken material before Sylus’ thumbs hook on either side, to drag your shorts and panties, torturously slow, down the plush of your thighs in one go.  

He’s hunching over to overshadow you entirely before you can make sense of it, face sinking close into the space in between your legs, hot gaze drinking in the sight of the thin strings of arousal that stretch from your pussy to your underwear before they bow and break into the sheets beneath. You watch him hum his approval, your head raised to observe the erotic picture he paints, in between your legs.  

A moan scratches free of your throat, your head falling back in shuddered pleasure when Sylus does not waste a single moment in ruining you; the broad pressure of his tongue you feel against the length of your quivering cunt as he swipes up a taste for himself before withdrawing once more.  

“Sylus.” You protest, fingers rushing to catch at his hair to pull.  

His gravelly laughter is devious against the inside of your thigh — so close to where you want him. “That’s a beautiful sound you’re making there, kitten.” He blows a hot breath against your centre, your pussy spasming at that bare action. “Let’s see if you’ve got any more of those for me.” 

“Sylus.” You try and let the irritation ring in your tone this time but all it sounds to your ears is a licentious plead.  

“I hear you, sweetheart.” He pulses a kiss against your outer folds. “I made you a deal, didn’t I?” He wrests his now loose shirt off his body before his touch returns to you once more, this time without the barrier of clothes in between you both.  

You're entirely vulnerable and naked underneath him, held to his mercies as his forearms flex about the pliance of your thighs as he hooks them about his broad shoulders. “You’re going to let me make good on my word tonight,” your legs spasm against his back — useless — as he keeps them held within steeled grips at your knees; large fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. “and witness it too, with your entire body.”  

You feel the corded, hard strength of the muscles of his back flexing beneath the heels of your feet as Sylus ducks closer to your slit to suck at the pleasured bead of your apex. Your hips fly up on instinct at that first brush of stimulation, a moan crippled free of your lips. His smug smile you feel buried against your pussy when it gushes further against the skewed stretch of those lips.  “And you know I never renege on an agreement once made.” 

Your thoughts blank entirely the next time that adroit tongue lands against your drenched folds, his mouth swallowing you up entirely as he works at your slick with all the practised propensity of a devil set to wrecking you within your sheets.  

You’ve never had a man’s mouth down there before; you didn’t quite think it were possible to feel anything remotely close to what he was doing with your body at the moment.  

Sparks of jolting pleasure thrum throughout the length of your body, you’re not even fully aware of how hard you buck against his mouth. How Sylus thwarts each unconscious attempt of escape by dragging your pussy back to his mouth each time you squirm from the overwhelming sensation.  

His growl of pleasure is what drags part of your hazy attentions back to how white knuckled your grip is within his hair, tugging at the strands as if they were your sole lifeline to sanity. And you were beginning to suspect they were.  

Sylus’ knuckles brush against your tightened clit, knocking a groan of pleasure out of your throat. “You’re so wet.” He hooks a thick, tapered index up into your walls, clenching at his filthy words. “That’s it, sweetheart, keep doing that for me.” His laughter is a deep, hoarse sound. “I’m going to take all you’ve got for me.”  

He laps a path up against the junction of your thigh; a second finger teasing at the rim of your slit before it joins the first, in a slick easy slide.  

“Sylus,” You’re no longer caring; to your sounds, to the fact you’re dripping enough you’ve wet the sheets beneath his thrusting fingers. “Oh God, don’t stop. O-oh. God.” Not caring for the slight twinge of heat that sparks with the roll of your head to catch Sylus watching your entire downfall from in between the space of your legs; fervid scarlet gaze fixated to yours, the bow of your mouth in a constant, pleasured O curve as moans of senseless appreciation and babbled curses tumble from it. Even as his tongue laps a languid path against your outer folds, at screeching odds to the deft fingers he works into you.  

“Yes,” his growl is vehement, pleased. “Scream louder, no one’s going to hear you mewl down here, kitten. Let go.” The squelch of your arousal is loud within your ears, the pads of his terrifyingly nimble digits lighting up nerves against that one spongy spot deep within you that has stars wheeling within your wide gaze.  

And just as you think this is how he’s going to end you — the pinnacle of pleasure — he betrays your expectations once more with the hot slide of his tongue back against your clit. You nearly sob at the stimulation, a silent scream clawing up your bruised throat at how close you feel to breaking.  

“I-If you—” your words are garbled, hard to breathe. You're so, so close to a peak you’ve never fallen off of, in this manner before. “—I’m... hah, going to come.” Never had your own toys or hand or even another human, scrabbled your brains out this hard; a height so vehemently approaching, you’re afraid to fall. 

Sylus seems to understand you even through your incoherent babbling, stretching you open on his fingers in harder thrusts. “Then do it. Come on my tongue, darling.”  His mouth sucks the abused flesh of your clit deep into his mouth. A peak so in sight, you hurtle into it, your pussy spasming about his fingers, his mouth so hard, you’re near thrashing your limbs about the broad strength of his shoulders. Sylus creeps a hand beneath your ass, to lift your back and shove up deeper against his mouth as you sob out his name in senseless prayer.  

“That’s it, you’re so hot like this, you know that, kitten?” His guttural words, muted within your pussy and lost through the white daze of your prolonged orgasmic haze. Sylus continues to lap at you until you’re tumbling into buzzing overstimulation; the heavy weight of him like iron fetters at your legs as you weakly push at his face, his steeled shoulders in whimpered protest.  

“I— give me a break, Sylus.”  

He affords you a modicum of mercy, glistening mouth and chin withdrawing to rise from between the confines of your legs to fix a skewed grin at you. And when you meet his gaze, he makes a deliberate, erotic show of sweeping the broad of his tongue, slow, feral, against the edge of his upper lip.  

His fingers maintain their languid position still within your sensitive walls, each measured thrust has you shivering against the intrusion.  

You cup a hand about his strong neck, dragging him down towards your mouth. His voice low, heated in between the taste of yourself he sweeps into your mouth. “Enjoying yourself?” 

You secrete a hushed sound of approval against his exploring tongue. “I’ve never come this hard in my life,” you confess, breathless. “You’re crazy.”  

“I’ll take that as an enthusiastic compliment.” Knocking that smug grin of his only wider. And then, a softer whisper settles against your wet mouth. “You’re so good for me, sweetie. You drive me insane.”  

You withdraw from him to catch the simmering heat of his fervid desires and affection commingled within that scarlet gaze you’re so taken with. Sweeping a thumb at the clinging wetness of arousal, against the angle of his jaw, you marvel at the sensual sight he paints. “...I’m no different.” You meet his gaze, your honesty heavy on your tongue. 

He chuckles at the confession, canting his head to catch the plush of your thumb against his teeth, worrying at the flesh as he laves it up into his mouth on an obscene suck.  

The way he looks at you has arousal flushing anew within your cheeks; your insides clenching in on the fingers that languorously thrust into you, stretching you open. Lashes nearly trembling shut when his thumb traces a whispered touch against your clit before withdrawing, having your hips juddering up into his hand.  

Restless digits quiver down the length of his sculpted torso, working at releasing him from the rest of his un-wanted clothing; cut, well-tailored pants you’d more than once found yourself admiring him in but at the moment, you couldn’t survive a second longer without uncovering the entirety of his captivating body to your gaze. Sylus gently pulls out of your pussy to help you along, thick fingers running along yours at his buckle to slide is smooth out its confines before his Evol curls about the belt to toss it easy, at the side of his bed. His pants and briefs follow soon after and you nearly choke at the sight of him revealed at last to your gaze. 

Sylus’ cock is a devastating thing of beauty; thick and intimidating enough it has you salivating at the mere sight of it. You’ve never seen a man this big, blessed in both length and girth, it has your cunt clenching in on need at the sight of him. You wonder how he’d feel against your tongue if you tried taking him in, parched lips you wet with a swipe of tongue, parting at the thought.  

“Like what you see?” His self-pleased words wrench you out of your self-imposed stupor until you see that smug grin painting his face too. Your fingers delicately curve about the girth of him in a gentle squeeze; has grin falling open in a low, breathy laugh of arousal.  

Your fingers unable to wrap him up entirely within a fist, even as you stroke a slow, steady path up across his length. “You’re right,” you murmur in wanton desire. “I do like what I see.”  

“Such an honest tongue.” he groans low, in pleasure at your languid ministrations. Hooking a thumb at your bottom lip to tease it into your mouth and onto the wet muscle.  

“Honesty isn’t the only thing it can provide, you know.” You bait, in breathless, risqué whispers around the intrusion of his thumb in your mouth, sucking at him in imitation of what you truly desire from him. 

Sylus hums a pleased sound, withdrawing his finger to sweep it across your swollen lips. “Later.” He silences your protests with the wet ingress of his digits back into your walls. “You’ll have me, you have my word. But right now...” Your broken moan mingles with the guttural sigh that tumbles from his lips to witness your face shatter in pleasure. “we’re here to see how good I can make you feel, aren’t we, kitten? So, lay back.” He eases the flat of his palm in between your breasts to push. “And watch how else I ruin you tonight.” 

You moan at his filthy threat of a promise, hips rolling into the fingers he’s pressed into you, their rhythmic propulsions turning faster with each moment until he has your crest building once more. 

“Sylus.” you gasp out, fingers spasming around the wrist buried in between your quaking legs. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” He draws down closer, body crowding yours against the sheets, the heat of his breath sultry against your sweat soaked skin. You feel the weight of his arousal ghost a searing path against your thigh and jump at the stimulation. 

“You.” you plead. “I need you so stop teasing me now, Sylus. I’ll—” 

His lips capture yours in an incendiary kiss, a violent clash of tongue, drinking your startled mewls up into his own as his fingers curl about the back of your head to hold steady underneath his assault. “You sure you’re ready for it?” He rolls his hips against yours once more in emphasis, making you shiver underneath the intimidating heat of his arousal. 

“I am, I can take it.” you insist against his wet tongue. “And even if I can’t, you promised you’d show me how good it can get, didn’t you?” You shiver. “So quit edging me any longer and put it inside me.” Your back arches in need at a particularly adept press of his fingers. “Sylus.” 

His answering groan at your fervent desires burns you higher, his soaked fingers dragging out of your clenching walls. “You really do know how to rile me up, don’t you, sweetheart?” Large hands settle about the swell of your hips as Sylus presses himself in between your legs. Letting the head of his cock, at long last, stroke at the wetness of your cunt, gathering moisture on to it. So close. 

His hips undulate in languid pleasurable strokes in between the fall of your legs, and each time the flared head of his cock bumps up at the tight bead at your apex, your hips try and jump against the caged strength of his hands holding you down. Every single stroke — up, down — has your breaths turning laboured in need, each single time he brushes down close to your hole, you clench in on instinctual emptiness, wanting to pull him deeper into you.  

“Some restraint, kitten. We don’t want you too overwhelmed too fast.” A low sound of disapproval soughs past his lips at your squirming. “Impatience is not a good look on a Hunter of your repute.” 

Your mouth falls open on a silent groan; hooking a leg about the snatch of his waist, you try and urge him into you. Earning an amused, guttural laugh for your efforts. “You’ve had me plenty ready. You’re just baiting me at this point.” 

“But you like me being this way, don’t you?” And God help you, if your brain wasn’t entirely mushed at what he’s done to you, you would’ve tried refute his observations with a lie of your own. But in this moment, you let him have his victory.  

Sylus curves a palm about the crook of your leg, fingers ghosting the underside of sensitive skin, up, until his hold catches at your knee. Keeping you fixed firm down onto the bed with the other, while he rolls his hips against you once more. “Keep holding tight,” he taps at your knee hooked at his back one last time before his hand drifts to curl about the base of his cock, pressing more of your slick up against the bulbous head.  

The first breach of him burns you open in pleasurable bliss, you hiss at the intrusion, back arching on instinctual chase of the man you’re so drunk on. Just the head in has you dizzy around him, grateful for the anchor of his large hand holding you grounded, at your hip.  

More of his member pushes past your rim; Sylus’ grunt of pleasure breaking in the tight scrunch of his brow in concentration. A thumb flits about your pinched bottom lip, end to end, before he’s coaxing it open with a firmer press of the pad of his digit against it. “Breathe for me, sweetheart.” You don’t think your body is capable of drawing air in at all but you try and trudge past the closure of your throat, gulping in a few, needed breaths. “That’s it, yeah, take me in. Slowly now.”  

It’s only when your body shudders underneath his with the ingress of almost his entire length settled into you do you realize the sheer, unyielding size of him inside, Sylus’ throaty groan of arousal, he bites into the sensitive skin of your wrist he’s had curled in between thick digits. Your cunt feels stretched impossibly wide around the shape of him, in a manner that has you whimpering on his next few testing strokes up into your walls. Sending him curling impossibly deep on each long, heavy thrust up into you until you feel him nudging, as if at the very ends of you.  

Your head rolls in restless need across the down of your pillows, your fingers skittering up the length of his arms, sinking harsh into the taut muscles of his biceps. Angry crescents you’re sure you’re marking into the skin but all it seems to do to him is make him push into you with greater need, approval heavy in the fervid grunts that issue from his mouth.  

One of his hands steals beneath your body to press in between your shoulder blades, guiding your body deeper against his as his hips piston into you. The wet squelch of your arousal heavy in the space, commingling with your damp, thick groans.  

Sylus withdraws from your body on his next slide, nearly all the way out, before he pulses back, slick, without resistance; each time, your body taken by the pleasant shock of how fully he sheathes himself into you, the stretch sending you into a dizzying spiral of mounting need.

And despite it all —  the hazy pleasure, his long, deep strokes into you — your ravenous body needs this man closer, a desire you aren’t able to word coherently. 

Sylus’ diligent handling of you — although, a gesture appreciated — is not what you require of him in the moment. He’s your first in so, so long; desires shuttered in since forever, along with the intense need to be thoroughly loved over by this man; your need to have him fuck you without restraint, after a heart so long spent in warring against its yearning for him, overflowing off the cusp of your poor control. Manifesting in the fingers you rush about the angled cut of his hips to squeeze, your legs tightening their hold at the back of his waist to pull deeper inside.  

Your eyes meet his in fevered haze; a slip of your tongue to drench parched lips, falling open to voice your desires before Sylus’ face crowds your vision. His mouth pulsing a quick kiss of violence against yours, it siphons your entire breath from your lungs at the aggressive curl of his tongue into you. “Alright,” he utters on a wet, hoarse whisper against your lips. No more questions, no more unsurety. “I’ll give you what you need.”  

He’s gingerly worked himself into you up to the near base of him when large hands move to grip on either side of your abdomen, the pads of them pulsing into the pliance of your skin — heated scaffoldings of flesh. Heralding the slow, squelching withdrawal of his cock from your depths up to the tip. Until Sylus plunges back into you with a force vehement enough you see stars white the scape of your vision with the audible slap of hips meeting the back of your ass.  

And it isn’t until he starts driving into you in that punishing pace, manoeuvring your body as if you were a mere doll meant to house his cock do you realize with primal joy that you love how he’s taking you. You’re delirious on the feeling of his cock ramming up into your walls — the massive stretch of him, each single inch of hot, unyielding flesh — hard enough he’s driving you up the sheets, your voice you do not realize is a shrill scream of pleasure.  

Everything — you, him, your hot, clenching insides around him — is all too much, all of a sudden, you’re drowning in the ecstasy of the feeling of him overwhelming your senses.  

And the man above, an unfettered beast; he folds you deeper into the mattress with the ardent swing of his hips, large hands gripping hard onto your waist as he guides your own weak thrusts back onto his cock with ferocious precision. Each single glide of the swollen head of his cock dragging him deliciously against that one spot inside that has you quivering apart around him. A deliberate assault of your sweet weakness. Truly, he knows your body as if he’d had you before several times already; the thought is as exhilarating as it is terrifying, having your pussy spasm around him on instinct, dragging a vicious growl out of him that has you whimpering at the sound.  

The sweat slicked concentration and fervid arousal that knits at his powerful brows is addictive, the heated flush of pleasure and effortless exertion — all of him an erotic sight, meant to throttle you into finishing ruin. The violent tatters of your orgasm you feel crumpling within your belly, fast approaching.  

You try and buck against his hips faster, pace paling in comparison to the near bestial propulsion of his cock into your depths. Sylus groans at a particularly harsh squeeze of your cunt; a hand leaving your waist to feather his knuckles against the drenched slide of sweat and tears at your cheeks you know are ruddy in desire. “You’re taking me so well, kitten, so deep inside that small body.” You might’ve offered a word of approval if your throat wasn’t so swollen from the breathless moans and ruinous pleas he’s knocking out of you instead. “You’re clamping so hard around my cock. Do you not want to let me go?” His large hand drifting against the lower stretch of your abdomen, before he presses the flat of his palm in deep, as if he could feel for the place his cock pounds up as if against your very womb, angling his hips to brush at the sensitive bundle of nerves at your apex and you nearly weep at the tight stimulation.  

“C-Clo—” is all the words your battered throat can manage out before your head’s falling back against the pillows, tear-strained gaze blown wide with the unrelenting intensity of his pillage of your body.  

But Sylus groans in approval, understanding of your broken prompts. “I’ve got you. Let that pretty pussy of yours weep more for me, sweetheart.” 

You moan unabated at the filth that issues from his lips, your body immediately moving to obey his instruction in the spasm of your walls.  

His hand slides against the length of your hooked leg to hoist it up and over a broad shoulder as his large frame arches over you, nearly folding you in half. The new angle driving each of his wild thrusts hard against your swollen clit. Your back nearly snapping with the force of its curve up towards him with your next shrill scream of his name. “What a perfect, perfect girl for me.”  

You're no longer coherent, a garbled speech and cotton head your constant companions — only dimly aware of the muted sounds of wood striking against concrete walls as Sylus drives your body violently up against the headboard. The distant absence of pain you only realize is possible when your cheek curls sideways to sink against the simmering warmth of the red and obsidian mesh of his Evol, keeping your head pillowed against the strength of his thrusts.  

His face descends towards you, a thick hand easing beneath sweat soaked locks to grip at your neck, holding firm for the ravenous mouth that plunders yours, choking your moans against his tongue. Your spit trails useless past swollen lips, Sylus’ tongue immediately following a broad path against your jaw, your chin to lick at the combined essence of sweat and spit. His guttural moan at the taste, sending you nearly into your orgasm, so close at hand, you’re spasming useless about the great length of him. 

Long, tapered digits flex about the delicate expanse of your neck, coaxing your pleasure-drunk gaze up towards his.  “The way you’re looking right now...” You catch the flex of his other arm at the corners of your vision as it slinks in between your bodies. “a man could get addicted, sweetie.” His thumb presses against the abused bead of your apex in that instant, knocking a scream free of your parched throat, body arching in the slick slide of your breasts pressed flush against the broad planes of his chest. Even that stimulation at your nipples is too much; the heat in between your legs tempered to an inferno.  

The precise, perfect strikes of his cock into your walls, along with the insistent pinch and press of your clit in between adroit index and thumb has your crest rising. White hot heat undulates through your entire body. The merciless sting of a delicious bite you feel Sylus sink at your straining neck, right beneath your jaw, “Come for me now, sweetheart,” accompanying the hammering thrusts of his cock, his thumb at your bundle of nerves is what finally has you ripping apart on an orgasm so intense your gaze blanks entirely.  

Jaw falling open on a shriek so unlike yours, you do not recognize the sound of your own battered voice until Sylus presses two thick digits into your slack mouth to toy at your wet tongue as if he could capture that sound for himself. “You’re so damn beautiful.” His pace unrelenting through the violence of your orgasm, stretching your own peak so long, spasming about the wet heat of him until Sylus’ hips too stutter as he finds his release into your welcoming depths.  

Pulse after pulse of ejaculate so abundant, hot, it drives you into another release — or perhaps, you’d never even stopped coming — a pinnacle so high, your fall from it is prolonged, pleasurable. Your mouth sucking hard at his fingers, willing them to serve your anchor.  

Sylus’ gaze meets yours from across the small pocket of space in between your faces, heated and stifled with your breaths. Scarlet eyes, simmering, pupils blown so wide in low settling arousal as the two of you breathe deep in unison. Several moments of reprieve, you allow your bodies as you come down from your highs.  

A small part of you distantly realizes a single session with Sylus has effectively ruined you for life and you’re unsure if you’re bemoaning the fact or thrilling in delight at it. You think you just might be far more infatuated with this infuriating man than you’d initially thought and the notion of being this adoring of him mildly terrifies you. Just as the sliver of tenderness that threads through that garnet gaze as he pushes back sweat soaked strands from your face to study you. “You alright there, sweetie?”  

You can’t deny it any longer. “Never been better.” you wheeze past a sore throat. And God help you, the grin that skews at his beautiful mouth at your answer has your heart refusing to settle into rest, even after your mind-numbing release.  

“That good, was it?” You do not have the energy to refute him, settling for a light slap at his bicep. 

His arms flex about your body before he rolls you both over. Releasing himself, slow, from your depths — you groan weakly at the muted stimulation before he hoists himself onto his arm.  

You reach a hand forwards, curving it about his face, thumb sketching at the angle of his jaw. “Stay with me tonight.” you ask of him quietly.  

Mild surprise flickers within blood-red garnet before it’s replaced by the tender quirk of a strong brow. “Didn’t plan on leaving, sweetheart.” He tips his head further into the crook of your palm, pulsing a quick kiss onto the skin. “Sleep tight, now. Your eyes are glazing over.” 

And for that one moment, you listen, letting the warmth of his engulfing embrace shepherd you into dreams of scarlet eyes and amused smiles — the only ones you’ve been able to think about for a long time now. 

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @chocomii-chan

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM!

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to chat or just squeal with me about hot characters, in general.

[allyricas]

imagine if eddie never got caught up in the upside down stuff in season 4. all the same people are still vecna'd, but chrissy never sought out eddie for drugs at school that day so he is oblivious to everything going on.

maybe he spends spring break playing music with the guys and getting drunk in the back of his van.

or, better yet, he's not even in town at all. he and the other members of corroded coffin are in indy for battle of the bands.

in fact, he literally has no clue what happened until he sees the news about the earthquake and he rushes back to make sure uncle wayne is alright. he's freaking out because when he calls his trailer numerous times, no one answers. he tries calling the plant to look for his uncle and they say he didn't show up to work.

chrissy was too intimidated to seek him out at school even in the privacy of the woods, so instead later that evening she goes to the trailer to look for him. she still gets vecna'd and the trailer becomes a gate.

eddie is never a suspect since he has a verifiable alibi. wayne still finds chrissy's body the next morning and still helps by telling nancy about henry creel. he can tell the teens are about to do something reckless and dangerous so he gets involved and ends up in the upside down instead of eddie.

he turns out to be very handy with various weapons and has a mind for battle strategy thus the party having a much better plan.

they win this time. steve gets really hurt, like nearly dies. wayne is the one who carries him out of the upside down and helps make sure he doesn't bleed out. they form a bond and wayne refuses to leave his side at the lab.

which is why eddie can't get ahold of him.

imagine eddie rushing back into hawkins only to eventually find out chrissy cunningham died on the porch of his trailer and that no one's heard from his uncle in days. he finds out from dustin that his uncle is at the hospital standing vigil over steve harrington's bedside, of all freaking people.

wayne looks pretty roughed up, but he's safe and he's okay. eddie is so relieved to see him with his own eyes that the reality of everything doesn't really sink in.

after everything is settled, the government compensates wayne with a new home. everything could have been a lot worse were he not involved and the earthquake split the trailer in two.

it's nothing fancy, just a three bedroom home on a nice plot of land. it's cosy and there's room for a fire pit in the backyard, maybe even a garden and a chicken coop. wayne manages to make anywhere feel like home, but this place has a certain charm.

once steve is well enough to go home, wayne all but insists that steve comes home with him and eddie. wayne tells steve he has a permanent home with him, that they're family. for once in his life, steve let's himself be loved and taken care of by an adult. wayne is everything his parents could never be.

wayne's heard all about steve's parents, noted that they never showed up to see their son and wayne doesn't want steve rotting alone in his big house. wayne always had a habit of picking up strays after all.

the problem with the situation is, of course, that eddie doesn't like steve. in fact, he absolutely cannot stand him and does not understand why his uncle is suddenly so close with him.

he steadfastly believes in his munson doctrine and has no plans to reevaluate. steve is a douchebag jock. in his mind, there's no way he has actually changed into this funny, dorky man who hangs out with his uncle for fun and drives around the younger teens just because he likes them.

he can't actually be best friends with band nerd robin buckley or close to his ex and her boyfriend. he can't be the man who put his body in front of someone else's. he can't be the man who smiles softly at eddie while he makes his snarky comments and refuses to budge and inch on his dislike.

steve harrington who helps his uncle plant a garden and build his chicken coop. who cooks and bakes far better than some rich kid should be able to. who asks about his band and hellfire and his books. who is far funnier than he has any right to be.

so, eddie is all snarky comments and rolled eyes every time he comes home to wayne and steve watching a game together. he is so jealous and can't say anything since wayne adores the guy...and since steve almost died.

he pretends that all the things he's learning about him must be a trick or a lie. steve can't be this person who fits so seamlessly into his life. even the other members of his band warm up to him

eddie will not budge. nope. never.

wayne knows his nephew. knows that eddie would like steve if he just gave him a chance. watches the way his nephew watches steve and waits for the day the eddie realizes what he thinks is loathing is a lot closer to something else. he loves the boy, but knows what a stubborn ass he can be.

steve likes eddie immediately and thinks he's adorable. he thinks eddie is cute when he's annoyed, enjoys the way he huffs and rolls his eyes. he is content to wait for eddie to catch up. he and wayne gossip over coffee and the subject has come up a time or two (or many) and wayne insists that eddie will figure it out eventually.

imagine a world where eddie never gets involved with the upside down but wayne does. even in this world he and steve are inevitable. wayne sees it the minute he watches them interact the first time in the hospital. he has a feeling they'd have found their way to each other somehow. he knows steve was meant to be apart of their family.

[excusemyobsessions]

LaDS boys sleeping/cuddling positions

LaDS boys x You/Reader

Genre: Scenario, Fluff, Gender neutral (requested) Scenario: Bullet points and an itty bitty scenarios regarding each one of the boys and their prefered sleeping/cuddling position Word count: About 200-300 for each one, 1200 words total

Little note: I've been going through a block but I finally managed to get this one request out. Hopefully I'll be able to leave this block soon...

Warning: use of pet names (kitten(Sylus), cutie(Rafayel)), teeth-rotting fluff

Sylus

I can see him liking to sleep on his back, with your head on his chest. Bonus points if one of your legs is draped over his and one of your arms around his torso the whole night.

You barely use your pillow because you literally sleep on his chest every night, lulled by the sound of his steady breathing.

He whispers sweet nothings against the top of your head. Makes you laugh just to feel your body vibrate with laughter against his.

Traces soothing patterns on your back to help you fall asleep.

“I’m going to need you to start coming to bed earlier,” you mumbled, half asleep, welcoming Sylus’ warm body into your arms.

You waited, one single eye barely opened, for him to settle down onto his back, wrapped up in the low, mellow sound of his chuckle.

As soon as he was laying down, you slipped one leg in between his, coiled one arm around his bare torso, and fit your head against his chest.

“You’re so demanding, kitten,” he purred against your hair, pressing one, two, three sweet kisses to the top of your head.

You hummed, barely registering his words while you nuzzled into his chest, ready to fall asleep again.

Sylus chuckled again and you could hear the rumbling of it against your ear.

“I swear I’ll try to finish up earlier,” he whispered.

Caleb

Likes to have you sprawled on top of him. Either straddling his hips or between his legs, he doesn't care as long as he can feel your weight on him. His hands are always under your shirt, directly on your skin.

You talk for hours, and you enjoy peppering little kisses on his face because his eyes soften every single time and he can't help smiling like a fool.

Like this, when you fall asleep he can feel you breathe against his skin and under his hands and it soothes him.

Caleb didn’t want to move at all. The lamp was still on, its gentle yellow light outlining your features, casting little shadows on the apples of your cheeks from your lashes.

You were sleeping on his chest, quite peacefully so, your even, warm breath tickling his skin. When he tried to move earlier you’d stirred oh so lightly and he’d settled down, very still, unwilling to bother you any further.

And yet you looked so cosy he just wanted to squeeze you in his arms and never let go.

Long arms circled your waist, hands sprawled out against the skin of your back and you sighed, letting out a tiny little groan when he squeezed your frame just a little.

“Caleb…” you mumbled and he chuckled, quietly so.

Well, he’d disturbed you already, he might as well reach for the light now.

“Shh, sleep,” he told you, returning his fingers to your skin once the light was off. “I’m right here.”

Rafayel 

I see him as a little spoon but he likes holding you too? Especially if you need to be held, he's right there for you.

So either he's in your arms, pressed back into your chest, hands entangled with yours or you're in his arms, snuggled against his neck, his fingers in your hair.

He talks and talks and makes you laugh and he loves to feel your laughter under his hands and in his arms.

You'd been laughing for what felt like hours. With your forehead against Rafayel’s back, you could feel the muscles on your abdomen already sore from so much silliness, the taste of laughter on your tongue along with the musk of his skin.

Your fingers were tightly tangled with Rafayel’s, gripping onto his, both of you unwilling to let go for even a second.

“I swear, cutie, it was ridiculous. You should have seen Thomas’ face,” he told you.

He’d been going on about one of his escapes, another story about how he’d tormented poor Thomas yet again. You couldn’t help but feel bad for the man.

“Poor Thomas,” you mumbled, lifting up your free hand to wipe away a few tears.

Rafayel turned in your arms, to meet your glossy gaze.

“Poor me, forced to go through these deals he comes up with,” he grumbled.

He lifted your entwined hands up to his lips as you chuckled, watching his pouty face.

“We both know no one can force you to anything,” you responded, earning a little pensive hum from him and a little tilt of his head.

He moved his free arm, tugging you closer, to use his shoulder as a pillow. You snuggled further into him, burying your face in his neck.

“I guess you’re right,” he mused, pressing his lips to your hair line, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

Zayne

Likes having you tucked against his chest, right up against his heart. You like to feel his heartbeat under your fingers or listen to it.

You sleep all tangled up, your legs in between his, his arms around you. Sometimes he’ll wake up to your iron grip on his shirt, but he doesn’t mind.

You could never get over how gentle Zayne looked like this, in his pajamas, hair unstyled, sprawled on his pillow. His frame was outlined by the gentle light of the lamp resting on the bedside table, features partially enshrouded in darkness but you could see his eyes. Those gentle pools of green which gazed back at you, the eyelids which threatened to droop down at any moment.

“We should sleep,” you told him gently, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

He hummed his agreement, with a little nod.

His arm left your waist for just a few seconds, so he could reach back and turn off the light, but it soon returned. He waited for you to come closer, to nuzzle into his chest before he coiled his arm around you, long fingers tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder blades.

“Good night,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Good night,” you whispered against his heart.

Xavier

I, like many others, believe he likes to sleep on your chest. He loves when you talk to him, when you go on about your day, loves to feel how your voice vibrates in your chest.

He loves to listen to you breathe, how the air swirls in your lungs right up against his ear.

“Are you comfortable?” Xavier asked, barely even there, consciousness just a sliver, aware enough to be concerned with your comfort. 

“I'm okay, don't worry,” you answered him.

His response came in the form of a hum, groggy with sleep, heavy with the warmth of the moment. He nuzzled into your chest and placed a warm kiss right above your heart.

“You’re very warm,” he mumbled, settling down against you.

You felt the tension leave his body entirely, his muscles turn into mush, the comfortable weight of his body settling down onto yours. He laid his head on your chest, his ear right above your heart.

And he fell asleep in a matter of seconds, ear pressed to the steadily beating muscle in your chest, lulled by its symphony.

[no-144444]

꩜ summary: he doesn't listen...

꩜ pairing: carlos sainz x fem! reader

Can’t wait to get you home tonight. You look fucking gorgeous preciosa. 

You couldn’t help the goosebumps jumping up on your skin. You didn't even know he was here but, of course he was. He was here, like always, and you would run back to him, like always. Your eyes lifted to the dance floor in front of you. You scanned the faces, searching for him, hoping you’d spot him before he found you. You couldn’t find those familiar brown eyes, at least, not with the lack of light and amount of people in there. 

Carlos was great, he was nice when he needed to be, a good fuck, and a guy who was into a bit of aftercare. He was… yeah. It was fine. You were looking for a relationship and had landed yourself into a fuck-buddies situation, which was fine. It just wasn’t what you wanted. And he didn’t want anything else. He just wanted someone to fuck casually, and you wanted a boyfriend who would listen to you, who would hold you, who would care. That wasn’t Carlos. Men like him didn’t settle for a girlfriend, much less you. He didn’t listen at the best of times, he only put the effort in when he was getting something from you, and it made you feel like shit. So, you kept planning on breaking it off, but then it kept going. You both kept going. You kept running back. You just wanted it to be over and bile rose in your throat every time you realised you’d actually have to try and speak to him about it, that you couldn’t just ghost him and have him leave you alone. He wouldn’t go so easily. 

The music in Jimmy’s was loud. Too loud. It always was. The lights were strobe, Lando was probably on the dj deck, and you really just wanted to go home. You stared down at his message again, and typed your own out, despite the bodies pushing up against you. 

Not feeling well. Raincheck?

He didn’t respond right away. You didn’t expect him to. It was usually him cancelling or calling, and you just followed. But tonight was different. You felt it. It was over, for real. You couldn’t take not being listened to. You were nearly at the door when he texted. 

Have something that could make you feel better. Wait for me. 

And you did. Stupidly, you waited a full twenty minutes for him to come out of the club, walking with you back to his apartment as your stomach twisted with regret. You didn’t hold hands. You didn’t smile at each other. You looked every bit the strangers you really were. 

You knew what he wanted by the looks he was giving you, by the way your ‘catch-up’ (he’d asked about your day) went in one ear and out the other. You could’ve screamed and he still wouldn’t have heard you, and it only broke your heart more, because you cared. You were there for him when Ferrari dropped him, you sat there with him for a whole weekend and held him close, listening to every late-night rant and early-morning sob session. You did it for him, and he didn’t want to do it for you. You were nothing to him. You were just a body. Something to be used. 

Carlos’s apartment was cosy. He had a big kitchen (which he never used), a big couch, and he was allergic to switching on the big light, so the small lamps placed around the rooms only added to the ambience. You liked it there. It smelt clean and he kept it tidy, though you wished you were coming for a date night, rather than a booty call. 

He surged forward and kissed your lips as you pulled your jacket off. His hands immediately ran to grope and grab at anything he could. He pulled down the front of your dress, revealing your purple lace bra. His favourite. Your favourite too, but he never seemed to care. He smirked against your lips. “Missed you,” he hissed. “It’s been shit without you. Want you to come to Miami-”

“Carlos,” you breathed out, pushing him back, hard. He stumbled into the counter with a surprised look. “I don’t want this.” 

Both of you were quiet. He just stared at you as you fixed yourself up, feeling every bit the idiot you thought you were. You had let it go on too long. You had no idea what you were going to say, but you knew you needed to say it. 

“What’s wrong, preciosa?” he asked, taking a tentative step towards you. You took one step back. He stilled. 

“This is what’s wrong. Us! I don’t want this anymore,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “I’m fucking sick and tired of you just using me for what you want, without ever thinking about what I want!” you took a deep breath. “And I feel so fucking stupid because I keep running back! And I don’t know why! I guess I think that if I show you that I could love you like I want to, that maybe you’ll care too? Which is so fucking stupid, because you don’t love me. You’ll never fucking love me unless I’m on my knees.”

And the air sucked out of the room, replaced with a thick atmosphere. You’d said it. He had to respond. 

He cleared his throat. “Where is this coming from?” he asked, his eyes wide and surprised, he took another step towards you slowly. You didn’t step back this time. “You’ve never said this before?”

“I have,” you shook your head, a sad smile on your lips. Of course he didn’t remember. Of course he didn’t care. “I have asked you a thousand times to be my actual boyfriend, and every single time you just say that we’re ‘just having fun’. Carlos, I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me, and you don’t want me.” 

“I want you,” he shook his head. “Of course I want you, preciosa-”

“What does that even mean?” you scoffed. “You want me, you call me ‘precious’ , and yet you’d rather die than let me meet your friends or family, you won’t call me your girlfriend, and all we do is fuck.” 

He looked down. “It’s complicated-” 

“Is it though? Charles does it. Oscar does it. Esteban does it. Max does it. Liam does it. Kimi does it, for fuck’s sake Carlos. You don’t love me, just say it-!”

“I love you!” he shouted and you flinched. Suddenly his hands were gripping your waist, and hugging you. His chest was heaving “I love you,” he whispered again, his voice small. “I love you, of course I love you.”

You shook your head. “You don’t love me.” 

“I love you,” he shook his head. “I love you so much.”

“You don’t listen to me,” you cried, choking up against his chest, but making no effort to move him away. “You refuse to be seen with me in public. You don’t hold me. You don’t love me unless I’m warming your cock.”

He shook his head again, his grip tightening again. “I don’t- I love you. All the time. I love how when you smile, your nose creases a little bit. I love how you look in the mornings when the sun is coming through the windows. I love how smart you are. I love hearing you speak-” 

“Tell me what happened in my day,” you demanded, a test to see if he listened. To see if he cared. You pulled back to look at his face.

“You woke up late,” he started, you were already pleasantly surprised. “You went for a walk down at the marina, you went grocery shopping because you wanted to make cookies. You got some work done and got a call from one of your friends, and you met her for lunch. Her name is Freida. You had lunch at Café de Paris Monté-Carlo. She paid even though you tried to. You went home and got some more work done. Then Lotti, your friend, invited you out to Jimmy’s for a mid-week pick-up. And now you’re here, with me,” his eyes were wild as he answered your demand with perfect execution. Your mouth dropped open. 

You were quiet for a moment and he reached up and wiped away every tear that fell. “So why don’t you ever make me feel like you’re listening?” 

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I love you and I’m sorry. I’ll change. I’ll do anything, I just… I cannot lose you.” 

“I just…” you pushed back, his hands dropping from your figure. His face hardened. “I need time to think.” 

And you left, because what else were you meant to do? 

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

navigation for my blog :)

[fastandcarlos]

When You Fall Asleep On Him In The Paddock : ̗̀➛ F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen

Whenever you fall asleep on Max he always becomes very protective and tries his very best to shield you. He tends to move his arm around you and hold onto you in his side, keeping nice and careful with his movements to make sure that he doesn’t wake you. If anyone dares look at you if you’re asleep with people around you he sends them a firm glare to mind their business, usually wrapping his jumper around you to hide you as best you can and make you that little more comfortable. “I’ve got you,” he would whisper every single time you stirred to assure you that you were alright.

» Charles LeClerc

He actively encourages you to fall asleep when you start yawning at the paddock, because he loves to hold onto you no matter where the two of you are. “It’s alright,” he’d smile whenever your anxious eyes looked at him to make sure it was really alright. Charles would tap his shoulder and invite you to rest your hand, with you unaware of the wide smile on his face above you. He’s happy to sit for as long as you need him to, making the most of your comforting presence holding tightly onto him before having to go out and race.

» Lando Norris

Whenever you fall asleep on him, Lando gets incredibly shy. He knows that people are watching him and preparing their lines to tease him later when you’re out of earshot. He’s happy to take it though as it means that you’re able to rest beside him. When he thinks no one is watching him Lando will lean down and press a kiss against the top of your head or run his hand along the length of your back to help you fall asleep. If he’s honest, he loves the attention he gets when you fall asleep as it means everyone gets to see what a dutiful boyfriend he really is.

» Carlos Sainz

There’s always a bit of worry with Carlos when he sees you falling asleep as he doesn’t want to have to be the one to wake you up when his schedule calls. To start with he’ll try and resist you, but that never usually lasts long as your eyes pleadingly look up at him. “I can’t say no to you, can I?” He huffs, opening his body for you to curl up into his side and close your eyes for a while. Once he sees how cosy you are he knows it’s the right thing to do, even if only half an hour later he has to do the cruel job of slowly shaking you awake again.

» George Russell

When he can tell that you’re getting sleepy George will immediately whisk you off into his drivers room so that you can rest comfortably. He hates people watching you sleep, especially when your head is in his lap, much preferring to give you privacy. George will pull the curtains and make the bed before laying down and letting you tuck into his side. “What about work?” You whisper when you notice him settling down beside you to have a nap himself. “Work can wait,” he reassures you as he wraps his arm around your frame.

» Lewis Hamilton

He has everyone looking after you when you fall asleep, asking some of the staff around the garage to get a pillow and a blanket to make you feel as comfortable as possible. Lewis wouldn’t dare move when you’re asleep out of fear of disturbing you, and has been known to bring meetings to him so that he doesn’t disturb your sleep either. When the pillow arrives he delicately lifts your head and places it under before draping the blanket over you if you’re at one of the chillier races too, happy to let you lay for as long as you need to.

» Daniel Ricciardo

There’s a smug feeling with Daniel whenever you fall asleep on him, like it’s a statement to remind everyone just how happy you are in your relationship. He’s happy to show off the fact that you’re asleep on him and let people see how much of a comfort having him there is for you. If anyone offers to free up a space for you Daniel will decline, he knows that the only thing that you need to help you fall asleep is him. He’d stay there all day if he could whenever you’re asleep, much preferring to be with you then do any of the other boring bits of the job.

» Oscar Piastri

He’s a pretty shy man at the best of times, but you falling asleep on him in the paddock just about tips Oscar over the edge, especially when there’s a camera or two around. As soon as he sees that camera shutter go down he knows exactly what will be on the front pages the following morning, and although he’s anxious about what will come, knowing that you’re resting is all that matters to Oscar. With how hard you’re working he’d let you sleep anywhere, even if it ends up with him being titled as the softest boy in the paddock.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

any feedback, comments or reblogs are always appreciated ✨

[sparklingchim]

excuse me, ms. Darly but could we get a short lwh!fam like this https://www.instagram.com/reel/C5a8Ngzt3Xg/?igsh=MTYydm1xamt0eXo2Mg==

pairing: dilf!jungkook x reader

summary: jungkook has a habit of snoring, and nabi had enough of it.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Nabi is a very clingy baby.

Very cuddly, too.

So most nights, she somehow finds her way into your and Jungkook’s bedroom.

It's almost like she has a sixth sense for when you're about to settle into bed, starting to cry and whine to get your attention.

And almost always, Jungkook comes back with Nabi cradled in his arms, her fake tears still glistening in her eyes as he carries her into bed.

You remind him that it's not good to let her get used to this habit, and he always defends it by saying he can't resist letting her sleep with you both. "Her big tired eyes melt me into letting her sleep with us."

Jungkook finally gets to experience firsthand what it means to turn putty at the sight of round, sparkly doe eyes.

And just as Nabi has a habit of wanting to sleep between her parents, Jungkook has a habit of snoring. Every night. Though he claims he doesn't snore as loudly when you complain and you always give him an incredulous look, snarling back, "how would you know?"

All three of you are cuddled up in bed, Jungkook’s snores richocheting off the walls as you're deep in sleep—except for Nabi.

She's squirming in bed, the covers getting pulled and tugged with the movements of her little body, which causes you wake up. Your eyes flutter open.

You just catch the moment when Nabi raises her tiny hand and smacks it against Jungkook’s cheek just enough to create a soft echo of the slap.

Jungkook's snoring comes to an abrupt halt.

He grumbles, shifting to adjust his position and escape whatever just hurt him, all while keeping his eyes closed.

You stifle a giggle as you watch him groggily scratch his cheek. Nabi's big, curious eyes drift to your smiling face, and she wriggles her way back to you.

"Good job, Nabi," you whisper, pulling her close. She snuggles into your side, her little fingers curling around your chest as she nestles in.

"Did she just hit me?" Jungkook mumbles, still half-asleep, his voice thick with confusion.

You laugh softly, brushing a hand through Nabi's silky hair.

"Your snores annoyed her," you say, giggling. "See, you are very loud."

"Nabi's ruthless," he huffs.

Jungkook cracks one eye open, glancing at the two of you cuddled up together.

"Traitor," he mumbles, pouting in mock betrayal. But he quickly switches back, leaning in to drop a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Sorry, baby. Dad didn't mean to be so loud. I'll let you sleep now, yeah?"

Nabi lets out a little yawn, her tiny mouth stretching wide as she snuggles deeper into your side. The sight of her small, sleepy face and the way her eyelashes flutter as she fights to keep her eyes open melts both you and Jungkook.

Jungkook shifts to make more room, his arms wrapping around you and Nabi in a protective, cosy embrace.

You rest your head against Jungkook’s shoulder, the three of you nestled together in a perfect cuddle pile. As Jungkook’s breathing gradually synchronizes with Nabi’s, he kisses your forehead, his touch tender and loving.

"Love you, and I'm sorry."

"Love you, and it's okay," you whisper back.

[rosierin]

domestic | atsumu miya

synopsis; (y/n) can't even fold the laundry without being harassed by a certain miya twin (not that she minds of course).

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

(Y/n) was minding her business.

She really was. Just folding laundry in the living room, bathed in the quiet, honeyed warmth of golden hour. Sunlight poured lazily through the windows, settling over the floor in soft, drowsy patterns, casting everything in a dreamy, amber glow. Her feet were tucked beneath her, legs folded as she knelt on the rug, hair slightly tousled from the long day. The laundry basket sat beside her, still warm from the dryer, its contents smelling like fresh cotton and floral detergent.

The air in the room felt gentle.

Things were peaceful.

Until Atsumu walked in—shirtless, in gym shorts, towel slung lazily over his shoulders, wet hair clinging to the nape of his neck—and the vibe… shifted.

Dramatically.

"Evenin'," he said, like he wasn't dripping sex appeal all over the hardwood floors.

(Y/n) forced her eyes to stay on the shirt in her hands. She knew—she knew—that one glance would unravel her composure faster than a loose thread.

"Evening," she replied lightly. Then, side-eyeing him: "Oi, use a hairdryer. You're getting the floor all wet."

He dropped onto the couch behind her with a groan, towel flopping over his lap, shaking his head like a golden retriever. A very hot, very smug golden retriever.

Water droplets sprayed in all directions. A few landed squarely on the back of her neck.

Her eye twitched. "Atsumu."

"What? I'm air-dryin'. Environmentally friendly."

She scoffed, not out of irritation—more out of muscle memory. He had a talent for toeing the line between annoying and charming. "Environmentally obnoxious," she muttered.

He smirked, running the towel through his hair with lazy swipes. “Whatcha doin’?”

She blinked down at the stack of laundry. “Baking a cake.”

"Smartass."

“Laundry,” she clarified, flatly.

“Fun.” He stretched his legs out until one pressed deliberately against hers. “Want company?”

She didn’t even look at him. Just kept sorting the laundry with practiced ease. “Mmm… not really.”

“Too bad.”

She exhaled through her nose, but there was a tug at her lips she didn’t bother hiding. Of course he was bored. And of course, when he was bored, he came to her. He always did.

She never really minded—

“Whatcha wearin’ under that hoodie?”

Never-mind.

She paused mid-fold. Blinked. Looked over her shoulder, one brow arched. “I beg your pardon?”

His grin curved slow, wicked. “You heard me.”

There it was—the look. Those half-lidded eyes and cocky little tilt of his chin. Every time he looked like that, trouble wasn’t far behind.

“Whatcha wearin’ under that hoodie?” he repeated—teasing, shameless.

She turned back around, shaking her head. “None of your business, you perv.”

Behind her, she heard a low hum. Felt the weight of his stare like a hand pressed between her shoulder blades.

“That means it’s somethin’ cute.”

She clicked her tongue and dropped the shirt into her lap, spinning halfway toward him with mock exasperation.

But he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and the shift made his shoulders flex like he knew what he was doing. He probably did.

“There’s somethin’ real hot about domestic stuff,” he murmured.

Her throat tightened. The tips of her ears burned. She did not ogle the way his forearms rested against his thighs, or the way a bead of water rolled from his collarbone down his chest. No sir.

…

She looked.

Damn it.

His eyes sparkled like he caught her in the act.

"’M bein’ serious,” he drawled, tone dipping lower. “You sittin’ there, all cosy with that serious little look on yer face… it’s real cute.”

She wanted to play it off. Wanted to roll her eyes and scoff like usual.

But he was shirtless. And radiating warmth. And sitting right there.

And the playlist in the background had switched to some jazzy love song that made everything feel a little too cinematic.

She tried not to look again. She really did.

“I’m just sayin’,” he continued, “yer out here foldin' laundry, and suddenly I’m considerin’ things I shouldn’t be considerin’.”

Her heart jumped.

“Atsumu—”

“You’re turnin’ me on.”

She launched a sock at his face.

He caught it easily and flashed her one of those stupidly attractive grins.

"Ya look flustered, sweetheart," he cooed. "Don't tell me my flirtin's actually gettin' to ya this time."

This time she did scoff, half-hearted at best. Turned back to the laundry like she urgently needed the distraction. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly into you,” he shot back.

She hated the way her blush gave her away.

He laughed softly, the sound making her chest flutter more than it should have.

Then, gentler this time: “Seriously though. Ya look real cute like this. All domestic and stuff. Makes me wanna mess it up.”

Her fingers curled around a pair of joggers—his, naturally. “You’re all talk.”

She felt his foot nudge her lower back.

"You want me to prove it?"

She swatted him away without turning. “Stop pestering me. If 'Samu gets home before I’m done, he’s gonna think I’ve been slacking.”

"Or," Atsumu chirped, sounding far too pleased with himself, "ya could tell him the truth and say ya were too busy eye-bangin’ me instead of doin’ yer little chores."

She turned, unamused. “Says you. I’m not the one getting turned on by someone folding a few shirts.”

He leaned back, stretching like a smug house cat, arms draped over the couch with a lazy kind of swagger.

“Nah, but admit it—ya like the attention.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“Yes.”

“I don't.”

“Liar.”

They stared at each other across the chaos of socks and damp joggers, tension simmering somewhere between playful and awfully close to flirty.

And then—

The front door creaked open.

Crap.

“You still not done?”

Osamu’s voice floated in from the doorway, heavy with suspicion. He stepped into the living room, keys hitting the side table with a clatter, a couple grocery bags slung over one arm. He paused halfway through toeing off his shoes, eyebrows raised as he scanned the laundry chaos still strewn across the rug.

(Y/n) froze mid-fold.

Osamu tutted like a disappointed parent. "C'mon (y/n), I've seen ya fold quicker than that."

She pouted dramatically, throwing a pointed finger in Atsumu’s direction like a child tattling on her sibling. “It’s his fault!”

Osamu gave his brother a flat look. “What’d he do this time?”

Atsumu, lounging back on the couch like he’d never done anything wrong a day in his life, cocked a brow. “Yeah, (y/n). What did I do?”

She glared at him.

He winked.

Osamu’s gaze flicked to the couch—and immediately narrowed on the damp spots soaking into the cushions.

“You absolute dumbass,” he muttered, striding over to whack his twin upside the head with the towel. “Get yer wet hair off the furniture and go dry it before I throw yer whole ass in the goddamn dryer.”

“Alright, alright! Jeez.” Atsumu got up, rubbing his head like he’d been assaulted. “No need to get violent.”

He shuffled off toward the hallway, grumbling under his breath like a scolded puppy.

(Y/n) watched him go, biting back a laugh. She lifted a hand to her mouth, failing to hide her amusement behind her sleeve.

He caught the sound just before turning the corner, stopped mid-step, and turned to shoot her a betrayed look.

She smiled sweetly—and blew him a kiss.

Atsumu rolled his eyes.

Osamu, still standing nearby, huffed a laugh through his nose and turned her head back towards her assigned task. “Alright, back to work, miss. Ya can flirt with my brother after the laundry’s done.”

(Y/n) laughed despite herself, not even bothering to defend her honour as she turned back toward the basket. “Yes sir, sorry sir.”

Osamu smirked. “That’s more like it.”

The room settled into a quiet warmth—playlist still humming in the background, laundry pile slightly smaller, the air still charged with something light and playful.

(Y/n) smiled to herself as she folded the next shirt, fingers moving on autopilot.

Atsumu returned not too long after, already radiating mischief like he physically couldn't help himself.

He grinned her way and she shook her head.

Perhaps she did like the attention after all.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head In The Clouds: Christmas

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Mcdreamy

"No! Don't touch!"

Irene yelps as a wooden spatula slams onto her knuckles.

"I just-"

"No!" You insist, waving the spatula around again in warning. "This is my kitchen! Don't touch!"

"I can help!"

"No! Go!"

Irene looks like she wants to argue more but you raise the spatula again and she puts her hands up in a placating manner as she backs away onto the sofa.

Marta holds out a tray of tiny sausages to her. "You got kicked out of the kitchen too?"

"I was just trying to help."

Marta shrugs. "You know what she's like. Nothing comes between her and cooking."

"I swear she's been cooking for ages," Irene complains," She was up early too, I just know it."

"You can't prove it though," Patri says smugly, snatching some food for herself and munching away," Plausible deniability and all that."

"She needs a break."

"Don't bring that up with her," Frido says as she takes a seat on the arm of the sofa," You know she'd spend hours in that kitchen if she could. That's what we get for agreeing to dinner with a kid who's parents are chefs."

"No touching!" You yell from the kitchen and the little group cranes their hands to see your waving that spatula around in Alexia's face.

"I was just-"

"No! You're ruining! You're not allowed to touch! It's against the rules!"

"What rules?"

"My rules! The rules of my kitchen! That you are standing in!"

"Come on, just let me-"

"No!"

Irene smothers a laugh as you stamp your foot.

"You can fill up drinks or you can go away."

Keira laughs from the cosy armchair. "I'd listen to her, Ale! You're not going to get the best food if you distract her."

Alexia grumpily wedges herself onto the already over-full sofa. "I'm just trying to help. She's making this dinner for the whole team. I don't want her to get overwhelmed."

Keira rolls her eyes. "Her parents literally have Michelin stars. She grew up in the kitchen of world famous restaurants. I doubt doing a bit of cooking at home is going to overwhelm her."

Just as she finishes speaking, ten different timers ring out through the air, one after another, and Keira winces.

"I'm sure that's on purpose," She says as Alexia levels her a pointed look.

To be fair to you, you're not overwhelmed in the slightest and Alexia can see the moment the instinct takes over you like it does on the pitch, when everything around you completely disappears apart from what is directly in front of you.

Most of the time, it ends with a goal.

But here and now, it ends with the biggest spread of food she's ever seen cooked by one person before.

It's truly impressive what you've managed to produce for everyone, a buffet style meal that the whole team can pick and choose what they want from and still come back for seconds.

"You shouldn't eat too much," You say as you settle into your seat between Irene and Ingrid," Because I've got dessert as well. It's my Nana's recipe and I'd like you all to try it."

"We'll make sure to save room," Mapi promises as she reaches over the table to wrestle the stuffing away from Patri's clingy hands.

You beam at her. It's a wide smile, the same smile you get when you score a goal out of nowhere - making triumph out of nothing as you so often do after a pass that no one expects you to turn into an assist.

A big meal like this isn't a strange thing in your family back home. Your brothers are very busy people and your parents spend most of their time prepping for the dinner service of their restaurant every night.

But Christmas meant the whole family got together again. With your brothers mainly based in the Netherlands, you didn't see them as often until you and your parents were at arrivals at Heathrow Airport and the three of them came in after baggage claim.

With the family together again, it meant making a feast of a meal for Christmas with everyone in the kitchen, working around each other fluidly like your parents had taught you when you were little.

It felt nice to share this kind of meal with your teammates even after you came to the conclusion that none of them worked particularly fluidly in your kitchen and then had to get banned for your own peace of mind.

It filled you with pride to have your teammates eating and enjoying your food to such a degree that even the older, more responsible players like Marta and Alexia and Irene asked if you could box up some of the meal so they could eat some for leftovers the next day.

"You know," Alexia says when you finally allow her into your kitchen, if only to help you wash up," If you want to stay in Spain for Christmas, I can take you home with me. My family would love the food you cook."

"Don't joke around with stuff like that," Irene teases, dragging the drying up cloth over the plate that Mapi had just finished cleaning," Because if she's coming home with anyone for Christmas, it'll be me."

"I can't," You say simply as you put the lid on another portion of leftovers, this time for Salma," Because I've got to go home. My parents are closing the restaurant a couple of days early so we can pick up my brothers from the airport and I can't miss that."

"Well-"

"And I have to be home so my girlfriend can call and read me poetry on Christmas Eve. It's tradition."

"That's..." Irene clears her throat. "That's really sweet."

"And she always reads to me in French because she knows I'm trying to learn for her. So, I can't stay here because then I won't see my brothers and before my girlfriend reads me poetry, she likes seeing my pets at home and I can't show her my pets if I'm here."

Alexia laughs and you furrow your brows in confusion.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Alexia says, throwing an arm around your shoulder and squeezing you like she does when you score a goal," You're such a sweetheart, y/n. Don't ever change."

[odoraful]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄

the boys react to you being really sleepy around them 💤

content: zayne, xavier, rafayel x gn reader; established relationship; comfort a/n: this was from an anon who requested a sleepy m/c! i'm sorry it took a bit, but to the lovely anon i hope i did your idea justice! shoutout to all my constantly sleepy folks out there as well

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ZAYNE ⟡

It was only midday when you and Zayne boarded the train from Snowcrest back to Linkon, but your head was already lolling to the side. The homey, wintery town had an atmosphere that was too relaxing. Especially during those late afternoons after you and Zayne had gone cafe hopping, you wanted nothing more than to bask in the sun and fall asleep. 

As you settled into your seat by the window, Zayne pushed his and your luggage in the above storage compartment. Seeing his partner’s head bob towards the glass window, Zayne smiled to himself.

“I've never seen a person so sleepy before,” Zayne remarked, taking his place in the seat beside you.  

“It’s not my fault,” you mumbled groggily, “it’s the town.”

You began to rub your eyes, attempting to bring some life back into them. 

“I didn’t realise a town could have sedative properties,” he said, dryly. 

“You don’t understand, it’s too cosy. I feel like all my defences are down.” 

Zayne was entertained at the way you spun that into a complaint. A renowned hunter who finally takes a well-needed break feels too comforted by their holiday getaway.

He rested a hand on his chin in mock thought. “Should we have added combat training in the itinerary to have you be more alert, then?”

You laughed, knowing that if that had actually happened you would have hated it. The relaxation you experienced on this trip was a genuine good thing for the both of you. You continued to rub your eyes, trying to remove the build-up from when you last slept. Your movements were halted as Zayne gently held your wrists in place. You looked over at him, curiously. 

“I may not be an ophthalmologist, but I know rubbing your eyes too hard can damage the lens.”

He leaned closer to examine them. They were slightly red from all the pressure you had put on them.

“Forcing yourself awake won’t do you any favours.”  He gently brushed a thumb over your eyelids. “You should sleep.”

He relaxed his shoulders, bumping them against yours in wordless invitation. You felt your protest fizzle away at the thought of resting on Zayne right this second. Some argument about how he would be bored without his number 1 conversation partner on the commute disappeared when you tilted your head and fell on his shoulder. 

“Don’t forget to wake me up when we get there…” Your voice trailed off as you nuzzled in place, trying to find a good spot to sleep. 

Zayne combed his fingers through your hair, tidying it up from your head wiggling. You were unresponsive to his touch. Your steady breathing signalled that you had already passed out. He stared fondly at your peaceful face. Inwardly, he admitted that the ride would be much less fun without your chatter, but he was more than content with just your presence alone. 

Succumbing to temptation, he lightly poked your cheek. He mused to himself about how you were somewhat correct—your defences were down, but it was to his benefit. He could finally do things like this without your teasing. 

XAVIER ⟡

Xavier moved his hand, ready to turn over to the next page of the book. He looked at you, expectantly.

“Have you finished this page?”

You hummed affirmatively, and he eagerly flipped to the next chapter. 

You and Xavier had begun the habit of reading in bed together in the evenings. The book of choice was Xavier's pick—an old-school mystery novel. Someone is found murdered in their private quarters on a train, and the detective must find the culprit before they strike again. The plot was thrilling, and you were enthralled from the beginning. However, between being weighted under plush quilts, propped up by fluffy pillows, and the body warmth of Xavier, you felt the words of the page slipping away from you. 

“Xavier, could you read aloud for me?”

His eyes turned wide like a surprised bunny. “Why the sudden request? Is everything okay?” He immediately covered your forehead with his hand, checking your temperature. 

Chuckling, you swatted his hand away. “I’m alright. I just want to hear your voice, please.” You looped your arm around him and Xavier softened. 

He couldn’t argue against your wishes. He cleared his throat and read the words out loud. Though Xavier didn’t have the most performative voice, he still tried to be a good storyteller—acting out the dialogue for each different character and steadying his pacing. The gentleness of his voice enveloped you. It quickly sounded less like an intense crime novel, and more like a children’s storybook. 

You closed your eyes, attempting to keep an attentive ear to what Xavier was saying. 

“Are you still with me?” he asked, sensing how you had relaxed against his side. 

“Yes, yes, I’m still listening.” Your eyes remained shut, words slightly slurring together. “Keep going. I think the case is”—a yawn you tried to stifle came out—“about to be cracked wide open.”

Xavier continued, taking note of your growing drowsiness. He read out loud this time in a more hushed voice, “‘The detective gathered everyone in the train’s shared compartment space. Pacing across the carpet, he had finally figured out the killer’s identity.’” 

There was a slight thud against the headboard.

Turning to the source of the sound, Xavier found you fast asleep. 

He shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. Even when the culprit is about to be revealed, you still decide to fall asleep.

To be honest, he was beginning to get sleepy himself, so perhaps it was perfect timing. The two of you were cutely similar in that regard. In fact, Xavier had done the exact same thing a few days ago. Chastising you about it would only backfire on himself.  

He carefully removed your arm loosely looped around his own and quietly stood up to tuck you in. Laying you in a more comfortable position, he readjusted the blanket to cover your body, admiring how you snuggled deeper into the sheets. He joined you in bed. The warm glow of the night light behind him on the bedside table faintly illuminated your serene expression. 

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, before placing a light kiss on your forehead and switching off the light.

RAFAYEL ⟡

It was a hot day in Linkon, and Whitesand Beach was the perfect respite for the artist and his bodyguard. The sand gleamed silvery-white under the sun, with crystalline waves crashing against the shore. There were many others here who had also pitched beach canopies to provide a shield against the heat. You and Rafayel had tried your best to create a comfortable interior with your rented outdoor lounge chairs and mini portable fans. You were lying on one of the chairs, relishing in the fresh air (a definite contrast from the city) whilst you waited for Rafayel. 

He soon returned holding up two drinks, both decorated with little umbrellas and even small skewers with fruit. 

You took the glass from him in amused shock. “Raf, did you make a special request for more decorations?”

Rafayel took a sip of the drink before placing it down on the table. “Nope, the employee recognised me and wanted to add a bit more pizazz to the drinks.” He plopped in his seat and flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, I tipped them extra for their efforts.”

You sipped the cool drink and gazed out at the beach, mesmerised by the waves. It’s repetitive ebb and flow almost lulled you somehow. 

The day hasn't even started! How can you even think about sleeping?! You scolded yourself. You patted both your cheeks to snap out of this tiredness. 

You turned your attention to something else. A couple were playing volleyball nearby. You watched the ball be tossed back-and-forth, back-and-forth… your eyelids began to fall on their accord. 

Rafayel's voice pulled you from your drowsiness, and you realised he had been observing you this whole time. “Didn’t sleep well last night?” He cocked his head to the side in concern.

“I did, but”—you turned to your side to face him properly—“being out here just makes me feel sleepy, that’s all.”

Too adorable. He thought to himself, seeing the small pout on your face as you rubbed your eyes. 

“I can’t think of a better place to rest than next to the ocean. It’s nature’s own background noise,” he proclaimed. 

Though that sounded enticing, you still hesitated. Wouldn’t it make you a bad partner if you slept for most of the time you two were outside? Sensing your reluctance, Rafayel continued.

“And how are you going to be a good bodyguard for me if you’re not well rested? Didn’t they teach you that in Bodyguard 101?”

“‘Bodyguard 101’?” you repeated in disbelief at Rafayel’s ability to dramatise. “I must have skipped that introductory course in university.” 

“Well then, you can make up for the lost study with experience, starting right now.” His humorous tone waned, as he brought out his sketchpad. “Don’t worry about me, I was planning on doing some drawings anyway. I won’t leave your side.” The softness of his words reassured you. 

The mixture of crashing waves and light chatter from other beach goers had you sleeping almost immediately.

Rafayel had intended to do some drawings of the scenery, but he fixed his artistic eye on you, now finding a much better source of inspiration to fill his pages.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[kqutie]

EPIC: THE FAIR MAIDEN (not so platonic ver.)

CHAPTER ONE : THE SECOND MIRACLE

relations. : platonic various epic characters/reader -- platonic odysseus/reader ; polities/reader ; platonic eurylochus/reader ; platonic odysseus' crew/reader

chpt. sum. : you settle down for a game of animal crossing but faint and wake up in the EPIC: The Musical universe.

tags. : EPIC x ACNH ; reader is a comfort gamer ; female reader ; pure comfort ; reader helps ody get home ; happy ending for everyone! ; isekai and transmigration ; fix it fic ; animal crossing new horizons game mechanics ; characters know their future

length. : 5.5k

a/n : this is very unserious but is meant to be pure comfort. This is also pretty self-indulgent and is the result of my current obsession with EPIC: The Musical. I'm sad it's over but am happy to add to the fandom and make a place for myself in it (❀' ˘ '❀) I hope you darlings have a fun time reading!

navi. | series m.list

Pulling away from your phone, you sigh in content and stretch. EPIC: The Musical had become an obsession of yours and now that it was complete, you were delving into fanmade content; a mix of animatics, fanart and fanfiction. You had just finished reading a fanfic of the characters reacting to their future via the musical before it ever happens. The final chapter ends with all the characters returning to their original places in the universe, eager to avoid the mistakes they have just witnessed leading to their demise and Odysseus' change from man to monster.

Before they could be sent back, Odysseus took a moment to lovingly bid his beloved Penelope and only son, Telemachus goodbye while the gods pledge not to interfere with his journey home as long as he doesn't make the same mistakes. If they should encounter each other again, they will not be courteous and everything will unfold as it had been told to them in the musical.

The ending left you with a feeling of hope. In the universe of that fanfic, Odysseus will know what to do for a brighter future and you have full confidence in him fulfilling that – he is the warrior of the mind, after all.

It was still rather cold outside and leading into the evening, you were eager to bundle up in your giant beanbag chair with a blanket to play your favourite comfort game: Animal Crossing: New Horizons. First things first, however, you float into the kitchen to brew some tea and prepare a small plate of snacks. You have a lot of plans for your gaming session tonight. Your island was going under a huge revamp. For your new aesthetic, you're leaning into a cottage-core theme, something rustic with flourishing wildlife, trees, flowers and beaten paths. You were going to miss your fun, rural town island but you're very excited about the cosy vibes a countryside theme would bring. You're sure the change will only elevate the cosiness of the game.

It was going to be a huge undertaking but you've paid all your loans, gathered all the recipes, furniture and miscellaneous items, played the DLC, unlocked everything there is to unlock, collected all the fish, bugs and art to display in the museum, and you have an island full of villagers you adore. Revamping the island is the most exciting thing you can do now that you've played the game to the fullest. Hence why you were preparing your favourite snacks to have with your best blend of tea. Even though you've technically 'completed' the game, you're still eager to play it over and over again.

When you were finally curled up in your huge beanbag, wrapped in your fluffiest blanket with your tea and snacks on the side table, all you had left to do was put something on in the background; naturally, you chose the 'EPIC' soundtrack. You were obsessed.

Hopping into your island, you begin by erasing all your previous terraforming and rearranging your rivers and lakes. Everything you wanted to include had been planned out beforehand, all your new island decorative pieces were ready in your storage and you had your iPad with your mood board and notes showcasing your detailed plans at your side as well. Everything was going as planned. Your character was also wearing the perfect custom-designed dress for the occasion. It's a long, flowing white sundress with blue accents that you've paired with the cutest white platform heels. It always makes you giggle to see your character wearing the construction hat with such a cute dress — it adds so much charm.

As 'Polyphemus' begins to play, you shudder and press your lips into a thin line. This is the point where everything begins to change for Odysseus and your heart drops every time. However, you're reminded of the recent fanfic you read and hope the author takes the time to write a follow-up where the characters change their fates for the better. You adore them all so much; you want everyone to have their happy endings, especially Odysseus.

Focusing back on your island, you're finally happy with the layout and bring out your wooden shed to begin decorating, pulling things directly from your storage. However, where the storage menu should be showing, there's only a black screen.

"What's happening?" you ask yourself and press the buttons of your Nintendo switch randomly, confused at the suddenly unresponsive screen, "I thought this was fully charged...?" just as you begin to manoeuvre out of your curled-up seating, a sudden lightheadedness washes over you, making your eyes squint in confusion before you're finally pulled into the same darkness as your screen.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Odysseus etches the image of his wife and son's faces into the forefront of his mind. They've been his anchor throughout the ten-year war with Troy and now that they've won and are on their way back home, he needs them more than anything —especially now that he knows the potential future ahead. Determined to avoid such anguish, Odysseus, commands his entire fleet to avoid following the birds despite their dwindling food stores. Having also witnessed their potential future, his men readily oblige.

It was comforting to see that his bond with the crew had not suffered in the aftermath of the blessing they were witnesses to. Rather, they were moved by his struggles and his vengeance against Posideon, honouring every member with six hundred strikes. Their captain had made a god bleed for them, they dare not betray such a man. The musical was a moving epic that gave them the exact map to avoid if they wanted to reach home safely.

"I'll make it home soon, I promise," Odysseus promised his loving wife, remembering the love and worry in her beautiful eyes. They were the same eyes he had fallen for, soaked in a familiar affection that only seemed to grow after witnessing their potential future. Nothing had changed. She still loved him and that was a huge comfort.

"I know... I love you," he replies with a searing kiss, desperate and messy after ten years apart. Pulling away, he looks fondly at his son who looks at him with admiration and love thinly veiled by worry. Looking at Telemachus felt like looking into a mirror, all except for the eyes he shared with his mother. His son had the same head of wild hair as his own, the same strong nose and straight brows as his own.

"I don't want you to go yet..." there were unshed tears in his son's quiet plea and Odysseus had to pull his ten-year-old son into a bone-crushing hug.

"I won't be long. I know what to do now. I'll get home soon," Odysseus promises into his son's crown and presses a firm kiss through his brown curls. Pulling away, he stares fondly into Telemachus' eyes, his beautiful son. Had he ever seen a boy so perfect before? Only his wife could create such beauty and perfection, "Take care of your mother while I'm away,"

Telemachus launches himself into his father's arms once again, burying his face into his strong shoulder, "Always, father,"

That final interaction has been replaying in Odysseus' mind ever since he returned to the boat he and his crew had suddenly been swept away from. It felt like so much time had passed but they were returned to the exact location and time they were first taken from. What an experience that had been. A blessing and a curse all at once. To bear witness to such a horrific future was harrowing but Odysseus would take it as a lesson learned. He won't risk the life of his best friends nor his crew ever again. They had survived the war against Troy, all 600 of them; they should be able to return home unharmed.

"Odysseus, my friend," Polites' familiar voice calls to him, bright and merry but with a heavy weight upon it. He understands the reason without needing to ask.

"Polities," they greet each other with a smile, "I know you're worried about our stores but we can survive without them until we find another island," Polities doesn't protest but nods in understanding. There's a pause that stretches on but not in discomfort. The two merely absorb the moment, comforted by the knowledge that they have avoided a massive turning point in their journey.

"We are here for you, my friend. All I wanted was to make that clear," Polites looks at the crew rowing at the paddles, keeping a leisurely pace. "We are loyal to you, our captain, who has led us to victory after ten years," Odysseus smiles and nods demurely at his best friend in silent appreciation, "that future has not happened yet, nor will it ever happen. I know that you will make sure of that."

"If the crew should ever act up, we will be there," Eurylachous steps up to the two of them with a somewhat hesitant air, his posture stiff. Events of the mutiny he led against his brother-in-law and friend had not been able to leave his mind ever since his first viewing. The tall second commander shudders to think of himself ever becoming the shrivelled-up, hungry, desperate and vengeful man who dared go against the captain he had first betrayed by opening the windbag. He was determined to avoid such a fate. What a sorry fool he had turned out to be. It was unbecoming and he had since been congested with guilt.

Odysseus and Eurylochus silently take in the other. Eurylachous with a boulder of guilt in the pit of his stomach as Odysseus wears an unreadable expression. They were supposed to be brothers, friends, comrades. The people they had become in that future were not them now, and it will never be them. Ctimene's face appears in his mind. They share a similar goal; to return home, to the wives they adore and had fought the grueling war for.

The tension is broken by Odysseus who brings his arms up to wrap around their shoulders and pull them close, "Thank you, my friends," All three share a smile and savour the bond they share. It was one they valued all the more now that they knew of their potential fates, and it was a bond they were unwilling to sever. If they could make it out of Troy victorious after ten years of conflict, they could easily protect each other and the friendship they share. "We will make it home. I swear it."

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

It had been several days and yet, there was no island on the horizon, meaning no food to hunt and feed his men. Odysseus' mind was reeling. This cannot be. Surely there would be some kind of island they could set anchor nearby. After taking the proper steps to avoid the worst future they could possibly think of, had Odysseus inadvertently condemned his men to a much more painful and agonising fate? Slowly, his men across all 12 ships had stopped rowing; they no longer had the energy. And the winds were close to nonexistent, providing no aide to his fleet's sails. Should they have docked at the Cyclops' island anyway but made a proper plan to steal the sheep instead? But that was too high of a risk, and everyone agreed that it was not worth it. What tragic luck was this? Was his crew doomed to never return home alive with him as their captain? Was the miracle they were blessed with a waste, now that he had given the wrong command?

A headache begins to hammer at his temples and Odysseus groans, the rumbling in his stomach and the painful ache rippling from it was unquenchable. The image of his hauntingly starved self and crew flashes in his mind. The world seemed determined to make him suffer, though there was no god to blame; he had given the command to avoid the Cyclops' island altogether — this was his fault.

"Captain!" Elpenor's— their youngest crew member —shout brings him out of his spiralling thoughts and directs his, as well as everyone's attention to a wooden structure that had suddenly appeared on their boat.

"What is that?"

"This wasn't in that musical,"

"How did it get on our ship?"

Looking around, it appears as though this was unique to their ship only as none of the other 11 ships were causing the same chaotic murmuring as the one Odysseus was aboard. Of course. It had to be the captain's ship this strange phenomenon occurs on.

"It has a door, should we look inside?" Polites comments, reaching for the handle only to be stopped by Odysseus.

"Let me open it," he turns to everyone else and loudly commands that they step back and prepare for what may come from opening the door. After taking a slow breath in and slowly releasing, Odysseus finally flings the door back and jumps to the side as a body falls in a heap at his feet.

The crowd circle the figure and are shocked to find a woman. She looks foreign with clothes they have never seen before. Where had she come from? Odysseus looks back at the slim wooden structure to find it already closed. Polites was the first to kneel beside her, cradling her head and gently urging the strange woman awake.

"Polites, step away from her!" Odysseus commands as Eurylochus unsheaths his large sword and prepares for a potential threat.

"She looks harmless, Captain,"

"That's no excuse to let your guard down," Odysseus snaps, flashes of another dark future playing in his mind. Had avoiding one grizzly fate led to another, darker one?

Polities gives him a judging look, "Open arms, Captain," his best friend wasn't getting the point. Although Odysseus was appreciative of his friend's boundless optimism, he wasn't going to take any chances.

"Just keep your distance, we don't know how much of a threat she is until she's awake. And if she is a threat, you'll be the first in her way of attack!" Odysseus' words don't even allow a single drop of doubt to taint Polites' determined stare.

"Wait look! She's waking up!" Eurylochus points his sword and gets into a familiar, battle stance, ready to pounce.

"Polities! Get. Back!"

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Groaning, you turn away from the harsh lighting shining down on you and nuzzle into a comforting warmth.

"It's alright, Captain," a distant voice assures, the shouting that follows only pushing you into the comfortable warmth further, unknowing of the effect your innocent action has on the individual currently holding your head in his lap. "She means no harm," you then feel gentle pats over your head as the same kind voice urges you awake, "Hey there... can you wake up for us?"

Propelled to respect the kind and gentle stranger's request, you brave against the harsh sun and will your eyes open. Blinking rapidly, you adjust to the world around you as you're helped to a sitting position. You part your lips to ask what's going on but no sound comes out and your confusion is evident on your face.

"Hi there," a warm face greets you, pushing away the confusion and worry at your sudden muteness. Gazing at the man before you, you can't help but lean in with interest. His face feels familiar and you're drawn to the curiosity of it. He wears square glasses and adorns rich, chestnut curls that fall over a headband. His skin is sunkissed and a little sunken into his angular bone structure, which makes you worry slightly, he doesn't look healthy at all. He looks starved. "Uhh.." Polites smiles shyly as you reach up to cup his cheek with furrowed brows, "My name is Polites, can you tell us who you are, fair maiden?"

You finally register the murmurs surrounding you and mutely gasp when you realise you're surrounded by a circle of men, dressed in clothes typical of ancient Greek times. Everyone had the same sunken, unhealthy appearance as Polites. What was happening?

"My friend asked you a question. Answer him at once!" a cold metal touches the underside of your chin and you're forced to look up the body of a large sword and into the eyes of another recognisable figure. Eurylochus.

This can't be...

Shaking your head in disbelief and denial of the situation, you fall back into Polites' arms, who sternly waves away his dark-skinned friend. "Sheath your sword, friend, she means no harm..." Polites' arms circle you but he doesn't pull you further into him, leaving space for breath between your body and his own. It was more comforting than you anticipated as you press your face into his shoulder, trying to deny the reality you were in right now. "Captain, Odysseus, please,"

A sigh draws your attention away from Polites' shoulder and towards a broad-shouldered man with bronze skin, dark, wavy hair and an imposing air of confidence and charm about him. Distinguishing him from the rest, he wears a purple cloak that's secured with a gold pin on his shoulder; he's the captain. Odysseus. Are you in the EPIC: The Musical Universe? Is this a dream?

"...if she meant to do harm, she would have done so already. Sheath your sword, friend," Odysseus nods towards Eurylochus' sword.

"Yes Captain," the second in command readily complies.

Finally breathing in relief, you turn back to Polites and take his hand into both of yours to shake happily in greeting. The solid feeling on his hand makes this feel less and less like a dream, which makes you all the happier that they don't see you as a threat anymore. Otherwise, you would have become fish food. However, dream or reality, you were going to live this to the fullest as an EPIC fan. Your actions make the crowd release the tension in their shoulders. A handshake is a sign of peace and shows the absence of a weapon in one's hands; Polites was right to believe in your innocence.

"Haha! See, Captain?" Polites smiles at Odysseus, who shakes his head in disbelief but smiles regardless. Trust Polites, to make such quick friends, "May we know your name?" Polites asks after returning his attention to you. Frowning sadly, you shake your head and tap against your throat. You go as far as to part your lips and attempt to speak but nothing comes out. "Can you... can you not talk?"

You shake your head in confirmation and miss the sadness shared between the men surrounding you both. "How should we address you then?" Odysseus asks aloud and you shrug your shoulders. You don't really mind how they refer to you, so long as it wasn't hurtful.

"As long as it's of no offence to you, can we call you by any name?" Polites asks, to which you readily nod and he smiles before thinking deeply, "How about we refer to you as fair maiden? It's simple and you're the only maiden here so, everyone will easily know it's you," without complaints, you nod and hear a murmur of the nickname amongst the group make its rounds; the crew testing the name for themselves. It makes you smile shyly. Although you love the main characters, you always adored the background vocals of the crew and to hear their murmurings was a little flustering.

"How did you get here? Do you know?" Odysseus takes a knee beside you and you try not to look visibly awestruck by the closeness, "You fell out of that thing," the captain points towards a familiar, slim wooden shed. It looks exactly like the shed you failed to access the contents of before you blacked out on Animal Crossing. Curiously, you stand and make your way over to the shed, the crowd parting and staring with interest as you do so.

Opening the door, a familiar storage menu screen finally reveals itself to you. And it's full to the brim with all of your collected items from Animal Crossing. From the curious but unruffled looks in the crowd surrounding you, it doesn't seem as though they can see the storage screen and you immediately close the shed door to shake your head 'no' at Odysseus, who looks disappointed but has no choice but the accept the unsatisfactory news. However, his expression lightens when his eyes drift upwards.

The Captain turns to his men and sends them to their stations at the oars, "Follow those birds, no matter how far they may lead us, it will be towards land. We have another mouth to feed so full speed ahead!" his words make your eyes widen and rush forward with your arms outstretched, waving your hands side to side and shaking your head — a clear expression against his command. In the distance, you can tell that Odysseus' fleet is still composed of its full 12 ships so he will be leading them to Polyphemus' island, where everything will take a turn for the worst and you don't think you're capable of going through such horrors first hand.

Odysseus narrows his eyes at you, "What do you mean 'no'?" he pauses for thought, "...do you know about the Cyclops too?" you're shocked at his words. How could he know about the Cyclops if he has yet to set foot on the island? And if he's already done so, why was Polites still alive?

You nod slowly. You do know about the Cyclops...

"We're long past the Cyclops' island, days past it, in fact," he looks at you with caution, "...how do you know about the Cyclops?" Naturally, being unable to speak, you can't explain your circumstances articulately but that was no longer satisfactory for the captain. Odysseus looks you up and down, taking in the unusual attire clothing you. It doesn't look like any garments he has ever seen before. It's a beautiful garment he would love to see on his wife but its unfamiliar style raises his suspicions, "What are you doing here? Are you another test from the gods? They promised not to interfere with my journey home unless I make the same mistakes as in that musical's future!" your eyes widen at his words and you make the slow realisation that you're not only in the universe of EPIC but specifically in the aftermath of the reaction fanfic you had just finished reading. You remember hoping the author would continue with a series that has the characters taking active steps to avoid their tragic fates.

The hostility being raised against you, from the Captain, no less, didn't bode well, however, so you rush back to your shed. You don't know why you have your animal crossing storage shed but you were going to use it. It may be your only way of expressing your peacefulness without a voice.

Opening the storage once more, you search through the categorised panels and select a basket of bread with your finger. The instant it's selected, the basket of freshly baked bread appears in your arms and you turn to Odysseus with a smile, outstretching the offering as a token of your peaceful intentions.

Odysseus stares at your offering of bread with a dropped jaw, similar to the one Eurylochus was displaying. How could you have been able to store freshly baked bread in such an innocuous structure? It was Polites who jumped forward with a shout of glee, "Fresh bread! My friends, look!" His words draw the attention of the crew from where they're actively rowing the oars. The sight of food makes them stop and slowly approach with grumbling stomachs, eyes wide and mouths watering. The closer they get, the more potent the smell of fresh bread becomes and there's a chorus of grumbling stomachs surrounding you. "Is this for us?" Polites looks at you with a smile that widens when you nod in affirmation.

"Wait! You take the first bite," Eurylochus insists, cautious after witnessing their encounter with Circe. The rest of the crew heed his words and reel back as if subjected to an electric shock. They had almost forgotten the cautionary tale of the musical. Everyone now watches you with judging eyes. Taking no offence, you select a small bun and bite into it with a grin. Everyone around you watches with bated breath but cheers when you swallow and there are no negative side effects. Food! Finally!

"Thank you," Polites nods at you with a grateful smile before distributing the basket to the crew members. Behind him, Odysseus is left speechless but soon meets your eyes with a similarly grateful expression. He and Eurylochous nod in thanks, which you bow in return to. The tension between you had fully evaporated. The crew do their best to evenly ration out the bread but a singular basket won't be enough so you return to your storage shed and bring out more baskets of bread that you have saved up, grateful that cooking recipes was one of your favourite things to do on the game.

"You have more food?" Odysseus voices beside you, suddenly very close and you nod with a bright smile, handing him another basket of fresh, warm bread. It appears as though, no matter how long it's been since you've cooked the recipe, it comes out fresh and warm. You have five baskets of fresh bread circulating amongst the crew now and see if other recipes also come out freshly cooked. With a silent hum, you select the minestrone soup and out comes a deep ceramic bowl with hot, appetising soup filling it to the brim. Like in the game, the portion looks enormous in your hands and looks capable of feeding more than one person. This will go perfectly with the bread and you leave your shed to hand the bowl of soup to a small circle of men sharing a bread basket. They're in awe of your offering and thank you endlessly, eagerly dipping their bread into the soup and savouring the delicious taste of food after days without. With a wide smile, you turn around and reach for Polites, who happily follows you back to your shed to help distribute more bowls of soup.

"How does that thing work?" Eurylochus reaches out to the shed once all the food has been distributed but you quickly block his way and shake your head. Suddenly tense, Eurylochus nods and firmly turns away, his hand safely back at his side, "Understood..." This wasn't a windbag but he wasn't going to make the same, silly mistake as he did in that musical. Never. He's just happy the crew and himself finally have some food to eat, the birds and a distant island without a Cyclops long forgotten.

"Thank you for your help," Odysseus walks up to you with a charming grin that you happily return, a warmth blooming in your chest at being able to help one of your favourite characters get home. Your easygoing, happy nature is very reminiscent of Polites and the Captain finds himself an easy victim to your warm and comforting presence, willing to follow your optimistic nature. Looking back at his smiling, feasting crew, he breathes a sigh of relief and bites into a round loaf he managed to take for himself as the bread baskets made their rounds. "Do you happen to have more food?" he suddenly asks, nervous of your response. "I have 550 more men to feed across eleven other boats," he tilts his head towards the rest of his fleet, closely following his ship. Odysseus was ashamed to ask so much from one person but felt an immense feeling of relief when he turned to see your kind smile and warm gaze. It's as if you were saying 'Of course, I do', eager to offer your help.

"You have more food, fair maiden?" Polites cheers, eagerly volunteering to help escort you onto the other ships for a delivery of food.

You shake your head but hold up a finger, wordlessly asking them to wait patiently. The 50 men of this boat had eaten all of the bread and soup you had stored so you had to make more from the crops and ingredients you had stored. All you needed to do was bring out your small kitchenette. Hopefully, game mechanics still apply when cooking and you'll have enough food to feed the 550 hungry men left of Odysseus' fleet. Returning to your storage, you easily bring out your kitchenette and follow the recipe for making more bread baskets and minestrone soup. It was easy enough, especially after realising that all you needed to access your personal storage without the shed was to think of it and it would readily appear for your eyes only.

While you were hard at work making more bread baskets and soup, you urged Polites, Eurylochus and Odysseus to sit down and eat calmly. They had been watching you the entire time, jaws dropped in awe and eyes gleaming with admiration, their hearts beating with hope and almost brought to tears at being given yet another miracle. They were going to make it home after all!

It took some time to make the first few baskets and soups for about five ships but, by that time the crew had already devoured their share and all eyes were back on you. Feeling shy, you convince them to focus their attention elsewhere by offering dessert via oranges. From living in the modern world, you know all about scurvy so oranges are the perfect fruit to offer; you make a mental note of bringing some oranges with you to the other ships too. The crew were delighted and eagerly devoured the abnormally large oranges you handed them. They were the perfect sweetness and were so juicy, that many who finished their share were left licking the juice from their fingers. They feel thoroughly fed, and, although it was a mere helping of bread, soup and orange, it felt like a feast fit for a king. Odysseus attested to that sentiment.

"Is she a descendant of the Goddess of Harvest? The Goddess Demeter?"

"She must be,"

"No, she was sent to us as a divine intervention. She must have been sent by Hermes."

"But look at the orange she gave us, it's the biggest, most delicious and perfect orange I have ever seen. She must be a descendant of the God of orchards and fruit, Dionysus."

"We are lucky to have her, she must have been sent by the Goddess Tyche of luck."

Many of the crew members begin to speculate your origins, with some raising their voices above the others, their words coming out more clearly. But you were none of those things. You can't even begin to explain how you got here and it isn't as though you could even attempt to voice any kind of explanation. It's quite flattering that they think so highly of you— enough to relate you to the gods and goddesses —but if any good person was capable of offering help then they would do so without regard for what it may cost them. And that was what you were doing. You were only doing what any good person would do. It's just your luck that you happen to have the same skills and itinerary as your ACNH character. The only unfortunate thing is that you were made mute because of it too –at least most seem to understand what you want to say by paying attention to your actions and movements, much like your villagers.

To distract from their high-praising musings, however, you get busy cooking enough food for the 550 other men left to feed, quickly filling up your personal storage after you had emptied it of the decorative pieces you originally wanted to dot around your revamped island. Once finally done, you turn to Odysseus and nod. The captain smiles widely, brushes away the orange juice from his chin and calls for a flag to be raised, signalling for the rest of his fleet to fall in line with his so that you could be escorted safely to deliver food.

"Polites and Eurylochus will escort you. They will also explain your presence to the rest of my men." Odysseus explains as you nod along and gently express that your shed doesn't need to be brought with you. Again, Eurylochus nods and backs away, calling for two men to guard the shed while they make the food delivery. In the distance, you watch the boats easily line up and a wooden plank is provided to bridge the distance between two ships. Just as you are being led away by Polites. Odysseus calls out to you, "Fair maiden," he bows at the waist, the rest of the crew following close after, bowing deeply and sincerely, "Thank you,"

When the crew and Odysseus finally look up, they are greeted by your bright, close-eyed smile and the faint outline of pink and yellow flowers in the air surrounding your face. You're a beauty, a kind embodiment of mercy bestowed upon them in their hour of need and they dare not take you for granted.

navi. | series m.list

next | two : the favourable circumstance

a/n : I hope you darlings enjoyed the read! I'm leaving this small passion project open to continuation as I do have more plans for it (Perimedes and Elpenor will make an appearance in the next chapter, for sure!) but nothing is set for how many chapters that would entail. This series will probably be pretty short but will definitely end happily ٩(^ᗜ^ )و '-

Please feel free to tell me your thoughts and what you may want to see happen. Who knows, I might be inspired to include your own daydreams ヾ(｡✪ω✪｡)ｼ

[taure-annie]

Gasoline

→ premise: Paige’s first team dinner as an official WNBA rookie has ended well - but now, in the back of an Uber, it's just the two of you and the energy between you feels different. (WNBA!AU)

→ word count: 2.3K

The team thins out slowly, one by one, as players and coaches drift from the comforting heat of the restaurant entrance to into Ubers, their mindless conversations fading with each utterance of ‘bye’ and ‘see you at practice’. 

It’s damp and biting, with a faint mist hovering, leaving you shivering even in your thick jacket. Your fingers feel stiff from the chill, fumbling as you toggle through ride-share apps, willing one driver—just one—to brave the thick, traffic-choked streets for the pick-up.

Bri glances over, her body bouncing slightly as her teeth chatter, breath fogging in the air. “You still looking?” she asks, taking quick peeks at her phone - her ride is a cosy 5 minutes away. 

You sigh, clutching your phone tightly against the creeping numbness. “Yeah - I’m gonna be standing here for fucking forever. You think I’m playing, but I swear this is the last time I’m coming out to this side of town.”

Bri snickers, pulling her coat tight. “Should’ve just ordered whe—” She breaks off, glancing over your shoulder with a glint in her eye. “Why don’t you share a ride with the rook - aren't you’re both on the same side of town?”

You turn, catching sight of Paige - the rook in question - standing just a few paces away, head bent over her own screen, her face bathed in soft light. She glances up at the sound of her new nickname, her eyes meeting yours briefly, and you turn back to Bri, ready to wave it off. “Nah, I’ll just wai-”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Paige cuts in. She steps closer, creating a circle between you, her and Bri. “You live around Ross Way right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding, “but it’s a bit of a drive, they’re gonna charge you crazy. It’d be too much.”

Paige shrugs, undeterred. She’s closer now. “It’s fine - better than waiting all night.” 

“Listen to the rook,” Bri pipes up, her elbow nudging you as she speaks. “She’s got wisdom.” 

You throw her quick look, but the protest within you dies when your Uber app still reads ‘Still finding a rider’. Would it be that bad to share a ride? 

“Enter your address,” Paige hands you her phone and your fingers shakily type your address. 

“Thanks,” you say, handing her phone back. 

Eventually, Bri is gone. Her body warm in the back of her ride as she speeds off home and then it’s just you and Paige, waiting out the longest 7 minutes known to man. 

Her hands are nestled in her trouser pockets, and she rocks on the balls of her feet. Despite her every breath being magnified with tufts of mist, her jacket hangs at the crook of her elbow. 

“You’re not cold?” 

She’s momentarily torn away from her unending gaze into packed streets and passes you a quick smile. “Nah - all the rounds you bought are keeping me warm enough.” 

“You’re welcome,” You say, your mind briefly going into the eventual conversation you’d have with your accountant justifying the reckless spending with the words ‘team bonding’. 

Soon enough, your - well, Paige's, Uber appears, rolling to a stop with its engine humming softly. Paige gestures for you to get in first, and the comforting warmth of the car rushes over you as you slide into the back seat - you silently thank Bri at this point. The door clicks shut, sealing you into the dimly lit space, and you’re only just settling in when Paige follows, close enough that she brushes against you in the tight space. Her faint perfume mingles with the scent of leather seats and the lingering trace of your own. 

You’re the first to crack the almost awkward silence, feeling pushed to do solely because you’d hijacked her ride home and it’d be nothing less than rude for you to pull out your airpods. “So, how’d you find your first team dinner?” 

She looks up from her phone screen. “It was good,” she pauses thinking for a moment before a corner of her lip goes up. “Do you guys usually go that hard though?” 

You scoff and shake your head, “it’s literally because it’s your first dinner - we wanted to give you a good welcome onto the team.” Your head tilts back onto the headrest, feeling the almost sickly rush of alcohol wash over you. “Everyone’s too old and tired to do this every time.” 

“Ah, I see,” she’s nodding with mock gravity. “Well, I appreciate it. Coach was near enough on the floor. That fucking killed me.”

“Met too,” You laugh, pulling out your phone, the cold glow lighting up your face. “I nearly died at that too. I think Bri posted it on her close friends…” You scroll through your feed, fingers stumbling over the screen as you swipe, searching.

You feel the seat shift as Paige leans in, close enough that you catch a faint trace of her perfume, something woody and expensive. Her shoulder brushes yours, and for some reason, the small point of contact is almost electric. It’s then that you’re suddenly all too aware of how small the back of the uber is, and maybe it’s the remnants of Tequila still flowing through you, but you realise just how close she is. It’s not the same kind of closeness as when you’re talking to someone like Bri or AJ. No, it’s different and what makes it so different is that you’re actually taking notice of the soft brush of her breath settling on your cheek as she glances over at your screen.

Your skin lights up in goosebumps. 

The scrolling slows, your fingers hovering just above the keypad, attempting to conjure Bri’s instagram handle, but they falter as you - no, both, because there’s no way she doesn’t see her name bolded two times in your search bar. You'd typed it in wrong the first time (which explains entry 1), fumbling over the letters before quickly googling the correct spelling, but now it's right there, staring back at you.

You can feel the smirk when she speaks, “I didn’t know you were a fan too.” 

“Fan? I was just doing research-” 

Your still speaking when your phone is out of her hands and into her longer ones. She humming in mock agreement as she clicks on her profile, bringing the page of pictures you’d looked through up on your screen. For what it was worth, you had been doing research, nothing nefarious but in the face of said person noticing their name in your search bar, it was less than believable. It’s embarrassing really - it wouldn’t have been crazy if you had  just followed her. 

“There” She presses the follow button, “You can now officially keep tabs on me.” her voice is soft, playful, but with an edge that makes you feel pinned. 

When she passes your phone back, the graze of her fingertips feel unjustifiably electric. 

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first in the team to not follow me back yet,” she says, the brief flicker of resigned annoyance betrays her ‘this-doesn’t-bother-me-at-all’ attitude. “So,” she says, her tone dropping to something a bit more curious, “what do the others really think of me? You know, the team.”

You glance at her, surprised by the sudden question, but her eyes are fixed on you, unwavering, waiting for an honest answer.

“They think you’re good. There’s respect there and we’re happy to have you on the team.”

She  watches you closely, and for a moment, it’s like she’s evaluating you, sizing you up. Then she leans back with a smirk, eyes still on you.

“You don’t wanna tell me what you really think, do you?” she asks, the challenge clear in her voice.

There’s a shift in the air, and your heartbeat picks up, but you swallow, glancing at her and keeping your stare just as steady. “No, I think you’re good … You’re the first draft pick for a reason.”

She tilts her head, the playful expression not fading, but there’s a weight to her gaze now. Something sharp, something that leaves you feeling exposed and caught up in the current between you two. 

You’re caught in the silence that follows, the kind that presses in on you, thick and unnerving. It’s the kind of silence that reporters use - just a gap, a beat too long, forcing you to fill it, to offer up something more, even when you don’t want to. Paige’s eyes never leave you, and the tension feels like it’s building with each passing second. It scares you. 

Her lips curl into a barely-there smile, almost mocking, but her stare remains intense , just daring you to break.

But she breaks first. You’re not new to the silent tactic. 

“So…?” she prompts, her voice deliberate. “Just be honest. I’m not gonna start crying.” 

You feel the weight of her stare, the expectation in the air.

“I think… I think there’s a lot of hype around you, that’s all.” Your words come out slow, careful and just as deliberate as her, “I mean, you’re great, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t necessarily think it can hold when you’re really out there on the court.”

“That’s what you think? That I’m just a product of hype?”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s trying to pull more out of you, like she’s testing how far you’ll go. You glance at her, feeling both intrigued and nothing less than disarmed. You curse the alcohol. 

“I’m just saying,” you shrug, keeping your tone casual, “being the ‘golden girl’ can’t be all it’s cracked up to be. College basketball isn’t the same as being in the ‘W’.”

She doesn’t immediately respond, instead letting the silence hang between you two, the weight of your words sinking in. The car’s hum and the city noises outside seem to fade, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, locked in this quiet tension.

“I guess we’ll see,” She says.

If you were asked to describe life at this moment, you’d say that you were continuously all too aware of everything and anything. And it’s all because of her. 

“I don’t mind proving things,” she continues. 

The car pulls up to a stoplight, and for a split second, the moment feels suspended in time with her words hanging in the small space between you both. You can’t help but think it feels like a promise - or maybe a dare. Not about the court, but about something more that you don’t want to pinpoint. 

“That’s good,” you’ve broken the staring contest of sorts, now looking out the window as the car pulls off again, taking you one mile extra to escaping whatever this was. 

You glance at her from the corner of your eye, but this time, her gaze is fixed, unwavering, almost daring you to do something—anything. Her lips twitch, like she’s caught between amusement and something else, something that sends a thrill through you.

For the first time, you let your own eyes fall to her lips, and that’s all it takes. You don’t even think; you just lean in, slow and steady, as if testing the waters.

Her breath hitches, her hand subtly shifting closer, and in the next instant, she meets you halfway. There’s no hesitation. It’s a kiss that comes out of nowhere, full of fire and heat, but still tentative, still testing. The moment your lips meet, everything else fades.

The kiss deepens as she brushes lightly against your cheek, pulling you just a little closer. You feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her lips, and for a moment, everything is just her. It’s different from anything you expected - it’s intense and she’s in charge, and you’re following her like you’d never produced a single thought. 

Just as quickly as it started, you pull away, breathless, your lips tingling. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re unsure whether you want to be closer to her or further away. The air between you is thick, electrified with the aftermath of the kiss, and all you can hear is the sound of your breathing mingling in the small space.

“Fuck - sorry, just ignore what the fuck that was.”

But before you can pull completely away, Paige’s hand is on your jaw, holding you in place as she leans in again, this time with a quiet intensity that catches you off guard. Her lips meet yours again, more deliberate this time. And when she nips at your bottom lip, you gasp, before letting her completely take you over as her tongue glides across yours. 

She’s pulling you into her and only her and you’re letting her.

“Don’t apologise,” she murmurs, against your mouth. 

Her hands take over, one holding you in place and the other at your knee, inching up closer and closer with what felt like each intoxicating breath. 

The car’s headlights cut through the darkness as it pulls up to the curb, the engine slowing to a stop in front of a modern, apartment building surrounded by tall, shadowed trees. You blink, slowly but surely coming back to yourself, but you’re still lodged in her all encompassing touch willing yourself to pull away. 

For a moment, the air between you is heavy, the night outside the car feeling distant, almost unreal. 

“I’m guessing this your …” You start, your eyes darting to the building. 

“Apartment,” She finishes, breaking the stare and now it feels like she’s also back down to earth. 

She’s on her phone, the Uber app recognisable as she fiddles with the interface. 

“Guess that’s our stop,” Paige says.

“Our?” 

She nods, “Yeah, ours” 

There’s no uncertainty in her voice, no hesitation. Just the faintest hint of amusement playing on her lips as she taps away on her phone.

Before you can respond, the sound of the app’s notification cuts through the silence. Paige cancels the rest of the ride with a casual swipe of her finger. And you don’t protest. 

***

A/N

Club Classics ... well, that was fun. I wonder what happens next 🤭🤭

And do any of you diva's listen to Mk.Gee?

[enwoso]

would you do one where lovie is sick and wants Leah and not Alessia which surprises her

seeking solace | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

grumpy masterlist

alessia had always been fiercely protective of you, as her daughter as someone who had became a mum young she had, slowly, become accustomed to the late night fevers, the endless cuddles on the couch and the soft whispers of reassurance.

but nothing could have prepared her for your tiny voice broke the quiet hum of your home this evening.

it had started with a small cough that morning while your mummy was having the weekly coffee morning catch up with the arsenal girls before training begun, a small sniffle coming from you here and there.

but by the afternoon and you were back home you were a shivering bundle of blankets. your face flushed with the heat of the fever which was quickly forming.

alessia had done her best to comfort you, offering you a warm bath and a cosy evening on the couch. the evening wore on and it became clear that your fever was getting worse.

alessia was used to being the one who you turned to and relied on, the one who wiped away your tears when you were upset and somehow find a way to make everything better. but as you settled on the couch, cuddled into your mummy side as she drew patterns on your back.

alessia was taken by surprise when your small fingers grasped the edge of her sleeve as you whispered, "i want le"

your mummy froze, her heart skipping a beat. the blondes girlfriend, leah had been a steady and loving presence in your lives. and while you like leah just fine, you had always preferred the quiet comfort of your mummy's arms when you were unwell.

"lovie" your mummy began gently, stroking a hand through your hair, "mummy's here, leah won't be home for some time yet"

you just shook your head, your bright blue eyes wide and glassy from your fever, "no i, i want lele.. please?"

alessia's heart ached. she never expected this. leah as always had been nothing but patinet with you, but your request took alessia by surprise.

for the past couple of months leah had been a constant figure in your life alongside alessia. the blonde having spent a lot more days at your house as well as staying over a few night a week but leah hadnt officially moved in, just yet. so alessia could understand how and why you'd grown such an attachment to her.

but alessia assumed it was her who you would always want in times like these - your mum, the one who knew how to make things right.

but maybe in the past few weeks you had saw something in leah that alessia hadn't noticed. or maybe just maybe, it was the tenderness leah brought with her when she did show up. the way she spoke so softly and her gentleness.

without a word, alessia picked up her phone keeping you tight in her arms as she sent leah a quick text.

'love i'm sorry and i know your out with your family but lovie wants you here. she's not feeling well.'

not even a moment later, her phone buzzed with leah’s reply.

lele<3 'i'll be twenty minutes.'

true to her word leah arrived just a few minutes after the twenty minute mark and it was as though the air lightened. she was still wearing the clothes she'd worn for to go out for dinner in, alessia having to put to one side the thoughts on the outfit - although she'd no doubt let her thoughts known later on..

leah's presence seemed to infuse the room with a claming energy and you who'd been restless moments before and immediately quieten when leah knelt down beside you.

"hey little one," leah said softly, her voice so warm and familar, "how you feeling? i heard your not feeling too great."

you, still feverish and tired stretched out your small arms towards leah as she didnt hesitate to gather you into her embrace. alessia watched on in awe as leah settled down next to the blonde rubbing circles on your back.

it was the same tender care alessia had seen leah give her countless times but watching it directed towards you, her daughter, was something new. something beautiful.

"i'm so glad your here" alessia whispered her voice thick with emotion.

leah smiled, her eyes soft and filled with love, "you know im always here, for both of you"

you nestled into leah's arms as your eyes fluttered closed as you were comforted by the warmth and gentle touch. leah stretching her arm out so alessia could be closer to her as she rested her head on leah's shoulder, her heart full as they were wrapped in the quiet, steady rhythm of leah's care.

as the minutes passed, your breath started to slow down and your feverish flush loosened as leah held her, whispering soothing words. alessia sat watch as leah's hands traced patterns on your back. there was something in the way leah was holding you, the way she had seemed to melt into their little family which made alessia's chest tighten with gratitude.

she'd known leah for a while now, had fallen for her slowly, but moments like this - moments where leah was not just the love of her life but the heart of their home - made alessia love her more than she thought was ever possible.

you let out a content sigh as your little body relaxed into the calm of her embrcae. alessia kissed the top of your head before turning her gaze back to leah. as their eyes met and in the quiet of the room as a thousand unspoken words passes between them - words of love, of relief, of togetherness.

alessia's heart ached a little at the tenderness in leah's eyes. she could see the joy in them, the warmth of knowing she was part of something real, something beautiful.

"i'm sorry again for cutting your family dinner short-" alessia whispered as leah just shrugged it off as if it was nothing. "i- i didn't expect her to ask for you" alessia carried on her voice soft but filled with emotion.

she settled closer to leah, still resting her head on her shoulder. "she's always wanted me when she's sick. i thought.. well, i thought i'd be the one she needed."

leah's hand found alessia's, fingers intertwining. she gave a small squeeze. "maybe she knew you needed a little time to breathe. you're always the one who takes care of everything. maybe it was her way of letting you lean on me for a change."

alessia smiled softly, her eyes lingering on the way leah held you. it was a quiet tenderness, the kind which made alessia feel safe, cherished. she leaned in, pressing her lips gently to leah's cheek, the soft touch lingering longer than it should have.

"thank you," alessia whispered against her skin, her voice thick with gratitude. "for always being here. for showing up.. for us"

leah turned her head just slightly, enough for their lips to brush, the breifest kiss which sent a spark of warmth through alessia. "always." leah murmured, her thumb gently brushing over the back of alessia's hand. "for as long as you'll have me."

alessia's breath cuaght and she kissed leah again - this time, slow and deliberate as if trying to memorise the feeling of leah's lips. her fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her just that little bit closer. the kiss deepened, tender and full of love they shared. a love that had grown strong through every shared moment and evey challenge they had faced together.

when they finally pulled apart, both breathless. alessia rested her forehead against leah's her hand still in hers. you were asleep now, your little body nestled safetly between them, your face soft and peaceful as light snores fell from your lips.

"sometimes, i wonder how i got so lucky" alessia whispered, her heart full of something deeper than she could even express. "i've got you both."

leah smiled, her thumb gently stroking alessia's cheek. "we're the lucky ones love"

and in that quiet, intimate moment surrounded by the soft sound of your breathing, alessia knew this was exactly where she was meant to be. with you. with leah. building their family. step by step, moment by moment. full of love, warmth and everything she had ever dreamed of.

[pastryfication]

winter wonderland

pairing: kimi antonelli x leclerc!reader

note: i’m not really satisfied with this but it’s cosy and christmassy so we ball 🙂‍↕️

part one of my advent celebration

december had a way of coming creeping just at the right time. it brought a lightness to everything, spreading a nice warm feeling across everything as it rolled around with its christmas cheer and holiday cosiness.

to celebrate christmas that year, your family had rented out a cabin at your favourite ski resort, nestled in the heart of the french alps. it was a tradition you had kept up for a long time, but for the first time, the friend you brought wasn’t just a friend. he was someone much more special.

the small chalet style cabin your brother had arranged for your group was the perfect charming blend of rustic elegance and winter magic. it was made of dark wood with steep, snow-covered roofs adorned with twinkling fairy lights that cast a warm glow as the night settled in. snow piled neatly on the nearby balconies, where wreaths and red ribbons hung along the edges, adding festive touches to the scene.

you and kimi had gotten your own room—much to arthur’s dismay—and it was as magical as the rest of the house. until then, you had enjoyed your evenings together, cuddled in the warm, cozy bed, but as it was your boyfriend’s last night with you before he flew home to spend the holidays with his family, you had decided to go explore a small village located just outside the boarder of the resort.

you were walking along a small road close to the middle of the town. the square was alive with the cheerful hum of holiday spirit, and market stalls lined the cobblestone paths, selling everything from hand-knit scarves to spiced cider and roasted chestnuts. a large christmas tree stood proudly at the center, its branches decorated with delicate glass ornaments and shimmering tinsel, while the soft notes of a carol floated through the air from a street performer’s violin.

beyond the village, you could see the ski runs snake down the mountainside, illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun. skiers and snowboarders still dotted the slopes, gliding gracefully down the white mountainside. the peaks of the surrounding alps, capped with snow, rose majestically against the sky shifting from pale blue to the soft lavender of twilight.

it was getting late, and your mum had already sent a message to let you know that you had to be home soon, but everything about the moment was so absolutely perfect, and you didn’t want to break it just yet.

the snow crunched delicately under your boots as you took another step through the magic winter wonderland of the small village. the street performer had changed to a christmas love song, the soft tones creating the perfect backdrop to your walk.

despite the thick, fluffy gloves you both were wearing, kimi’s hand felt warm in yours. every so often, he’d squeeze it a little tighter, a silent signal that made you glance up. his eyes always met yours with that familiar, loving sparkle, sometimes followed by a quick kiss on the tip of your cold nose.

he adored the way you looked all bundled up in your thick coat, scarf and woollen hat with a frosty blush covering your cheeks. it made him all giddy on the inside and he couldn’t help but let his gaze linger as a goofy smile took over his face. it made your heart skip; it was rare to see him this relaxed, away from the newfound pressure of the track and cameras.

“i wish we could stay like this forever,” you whispered as you passed a stall selling handmade ornaments. kimi’s fingers squeezed yours again, and when you looked up, he had that smile—the one that made your heart flutter.

“me too,” he said, his voice low and earnest, before he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

you looked at him, puzzled. he turned to you fully and whispered your name, his breath visible in the cold air. “i love you.”

your smile widened, a new blush spreading across your cheeks—this time not from the chill. “i love you more.”

“not possible,” he immediately remarked back, not giving you a chance to protest. even if you hadn’t been able to see his face, you would still have been able to hear the smile in his voice.

you smiled right back up at him, but before you could respond, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. it was short and sweet, both of you smiling into the kiss, and when you pulled apart, giggles filled the air between you.

“we should probably head back,” you said, the reluctance clear in your voice as you glanced at the sky now deepening into night.

he sighed, nodding. “yeah. wouldn’t want to give your brothers another reason to dislike me.”

you pouted, your gloved hand coming up to caress his cheek. “they don’t hate you. they just have a hard time accepting the fact that i’ve grown up.”

he leaned into your touch, nodding his head with soft eyes. “yeah, yeah. whatever you say.”

✦ ✦ ✦

later, as found yourself at home in the cabin once again, with the glow from the windows of the chalets and lodges reflecting off the snow, casting a magical light over the landscape, you found yourself back at your favourite place in the world: your boyfriend’s arms.

the scent of pine trees and wood smoke came in from the slightly open window and mingled with the faint sweetness of hot chocolate coming from the kitchen, where your mum and charlotte were cooking up snacks for your movie night.

a small fire crackled in the stone fireplace, its warmth spreading throughout the room. your family were all gathered around, laughter and cheerful chatter filling the air. charles emerged from the hallway with a soft smile, leaning down to ruffle your hair before pressing a kiss to your temple before he moved on to alex, who sat on the couch with an amused grin, and they exchanged a friendly nudge and a few teasing words.

arthur was sprawled out in one of the armchairs, wrapped in a blanket with only his tousled hair visible. he shot you a playful glare when he caught sight of you and kimi on the loveseat, but it was softened by the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

lorenzo was resting next to him, more up right and put together, but still relaxed in a way he only was around you. next to him, two empty spots were waiting for the rest of your close knit family.

leo was shuffling around on the floor, overwhelmed by the amount of cuddly people within his vicinity. his cute little snout poked at all of you as he surveyed the room, before he finally decided to join you and kimi by jumping into your lap.

you let out a small giggle and went to pet him. as the dog settled in between you, kimi’s arm tightened around you just a bit and you looked up at him with an adoring smile.

this, right here, felt absolutely perfect. this was your epitome of happiness. this was your wonderland. the most magical place in the world.

[judeswhore]

a little something based on this

jude could tell you were annoyed the second he locked eyes on you after the match, a grin forming on his lips as he watched you scowl beside his mum, your gaze fixed on the tv screen on the wall which was replaying the few minutes before and after his little injury. he knew you were upset he’d gotten hurt, you always were, even if it was just a small bump or bruise but he knew you’d be feeling worse today given the fact they’d drew blood. despite that, he couldn’t tamp down his amusement, couldn’t hold back his grin because no matter how angry you tried to seem, you looked more adorable than anything.

he gave himself a few seconds to admire you before you smothered him with your concern, felt heat bloom in his tummy as he flicked his gaze over you. the puffer coat you were wearing almost completely drowned you, fell just shy of your ankles and somehow made you seem smaller than normal. you looked more than a little cosy in your pink bobble hat and scarf and jude was hit with the overwhelming urge to wrap himself around you, to snuggle in close and steal some of your warmth. a quick smile replaced your previous frown when his mum spoke, lit up your face and punched the wind from him as he caught the tail end of your soft laugh. the sound had his feet moving before his brain could catch up, suddenly eager to hear it without the distance between you.

you spotted him before he reached you and then the frown was back, brows scrunched together, a half pout already forming on your lips and jude could see the complaints already spinning around in your head. the second he was in front of you he was sliding his hand around the back of your neck, dipping his head to kiss your mouth and silence whatever it was you were about to say. he heard you give a gentle hum of content at the contact and then he was pulling away to hug his mum, grinning brightly when she squeezed her arms around his shoulders. she mumbled her praise into his ear before kissing his cheek and stepping away, waving her phone between them.

“your dad wants me to give him a ring, i’ll meet you two out front in ten.” she told him, flashing you both a smile before making her way towards the exit, phone already rising to her ear. jude could only roll his eyes, knowing fine well his father didn’t want that, his mother simply didn’t want to be around when you started cursing out all the players that wronged him this evening.

“she’s such a liar.” he mumbled, head shaking as he turned back to you, stepped in closer so he could tug playfully at the zip of your coat. “y’look warm. and adorable,” he flicked the bobble on your hat with a smirk. “is this new?”

“you’re hurt.” you stated simply, batting his hand away as you settled your gaze on the little bandage above his eyebrow, that frown taking over your pretty features again. jude could only shrug because the cut wasn’t as bad as it looked when it first happened, so small in fact that he didn’t even need stitches and was back on his feet in minutes. he knew it was a bigger deal to you however.

“babe, i’m fine.” he tried to reassure you but you were barely listening, taking his face between your hands so you could study it, turning it left to right as you trailed soft fingers across his jaw. he let you check him for more injuries in silence and instead fiddled with the scarf around your neck, loosening it slightly because he knew the stress and worry will have had you flustered and warm. the pad of your thumb brushed over the edge of the bandage, traced across his eyebrow before you were sighing softly. you lifted onto your tiptoes so you could press a kiss to his lips before dropping your hands from his face.

“i’m annoyed at you, y’know.”

“what?” jude couldn’t help but huff a laugh, watching as you crossed your arms over your chest and half glared up at him. “what’re you mad at me for? i’m the one that got kicked in the head!”

“exactly! why’re you always the one getting kicked or shoved? why aren’t you ever the one doing the kicking and shoving?” you asked, brows raising challengingly and he spluttered, matched your stance with his own crossed arms.

“so what, you want me to start beating people up on the pitch for you or something?” his sarcastic question made you roll your eyes and click your tongue and jude could only grin in response because it was so utterly ridiculous.

“don’t be an idiot. just..” you tapered off and another slow sigh blew past your lips as your scowl turned back into a soft pout. you let your arms drop from where you’d crossed them and instead moved in closer to jude, wrapped them around his waist and tipped your head back to meet his gaze. “they’re always so rough with you. i hate it.”

“baby,” his voice was soft, low and soothing as he let his hands find your cheeks, palms cupping them gently. he dipped his head and nudged his nose against yours before he was kissing you, slow, lazy drags of his lips across yours as way of a distraction. he held you like that for a few moments, kissed you until you were pliant in his arms, half melted against his body, any previous complaints scattered from your brain. when he finally pulled away he broke out into that cocky grin. “it’s jealousy, isn’t it?”

“hm?” you were confused by the sudden change in subject, still caught up in the taste of his lips and the teasing drag of his tongue. “jealousy?”

“you’re jealous of them. y’know, the other players.” jude’s grin was splitting his face, laughter threatening to bubble over at the dazed look you were wearing. “you’re the only one allowed to man handle me, right? y’don’t like seeing me getting thrown around by someone that’s not you.”

“oh my god.” you grumbled low in your throat and shoved at him, whacked his arm as he broke out in laughter so loud it drew the attention of multiple people in the hallway. he watched the glare fall back into place as you stepped away from him, apparently no longer concerned about his injuries as you landed another punch to his bicep.

“you’re absolutely insufferable, do you know that?”

“awe c’mon, baby, it’s fine. i’ll keep your secret.”

[rileyslibrary]

The elderly lady who owns the convenience store in Simon’s neighbourhood needs help with a faulty fridge. You tag along with Simon and discover more about him than you ever expected.

A/N: Fluff. Cosy read.

———————————————————————

“It’s right there,” Simon says, pointing down the street. “Just need to take care of something quickly.”

You follow his outstretched arm to a convenience store nestled on the corner. Furrowing your brows, you glance back at the street you had just walked down, spotting Simon’s house. It’s very close, you think to yourself. Maybe a three-minute walk away.

That’s weird. You’ve taken that same road to and from Simon’s house many times, yet this is the first time you’ve noticed the store.

Turning your attention back, you look closer at your destination. No wonder you never paid much attention to it. The store seems old and rather inconspicuous, blending into its surroundings seamlessly. Everything is understated, from the building to its decor—if you could even call it that. To the left of the entrance, there’s a stand of old magazines, and on the right, a table with two chairs catches your eye. You glance up at the sign above the entrance.

“Mary Mart,” you read aloud.

“That’s right,” Simon confirms, opening the door and triggering a bell to jingle. “Mary should be inside.”

He holds the door open for you, yet his gaze remains fixed on something inside the store. You step in and follow his line of sight to a lady holding a newspaper up to her face. That must be Mary, you presume.

“You alright, Mary?” Simon asks softly.

Yup, that’s definitely her. The newspaper covers most of Mary’s petite frame as she sits behind the counter. She seems so absorbed by her reading that she didn’t hear you come in.

Simon sighs and shakes his head. He gently taps the back of the newspaper to get her attention. Mary lowers the paper to her nose, and her face lights up immediately at the sight of Simon.

“Didn’t see you there!” Mary shouts, lowering the newspaper to the counter. “You alright, my dear?”

“Yes, Mary,” he murmurs, “neither did you see nor hear us.”

“What?” Mary asks, letting go of the newspaper and cupping her ear.

Simon taps his own ear, indicating that Mary needs to adjust her earpiece. Mary’s eyes widen, and she quickly follows Simon’s lead, turning her earpiece on. She gives him a nod.

“Better now?” Simon asks.

“Much, much better,” Mary confirms, then turns to you with a broader smile. “And who do we have here?”

You politely nod, introducing yourself to Mary, but Simon interjects before you say much.

“So tell me, Mary,” He says, glancing towards the back of the store where the fridges are, “which one’s acting up?”

“Oh, I can’t remember, dear, but it’s hard to miss it,” Mary replies, sighing. “It’s the one with the towels underneath. Keeps dripping water.”

Simon nods, his gaze still focused on the fridges. He begins heading towards the back of the store, and you instinctively follow behind him.

“How lovely of you, Simon,” Mary’s voice sounds from behind you. “Bringing me some company while you take care of that fridge.”

You stop in your tracks, and Simon does, too. Point taken, Mary. You glance towards Simon, and he gives you a nod.

“She’s harmless,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “And a pretty nice lady.”

“Don’t be long.” You whisper back. “We still need to go get some breakfast.”

Simon nods and continues to the back of the store. With a sigh, you return to the counter where Mary is and settle into a nearby chair.

“Anything newsworthy?” You ask.

“Nothing much, dear,” Mary replies, adjusting her newspaper. “The weather’s terrible, the economy’s getting worse, and people won’t stop killing each other.”

“Oh...” you murmur, “yeah, that’s bad.”

“Well, at least Boots has 20% off on all moisturizers,” she announces, slightly more enthusiastically than one might expect for moisturizers. She picks a pair of scissors from under the counter and starts snipping the voucher.

With Mary on a mission to get that 20% off of that newspaper, you take the opportunity to peek at Simon. He’s kneeling in front of the fridge at the back of the store, focused on the appliance. Occasionally, his brow slightly furrows as he inspects the faulty machine. Then he pauses, nods, and grabs tools or shifts his position to get a better look at it. You, on the other hand, have no idea what he’s doing, nor do you care. You are hungry and caffeine-deprived. You’re pretty sure Simon feels the same way.

Meanwhile, Mary has finished cutting through the voucher and returned to her reading. She often flips through the pages and snaps the newspaper to straighten it and remove wrinkles. Sometimes, she hums, acknowledging her current read. Other times, she clicks her tongue disapprovingly at whatever news she comes across.

And you? Well, you’re bored out of your mind, so you begin scanning the shelves and displays, taking in the assortment of merchandise neatly arranged throughout the store. Your eyes briefly pause on various items—a stack of magazines, a display of snacks, a row of household essentials—before finally settling on an old photograph hanging behind Mary.

In the photograph, a young man wearing a military uniform stands confidently. He appears to be in his late twenties and sports a well-kept moustache. Rather than looking straight ahead, his gaze seems to be directed right behind you. He looks confident. Strong. He feels present, even if he’s not here.

“Handsome, huh?” Mary asks, peering over her glasses before turning towards the picture behind her. “That’s my Walter right there.”

You clear your throat and nod. “Very handsome indeed,” you confirm. “Is he your husband?”

“Was,” Mary corrects with a wistful smile, her eyes drifting back to you. “My very first and last one.”

“Which war?” you ask, gesturing towards his uniform.

“You mean which war he served in or which war he died in?”

“Both,” you shrug.

“Served in too many,” she says proudly, lowering her gaze to her newspaper. “But the war my Walter lost had no guns or weapons.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Mary looks up from her newspaper, meeting your eyes with a tilt of her head and a warm smile.

“Coffee?” she offers but doesn’t let you respond. She has already turned her back to you, brewing a fresh pot.

“No, thank you,” you reply. “We intend to grab some on our way to breakf-”

“I don’t think Simon will finish anytime soon, dear,” she interjects.

“Then yes, please,” you reply, then mouth a silent ‘shit’ to yourself so that Mary doesn’t hear you. You peek once more at the back of the store where Simon is.

“He’s handsome as well, isn’t he?” Mary states, with her back still turned towards you.

You blush at Mary’s observation and look down at the gum assortment in front of the counter. “Yes,” you agree, nodding with a smile. “Yes, he is.”

“Met at the base?” She asks, pouring you a cup of coffee.

“You know where we work?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It takes one to know one, dear,” she says, turning towards you and handing you a cup of coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” you reply. “So you also served in the military?”

Mary’s expression shifts, her face lighting up as she lifts her index finger.

“Serve!” she exclaims, “Silly me; I forgot to serve the biscuits!”

She retrieves a plate covered with tin foil from below the counter and uncovers it, pushing the platter towards you. You politely decline, thanking her for the offer. But Mary insists.

“I made them myself,” she tells you warmly.

“And I’m sure they taste lovely, but-”

“Take the biscuit,” Mary commands sternly, yet still smiling.

You look up at her, and without looking back at the plate, you take a biscuit. You don’t know which one you picked, what flavour it is, or if there are any allergens in it. Mary’s assertiveness is enough to make you pop it right into your mouth.

Her smile widens. “Good?” she asks.

The biscuit is indeed good. Very good. But even if it weren’t, you wouldn’t dare say otherwise—not only out of respect for Mary’s age but also because something tells you she might have more experience than the convenience store owner she portrays herself to be.

“They are amazing, Mary,” you reply and swallow.

“Simon likes those too,” she states proudly. “I often bring some over when I bake them.”

“So you live nearby?” You ask, swallowing another bite of the biscuit.

“I’m his landlord,” Mary reveals, nudging the plate of biscuits closer to you, “help yourself to another.”

You oblige and take another biscuit, and Mary continues once you take a bite.

“So,” she begins, blowing the steam off her coffee, “I’ve seen you plenty of times in my neighbourhood.”

“I, um,” you lift one shoulder and idly pick up a pack of chewing gum from the assortment in front of you. “I do come by often.”

“I know,” she replies, sipping her coffee. “You’ve been passing by my store a lot lately.”

You subtly turn your head towards Simon’s direction, letting your hair fall to the side of your face to conceal your blushing cheeks from Mary’s view. Yet she doesn’t seem to let go.

“He’s a good lad,” Mary states. Always there when neighbours need him, ready to lend a hand.”

“Indeed, he’s very good with his hands.” You reply.

“You know best, my dear,” Mary remarks, smirking.

“I meant with fixing things!” You say, widening your eyes. “He’s good with his hands when it comes to fixing things!”

Mary chuckles knowingly. “He’s also quite popular with the ladies—both the single and the taken ones,” she continues.

“Oh, is he now?” You respond in a high-pitched voice, narrowing your eyes. You turn your body towards Mary, placing the chewing gum package back in its original position.

“Yes,” she confirms, leaning over the counter. “Simon never rejects the attention, being such a good-looking lad, but at the same time, he never reciprocates.”

“How do you know he doesn’t reciprocate?”

“Oh, you’d be impressed what people say in front of an old lady who, allegedly, forgets to switch her earpiece on.” She says, winking at you.

“So, women flirt with him, huh?”

Mary throws her head back and chuckles, flicking her wrist at you. “Oh please, my dear,” she says in between chuckles, “I would have practically done the same if I was fifty years younger and Walter wasn’t around.”

“And he doesn’t flirt back?” You ask.

“No, not really, but he used to be friendly with them.” She explains, tilting her head toward you. “And then something changed.”

You shift in your seat and lean forward. “What?” You ask, intrigued. “What changed?”

Mary leans closer, sliding the biscuit platter toward you.

“Mary, I should probably lay off the biscuits,” you say. “We’re supposed to be heading out for breakfast, remember?”

“Make it a brunch, dear, or whatever you young people call it nowadays,” she replies. “Simon won’t be fixing the fridge anytime soon.”

“How do you know?” you ask. “You just said he’s great at fixing things.”

“Not when there’s nothing wrong with the fridge in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, furrowing your brows.

“I detached the defrost drain to simulate water leakage,” she explains. “It’s an easy fix, but you can oversee it quite easily, especially when the fridge is as old as I am.”

“You tinkered with the fridge on purpose?” you ask, eyes wide with surprise. “Why?”

“Oh please,” she sighs, rolling her eyes, “I had to bring you both here somehow.”

You glance at the cookie platter. Understanding that you won’t get any more information from Mary unless you indulge, you grab another cookie and pop it into your mouth. Mary, the ‘insert-biscuit-here-to-continue’ lady, takes the cue and continues.

“And then, as I was saying, you began to visit more often,” she explains, glancing over at Simon. “And his reaction to all the attention shifted.”

“You need to elaborate a little bit more, Mary,” you press. “How exactly did it change?”

“Girlfriend!” she exclaims in a hushed tone, widening her eyes at you. “He says he has a girlfriend!”

You widen your eyes, just like her, and point at yourself. She nods and points back at you.

“And then there’s the toothbrush,” she continues. “He bought two! A green one and a pink one.”

“He gave me a pink toothbrush when I stayed over for the first time!” you whisper. “Said he’d bought it ages ago and forgotten about it!”

“He bought a pink toothbrush as a spare for himself?” She asks, and her eyes narrow. “Nonsense! It wasn’t too long ago, and I have the receipts.”

“You keep receipts for these things, Mary?”

“No, silly,” she shakes her head. “It’s for tax purposes.”

“Right, so, I’m the girlfriend apparently,” you murmur, massaging your temples. “But why are you telling me all this?”

“Simon isn’t much of a talker, dear,” Mary explains, her tone softening. “Not to mention the horrors he’s been through. Sometimes, you might even misunderstand him because of it. But I’ve known him for a long time. He’s like family to me. Sometimes, when words fail him, I feel the need to speak on his behalf.”

“So you’re looking out for him,” you conclude, slowly nodding.

“Like the child I never had,” Mary confirms with a warm smile, pouring another cup of coffee. “And I can see how much he cares about you. But he’s not always good at expressing it. That’s why I thought I’d give you a little hint.”

“Thank you, Mary,” you say. “I appreciate you looking out for us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she says, handing you the extra coffee. “Now, how about you go over there and tell Simon to take a break? You can use the chairs outside while I go and reattach the defrost drain to the fridge.”

“Sure thing,” you reply and grab the coffee. “I just have one more question.”

“Go ahead,” she says.

“If Simon asks me what we’ve been talking about, what should I tell him?”

“Tell him I was rambling about the weather, the economy, and the 20% voucher from Boots,” she suggests, winking. “You’re a smart girl; that’s why he picked you. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

———————————————————————